The castles and abbeys of England_ Vol. 1 of 2 William Beattie 1302 downloads.pdf

Th e P roj ect G u t en b erg eBo ok o f Th e cast l es a n d
ab b ey s o f En gl an d ; Vol . 1 o f 2
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Title: The castles and abbeys of England; Vol. 1 of 2

Author: William Beattie

Illustrator: Thomas Allom
John Wykeham Archer
W. H. Bartlett

Release date: August 31, 2020 [eBook #63088]
Most recently updated: October 18, 2024

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/63088

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CASTLES
AND ABBEYS OF ENGLAND; VOL. 1 OF 2 ***

The Castle Of Arundel.
List of Illustrations: The Castle Of
Arundel.

The Abbey Of St.
Albans.
List of Illustrations: The Abbey Of
St. Albans.

Eltham Palace.
List of Illustrations: Eltham Palace.

The Castle Of Rochester.
List of Illustrations: The Castle Of
Rochester.

The Abbey Of
Tewkesbury.
List of Illustrations: The Abbey Of
Tewkesbury.

Kenilworth Castle.
List of Illustrations: Kenilworth
Castle.

Waltham Abbey.
List of Illustrations: Waltham
Abbey.

Carisbrooke Castle.
List of Illustrations: Carisbrooke

Castle.

Netley Abbey.
List of Illustrations: Netley Abbey.

Appendix.
List of Illustrations: Appendix.
(In certain versions of this etext [in
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(etext transcriber's note)

Henry Room. John Rogers.

William Beattie MD.
London, Published for the Proprietors, by Geo. Virtue. 26, Ivy Lane.

THE

CASTLES AND ABBEYS

OF

ENGLAND,
FROM THE NATIONAL RECORDS, EARLY CHRONICLES, AND
OTHER
STANDARD AUTHORS.

BY WILLIAM BEATTIE, M.D.,
GRAD. OF EDIN.; MEMB. OF THE ROYAL COLL. OF PHYS., LONDON; OF THE HIST.
INSTIT. OF FRANCE; AUTHOR OF
“SWITZERLAND,” “SCOTLAND,” “THE WALDENSES,” “RESIDENCE IN GERMANY,” ETC.
ETC.

————————————
ILLUSTRATED BY UPWARDS OF TWO HUNDRED ENGRAVINGS.

———————————

GEORGE VIRTUE:
LONDON AND NEW YORK.

GLASGOW:

WILLIAM MACKENZIE, PRINTER, LONDON STREET.

LIST OF THE ILLUSTRATIONS.

Arundel Castle.
ARTISTS. ENGRAVERS. PAGE.
General View of the Castle of Arundel,
including part of the Town, with the Church, the
College of the Holy Trinity, the River Arun, &c.
from the South Allom. Archer. 1
The Interior Quadrangle of the Castle from
the Keep, showing its present condition, as
restored by the late Duke of Norfolk Archer. Evans. 7
Arms of Roger Montgomery, Earl of Arundel
and Shrewsbury Archer. Jackson. 8
Seal of William de Albini, Earl of Arundel. From
the Impression J. W. Archer. 9
Arms of John Fitzalan, Ninth Earl of Arundel,
Oswaldestre, and Clun 11
Shield of Montgomery. Gules, a Lion rampant,
or, within a bordure. From Horsfield’s History 12
The Castle of Arundel from the Swan Lake on
the South-east, showing the natural advantages
of its position Archer. Jackson. 13
Norman Door, richly ornamented, in the Keep.
From a Drawing by Mr. Beattie, sculptor Nicholles. 14
John Mot, having escaped from the Dungeon,
taking Sanctuary at the College Gate of the Holy
Trinity Archer. 15
South-east Front of Arundel Castle in its
present state, taken from the Meadows Archer. Evans. 17
The Outer Gateway of Norman Architecture,
rebuilt by Richard Fitzalan Archer. Jackson. 18
Moonlight View from the Window of St. Martin’s
Chapel in the Keep, over the Vale of the Arun to
the Sea Archer. Jackson. 19
Horned Owls in the Keep of Arundel Castle.
Portraits taken on the spot Archer. Evans. 20
The Inner Gateway and Keep of the Castle,
showing on the left the Entrance to the Tower Archer. Jackson. 21
Gothic Doorway of the Ancient Hall of the
Barons, on the site of the New Hall, by Mr. Beattie Evans. 23
Inner Gateway during the Parliamentary Siege,
with Cavaliers on guard, by torchlight Allom & Archer. Jackson. 24
View from the Battlements, showing the Outer
Gate with the Sallyport in its present state Archer. Gray. 26

Bas-Relief of King Alfred instituting the Trial
by Jury, on the Southeast of the interior
Quadrangle. From a Drawing by Mr. Beattie Evans. 28
Ancient Family Arms, Achievements, &c. as
sculptured in front of the Barons’ Hall Archer. Nicholles. 29
Do. do. do. Nicholles.
do. Archer. 31
Do. do. do.
do. Archer. Nicholles. 33
View of the College of the Holy Trinity,
looking into the Inner Court Archer. Evans. 34
Glass in the Gothic Window of the Chapel,
representing the Swallow (Hirondelle), as the
Arms of Arundel Archer. Evans. 35
Hawk on Hand—characteristic of the Ancient
“Sporting Counts” Archer. 36
Hiorne’s Tower, in the Park of Arundel—a
modern Gothic erection 36
Bevis’s Grave, in Pugh-Dean, in the Deer Park,
showing the Traditionary Tumuli of Bevis and
his horse “Hirondelle” Archer. Jackson. 37
The Empress Matilda’s Room in the Inner
Gateway Tower of the Castle, with the ancient
Bedstead, supposed to be that on which she
slept Archer. Evans. 38
King Stephen dismounted at Wallingford, in
front of the Army Sargent. Evans. 41
Crusading—Beacon-guard on the Walls of
Damietta Archer. Jackson. 43
The Grand Ceremony of Knighthood in
Westminster Hall Sargent. Evans. 45
The Admiral’s Ship and Fleet, under the
command of Arundel Prior. Whimper. 47
Scene of the Conspiracy in Arundel Castle Archer. Jackson. 49
Night Visit to Earl Richard of Arundel’s
Tomb, Cheapside Sargent. Whimper. 53
John, Earl of Arundel, mortally wounded at
Gerberoi Allom. Whimper. 55
Henry Fitzalan, Earl of Arundel, mounting the
Breach at the Siege of Boulogne Allom. Jackson. 57
Funeral of the last Earl of the Fitzalans Archer. Jackson. 60
Rencontre at Bosworth Field, and Death of
John, Duke of Norfolk. From a Drawing by Mr.
Beattie Evans. 63
Bosworth Field—the Young Earl of Surrey and
Sir John Talbot Allom. Whimper. 65
Flodden Field—Bivouac after the Battle Archer. Gray. 67

Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey—Portrait. From
a Drawing by Mr. Beattie M. Jackson. 69
Henry Howard, Victor at the Grand Tournament
in Florence, with a View of the Old Ducal
Palace from the Piazza Archer. Jackson. 71
Prison Scene in the Tower of London Archer. Gray. 74
Official Seal of the Earl-Marshal of England Herman. Wakefield. 75
The Coat of Arms of the Ancient Earls of
Surrey Archer. Gray. 76
Arms of the Duke of Norfolk—Earl-Marshal of
England Archer. Gray. 77

St. Alban’s Abbey.
S. ALBANUS
P R O T O - M A RT Y R A N G L I C A N U S .

ARTISTS. ENGRAVERS. PAGE.
Steel Plate.—General View of St. Alban’s Abbey, from
the South T. Allom. Adlard.
Piscina—with a Monk of the Order Prior. Smith. 79
Entrance to Our Lady’s Chapel, From the North. Prior. Smith. 80
The Nave of the Abbey Church, Showing the Saxon (or
Norman) and Gothic Arches, the Great West Window,
&c. Herman. Evans. 83
The Choir—with the Pulpit, Organ, Window of the North
Transept, the Norman Arches, &c. Sargent. Evans. 86
The Shrine-Tomb of Humphrey the Good, Duke of
Gloucester. Drawn By Mr. Beattie Gray. 89
The Duke’s Vault, with His Coffin and Skeleton, in their
present state, under The Shrine Prior. Whimper. 91
The Entrance to the Lady Chapel, from the South Prior. Jackson. 93
The Ancient Altar of the Abbey, now in the South Aisle,
with Pilgrims Archer. Gray. 95
The Gate-House, or Grand Entrance to the Abbey Court,
from the Interior Sargent. Nicholles. 96
St. Peter’s Street, including the Abbey Tower, the
Market-place, and the Town-hall Prior. Smith. 99
The entrance to the Lady Chapel, from the North Lane Prior. Jackson. 102
St. Michael’s Church, from the Churchyard Prior. Smith. 104
Monument and Statue of Lord Chancellor Bacon, in St.
Michael’s Church Prior. Whimper. 105
Sopwell Nunnery in Ruins, with the Abbey Church in the
background Sargent. Whimper. 107
Grand Entrance to the Abbey Church from the West,
with the Distribution of Alms in the Cemetery Prior. Whimper. 108
Interior of the Lady Chapel—showing the public
thoroughfare through the Outer Chapel Prior. Smith. 109
Arms of the Monastery of St. Albans Herman. Cook. 110

THE

Palace of Eltham .
“That, passing by some monument that stoops
With age, whose ruins plead for a repair,
Pity the fall of such a goodly pile!”—Shirley.

ARTISTS. ENGRAVERS. PAGE.
Steel Plate.—Interior of the Royal Hall of Eltham,
with the Banquet given to King John of France, by Edward
the Third Sargent. Godfrey.
Interior of Eltham Hall in its present state Prior. M. Jackson. 111
North Entrance to the Hall, ditto Sargent. Nicholles. 114
John of Eltham—his Tomb in Westminster Abbey Herman. Wakefield. 116

The Exterior of Eltham, from the South-west, in its
present state Herman. Wall. 118
Ancient Gateway in Ruins. Emblematic Herman. Wall. 122
Ancient Bridge across the Moat, the Approach to
Eltham Hall Herman. Wall. 123
Eltham Hall, from the North-east—showing the
Entrance, Double Windows, &c. Sargent. Wall. 125
Screen in Eltham Hall—with the Entrance-door in the
Centre, and Orchestra above Sargent. O. Smith. 126
Great Bay-window in the Hall, at the North-east end of
the Dais Sargent. Wakefield. 127
Meeting of Anne of Cleves and Henry VIII. on
Blackheath. Eltham Hall on the right, and Shooter’s Hill
in the background Herman. Walmesley. 130

Rochester Castle.
“Hic matres, miseraque nurus, hic cara sororum
Pectora mærentum. puerique parentibus orbi
Dirum execrantur bellum.”

ARTISTS. ENGRAVERS. PAGE.
Steel Plate.—Rochester Castle, from the River Medway Sargent. Adlard.
Arms of Rochester Castle—Seal of the Town Herman. Wall. 133
Rochester Castle, with the Outer Walls, taken from the
South-east end of the Bridge Sargent. Jackson. 134
Gateway. Portcullis and Sentinel on Guard Whimper. 138
The Donjon; or Gundulph’s Tower—showing the Entrance
from the South Sargent. Evans. 140
Odo, Bishop of Bayeux and Earl of Kent Herman. Cooke. 141
Rochester Castle. The Siege by King John, A.D. 1215 Sargent. Whimper. 143
The Battlements of the Main Tower—showing Arcades
on the right, where the Castle Chapel is supposed to have
been Sargent. Evans. 146
Archway, with View into the Tilting Yard Whimper. 149

Small Tower of the Castle—showing the thickness of the
Outer Walls Prior. Wall. 153
Principal Entrance to the Main Tower—showing the
position of the ancient Portcullis. View taken from the
Entrance, looking Westward Prior. Rimbault. 154
The State Prison in Rochester Castle; as it is, and as it was Prior. Whimper. 155
State Apartments in the Castle—showing the Norman
Architecture. Sargent. O. Smith. 157
Rochester Castle by Moonlight—with the supposed
Secret Entrance from the River Herman. Wakefield. 159
Inner Arched Gallery, surrounding the Apartments Prior. Wall. 160
West Gallery of Rochester Castle—showing the
Interior, with the Norman workmanship Prior. Rimbault. 161
The Castle Prison. Entrance to the Dungeon, with Staircase
and Archway Prior. Whimper. 162
Rochester Bridge and Castle, from the Medway, looking
South Herman. Nicholles. 164
Gadshill Tavern—the scene of Falstaff’s adventure, as it
now appears Prior. Wall. 167

Tewkesbury Abbey.
“Extingue flammas litium;
Aufer calorem noxium;
Confer salutem corporum
Veramque pacem cordium.”

ARTISTS. ENGRAVERS. PAGE.
Steel Plate.—The Abbey of Tewkesbury, from the Toll-
gate, looking across the Battle-field, or “Bloody-
Meadow” Sargent. Hinchcliffe.
The South Chancel, with the Tombs, Shrines—scene after
169
the Battle Sargent. Evans.
Funeral Procession to St. Faith’s Chapel. Burial of
171
Hugh, a Mercian Noble Prior. Jackson.
William the Conqueror, from an Ancient Statue. Fr.
172
Monum. Herman. Dalziel.
A Black Friar, or Benedictine Monk of Tewkesbury Herman. Walmesley. 173

The Chapter-House of Tewkesbury—now the Grammar
174
School Prior. Wall.
East End of the Chancel. Behind the Altar Screen. In
177
Ecclesia nostra de Theokesberye, &c. A.D. M.CC.XXX Sargent. Rimbault.
Gothic Shrine-Tomb of the Le Despenser Family Herman. Gray. 179
The Axe and Block Archer. 181
Portrait of George, Duke of Clarence. From the Brit.
183
Mus. Herman. Dalziel.
The Seal of Tewkesbury Herman. Dalziel. 184
The Ancient Gate of the Abbey, with Reliques of the
186
Conventual Outbuildings Prior. Whimper.
North Aisle, Piscina in the Column. Pilgrims, Antique
188
Alms-boxes, &c. Sargent. Gray.
Great West Entrance to the Church. Norman Window,
189
Towers, &c. from the Churchyard Sargent. Jackson.
Ancient Font and Cover in the Abbey Church Sargent. Jackson. 190
Cloister Bell-case, in which was suspended the Vesper-
191
bell, C Prior. O. Smith.
Abbot’s Entrance to the Church from the South, with
194
the Tomb of Somerset Prior. O. Smith.
North Transept of the Church, with carved Stalls, &c.
197
originally in the Choir Prior. Wall.
Portrait of Margaret of Anjou, Queen of Henry VI Herman. Dalziel. 201
Battle of Tewkesbury, and Death of Lord Wenlock Herman. Dalziel. 205
Portrait of Prince Edward, murdered after the Battle Herman. Dalziel. 206
Cloisters of Tewkesbury Abbey, with the Rich Windows,
208
Arcades, and Shrine-work Prior. Walmesley.

Kenilworth Castle.
“Follow where all is fled! Rome’s azure sky,
Flowers, ruins, statues, music, speech, are weak,
The brightness they transfused with fitting words to speak.”

ARTISTS. ENGRAVERS. PAGE.
Steel Plate.—The Castle of Kenilworth. General View
from the Lake Allom. Adlard.
Armorial Shield of the Earl of Leicester Archer. Wakefield. 211
View of the Castle from the East, with Lunn’s Tower,
Gatehouse, &c. Archer. Jackson. 212
Gate of Tue Ancient Priory, with Sepulchral Remains Archer. Nicholles. 215
Simon de Montfort, from a Sepulchral Effigy Herman. Nicholles. 217
Remains of the Great Hall in the Castle, with the
Undercroft Sargent. Wall. 220
Rich Window in the Presence Chamber, or Hall Prior. Evans. 222
John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster—Lord of Kenilworth Herman. Nicholles. 224

The Strong Tower, with adjoining Ruins Sargent. Evans. 226
The Three Baronial Kitchens, west side of the Castle Sargent. Smith. 228
Leicester’s Stables, with the Timber-work, &c. Sargent. Evans. 231
Part of Leicester’s Buildings, erected by Robert Dudley Prior. Wall. 232
The Gateway, part of the Dudley Buildings Archer. Jackson. 233
The Floodgate, or Water Tower (see the Plan) Prior. Nicholles. 235
Leicester’s Chimney Piece, formerly in the Presence
Chamber Archer. Gray. 237
Effigy of Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, from his Tomb Archer. Gray. 239
Entrance To the Great Hall, with Entrance to the Nether
Hall, or Undercroft. On the left a Window of “Queen
Elizabeth’s Dressing-room” Herman. O. Smith. 241
Plan of the Castle, as it appeared in 1575, from the “Illust.
Kenilworth;” with references and explanations at p. 280 Herman. Wakefield. 243
Signature of Queen Elizabeth, from the Original in the
British Museum Herman. Wakefield. 245
Kenilworth Castle, from the East, showing on the left
Mervyn’s Tower—Leicester-Buildings—The Keep—The
Gate-House—The Stables, &c. Prior. Wall. 247
Portrait of Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester Law. Evans. 249
View From the Tilt-yard, now a sheep-walk, showing part
of the outworks. Cæsar’s Tower on the left—part of
Leicester-Buildings—and the Gate-House Archer. Dalziel. 251
Lunn’s Tower at Sunset, showing the remains of the Moat,
grass-grown Archer. Evans. 253
Portrait of Amy Robsart—Dudley’s first wife, murdered
in Cumnor Hall Archer. Whimper. 255
The Snake and Dove, allegorical of Dudley and Amy
Robsart Archer. Dalziel. 256
Seal of Kenilworth Priory, impression with the parchment
attached, from the British Museum Herman. Jackson. 259
The Bridge at Kenilworth, with the Church and Gate-
House on the left Sargent. Evans. 260

Waltham Abbey.
“Within fifteen, holding my passage
Mydde of a cloyster; depict upon a wall,
I saw a Crucifixe, whose woundes were not small,
With this Worde wide written there besyde—
‘Beholde my meekness, childe, and leave thy pride!’ ”—Lydgate.

ARTISTS. ENGRAVERS. PAGE.
Steel Plate.—Waltham Abbey Church, from thy
Meadows Sargent. Godfrey.
View of the Main Street, with the Tower of the Abbey
Church Delamotte. Wall. 261
Abbey Church, East End (with a funeral), showing the
Ancient Arch Window Tiffin. Jackson. 264
Heraldic Shield of the Abbey Herman. Wakefield. 265
Saxon Bridge, still used in “Harold’s Park,” Waltham Herman. Wall. 268
Inner Porch of the Abbey Church Delamotte. Wall. 270
Baker’s Entry, remains of the Houses occupied by the
Abbots’ retainers Herman. Walmesley. 271
Gateway, Bridge, and Abbey Tower Herman. Wall. 274
Principal Entrance to the Church, with a Monk Herman. Wakefield. 276
Ancient Font in the Church of Waltham Herman. Wakefield. 277
View of the Abbey Church, across the Burial-ground Herman. Walmesley. 278
Ornamental Buttresses of the Abbey Church Herman. Evans. 278
The Seal of the Abbots of Waltham Herman. Jackson. 279

Carisbrooke Castle.
“O, uncertain path of life: in our hopes how little security: in our joy what short duration! where can
weak man find shelter? Where in this short life peace?”—Camoems.

ARTISTS. ENGRAVERS. PAGE.
Steel Plate.—View of the Castle from the North,
showing the Keep, and Gate, and Outworks Sargent. Radcliffe.
Entrance to the Keep by an ascent of seventy-two stone
steps Sargent. Evans. 281
Carisbrooke Castle—The ancient Donjon—partly Saxon
—from the “Roman Mounds” Sargent. Evans. 283
The Barracks and Governor’s House, with the Keep,
from Mountjoy Tower Sargent. Evans. 285
Ancient Gate in the Castle, viewed from the Interior,
leading to the steps Sargent. Evans. 287
Part of the Keep, known as the Flag-staff Tower, with the
Battlement Sargent. Evans. 289
Portrait of Henry Beauchamp, crowned King of the Isle
of Wight, in his Coronation Robes, from the original by
Rous, British Museum Herman. 291
Norman Gate, from the Interior, with the Original Oaken
Door, said to be 500 years old Sargent. Evans. 293
The Governor’s House, with part of the Barracks, erected
by Queen Elizabeth Sargent. Evans. 294
The Great Gate, with Round Prison Towers,
Machicolations, and Queen Elizabeth’s Gate in the
foreground. View taken from the road Sargent. Evans. 296

The Garrison Well, showing the Great Windlass-Wheel,
&c.; with the Interior of the Building as it now appears Sargent. Evans. 297
Sign-Manual of King Charles I., from the Original MS.
British Museum Herman. Walmesley. 298
“Queen Elizabeth’s Tower,” with the Outer Gate and
Landscape, from the Keep Sargent. Evans. 299
View of the Apartments occupied by King Charles
during his Imprisonment in the Castle, with the
Window from which he attempted to escape—Objects
emblematical of his Reign Sargent. Evans. 301
Exact Form and Appearance of the same Window, from
which, with his own hand, the King had sawed through
one of the Iron Bars Sargent. Evans. 302
Ground-Plan of Carisbrooke Castle, showing all the
Buildings and Outworks Herman. Walmesley. 304

Netley Abbey.
“Mundus abit, fortis sim, non ero: sim speciosus,
Non ero; sim dives non ero, mundus abit.
Mundus abit, non Christus abit: cote non abeuntem.”—Mor Cath Martene.

ARTISTS. ENGRAVERS. PAGE.
View of the South Transept of Netley Abbey, showing
the beauty and richness of its Architecture Sargent. Hinchliffe. 305
Impression of the Abbey Seal, with the Wax and Ribbon
attached, from the Original Herman. Walmesley. 306
The Abbot’s Seal, with its Impression and Inscription Herman. Walmesley. 307
The Great West Window of the Abbey Sargent. Evans. 309
The Fountain-Court of Netley Abbey Sargent. Evans. 311
The Confessional, for the Cistercian Brotherhood of the
Abbey Sargent. Evans. 313
The Sacristy of the Abbey, Vaulted, and Lighted by two
Windows Sargent. Evans. 314

The Chapter-House of the Abbey Sargent. Evans. 316
The Abbot’s Kitchen, with the ancient Fireplace Sargent. Evans. 318
The South Front of Netley Abbey Sargent. Evans. 320
The Buttery-door of Netley Abbey. Peasants with their
Offerings receiving the Priest’s Benediction Sargent. Evans. 321
The Confessional of Netley Abbey, with Confessor and
Penitent Sargent. Evans. 323
Palmer, Pilgrim 324
Netley Beach—a Scene on the road to the Sun Inn Sargent. Evans. 327
Netley Castle, lately used as a public House of
Entertainment Sargent. Evans. 329
Plan of Netley Abbey—arrangement of the Buildings Herman. 330

Appendix.
ARTISTS. ENGRAVERS. PAGE.
Allegorical Subject—with Figures and Tomes Sargent. Evans. 331
View of the Castle of Arundel, from a new Point Archer. Gilks. 335
Knight in Armour 336
Scroll-Head, illustrative of Arundel Castle—West
Gateway—“Owl and Swallow” Herman. Delamotte. 337
The Baron’s Hall—Minstrelsy in the Olden Time—Syr
Bevis Archer. Dalziel. 338
Vignette—Tilting Helmet, Sword, and Shield 341
Piscina in Abbey Church, St. Albans, referred to in the Text Prior. Jackson. 343
Ancient Armour of Eltham Hall—“The Duke’s Study” Archer. Dalziel. 345
Discovery of Harold’s Body, after the Battle of Hastings,
by his Mistress, “Edith with the Swan’s neck” Archer. Dalziel. 348
Head of King Charles I. as Prisoner in Carisbrooke Castle Law. Jackson. 350
The Abbot of Netley’s Mitre and Crosier Sargent. Evans. 352

List of Illustrations.
Allegorical Vignette Sargent. Evans. v
Arms and Abbatial Trophies of St. Albans Herman. Delamotte. vii
Architectural Scroll-head and Trophies of Eltham Hall Herman. Delamotte. viii
Military Scroll and Arms of Rochester Castle Herman. Delamotte. ix
Scroll-Head, with Arms and Trophies of Tewkesbury
Abbey Herman. Delamotte. x
Military Trophies of Kenilworth, with the Arms of Robert
Earl of Leicester Herman. Delamotte. xi
Scroll, with the Shrine of the Holy Cross, Waltham
Abbey Herman. Delamotte. xii
Scroll-head and Gateway, with the Royal Crown and Arms Herman. Delamotte. xiii
Allegorical Heading of Netley Abbey Herman. Delamotte. xiv
Fínís. Vignette—Chronicles of England Sargent. Evans. xv

Architectural Letters.
A, characteristic of Arundel.
S, ” St. Albans.
E, ” Eltham.
R, ” Rochester.
T, ” Tewkesbury.
K, ” Kenilworth.
W, ” Waltham.
C, ” Carisbrooke.
N, ” Netley.

De tout usage antique amateur idolâtre;
De toute nouveauté frondeur opiniâtre;
Homme d’un autre siècle, et ne suivant en tout
Pour tou qu’un vieux honneur, pour loi que le vieux goût:
Cerveau des plus bornés qui, tenant pour maxime
Qu’un seigneur de paroisse est un être sublime!—
On n’imagine pas combien il se respecte,
Ivre de son château dont il est l’architecte.—Gresset, Le Châtelain.

—— Enraptured have I loved to roam,
A lingering votary, the vaulted dome,
Where the tall shafts, that mount in massy pride,
Their mingling branches shoot from side to side;
Where elfin Sculptors, with fantastic clew,
O’er the long roof their wild embroidery drew;
Where Superstition, with capricious hand,
In many a maze the wreathed window plann’d,
With hues romantic tinged the gorgeous pane,
To fill with holy light the wondrous fane!

Designed by Lonsdale. Painted by Backler. Engraved by Allen.
Signing of the Magna Charta by King John.
FROM THE GREAT WINDOW OF THE BARONS HALL ARUNDEL CASTLE.
page 27.
LONDON, GEORGE VIRTUE.

CASTLES & ABBEYS OF
ENGLAND

The Castles and Abbeys of England may be justly regarded as the
great fixed landmarks in her history. They stand like monumental pillars in
the stream of time, inscribed with the names of her native chivalry and early
hierarchy, whose patriotic deeds and works of piety they were raised to
witness and perpetuate.
Viewed in this connexion, they are subjects of enduring interest and
curiosity; especially to those whose minds have been strongly imbued with a
love of the arts, a veneration for the great minds and the wise measures of
which they are the splendid memorials. We linger in the feudal court, and
muse in the deserted sanctuary, with emotions which we can hardly define:
in the one our patriotism gathers strength and decision; in the other, that
piety of which it is the outward evidence, sheds a warmer influence on the
heart. We traverse the apartments that once contained the noble founders of
our national Freedom; the venerable and intrepid champions of our Faith; the
revered fathers of our Literature; with a feeling which amounts to almost
devotion. We turn aside to the mouldering gates of our ancestors as a pilgrim
turns to some favourite shrine; to those ruins which were the cradles of
liberty, the residence of men illustrious for their deeds, the stronghold and
sanctuary of their domestic virtues and affections. The mutilated altars of our
religion, the crumbling sepulchres of our forefathers, are pregnant with an
interest which no other source can afford. In these venerable remains, the
visible stamp of sanctity still clings to the threshold; we tread the ground
with a soft silent step, overawed by the solemnity of the scene; we feel that
—although the sacred fire is extinguished on the altar, the hallelujahs hushed
in the quire, and priest and penitent gone for ever—we feel that the presence
of a divinity still hallows the spot; that the wings of the presiding cherubim
are still extended over its altar.
But turning from the cloistered abbey, to the castellated fortress of
antiquity, a new train of associations springs up. The vaulted gateway, the
rudely sculptured shield, the heavy portcullis, and massive towers—all
contrast forcibly with the scene we have just left, but present to the mind’s
eye a no less faithful picture of feudal times. It was from these towers that
the flower of English chivalry went forth under the banner of the Cross—
carried the terror of their arms to the gates of Jerusalem, and earned those
glorious ‘badges’ which are now the proud distinction of their respective
houses.

In a survey of these primitive strongholds, these rude citadels of our
national faith and honour, every feature is invested with traditionary interest.
They are intimately associated with our native Literature, civil and sacred;
with History, Poetry, Painting, and the Drama; with local tradition, legendary
and antiquarian lore.
To the early founders of our castles and abbeys, we are mainly indebted
for the blessings we still enjoy as a free and independent nation. It was the
unflinching fortitude and uncompromising faith of our baronial ancestors
which extorted from the hands of Despotism the grand charters of English
freedom; and, if the men who achieved such things ought to live in the
grateful remembrance of their country, surely the local habitations with
which their names are identified, must ever be viewed as classic scenes with
which the grandeur and glory of England are inseparably connected.
It is there that the very Genius of chivalry still presents himself with that
stern and majestic countenance which views with disdain the ‘luxurious and
degenerate posterity’ which has robbed him of his honours. It is there that
the scenes of other days recur to the imagination in all their native pomp and
solemnity. These were the ancient schools where the manly exercises of
knighthood, the generous virtues of patriotism, fortitude, honour, courtesy
and wisdom, were habitually taught and practised.
The love and reverence of antiquity are imbibed with our earliest classic
discipline; but when we turn to the history of our own country, and
contemplate in her castles, abbeys, and cathedrals, the monuments of her
former greatness, we become animated with a different emotion; we feel the
strong bond of relationship which unites us with their founders. We dwell
with romantic interest on their valour, munificence, hospitality; a hospitality
which was open to all; to knight, pilgrim, and minstrel; to him whose
honoured office “wedded to immortal verse” the fortunes, achievements, and
festivities of the noble owner; and by exciting the first efforts of wit and
fancy, secured an introduction to every species of polite learning—to all the
softer influences by which the stern manners of the age were gradually
softened and refined.
With respect to our ecclesiastical foundations, our abbeys, priories, and
cathedrals; how great is the proportion that was built and endowed by our
ancient nobility! Next to the glory of bearing arms in the Holy Land, was the
desire of founding churches at home; for to honour God with their substance,
to brave every danger in defence of their religion, were maxims that

regulated the chief actions of their lives, and extended their view beyond the
boundaries of time. To them and their long line of descendants, we are
indebted for feats of arms, for examples of Christian fortitude, which have
preserved our throne and constitution inviolate, and raised the British
character to its zenith of national glory. By the practical lessons which they
afford, they inspire us with admiration of their lofty virtues. Their patriotism
at home, their perilous adventures abroad, their indomitable courage and
inflexible faith, their triumphs at the scaffold and the stake,—all evinced a
constancy in virtue, a confidence in God, which nothing could shake or
overthrow.
In the history of feudal times, when turbulence and faction were
constantly troubling the serene atmosphere of public and private life, we
observe the spiritual and temporal power mutually aiding and restraining
each other: both uniting to regulate the balance of the state, to enforce
obedience to the laws, to resist those unconstitutional and oppressive
measures which produced such frequent and painful divisions between the
sovereign and his vassals.
But, while thus adverting to the character and polity of feudal times, we
are far from maintaining that there was no flaw in the system, no flagrant act
of injustice in its administration. On the contrary, we freely admit its
imperfection; but we as freely applaud its excellences. We grant that every
castle had its dungeon; every dungeon, perhaps, its prisoners and captives;
but still, viewed as a scheme of civil freedom, the feudal polity ‘bears a
noble countenance. Deprived of its sustaining power, the very names of right
and privilege must have fallen prostrate at the feet of unlimited despotism.’
If, says Hallam, ‘when the people were poor and disunited, the nobility had
not been brave and free, the tyranny which on every favourable occasion
was breaking through all barriers would have rioted without control.’
In these prefatory remarks, however, we refrain from supporting our
views by the evidence of facts; but to the indulgent reader, who feels an
interest in the subject, and will accompany us in our tour[1] through the
feudal monuments in question, we hope to prove by many interesting
records, anecdotes, and illustrations, the beneficial influence of a system,
prolific beyond all others in the grandeur of its institutions, and forming
what may be justly styled the monumental ages of England.
But along with their graver history, these primitive strongholds of the
national faith and freedom unite a thousand pleasing and faithful pictures of

social life. It was in these palaces, castles, abbeys, halls, and manor-houses,
that, in the ‘merry days of England,’ the festivals of our Church and the fêtes
of Chivalry, were celebrated in all their splendour. It was there the noble host
collected around him his friends and retainers, that the walls were hung with
banners, that steel-clad warders paced the battlements, that the sound of the
horn summoned the guests from the ‘joust’ or the chase,—that the ‘boar’s
head’ smoked on the ample board,—that mantling cups were drained to the
health of ‘beauty,’ and fresh honours decreed to the ‘brave.’
It was in these halls that the ‘Christmas log,’ flashing through the painted
casement, announced the reign of hospitality,—when the ‘roast beef of Old
England,’ her nut-brown October, and the national songs and dance,
conspired to produce one long scene of mirth and festivity; when the
‘harper’ sang those romantic and heroic ballads at which the young caught
fire, and the old threw aside the weight of years. Who can reflect on these
scenes, now the subject of history, without a lively interest in the Castles and
Abbeys of England?
Hitherto, the grand objection to works of this description, has been their
expense, which has confined the circulation of picturesque antiquarian works
to the opulent classes of society. The great recommendation of the present
work is its unprecedented cheapness, being illustrated by original views
taken on the spot, and not amounting in general to more than a twentieth of
the price at which its predecessors in the same field have been published.
6, Park Square, London.

Derived down to us, and received
In a succession, far the noblest way,
Of breeding up our youths in letters, arms,
Fair mien, discourses, civil exercise,
And all the blazon of a gentleman.—
Where can he learn to vault, to ride, to fence,
To move his body gracefully; to speak
His language purer; or to tune his mind
Or manners more to the harmony of Nature
Than in these Nurseries of Nobility?
Ben Jonson’s New Inn. Act I. Scene 3.

N.B. A LIST OF THE NATIONAL RECORDS, ANCIENT CHRONICLES, AND OTHER
STANDARD AUTHORITIES QUOTED, OR REFERRED TO, IN THE FOLLOWING WORK,
WILL BE FOUND ANNEXED TO EACH SUBJECT RESPECTIVELY.

Drawn by T. Allom. Engraved by I. W. Archer.
ARUNDEL CASTLE.

THE CASTLE OF ARUNDEL,
Sussex,

PRINCIPAL SEAT OF HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF NORFOLK, K.G.

Since William rose and Harold fell,
There have been Counts of Arundel;
And Earls old Arundel shall have,
While rivers flow and forests wave.

The Castle of Arundel enjoys a twofold celebrity, in its great antiquity
and in its peculiar privilege of conferring the title of Earl on its possessor.
The former reverts to a period much anterior to the conquest; the latter was
hereditary in the eleventh century, and confirmed by Act of Parliament in the
sixth year of the reign of Henry the Sixth. But its chief and enduring interest
is derived from the long list of warriors and statesmen whose names are

identified with the place; and whose deeds, during the lapse of eight
centuries, have shed lustre on the national history.
The earliest recorded notice of Arundel occurs in the will of the Great
Alfred[2], in which he bequeaths it, along with other lordships, to his
brother’s son Athelm. It is described in that document[3] as a manor, but
without any specific distinction in its privileges from those of Aldingbourn,
Compton, and Beeding, with which it is associated; and to Godwin and his
son Harold, who were successively earls of Sussex[4], it passed, in all
probability, in the same form. It was not till the overthrow of the Saxon
dynasty[5], however, that Arundel assumes a prominent station in history as a
native fortress of strength and importance[6]. Among the train of warlike
barons who attended the Norman in his successful expedition to our coast,
was 1066-1070 Roger de Monte Gomerico, or Montgomery, nearly related
to the Conqueror by blood, and possessing extensive territories in
Normandy[7]. At the battle of Hastings, which placed the British crown on
the head of William, Montgomery led the
centre division of the army[8], and
contributed to the victory. In return for this
important service, and to bind him more
firmly to his interests, the Conqueror four
years afterwards bestowed upon him the
two comtés, or earldoms, of Shrewsbury
and Arundel[9]. Of the six rapes[10] into
which Sussex is divided, two, comprising
Chichester and Arundel, and calculated to
contain eighty-four knights’ fees[11] and a
half, were set apart to form the honour[12] of
Arundel. Of this and his other princely
territories, Montgomery retained possession
during a period of twenty years; and the ample revenues which they
produced enabled him to support that dignity, splendour, and host of
retainers which bespoke the rank of one of the great vassals of the crown. He
was a man, according to Orderic[13], of exemplary prudence and moderation;
a great lover of equity, and of discreet and modest persons. When he
perceived his end approaching, the attachment which he had always felt for a
religious life induced him to solicit admission to the Abbey of Shrewsbury,

which he had founded; and there, three days after he had assumed the
monastic habit[14], he expired in the month of July, 1094. Of his family,
consisting of five sons and four daughters, an account will be found in the
Appendix.
On the death of Roger Montgomery, his English possessions descended
by will to Hugh, his younger son, whose life, like that of his brother
Robert, was spent in wars of retaliation and aggression; seconding the
enterprises of the turbulent nobles of his period; alternately opposing, and
punished by, the king. 1098-1102 When an attempt was made upon the island
of Anglesea by the king of Norway[15], Hugh made all haste to give him a
warm reception; but although the enemy was put to flight, one of his arrows
taking effect upon the Earl of Arundel[16], entered at the eye, and passing
through the brain, struck him dead from his horse. He was buried in
Shrewsbury. From Hugh the earldom passed to his elder brother Robert,
Comte of Belesme, in La Perche, on payment of a fine to the king of three
thousand pounds—an immense sum at that period. But on the revolt of the
latter, when his possessions were forfeited to King Henry the First, the
honour and castle of Arundel were resumed as property of the Crown.
By Henry they were settled in dower upon his second queen, Adeliza,
daughter of Godfrey, Duke of Lorraine, who on the death of the king
conveyed them by a second marriage to William de
Albini, lord of Buckenham in
Norfolk, of whose descendants we shall
make more deliberate mention hereafter.
When the Empress Matilda, daughter
of Henry the First, and mother of Henry
the Second, landed in England in 1139,
to assert her claims against the usurper
Stephen, she was received, as will
hereafter be noticed, at Arundel, and
lodged with her retinue in the castle—an
event which served greatly to advance
and establish the fortunes of Albini. For
the news of her landing having alarmed
the Usurper, he drew his forces
immediately under the walls, and laid close siege to the castle. Albini,

however, not only preserved his royal guest from violence, but, by good
generalship or caution, secured for her a safe-conduct to Bristol, from which
she took shipping and returned to the Continent.
On the accession of her son, Henry the Second, this and other faithful
services were not forgotten by the sovereign, who, to testify the sense in
which he viewed Albini’s devotion to his cause, confirmed to him and to his
heirs for ever the honour and castle of Arundel[17]. He died in 1176, and
William, his son and successor, in 1196.
William de Albini, the third in regular descent who enjoyed the
earldom of Arundel, is well known in history as one of the barons who
signed the Magna Charta, and otherwise evinced himself one of the most
talented and enterprising men of his day. Having died on his way home
through Italy in 1221, he was succeeded by his son William, the fourth earl,
who dying early, without issue, was succeeded by his brother, Hugh de
Albini, the last of the race. Hugh died in 1243, leaving four sisters, or their
representatives, as his co-heirs, amongst whom, under a special commission
from the Crown, his manorial estates were divided. Of these four sisters, the
second, Isabel, had married Fitzalan of Oswaldestre; and to her son John
Fitzalan, as nephew to the late Earl Hugh, the castle of Arundel and all its
appurtenances descended by inheritance. This was the beginning of a new
line of Earls—the Fitzalans of Arundel, six of whom in succession held that
distinguished rank in the state.
The Fitzalan Family, like those of
Montgomery and Albini, was of Norman origin, and
descended from Alan, the son of Fleald, who
attended the Conqueror at the battle of Hastings, and
received, amongst other spoils of the vanquished, the
castle of Madoc-ap-Meredith in Wales, with the
lordship of Oswaldestre in Salop. His wife was a
daughter of Warren-the-Bald, sheriff of Shropshire,
and consequently grand-niece of Roger
Montgomery. By her he had two sons; William, who,
adopting his patronymic, was called Fitz-Alan; and
Walter, who, pursuing his fortunes in Scotland and
being appointed by King David grand-steward of the kingdom, became the
progenitor of the royal family of Stuart[18]. William Fitzalan, the elder

brother, married Ellen, daughter of William Peverel, and niece of Robert,
Earl of Gloucester, and with her obtained a large accession of property in
Bretagne. He defended Shrewsbury against Stephen, fought with the
Empress Matilda at Winchester, and at the accession of Henry the Second
was appointed sheriff of Shropshire. At his death he left an only son,
William, whose marriage with Isabel, daughter and heiress of Ingelram-de-
Say, added the extensive lordship of Clun to the patrimonial possessions of
the family; when the titles of Clun and Oswaldestre were first united, and
continue in the Howard family to the present day. After the death of William,
the first lord of these honours, his son and successor survived him only five
years, and leaving no issue, the property devolved on his brother, John
Fitzalan, who, in concert with the Barons, opposed the tyrannical measures
of the king, and was appointed by Henry the Third one of the Lords
Marchers in Wales. At his death he was succeeded by his only son, the
subject of this notice, and first of his family who was Earl of Arundel.
On two occasions, however, the family honours and property were
alienated by attainder, and given in the first instance to Edmund, Earl of
Kent; and in the latter to Holland, Duke of Exeter. This took place in the
persons of Edmund the third, and Richard the fifth earl; but in both cases
their sons were restored to that station and inheritance which their own
political offences had forfeited.
1415 Thomas, the sixth earl of the Fitzalan line, dying without issue, left
three sisters as his co-heirs. But his grandfather, Richard, in order to prevent
the further division of the honour, had entailed it first upon his Countess for
the term of her natural life; and then on the heirs male of his own body, by
the said Countess Alianor, with remainders over. In pursuance of this
arrangement, therefore, the castle and estates of Arundel passed, on the
demise of Earl Thomas, to his second-cousin, John Fitzalan, Lord
Maltravers, from whom it again descended through a succession of seven
earls of the united families of Fitzalan and Maltravers—many of them highly
distinguished, and terminated in Henry, the twenty-second Earl of Arundel.
Henry’s only son, a youth of splendid accomplishments, had died at
Brussels; and of his two daughters, Joan, the elder, was married to Lord
Lumley; and Mary to Thomas Howard, fourth Duke of Norfolk. But the
latter, having died after giving birth to a son, Philip Howard; and the other,
Lady Lumley, having been married twenty years without issue; a fine was
levied in 1570, by which the earl, ten years previous to his death, entailed

Cui genus a proavis ingens, clarumque paternæ
Nomen erat Virtutis.

With this brief and hasty sketch of the origin of the Castle of Arundel
and its powerful lords, whose deeds and destinies shed around its history
feelings of mingled sympathy and admiration; we turn aside to view the
fortress, whose apartments have been the hereditary asylum and berçeau of
patriotism, chivalry, piety, and British independence, during a period of eight
centuries.
Combien de souvenirs ici sont retracés!
J’aime à voir ces glacis, ces angles, ces fossés,
Ces vestiges épars des siéges, des batailles,
Ces boulets qu’arrêta l’épaisseur des murailles.

To the great antiquity of Arundel Castle we have
already adverted. Bevis[20]—a hero of romance—is
currently believed to have been its founder; but
however easily this may be disputed, the fact of its
having been a royal fortress, long before the
Conquest, seems fully established. The earliest
recorded evidence to this effect appears in the
Domesday Survey, where it is stated that, in the time
of Edward the Confessor, the castle of Arundel[21]
rendered for a certain mill forty shillings, for one
pasture twenty shillings; and that between the town,
the port, and the customs of the shipping, it rendered twelve pounds, and was
worth thirteen.
But as the name and epoch of its founder remain in total obscurity[22],
conjecture, however plausible or ingenious, would here be fruitless; and
leaving the fanciful antiquary and etymologist to indulge their several tastes
in exploring the labyrinth of fable, we turn at once to the broad noon of
history, to draw from authentic sources such facts as may appear in some
respects more extraordinary than fiction.
The Castle of Arundel, in point of situation, presents every advantage
which could be desired for the erection of a military fortress. At the southern
extremity of the elevated platform on which it stands, a strong wall inclosed
the inner court, containing upwards of five acres; on the north-east and

south-east a
precipitous
dip of the
hill, to at
least ninety
feet,
rendered
the castle
inaccessible
. On the
remaining
sides, a
deep fosse,
protected
on the north
by a double
vallation,
and cutting
off all
external communication in that direction, secured the garrison against any
sudden incursion or surprise. Or, if assailed,—
From gate and battlemented tower
Fell the warder’s iron shower—
And swift and sharp, from twanging yew,
The feathered shafts incessant flew.

In the centre of this spacious area, rose the donjon or Keep, circular in
form, of enormous strength, crowning a lofty artificial mound, and
commanding a wide and uninterrupted view of all the neighbouring
approaches. The height of the mount, from the bottom of the fosse on the
external side, was seventy feet; on the internal, sixty-nine; and with that of
the walls and battlements, by which it was crowned, presented a
commanding elevation on the east of ninety-six feet; and on the west, of one
hundred and three. The walls, measuring from eight to ten feet in thickness,
inclosed a nearly circular space, varying between fifty-nine and sixty-seven
feet in diameter, which afforded accommodation for the garrison. The
apartments, judging from the corbel stones still remaining, appear to have
been arranged round the walls, converging towards the centre, from which

they received their light, as from an open cupola. Externally there were
neither loop-holes nor openings in the masonry, from which, as in other
keeps, an army could be annoyed; so that it was only from the ramparts and
battlements that the garrison could repel an assault.—See Dallaway’s Rape
of Arundel and Horsted’s History.
Such in all probability was the ‘Castrum de Harundel’ when the
Conqueror placed it in the hands of Roger Montgomery, and such as it had
been when erected by the wise policy of King Alfred. At this time the Keep
appears to have comprised the whole strength of the place, the barbican or
outer rampart excepted; so that to give it the strength and space of a Norman
castle, by contributing those improvements which the circumstances of the
time demanded, and of which its natural position was highly susceptible,
engaged the first care of its Norman possessor. The external walls,
accordingly, were faced with a new casing of Caen stone; the whole
structure was supported at intervals by broad flat buttresses; and on the
south-east side of the Keep an improved
entrance was effected, where the
Norman art is still visible. It is a
wide semicircular archway cut
through the solid wall, ornamented
on the inner side with a plain torus
moulding, and terminated on the
outer by a smaller arch, richly
carved with the chevron and other
ornaments in common use during
the latter part of the eleventh
century.[23]
But of all the architectural
improvements effected by Roger
Montgomery in the wide area
beneath the Keep, the most conspicuous in the present day is the great
Gateway. It consists of a square tower standing over an arched way, which
forms the entrance to the court, and communicates with the Keep by a raised
passage carried across the moat, and terminated by a flight of steps. The
upper part of this tower is supposed to be the work of the thirteenth century;
but the lower portion, comprising the whole of the covered-way, retains its
original stamp, and presents a striking specimen of Norman taste. The arch is

circular, without a keystone, and quite destitute of ornament. The arch, as
well as all that remains of the ancient front of the tower, is composed of
square blocks of Pulborough stone, the angles of which still preserve their
original sharpness. A portcullis was formerly placed at the outer extremity of
the passage, which was probably still further strengthened by a drawbridge
over the fosse immediately beneath it.[24]—See the engravings.
The Barbican, or Bebis’ Tower, as it is generally called, is another of
those warlike adjuncts by which the Norman baron strengthened and
improved his new residence. It occupies the north-west side of the ditch by
which the Keep is surrounded, and, notwithstanding the ravages of siege and
storm, presents many of the characteristic features of Norman architecture. It
is an oblong tower, supported by a huge buttress at each of its angles, and
originally was of considerable elevation; but during the Parliamentary siege,
about to be noticed, the upper part was destroyed, and the temporary roof
which now covers it was supplied at a later period. The whole is now
invested with a luxuriant mantle of ivy, and presents, like the adjoining
Keep, a green pyramidal mass of foliage, through which at intervals the grey
stone and white mortar are discernible. It is haunted ground—
For there, ’tis said, ’mid scenes forlorn,
When midnight spreads her dreary pall,
The blast of Bebis’ bugle-horn
Rings loudly from its ramparts tall.
While, starting to the unearthly sound,
Warrior spectres gather round;
And dismal through the dusky air,
Banners gleam and torches glare—
Till all, at cock-crow, to their shrouds
Shrink away like fleeting clouds.

Under the east end of the Castle is an immense vault, described by a late
historian of the Castle as sixty-six feet in length by nearly twenty-one feet in
width, and upwards of fourteen feet high. The arches are circular, and
formed of square blocks of chalk strengthened by four transverse ribs of
massive stone. The walls, varying in thickness, present at different parts
externally a compact mass of seven feet and upwards. This is the dismal
receptacle in which the unhappy captive whom the fortune of war had placed
at the mercy of his feudal lord, or the culprit who had violated the laws, were
shut up in miserable durance. Few have ever traversed that dreary vault
without an involuntary shudder, as imagination conjured up the scenes of

human agony that must have transpired unheard, unpitied, under the veil of
its sepulchral darkness—
Where oft, at the dark and midnight watch,
As the sentry walks his round,
The wail of pain, and the clanking chain,
Send forth a dismal sound.

1404 A curious instance of escape from this dungeon, in connexion with
the law of sanctuary, is recorded by Mr. Tierney, on the authority of Bishop
Rede’s Register:—A person named John Mot, having been committed on a
charge of robbery, contrived to elude the vigilance of his keepers, passed the
enclosure of the castle, and had
nearly succeeded in effecting his
retreat, when his flight becoming
known, the constable, assisted by a
part of the inhabitants, followed in
close pursuit. Finding that he was
likely to be overtaken, the fugitive
turned to the College of the Holy
Trinity, and seizing the ring
attached to the gate, claimed the
rights of sanctuary. The constable,
however, appears to have doubted
the validity of this appeal to
ecclesiastical protection, and the
captive was forcibly disengaged, and hurried back to prison. But the
circumstance got wind; rumours of the occurrence soon spread through the
neighbourhood; the immunities of the church and the laws of sanctuary were
said to have been violated; two of the parties who had aided the constable in
securing the offender were summoned before the bishop, to answer the
charge in person. Being questioned, and found guilty, they were ordered to
make a pilgrimage on foot to the shrine of St. Richard, at Chichester, to
present an offering there according to their ability; to be cudgelled (fustigati)
five times through the church of Arundel, and five times to recite the Pater-
noster, the Ave, and the Creed, upon their knees before the crucifix at the
high-altar. Before, however, this sentence could be carried into execution, it
was ascertained that, on discovery of the error which had been committed,
the captive had been “restored to the church.” The cudgelling was therefore

ordered to be remitted; and an offering of a burning taper by each of the
offending parties at the high-mass on the following Sunday, was substituted
in its place.[25]
Of the Baronial Chapel, believed to have been erected at the same
time, and now converted into the modern dining-room of the castle, little is
known, beyond the fact of its having existed in the latter part of the
thirteenth century[26]. During the minority of Richard Fitzalan, a royal patent
was issued, by which we learn that the king, in right of the wardship which
he possessed, presented to “the chapel of St. George, within the castle of
Arundel.”[27] From that early period, down to the close of the last century,
when the late Duke entered upon his plans for restoring the castle to its
original splendour, this hallowed apartment had served as the family oratory
of the Montgomeries, the Albinis, the Fitzalans, the Howards. But
the rich and beautiful Gothic temple which the Duke has substituted has, in
some degree, compensated for the metamorphosis to which the primitive
altar of the family has been subjected. The spot, however, where an altar had
stood for centuries—at which so many generations had knelt in their joy or
their sorrow; had paid the tribute of gratitude in prosperity, and implored
succour in adversity; at which the marriage benediction, the baptismal rite,
and the solemn service for the dead, had been so long and often celebrated—
such a spot, however transformed by the hand of man, to whatever secular
purposes converted, possesses that inherent sanctity which no disguise can
obliterate—
Unseen a hallowed incense fills the air,
And mystic voices peal the notes of prayer.
Still round that shrine where once the VIRGIN smiled,
And kings and shepherds hailed the SAVIOUR-CHILD,
A seraph watches with extended wing,
And angel-quires their songs of triumph sing.

The South-east front of Arundel Castle, which crowns an abrupt
descent overlooking the river Arun, appears, in common with the dungeon
already described, to have been the work of Montgomery, and contemporary
with the adjoining tower. This opinion is confirmed by the close resemblance
of its external masonry to that of the keep; as well as by the remains of some
double round-headed windows, still visible in the walls, and which strictly

correspond with double arches in Winchester Cathedral, built about the same
epoch by Walkelin, cousin of William the Conqueror.
1094 Whatever appears to have been necessary for the strength and
security of a Norman baron and his retainers, seems to have been fully and
expeditiously effected by Earl Roger, whose experienced eye and warlike
spirit soon detected the weak points of Arundel Castle, and supplied a
remedy in those massive walls and outworks, which, with a well-disciplined
garrison, must have rendered it impregnable in all the ordinary extremities of
foreign or domestic warfare. The earl who next employed his taste and
munificence in the work, was Richard Fitzalan, the third of his family, to
whom we shall return in a subsequent notice. Having obtained a patent,
authorising him to strengthen the defences of the town, by enclosing it on the
exposed sides with walls, he appears to have availed himself of the same
opportunity to rebuild the upper part of the old gatehouse, which had now
stood upwards of a century, and to enlarge it on the west by the erection of
an external gateway, a correct engraving of which is here introduced.
It consists of a long covered passage, “approached originally by a
drawbridge over the fosse;” the entrance is under an “obtusely-pointed arch
without machicolations, defended by a portcullis, and flanked by two square
embattled towers, which are divided into four stories of apartments.” The
lowest of these comprises the dungeons, entirely dark, and sunk to a depth of
nearly fifteen feet below the bottom of the fosse. The upper rooms are
lighted externally by narrow label-headed windows; and at the west corner a
chamber, which extends along the whole of the covered-way, communicates
with one of these apartments. This central chamber is still perfect, and
accessible, by a spiral stone staircase, from the passage below. In the north
wall of the archway is the ancient sally-port[28], which opens into the ditch.
The foundation of the well-tower, and the construction of the present
entrance to the Keep, are of similar origin with the gateway. Originally it
was of considerable elevation; but having suffered by the united efforts of
time and violence, the upper part was taken down by order of the late Duke,
and the rubbish thrown into the well, which, according to our cicerone, was
three hundred feet in depth[29]. In most of the ancient fortresses, situated on
lofty and commanding situations, the garrison-well was always an object of
paramount interest. The labour and ingenuity with which it was constructed,
and the almost incredible depth to which it was often found necessary to

perforate, before an adequate supply of that indispensable requisite, pure
water, could be secured, are sufficient to excite our curiosity and admiration.
In the square tower immediately adjoining, on the east side, is “the
present entrance to the Keep. Its narrow pointed arch is concealed beneath
the dark projection of the tower; whilst the portcullis which once closed its
approach, and the steep winding ascent which conducts to it, must have
rendered the position of this garrison impregnable”—so far as that could be
accomplished by art; for it is only in the hands of the truly brave that any
place can be pronounced impregnable[30].
The tower, which is a continuation of that built over the well, is
curiously contrived: its eastern wall is built against the old Norman door-
way, in such a manner as to include within it about one-third of the open
space of the arch. Parallel with this wall, on the inner side, is another erected

about three feet distant, forming a long narrow slit within the tower, which,
by means of the enclosed portion of the ancient arch, opens a direct
communication with the interior of the Keep. Over this covered space is a
sort of stone funnel, resembling a chimney, with an opening into a chamber
above; and immediately below, at the base of the outer wall, is a very small
pointed arch, which is supposed to have been intended either as a sally-port,
or as a private entrance to the fortress when other avenues were necessarily
closed. Scarcely rising above the surface, it escaped observation, and
enabled a spy to disappear almost as if he had sunk into the earth; whilst, in
case of discovery or of an enemy attempting to force a passage by this
aperture, the funnel above presented a prompt sluice, through which melted
lead, boiling water, and other destructive missiles could be discharged upon
the heads of the intruders, so as completely to cut of all access to the
interior[31].
The ancient Chapel or Oratory of the
garrison is another of those architectural
features which owe their foundation to
Richard Fitzalan. It was dedicated to St.
Martin, and together with that of St.
George—the Baronial Chapel already
noticed—is mentioned in Domesday
Survey, as enjoying an annual rent of
twelve-pence, payable by one of the
burgesses of Arundel[32]. The view from
this consecrated spot, as observed through
the opening of its mutilated arches, offers
one of the finest coups-d’œil in this
romantic and commanding position. The
chapel is a relic of great interest—but
only a relic, for
Now loud, now fainter
The gale sweeps thro’ its fretwork, and oft sings
The owl his anthem, where the silenced quire
Lie with their hallelujahs quenched like fire.

The Keep of Arundel Castle,—for so many ages the residence of a
warlike garrison,—is now abandoned to the ‘owls and bats.’ Of the former,

the breed is peculiar to the place, and the largest in the kingdom. To the
student of natural history, a visit to their domicile is a treat of no common
interest. Strangers often resort from a great distance to make acquaintance
with them; and many who attach little importance to Minerva, are struck
with the gravity of her representatives in Arundel-Keep.
The “portraits,” here introduced,
were taken from life, with a peep
into their domestic economy, which
is conducted in the old niche-like
fire-place of the garrison, where the
steel-clad warrior of other days has
often prepared his hasty mess, or
chafed his limbs after a cold night-
watch on the battlements. There is
here, perhaps, no fox to look out
from the loophole and bay the
moon; but these Owls are no
unpoetical substitutes to proclaim
the changes that have come over
this once thickly peopled fortress.
When we visited them in
October last, they consisted of three
couples, and in size and appearance
fully justified the character we had
heard of them. They are not permitted, however, to remain at large; a strong
circular netting is thrown over the Keep, and under this awning they may
enjoy everything—except liberty. They have the advantage also of separate
niches for the enjoyment of connubial happiness: but it is easy to observe
that, not having freedom, they fancy they have nothing worth having. The
custodé, in order to show them off to advantage, dislodged a couple; and
certainly the expanse of wing which they showed in their flight to the
opposite side, was much more like that of an eagle than an owl. At that
moment the fact of their being prisoner seemed to have been forgotten; for
when removed from their perch by an unceremonious ‘poke’ of the keeper’s
rod of office, they made an ambitious attempt to soar at once into the sky;
but the netting was too strong, and, compelled to keep a horizontal flight,

they dropped sulkily into a niche in the opposite wall, with a peculiar
barking sound, very expressive of indignation and disappointment.
Several of these horned owls, as curious specimens of natural history,
have been stuffed, and advanced to posthumous honours in the Castle
gallery. With one of them, the patriarch of the family, an anecdote is
connected, which in justice to his memory we think it our duty to record:—
Some years ago an elderly gentleman on his way through Arundel, took
advantage of a short halt at the Norfolk Arms to visit the Castle. He was
much pleased, as all sensible visitors must be, with everything he saw, but
most with the grave moping owls of the Keep. But of all the family, one in
particular had a sagacity of expression which appeared to engross the whole
attention of his visitor. His horns long, and horizontally projecting from
either temple; his scarlet-coloured eyes, that seemed as if they had become
inflamed by long-continued study; his wings that hung loosely about him
like a professor’s gown; his face, his feet—every feature in short, seemed to
say—This is no common owl.
‘He’s a sagacious fellow, this!’ observed the stranger. ‘Very, sir,’ said the
keeper, ‘very!—We always calls him the Chancellor.’ ‘The what? the
chancellor?’ ‘Yes, sir; sometimes the chancellor and sometimes Lord Eldon
—he’s so very wise!’—the stranger was highly amused at finding a
namesake under the ivy in Arundel Keep; and we need scarcely add that the
visitor was, in fact, the chancellor himself—the late venerable and learned
Lord Eldon.
s an ‘ivy-mantled tower,’ this Keep is without a rival
in all we can recollect of foreign and domestic
castles. The artificial mound on which it stands, is a
dense mass of ornamental trees and shrubs—half
girdled by a solitary walk along the bottom of the
ancient fosse, over which the redundant verdure
throws a delicious freshness. On the side facing the
open court, the masonry of the Keep is concealed
under a thick mantle of ivy, which climbs to the very
summit, and in its ascent, flings its luxuriant festoons over every projecting
fragment. The interior is clothed with the same perennial drapery; and once
deserted by man, nature has taken the ruin under her own immediate
protection—repairing the shattered walls, filling up every blank, and
mantling the whole in her own livery.

To those who are fond of romantic scenes and impressions, it would be
difficult to select a more congenial spot than the Keep in question;
particularly by moonlight, when all the rich and waving outline of the ruin is
brought forward in bright silver tracery. In certain conditions of that
luminary, the effect of light and shade is peculiarly striking; and it requires
but little assistance from imagination to embody, among its isolated
projections, the airy forms of sentinels planted at various intervals; their
arms coming every now and then into sudden relief, as the moon touches the
glittering leaves with her

fitful light, and the night breeze communicates to the detached branches a
sort of temporary, life-like movement. It is then that airy visions are said to
haunt the place, and not unfrequently cross the path of the intruder:—

For oft on the mouldering Keep by night
Earl Roger takes his stand,
With the sword that shone at Hastings’ fight,
Firm grasped in his red right hand!
Then he calls his spectre-knights by name—
To their spectre-Chief they fly
When each gauntlet rears its bristling spears,
To their Norman battle-cry!
But beware—beware to wander there,
At the mass of the blessed Yule
When, with spectral forms in glittering arms,
That haunted Keep is full!
’Tis then they shout, as they shouted once
When our Saxon standard fell;
And the Norman blade its carnage stayed
At the sound of Harold’s knell! etc.—MS

Of the four original towers, planted at regular intervals around the
enclosed space beyond the Keep, all, with the exception of the barbican
already mentioned, appear to have been the work of the period in question.
They are of the same form as that of the outer gateway, and have the
facilities of free intercourse by means of a connecting walk along the
ramparts. They were all dismantled during the last siege; but in the ruins
which still remain, the characteristic style of Earl Richard is apparent. Two
sally-ports of the same date, and at opposite sides of the enclosure, may still
be seen in a state of preservation.—See ‘History of the Castle.’—50.
The next embellishment bestowed upon the Castle of Arundel was the
great Hall. It was erected by Richard, grandson of the Richard Fitzalan
whose taste and munificence had contributed the addition already
mentioned.
It was in the style of Edward the Third; with an entrance from the court,
through a deep pointed doorway, under a plain projecting porch. The hall
itself was entirely demolished during the Parliamentary siege referred to in
these pages; but the remaining doorway continued to indicate the splendour
of the original design, till its place was occupied by a still more striking and
elaborate structure—the Barons’ Hall of the present century.
The last addition to this baronial seat of so many illustrious families, was
the wing on the north-east side; but when the restoration of the Castle was
commenced under the auspices of the late Duke, this was removed to make
room for the great library. The character of its architecture was that of the

time of Henry the Eighth. It consisted of
the family apartments, with a splendid
gallery, a hundred and twenty feet in
length, lighted by eight windows looking
into the court, and erected by Earl Henry,
the last of the Fitzalans.
In the preceding outline we have
endeavoured to convey a general idea of
the Castle of Arundel, as it appeared at
the commencement of the seventeenth
century—enriched by the labour of
centuries, and the accumulated fame of
the Montgomeries, the Albinis, the
Fitzalans, and the Howards; all of whom
had manifested a strong attachment to the place, strengthened by
associations which connected them with the most brilliant events of English
history, and identified their names and fortunes with those of Arundel. But at
the disastrous period of the great civil war, the noble proprietor was an exile.
The succession of calamities, which had given the family history of his
immediate predecessors such mournful interest, was still felt in its
consequences, and contributed, with other causes, to invest the fortress of his
ancestors with many bitter as well as bright remembrances. Under these
circumstances, the possession of Arundel Castle became an object of
sanguinary contention between the Royal and Parliamentary leaders, and,
being alternately taken and retaken, was as often delivered up to the reckless
fury of its captors.
1642. Sir Ralph Hopton having received orders to dislodge the
Parliamentary troops, marched from his head-quarters at Winchester, and
laid siege to Arundel. The garrison was not in a condition to offer any
effectual resistance, and on the third day the Royal standard was floating
from the Keep. Placing the fortress in as defensive a position as time and
circumstances would permit, and delegating the command to Sir Edward
Ford, Hopton returned to Winchester. This was too favourable an occasion to
be lost sight of by the Parliament, and Sir William Waller was instructed
to take instant measures for the recovery of the Castle. His march was
greatly facilitated by a severe frost, so that the cross-roads, which would
otherwise have been impassable, were sufficiently hard to admit of his

transporting the cavalry and heavy ordnance to the scene of action; and on
Tuesday, the nineteenth of December, his guns were directed against the
Castle.
On the Friday following, a despatch from Waller was read in the House of
Lords, in which he details the progress of the siege in terms so characteristic
of the times, that we cannot omit its insertion in this place:—“My Lords,
According to your commands, I advanced the last Lord’s day from Farnham
to this place. I could not reach that night past Haslemere; the nexte day I
marched to Cowdray, where we understanding there were four troopes of
horse and one hundred foote, I resolved to give them the good night; and to
that end I
despatched away
two regiments of
horse to lay the
passage round; but
they were too
nimble for me, and
escaped hither,
where I overtook
them on Tuesday
night. The next
morning, after we
had taken a view,
and found out a
place where we
might flank their
line with our
ordnance, we fell
in upon the north
side of the workes;
and we did so
scower a weedy
hill in the park, on
the west side of
the pond, with our pieces, that we made it too hot for them, which gave such
courage to our men, that with the same breath they assaulted an
entrenchment newly cast up, and which was very strong. It was drawn from

the town gate down to the aforesaid pond near the mill. At the same time we
fell on a narrow passage near the mill, where they had likewise a double
work and very strong; but in a short time, by the good hand of God, we
forced both, and entered the town with our horse and foote, notwithstanding
a brave sally made by their horse. We beat them into the castle, and entered
the first gate with them; the second they made good and barricaded; and they
are there welcome to stay. I am resolved to block them up, for I know they
are in a necessitous condition. God hath been pleased to blesse me hitherto
with a gracious successe, his great and holy name be praysed! But truely, my
Lord, I am very weake in foote, and my horse so hackneyed out that they are
ready to lie down under us. I expect Colonel Behre and Colonel Morley here
this day.”
The progress of the siege is too lengthy for detail in this place; but we
proceed with a few extracts characteristic of the spirit with which it was
conducted:—“To-day,” says the relation, “Major Bodley did a notable
exploit; he, perceiving divers in the castle looking forth in a balcone, took
unto himself and twelve others their muskets into a private place of
advantage, from whence they already discharged into the said balcone, and
slew and wounded divers of the enemy.” A very ‘notable exploit’ indeed! the
said Major appears to have been one of those heroes who like ‘to shoot
round a corner.’ “The same day,” continues the narrative, “two sacres were
planted in the steeple with divers musquetiers, who, on Friday morning
betimes, played hotly on the enemy, which appeared on the top of the Castle.
(The church steeple is within easy musket-shot of the battlements.) The same
day divers were taken in their intended escape from the Castle: also, the
contents of a pond being drained, it emptied the wells of water within the
Castle, so that now the enemy began to be distressed with thirst; divers fled
from the Castle and were taken prisoners.” “On Sunday,” agreeably to the
record, “divers more fled; many horses were turned forth, of which our
soldiers made a good purchase; only one of them was shot by the enemy,
whose bloody crueltie and inhuman malice did mightily appear against us, in
that they took and hewed him all to pieces, which, doubtlesse, they would
have done to us, had we been likewise in their power. On Tuesday the enemy
made shew of a salley, but hereupon the drums did beat and the trumpets
sounded; all our men were presently gathered together in a fit posture to
charge the enemy, when they presently took to their heels, and so manfully
retreated. On Tuesday we planted ordnance in a new place against the Castle,

which made the enemy that they durst not peep over the walls to shoot at us.
On Wednesday divers came forth again into the balcone, having forgot the
former danger, whereupon we placed divers musquetiers in the ruins of an
old chappel, from whence we did good execution upon them”—adopting, it
is presumed, the aforesaid practice of Major Bodley, of shooting round the
corner. “On Thursday more of the enemies were taken escaping out of the
Castle, and that afternoon the enemy hung out a white flag pretending a
parley, and calling to some of our men, delivered them letters directed to our
Generall, in which they desired sack, tobacco, cards and dice to be sent unto
them, to make merry this idle time, promising to return for them beef and
mutton; but the truth is,” says the narrator, “they wanted even bread and
water, and that night did put divers live oxen over the walls of the Castle, for
want of fodder.” In another place he mentions that “some of the enemies fled
out of the castle, and escaped by the river Arun, in a boat made of a raw oxe
hide.” There was also skirmishing between Hopton’s and Waller’s horse, to
the advantage of the latter. “On Friday the fifth of January, on the eve of
capitulation, the enemy,” says he, “began to feel the fruits of their deserts,
being extremely pinched with famine.”
The next letter, dated January 6, 1643, is addressed by Waller to Lieut.-
General the Earl of Essex:—“My Lord, on Thursday the enemy sent a
drummer to me, signifying their willingness to surrender the Castle, if they
might have honourable conditions. I returned answer, that, when I first
possessed myself of the town, I summoned them into the Castle to yield
upon fair quarter; I now took them at their word, and bid them yield to
mercy. That
night I heard no more of them; but the next morning the drummer came to
me again, with another letter, wherein they disavowed that answer to my
trumpet, laying the blame upon one who, they say, had no more soldiery than
civility, that without their assent or knowledge had given that language. I
sent them answer, that I was very well satisfied, that, in this disavowing that
rashness, they had made room for courtesy; and that I was contented to give
them fair quarter, and that, according to their desire formerly expressed, if
they would send out to me two officers of quality, I would employ two of
equal condition to treat with them about the particulars of the surrender.
Within a short time after, there came out unto me Colonel Bamfield and
Major Bodvil, who pressed very much that they might have liberty to march
away like soldiers, otherwise they would choose death rather than life; and

so broke off.
About two hours
after they sent
out unto me
Lieut.-Colonel
Rawlins and
Major Moulin,
who, after some
debate, came to
an agreement
with me that this
morning they
would deliver
the castle into
my hands by ten
of the clock,
with colours and
arms undefaced
and unspoiled;
and that the
gentlemen and
officers should
have fair quarter
and civil usage,
and the ordinary
soldiers quarter.
For the
performance of
these covenants, Sir Edward Ford and Sir Edward Bishop were immediately
to be yielded to me, which was accordingly done.
“This morning we entered, and are now, blessed be God, in possession of
that place. We have taken seventeen colours of foot, and two of horse, and
one thousand prisoners, one with another, besides one hundred and sixty,
which we took at the first entering of the town, and such as came from the
enemy to us during the siege. I humbly desire that the London regiments
may be sent hither to secure this important place, while I advance with what
strength I have towards the enemy, who lye at Havant.—I humbly rest,” &c.

The result of this siege was ruinous to the Castle. Its successive
occupation by two hostile garrisons; the destructive means employed from
within for its defence, and from without for its reduction, left its halls
roofless, its noble apartments unlatticed; its Keep, gates, and battlements
rent and neglected; and from that day
“Its huge old halls of knightly state,
Dismantled lay and desolate.”

At length, after an interval of seventy years, Thomas Duke of Norfolk,
having determined to rescue the baronial seat of his ancestors from utter
destruction, repaired the old and added new apartments, till it was once more
in a habitable condition. But the restoration to which we have more
especially to refer in this place, was commenced in 1786 by the late Duke,
who continued it till his demise in 1815—an interval of nearly thirty years,
during which, although he is said to have expended six hundred thousand
pounds in the execution of his plan, it is still incomplete. The noble
proprietor, himself an amateur in the science of architecture, superintended
all the designs; and wherever any precious relique of antiquity was to be
found, it was carefully drawn or modelled by skilful artists, and introduced
into the plan of the Castle. Hence the richness and variety observable in the
doors, windows, niches, and architectural ornaments so profusely employed
on three sides of the quadrangle.
The grand entrance to the court-yard of the Castle is formed by a
lofty arched gateway of immense bulk, and generally admired for the
architectural dignity and grandeur of the design. The effect is striking at first
sight, and conveys to the mind of the visitor a feature highly characteristic of
a feudal residence. The arch is pointed, surmounted by a heavy
machicolation, and flanked by two hexagonal towers, which, according to
the original design, were to have been ‘encircled with an external gallery,
terminating at each angle in a turret,’ but the design remains unfinished.
Compared, however, with the old gateway, which speaks so audibly of other
times, the modern structure possesses no interest; and to enjoy the
impression, the stranger must endeavour to divest his mind of the fact that it
is a building of yesterday, otherwise he will be apt to exclaim with Delille, in
his indignation of modern imitations:—

“Mais loin . . . . .
Ces restes d’un château qui n’exista jamais:
Ces vieux ponts nés d’hier, et cette tour gothique,
Ayant l’air délabré sans avoir l’air antique,
Artifice à la fois impuissant et grossier.”

On entering the court through this gateway, the first object that strikes
the eye is a large bas-relief on the opposite side, representing Alfred the
Great instituting the trial by jury on Salisbury Plain. The spot chosen was by
the side of a dead wall. In his left hand is a roll of parchment, half unfurled,
with the Saxon sentence:—“That man fiœbbe gemot on œlcum wœpentace.”
“That man in every hundred shall find twelve jury.” It occupies a large
portion of the front of that part of the Castle next to the great library, and
bearing the appropriate title of the ‘Alfred Saloon.’ But from the

faithful and spirited etching here introduced, the reader will obtain a much
clearer idea of the subject than from any description. It is strictly historical,
and was designed by Rossi. It is probable, however, that this admirable
institution did not originate with Alfred, but that it was only improved and
perfected by him[33].

On the right of the gateway stands the Baronial Chapel, a modern
erection of florid Gothic, with pinnacles, niches, buttresses, all in the best
taste and of elaborate workmanship. The interior is not finished, but the duke
intended to have done so after the models of ancient Saxon and Norman
churches, copies of which had been already procured at the time of his
demise.
Adjoining the chapel is the Barons’ Hall or banquet-chamber, a
building much admired. Over four beautiful Saxon arches is a raised parapet,
along the base of which are seen, sculptured in stone, a variety of
hieroglyphic figures, taken from antique designs, illustrative of the family
history, and procured from the Herald’s College, of which his Grace is
hereditary Earl Marshal.

The south side of the quadrangle is part of the ancient structure, restored
from the ruinous condition in which it had been allowed to continue from the
last siege, down to the accession of the late Duke to his family honours. It
consists of an entirely new front of massive stone, which differs from the
others in exhibiting the insignia of the Howards in union with those of their
predecessors. The grand entrance is in the Norman style. It is twenty-eight
feet wide from the abutments, fronted with Portland stone, curiously carved,
and worked with infinite intersections of wreathed vine-leaves, roses, laurel,
oak, acorns, and other vegetable emblems. The top is finished with a line of
artificial stone in the shape of fence-work, a little elevated. On the right of
the doorway is a colossal statue of Hospitality; and on the left is another of
Liberty, as seen in the view of the Court already introduced.
The north-east wing, which contains the Library, was commenced in
1801. Its basement is formed upon the Norman model; its upper part is in the
style of Henry the Sixth, with a projecting square tower in the centre, and
lighted from an oriel window. The sculpture and carving upon the windows
and doorways exhibit much delicacy and beauty of workmanship. Those
under the bas-relief, in front of the Alfred Saloon, are of elegant design and
finish. The Library here mentioned is an apartment of great magnificence; it

measures one hundred and seventeen feet in length by thirty-five in width,
and is, beyond doubt, one of the finest specimens of modern Gothic in
England. It displays the grandeur of ancient designs under the delicate finish
of modern art, and brings into one view specimens of almost every ornament
of which, during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, the graceful Gothic
presented so many exquisite combinations. The book-cases and reading-
galleries are supported by fifteen columns wrought out of the richest Spanish
mahogany; while the ‘spidered roof’ displays a beauty of workmanship and
delicacy of carving, enriched with fruit-foliage, which have seldom been
surpassed. It is divided into several compartments for reading recesses, and
communicates with the Alfred Saloon by two magnificent folding-doors. At
present, however, the shelves are sparingly furnished, and the mahogany—
rich and elaborate as it is—offers a striking contradiction to those ideas of
antiquity which the Gothic carving might otherwise convey. The chimney-
pieces are of fine Carrara marble, and in their sculpture exhibit pure classical
taste.
The great Drawing-room is a spacious noble apartment, and
commands an extensive view of the winding vale of the Arun. It is chiefly
remarkable, however, for the family portraits which adorn its walls and, to
the eye of the historian, throw open a vast and interesting field of
retrospection:
“For, by dim lights, the portraits of the dead
Have something ghastly, desolate, and dread.
. . . . . Their buried locks still wave
Along the canvas; their eyes glance like dreams
On ours, as stars within some dusky cave;
But death is imaged in their shadowy beams.”

Of these portraits we noticed about sixteen, one of which is a beautiful
historical piece, by Mather Brown, representing Thomas Howard, Earl of
Surrey, vindicating himself before Henry the Seventh for the part he took at
the Battle of Bosworth. Henry upbraided him with having served in the
cause of the late usurper and tyrant, Richard the Third. “Sir,” replied Surrey,
“he was my crowned king. If the authority of Parliament had placed the
crown on that stake, I would have fought for it. Let it place it on your head,
and you will find me as ready in your defence.” In the back-ground of the
painting, the Princess Elizabeth, sister of the young princes who were

smothered in the Tower, is seen displaying the red rose as an emblem of the
two houses.
Another interesting portrait is that of “Jocky of Norfolk,” father of the
preceding, who fell with Richard at the battle of Bosworth. A third is the
portrait of Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, “the delight and ornament of his
age and nation,” whose bright life and tragical end are familiarly known to
every reader.—But to this we purpose to return in a subsequent part of the
work. A fourth is that of Thomas, Duke of Norfolk, painted by Holbein,
whose evil fortunes are so closely associated with those of Mary Queen of
Scots. Also the portraits of his wife, Mary Fitzalan, the last of her family,
who died in her eighteenth year; and of her only brother, Henry Fitzalan,
Lord Maltravers, painted at Brussels.
There are also portraits of the celebrated Cardinal Howard, of “belted
Will Howard,” and of various other members of the same house, by the
eminent painters of the day.
In the furnishing of these state apartments there is little to excite
attention; it combines elegance with simplicity, but contains nothing
gorgeous in colour or texture. The woodwork is nearly mahogany
throughout. Nothing, however, could be more out of place—a wood that has
been known in this country little more than a century, is ill associated with
the Gothic ornaments of a baronial hall. Old English oak is, beyond doubt,
that which best harmonizes with our ideas in such places. A piece of old oak
carving is an object of never-failing interest to the mind of an antiquary; but
in Arundel Castle we observed no specimens of native ‘gnarled oak,’ except
in the “Windsor rooms.”
The Dining-room—formed, as we have already mentioned, out of the
ancient family chapel—is a lofty, spacious, well-proportioned room, and
chiefly remarkable for its great window of stained glass, which still throws
“a religious light” over the banquet. It is quite modern, and the historical
subject selected for its embellishment is the Meeting of Solomon and the
Queen of Sheba—portraits of the late Duke and Duchess-dowager of
Norfolk. “On each side is a beautiful transparency on plate-glass—one
representing the Mercy-seat in the Jewish tabernacle, the pillars protected by
cherubim, with Aaron’s pitcher and rod lying at the foot of the altar; the
other is a fine representation of the Interior of the Tabernacle, as transmitted
to us in the Biblical account; and both serving to soften and modify the light
as it falls on the great painting in the centre[34].

The interior of the Barons’ Hall, however, is by far the most interesting
apartment in the Castle, and claims a high station among the banquet-rooms
of modern times. It was designed, in connexion with the chapel already
noticed, to commemorate the triumph of the Barons over King John, by the
signing of the Great Charter at Runnymede. Its architecture, like that of the
appendant chapel, is in the style of the fourteenth century. It is seventy-one
feet in length by thirty-five in breadth, lofty in proportion, and, as a whole,
produces a striking effect on the spectator. The roof consists of Spanish
chestnut, elaborately carved in imitation of the richest Gothic originals, with
numerous combinations, emblematical groups, and curious workmanship.
The windows are of the acutely-pointed form; the canopies over the arches,
which are ornamented with the lozenge, rest on corbel-heads of kings; and
the transoms form the lower compartment of each light into a plain
unadorned parallelogram. The windows, however, are the grand attraction,
for in these the story of English freedom is brilliantly told. They are thirteen
in number, nine of which are finished, and filled with stained glass.
The great window illustrates the ratification of Magna Charta by
King John, who, with ‘an indignant but powerless frown, seems to pause in
the act of affixing his signature to the instrument, as if to upbraid the
uncompromising patriotism of the Barons.’ On his right stand Cardinal
Pandolfo, the Pope’s Legate, and the Archbishop of Dublin, who turns his
head in conversation with other prelates behind him. On his left are seen
Cardinal Langton, a mediator between the King and the Barons, but who
administered an oath to the latter, never to pause in the struggle till they had
obtained full concession of their liberty. Behind the Archbishop stands
Almeric, Master of the Knights Templars[35]. In the foreground appears
Baron Fitzwalter[36], with his page[37]; and behind him are the Lord
Mayor[38] of London, and the attendant guards. In the background is a
distant view of the Camp at Runnymede. For chasteness of drawing, depth of
colouring, and sparkling brilliancy, this window is considered a masterpiece
of modern art.
The other eight windows, executed by Edgington, the talented artist
already mentioned, contain full-length figures of eight Barons, progenitors

of the Norfolk family, who were instrumental in procuring the Great
Charter[39]. They are habited in chain-armour, the military costume of the
thirteenth century, each with his armorial bearings emblazoned on his
surcoat and shield. The heads are actual portraits of various distinguished
members of the house of Howard, some of whom are still living. The effect
is superb, and, at first sight, there is some difficulty in drawing the
distinction between the real and the ideal. The scenes are so finely isolated,
and the single portraits so

prominent, that each appears as if he had the free and unimpeded use of his
limbs, and could step down into the banquet-hall at his pleasure,
“To curb a despot and to save the state.”

The door of this magnificent Hall was first thrown open on the 15th of
June, 1815, being the six hundredth anniversary of the great foundation of
English liberty. For the joyful celebration of this glorious epoch in the old
baronial style, a brilliant assembly of rank and title had arrived from various
parts of the country, among whom were twenty-two representatives of the
ancient Howards. Complete suits of armour, in which the ancient chivalry of
England had gathered the spoils of victory—some at Agincourt, others at
Cressy—were arranged in military order around the walls. Swords, that, by
the evidence on their blades, had “done the state some service;” helmets that
had been worn by the Howards at Flodden, or by “Belted Will” in some of
his Border forays; chain and scale armour; spears and lances that had often
gleamed in strife and tournament—all the implements of ancient warfare,
from the thick iron casque of the archer, to the elaborate and richly-gilded
harness of the baron, were all reburnished and brought into unexpected light
for this occasion. Nothing, in fact, was omitted that could increase the
interest, by giving an air of striking reality to the scene. If the spirits of the
ancient Barons could have looked down upon the hall in this hour of
gorgeous festivity, they would have rejoiced to see what a bright inheritance

their patriotic struggles had bequeathed, and have felt that they had become,
indeed, immortal in the hearts of their descendants,
At this banquet nearly three hundred guests assisted. At the upper end
of the table was a noble “baron of beef,” surmounted by the ducal coronet
and the banners of the House of Norfolk. The evening was ushered in by a
splendid ball, at which ‘castled Arundel’
“Had gather’d then
Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright
The lamps shone o’er fair women and brave men.”

The ball was opened by the Duke of Norfolk and the Marchioness of
Stafford—late Duchess-Countess of Sutherland—followed by about fifty
couples, who kept up the dance, enlivened by admirable music, till one
o’clock in the morning, when supper was announced, and the Sussex Band
struck up the patriotic air of “The Roast Beef of Old England,” as an
expressive welcome to the hospitable board. The festal scene was continued
till the mailed warriors, niched in the walls and casements, caught the
morning light on their armour; when King John and Baron Fitzwalter
appeared to signify, that as the Grand Charter was now fully ratified, lord
and dame were at “liberty” to retire—wishing
“To each and all a fair good night,
With rosy dreams and slumbers light.”

Among the original Ecclesiastical foundations in Arundel, was the Alien
Priory, or Cell of St. Nicholas, already mentioned. Roger Montgomery,
who had restored the Benedictine Abbey of Seez, in Normandy, granted to
the 1102-1380. monks of that establishment, liberty to erect a priory within the
town of Arundel, and the building having been completed, five monks from
the parent abbey arrived and took possession accordingly. In the early part of
the same century, the priory was vacated; and the rectorial residence
adjoining the church, of which William de Albini was patron, was converted
into a residence for the prior and four monks. Thus occupied, it continued
during two centuries to be known as the Convent or Priory of St. Nicholas.
But Richard, Earl of Arundel, having resolved to connect it with the chapel
of his college then about to be established, obtained from King Richard the
Second a grant for that purpose, and on the site of the ancient priory arose

the College of the Holy Trinity, a quadrangular structure, inclosing a
square yard, or court, partly occupied by cloisters, and partly devoted to
other purposes of
a monastic
establishment.
On the north
side was the
Collegiate
Chapel,
forming an
apparent
chancel to the
parochial
church; on the
east were the
refectory and
various
domestic
offices
connected with it; and the remaining sides on the south and west, were
occupied by the members of the fraternity. Within the court was the Master’s
house, attached to the south-east angle of the chapel, with which it
communicated by a small stone balcony on the first story, and a flight of
steps, which still remain, behind the high altar. As the collegiate church was
intended to be the family sepulchre of the founder, every preparation was
made to insure its monumental splendour; and the tomb of his son, Earl
Thomas, was the first of a magnificent series. No stranger can enter this
chapel without being strongly impressed with the classic beauty and
elaborate sculpture of its family monuments. But during the siege already
noticed, these sacred walls were given up as barracks for Waller’s soldiers;
and many of the sepulchral antiquities, with which the place was so richly
adorned, were wantonly mutilated.[40] Six monuments, however, still remain
to fix the attention, and excite the admiration, of all who are lovers of the
arts, or given to the study of Gothic remains. In the centre is that of Earl
Thomas, son of the founder, and his Countess Beatrix, daughter of John,
King of Portugal. It is a large sculptured altar-tomb of alabaster, formerly
painted and gilt, and adorned with effigies of the earl and countess, in their

robes of state. A rich canopy rises behind the head; and at the feet of the earl
is a horse, the Fitzalan cognizance. At the feet of the countess, two lap-dogs
hold in their mouths the extremity of her mantle. Arranged in niches around
the tomb, are twenty-eight priests, each with an open book in his hand; and
guarding the rim is a series of forty family shields, originally emblazoned.
On the south side of the high Altar is a lofty sacellum, consisting of an
arcade and canopy, composed of elaborate tabernacle-work, and, in its
original state, richly painted and gilt.—But it would far exceed the limits of
this work to convey even a general idea of these splendid memorials of
departed greatness. We were glad to observe, on our late visit, that the
restoration of this chapel is daily advancing, under the direction of the Duke
of Norfolk; and in a few years, it is to be hoped, may recover something of
its original splendour.
The Church, which forms a principal feature in the general view of the
castle, is a spacious and handsome structure, consisting of a nave, two aisles,
and a transept, surmounted by a low square tower, terminating in a spire, and
forming a conspicuous landmark for mariners. A row of circular windows
inclosing quatrefoils, in the clerestory; an ancient octagon stone font; a
pulpit richly tabernacled in the same material; several monumental
inscriptions, and a roof of Irish oak, proverbial for its durability, are among
the
objects that deserve attention. In one of the chapel
windows is the figure of a swallow on the wing,
which may claim attention from the etymologist, as
pointing to the oft-contested origin of the name
Arundel; for history and geography, says Mr.
Tierney, “the realms of fancy and romance have all
been explored in order to discover its etymon. One
author has amused himself with a rebus founded on
the resemblance between the words Arundel and
Hirondelle; and it is not improbable that the
migratory bird here introduced may have been
selected as an appropriate emblem for the chapel
window. The conjecture is, at least, as plausible as another that has been
advanced; namely, that Arundel is derived from Hirondelle[41], the name of
Bevis’s horse.”

The Park of Arundel, which contains much picturesque scenery and
many thriving plantations, was originally the hunting-forest of the ancient
Counts, and covered a great extent of country,
which is now either under cultivation, or
converted into pasture. Beyond the pleasure-
grounds, immediately under the Keep, is the
Inner Park, entirely surrounded by an artificial
earth-work, still perfect, and adorned with
magnificent elm and beech trees. The new, or
Outer Park, comprises an extent of nearly twelve
hundred acres, enclosed by a high wall with
lodges, and stocked with a thousand head of deer.
The scenery is variegated by numerous
undulations of surface—alternate ridge and
ravine, grove and glade, and watered by rivulets
that derive their source from the neighbouring
Downs.
At a short distance from the entrance to the Park, on the south side, is
Hiorne’s Tower, the subject of the accompanying view. It is a triangular
building, about fifty feet in height, with a turret at each angle, and in design
and execution presents an admirable specimen of Gothic architecture. The
merit of the design is due to the late distinguished architect, Mr. Hiorne, who
superintended its erection, and left it as a monument to his name. The view
from this tower, under a favourable atmosphere, presents a magnificent

prospect of the adjoining Park. The soft pastoral hills that trace their bold
outline on the sky; the umbrageous woods that cover the nearer acclivities;
the villages, hamlets, and isolated dwellings that infuse life and activity into
the picture; the herds of deer that are seen at intervals through the trees; the
distant channel with its shipping, and the shining meanders of the river Arun
—all present, in combination, one of the most richly diversified landscapes
on which the eye of poet or of painter could love to expatiate.
To the readers of romance this scene is rendered doubly interesting by its
immediate vicinity to Pugh-dean, where the graves of Bevis, the giant
castellan of Arundel, and his horse Hirondelle, carry us back to the days of
King Arthur and his knights. To this personage we have already adverted[42];
“but of his connexion with the Castle of Arundel,” says Tierney, “it were
difficult to trace the origin, although there can be little doubt that it existed at
a very early period. At the bottom of the valley called Pugh-dean, the
locality now under notice, is a low oblong mound, resembling a raised grave
in its form, and known in the traditions of the neighbourhood as ‘Bevis’s
burialplace.’ It is about six feet wide, and not less than thirty feet long. It is
accompanied by several
smaller but similar mounds; and although peculiar in its shape, as compared
with Roman and other tumuli which have been examined at different times,
has, nevertheless much of a sepulchral character in its appearance. It was
lately opened to a depth of several feet, but nothing was discovered in it. In

the middle, however, at the bottom to which the ground was originally made
to shelve from each end, a level space of about six feet in length had been
left, as if for the reception of a deposit; and as the lightness of the soil above
seemed to indicate that it had been merely removed, it is not improbable that
this deposit may have rewarded some antiquary more fortunate than those
who were engaged in the late excavation.”
Not far from this retired valley a different interest is excited by its having
been the site of the chapel and hermitage of St. James—an hospital for
lepers, and built soon after the middle of the thirteenth century, for the
reception of the unhappy outcasts who were afflicted with that loathsome
malady. The clump of trees observed in the view marks the locale of this
ancient sanctuary, which must have enclosed a very considerable area.
A pleasing incident in the history of Arundel, is the visit of the Empress
Matilda to her step-mother, Queen Adeliza, as already alluded to in our
notice of Albini. Accompanied by her natural-brother, Robert of Gloucester,
and a retinue of one hundred and forty knights, she was received within the
walls of the Castle, and treated with all the distinction which her own dignity
and the affection of her relative could bestow. The news of her arrival,

however, threw the army of King Stephen into immediate motion, and
brought the engines of war under the walls of the Castle. Fearful of the
consequences, Queen Adeliza determined to try the effects of policy in lieu
of force, and appealed to the chivalrous feelings of the incensed Monarch, in
behalf of her illustrious but ill-timed visitor. She assured him that the only
object of her royal guest in making this visit, was to gratify those feelings of
love and relationship, which might be reasonably supposed to exist between
mother and daughter; that the gates of the Castle had been thrown open to
her, not as a rival to the throne, but as a peacefully disposed visitor, who had
a longing desire to see her native land, and who was ready to depart
whenever it should please the King to grant her his safe-conduct to the
nearest port. It was, moreover, delicately insinuated, that to lay siege to a
Castle, where the only commander of the garrison was a lady, and where the
only offence complained of was a mere act of hospitality to a female
relation, was surely an enterprise neither worthy of a hero such as his
Majesty, nor becoming in him who was the crowned head of the English
chivalry.
The result of this appeal, or of some more convincing argument[43], has
been already stated in the safe retirement of Matilda from the scene of
danger, and her return to Normandy. But a small chamber over the inner
gateway enjoys
the traditionary fame of having been her sleeping room, during her sojourn
in the Castle. It is a low square apartment, such as the castellan might have
occupied during a siege. But, as an imperial chamber, it never could have
had more than one recommendation, namely its security, in times when
security was the chief object to be kept in view; and six centuries ago it was
no doubt a very eligible state chamber. The bedstead on which the
Empress is said to have reposed—for we would not disturb any point of
popular and poetical faith—is certainly a relic of considerable antiquity. Its
massive walnut posts are elaborately carved, but so worm-eaten, that, unless
tenderly scrutinised, the wood would be apt to fall into powder in the hands
of the visitor. Looking upon this, as a relic of the twelfth century, it may be
imagined with what feelings the daughter of a King, the consort of an
Emperor, and mother of a King, laid her head upon that humble couch,
reflected on her checkered fate, and felt the shock of warlike engines under
the battlements.

“ ’Mid crash of states, exposed to fortune’s frown,
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.”

The other events and incidents which give Arundel particular distinction
among the ancient baronial seats of England, are partly owing to the regal
dignity of its visitors. It was here that Alfred and Harold are believed to have
resided; and it was in the castle of Arundel that William Rufus, on his return
from Normandy, celebrated the feast of Easter.[44] In 1302, King Edward the
First spent some time within its walls: and from the fact of its containing an
apartment familiarly known as the ‘King’s Chamber,’ it is probable that,
in later times, it was often graced by the royal presence.[45] The luxury and
splendour of its apartments are amply attested by the minute inventories of
the costly materials employed in their decoration; while the princely
revenues of many of its lords permitted them to indulge in a style of
hospitality to which few subjects could aspire. It was frequented by the élite
of our English chivalry; beauty and valour were its hereditary inmates; its
court resounded to the strains of music; while military fêtes and religious

solemnities gave alternate life and interest to its halls. Many a plan,
afterwards developed in the field or the senate, was first conceived and
matured in the baronial fastness of Arundel. One of the dark yet dramatic
scenes of which it has been the theatre, is the conspiracy, in which the Earls
of Arundel, Derby, Marshall, and Warwick; the Archbishop of Canterbury,
the Abbot of St. Alban’s and the Prior of Westminster, met the Duke of
Gloucester, for the final ratification of the plot. After receiving the
sacrament, says the Chronicle, they solemnly engaged, each for himself, and
for one another, to seize the person of King Richard the Second; his brothers,
the Dukes of Lancaster and York; and, finally, to cause all the lords of the
King’s Council to be ignominiously put to death. This plot, however, was
happily divulged in time to defeat its execution; and Arundel was brought to
the block on the evidence of his son-in-law, Earl Marshall, then deputy-
governor of Calais.[46]
So great, says Caraccioli, “was the hereditary fame of Arundel Castle,
and so high its prerogative, that Queen Adeliza’s brother, Joceline of
Lorraine, though a lineal descendant of Charlemagne, felt himself honoured
in being nominated to the title of its Castellan.” From William de Albini,
Joceline received in gift Petworth, with its large demesne; and on his
marriage with Agness, heiress of the Percies, took the name of Percy—and,
hence, probably, the origin of “Percy’s Hall,” an apartment which has
existed from time immemorial in Arundel Castle.
Of Isabel de Albini, the widow of Earl Hugh, the following anecdote is
preserved:[47]—Having applied to the King for the wardship of a certain
person, which she claimed as her right, and failing in her suit, she addressed
him in these spirited words:—“Constituted and appointed by God for the just
government of your people, you neither govern yourself nor your subjects as
you ought to do. You have wronged the Church, oppressed the nobles, and to
myself, personally, have refused an act of justice, by withholding the right to
which I am entitled.” “And have the Barons,” said the King, “formed a
charter, and appointed you their advocate, fair dame?” “No,” replied the
Countess; “but the King has violated the charter of liberties given them by
his father, and which he himself solemnly engaged to observe; he has
infringed the sound principles of faith and honour; and I, although a woman,
yet with all the freeborn spirit of this realm, do here appeal against you to the
tribunal of God. Heaven and earth bear witness how injuriously you have
dealt with us, and the avenger of perjury will assert the justice of our cause.”

Conscious that the charge, though boldly spoken, was the voice of public
opinion, and struck with admiration of her frank spirit, the King, stifling
resentment, merely rejoined, “Do you wish for my favour, kinswoman?”
“What have I to hope from your favour,” she replied, “when you have
refused me that which is my right? I appeal to Heaven against these evil
counsellors, who, for their own private ends, have seduced their liege lord
from the paths of justice and truth.”
We now take a short retrospect of the public services, patriotic
achievements, and traits of personal character, which have distinguished the
thirty-two lords of Arundel from the period of the Conquest down to our
own times. Of several of these, however, our notice must be exceedingly
brief.—Of Roger Montgomery and his family we have little to add beyond
what has appeared in Mr. Tierney’s elaborate History of Arundel, to which
we have so often referred in the preceding pages. Of William de Albini, the
fourth earl, the following historical incident is recorded:—When at length,
after
much fruitless warfare, Henry Plantagenet appeared in England at the head
of the nobles who espoused his rights, Albini had the happiness to achieve
what may be justly considered greater than any victory; he prevented the
effusion of blood. Henry’s army was then at Wallingford, where Stephen, at
the head of his forces, was arranging the line of battle. The armies were
drawn out in sight of each other; Stephen, attended by Albini, was
reconnoitring the position of his opponent; when his charger becoming
unmanageable, threw his rider[48]. He was again mounted; but a second and
a third time a similar accident occurred, which did not fail to act as a
dispiriting omen upon the minds of those who were witnesses of the
occurrence. Taking advantage of the superstitious dread thus excited among
the troops, Albini represented in emphatic terms to Stephen the weakness of
his cause when opposed by right and justice, and how little he could
calculate upon men whose resolution in his service had been already shaken
by the incident which had just occurred. His counsel was taken in good part;
Stephen and Henry, adds the historian, met in front of the two armies: an
explanation ensued, reconciliation was effected; and in the course of the year
a solemn treaty was ratified, by which Stephen adopted the young
Plantagenet as his successor to the throne. The most important affair in
which Albini’s service was called for, was the splendid embassy to Rome,
the object of which was to counteract the effect of à-Becket’s personal

representations at
the papal court.
That mission
failed in effecting
the reconciliation
intended, owing
to the intemperate
language of the
prelates who were
associated with
Albini in the
cause. His own
speech, as
recorded by
Grafton, is
characteristic of
good sense and
moderation:
—“Although to
me it is unknown,
saith the Erle of
Arundell, which
am but unlettered
and ignorant,
what it is that
these bishoppes
here have sayde,
(their speeches
being in latin,) neyther am I in that tongue able to expresse my minde as they
have done; yet, beyng sent and charged thereunto of my prince, neyther can,
nor ought I but to declare, as well as I may, what the cause is of our sendyng
hether; not to contende or strive with any person, nor to offer any iniury or
harm unto any man, especially in this place, and in the presence here of such
a one unto whose becke and authoritye all the worlde doth stoope and yelde.
But for this intent in our Legacy hether directed, to present here before You
and in the presence of the whole Church of Rome, the devocion and loue of
our king and master, which ever he hath had and yet hath still toward You.
And that the same may the better appere to yr. Excellencie, hee hath

assigned and appointed to the furniture of this Legacy, not the least, but the
greatest; not the worst, but the best and chiefest of all his subiects; both
archbishoppes, bishoppes, erles, barons, with other potentates mo, of such
worthinesse and parentage, that if he could have found greater in all his
realme he would have sent them both for the reverence of Your Person and
of the Holy Church of Rome,” &c.
But this oration, “although it was liked for the softnesse and moderation
thereof, yet it failed of its object; it could not perswade the bishop of Rome
to condescende to their sute and request, which was to have two legates or
arbiters to be sent from him into England, to examine and to take up the
controversie betwene the kinge and the archbishoppe.”
Subsequently to this, Albini was sent on a more agreeable mission, that of
conducting the Princess Matilda into Germany, on the eve of her marriage
with Henry, Duke of Saxony; and five years later was selected by the king as
one of his “own trustees to the treaty of marriage between his son Prince
John, and the daughter of Hubert, Count of Savoy.” Shortly afterwards he
commanded the royal forces at Fornham in Suffolk, and gained a complete
victory over the rebellious sons of King Henry—in whose unnatural cause
the disaffected at home had been joined by a numerous body of foreigners—
and took prisoners the Earl of Leicester, with his Countess and all his retinue
of knights. Albini was a great benefactor of the church; he built “the abbey
of Buckenham; endowed various prebends in Winchester; founded the priory
of Pynham, near Arundel; the chapel of St. Thomas at Wymundham,” and
died at Waverley in Surrey.
To Albini’s son and grandson we have already adverted, but conclude
with a brief incident in the life of William, the third earl of his family.
When the banner of the cross was waving under the walls of Damietta,
and the chivalry of Christendom flew to the rescue, the gallant Albini was
too keenly alive to the cause to resist the summons. In that severe
struggle, he hoped to acquire those laurels which would leave all other
trophies in the shade; and with the flower of our English chivalry embarked
for the Holy Land, and served at the siege of that fortress. Two years he
remained a staunch supporter of the cross—a soldier whom no dangers could
dismay, no difficulties intimidate; and long after his companions had
returned to the white cliffs of Albion, the lion-standard of Albini shone in the
van of the Christian army. On his way home, however, he had only strength
to reach an obscure town in the neighbourhood of Civita Vecchia, near

Rome, where he
was taken ill and
expired. His
eldest son, the
fourth earl, died
without issue; and
the short life of
his successor,
Hugh de Albini,
appears to have
passed without
any remarkable
event or incident,
save latterly in
active warfare in
France, where, at
the battle of
Taillebourg, in Guienne, he displayed, though ineffectually, the hereditary
valour of his family.
The first of the Fitzalans who held the title and estates of Arundel was
appointed one of the Lord Marchers, or Wardens of the Welsh Border; and
found to his cost that the Ancient Britons did not submit to the daily
encroachment made upon their rights and hereditary privileges, without
having frequent and formidable recourse to arms. He maintained a high
station at court, was admitted to the royal confidence, and had the
“command of the Castle of Rochester when the approach of the King’s
forces compelled the disaffected Barons to raise the siege.” At the battle of
Lewes he distinguished himself in the royal cause; but at the close of that
disastrous field—along with the two princes, Edward and Henry—fell into
the “hands of the victorious Barons.”
Of the battle of Lewes, we select the following graphic picture from
Grafton:—“Upon Wednesday the 23rd of May, early in the morning, both
the hostes met; where, after the Londoners had given the first assault, they
were beaten back, so that they began to drawe from the sharpe shot and
strokes, to the discomfort of the Barons’ hoste. But the Barons encouraged
and comforted their men in such wise, that not all onely, the freshe and
lustye knights fought eagerly, but also such as before were discomfited,

gathered a newe courage unto them, and fought without feare, in so much
that the King’s vaward lost their places. Then was the field covered with
dead bodyes, and gasping and groning was heard on every syde; for eyther
of them was desyrous to bring others out of lyfe. And the father spared not
the sonne, neyther yet the sonne spared the father! Alliaunce at that time was
bound to defiaunce, and Christian bloud that day was shed without pittie.
Lastly the victory fell to the Barons; so that there was taken the King, and
the King of Romaynes, Sir Edward the King’s sonne, with many other
noblemen,” among whom was Fitzalan, Earl of Arundel, “to the number of
fifteen barons and banerets; and of the common people, that were slain,
about twenty thousand, as saith Fabian.”
This was Fitzalan’s last appearance in the field; and, as a security for his
good behaviour, he was required “to surrender the Castle of Arundel or
deliver his son as a hostage,” into the hands of the Earl of Leicester. “For
their safe keeping, the prisoners were sente unto dyverse castellis and
prysons, except the King, his brother the King of Almayne, and Sir Edwarde
his sonne; the which the barons helde with them vntill they came to
London.”
Richard the third earl takes an eminent station in the family history. He
first travelled in France and Italy, in compliance with the rules of his
order[49]; then served in Wales, performed several exploits against Madoc;
became distinguished among the chivalry of his day; held a command in the
expedition organised for the subjugation of Scotland; fought at Falkirk; and
subsequently took part at the siege of Caerlaverock Castle, where in the
language of the minstrel, “who witnessed the fray,” he is complimented as—
“Richard le Conte de Aroundel,
Beau chivalier, et bien aimé,
I vi je richement armé;
En rouge au lyon rampart de or—[50]”

and in various capacities appears to have done the state much acceptable
service.
1306. During the life of Edmund, the fourth Earl, the affairs of Scotland
assumed a threatening aspect; and the King, exasperated by the murder of
Comyn, resolved to march an army across the frontier. Great preparations
were made to render the expedition, in all respects, worthy of the grand
object in view. The royal armies were ordered from their cantonments, and

hastened into the field under the command of Aymer de Valence, Earl of
Pembroke.
In preparation for the expedition, “proclamation was made, that a grand
national fete would solemnise the movement; that the Prince of Wales

would be knighted on the Feast of Pentecost; and all the young nobility of
the kingdom were summoned to appear at Westminster to receive that
honour along with him. On the eve of the appointed day (the 22nd of May)
270 noble youths, with their pages and retinues, assembled in the Gardens of
the Temple, in which the trees were cut down that they might pitch their
tents; they watched their arms all night, according to the usage of chivalry;
the prince, and some of those of highest rank, in the Abbey of Westminster;
the others in the Temple Church. On the morrow, Prince Edward was
knighted by his father in the Hall of the Palace, and then proceeding to the
Abbey, conferred the like honour on his companions. A magnificent feast
followed, at which two swans covered with nets of gold being set on the
table by the minstrels, the King rose, and made a solemn vow to God and to
the swans, that he would avenge the death of Comyn and punish the perfidy
of the Scottish rebels. Then, addressing his son and the rest of the company,
he conjured them, in the event of his death, to keep his body unburied until
his successor should have accomplished this vow. The next morning the
prince, with his companions, departed for the Borders; Edward himself
followed by slow journeys, being only able to travel in a litter.”
Such was the bright morning of Edmund Fitzalan’s life; and the annexed
gives us the dark contrast in his tragical end.
1326. The citizens, says Froissart, seeing they had no other means of
saving the town, their lives, and their fortunes, acceded to the Queen’s terms,
and opened their gates to her. She entered the town attended by Sir John de
Hainault, with all her barons, knights, and esquires, who took their lodging
therein. The others, for want of accommodation, remained without. Sir Hugh
Spencer and the Earl of Arundel were then delivered to the Queen to do with
them according to her good pleasure. The Queen then ordered the elder
Spencer and Arundel to be brought before her eldest son and the barons
assembled, and said that she and her son would see that Justice should be
done unto them according to their deeds. “Ah, madam,” said Spencer, “God
grant us an upright judge and a just sentence; and that if we cannot find it in
this world, we may find it in another.” The charges against them being read,
an old knight was called upon to pass sentence; and her son, with the other
barons and knights, pronounced the prisoners guilty. Their sentence was, that
they, the said Earl of Arundel and Spencer, should be drawn in a hurdle to
the place of execution, there to be beheaded, and afterwards to be hung on a

gibbet. “The which was duly carried into effect on the feast of St, Denis,” at
Bristol—or, according to others, at Hereford.
Richard, the son and successor of Edmund, became highly distinguished
among the great men of his time. His life and exploits make no
inconsiderable figure in the national annals.
When a fleet of cruisers, sent out by the French for the annoyance of
British commerce in the Channel, had made prizes of many of our best
merchant ships, pillaged several towns on the coast, and caused much
consternation to all who were interested in the prosperity of commerce,
Arundel

hoisted his flag on board the “Admiral,” and put to sea. Another fleet was
ordered to co-operate with him in the eastern coast; the first cruise checked
the audacity of the enemy, and re-established public confidence and good
order.
1340. His next public service was off the harbour of Sluys, where, in an
engagement with the French fleet, he was second in command under King
Edward the Third, and gained a complete victory.
“When the king’s fleet,” says the chronicler, “was almost got to Sluys,
they saw so many masts standing before it, that they looked like a wood. The
king asked the commander of his ship what they could be, who answered
that he imagined they must be that armament of Normans which the King of
France kept at sea, and which had so frequently done him much damage, had
burnt the good town of Southampton, and taken his large ship the
‘Christopher.’ The king replied, I have for a long time wished to meet with
them, and now, please God and St. George, we will fight with them; for in
truth they have done me so much mischief, that I will be revenged upon
them if possible.”
The large ships under Lord Arundel, the bishop of Norwich, and others,
now advanced, adds Froissart, and ran in among those of Flanders: but they
had not any advantage; for the crossbow-men defended themselves gallantly
under their commander Sir John de Bucque. He and his company were well
armed in a ship equal in bulk to any they might meet, and had their cannons
on board, which were of such a weight, that great mischief was done by
them. This battle was very fierce and obstinate, for it continued three or four
hours; and many of the vessels were sunk by the “large and sharply-pointed
bolts of iron which were cast down from the maintops, and made large holes
in their decks.” When night came on, they separated, and cast anchor to
repair their damage and take care of the wounded. But at the next flow of the
tide, they again set sail and renewed the combat; yet the English continually
gained on the Flemings, and, having got between them and Blanquenberg
and Sluys, drove them on Cadsand, where the defeat was completed.
So great was the disaster to the French monarch on this day, that none of
his ministers would venture to communicate to him the amount of life and
property which had been sacrificed. What the minister, however, durst not
reveal, the king’s jester found means to divulge. “What arrant cowards are
those English!” said the jester. “How so?” demanded Philip. “Because,”
answered zany, “they had not courage to jump overboard, as the French and

Normans did lately at Sluys[51].” This opened the king’s eyes, and prepared
him for the disastrous tidings that were now poured in upon him.
Six years later, Arundel was appointed admiral of the king’s fleet, and
conveyed the great military expedition from Southampton to Normandy.
When the troops were disembarked at La Hogue, he was created constable of
the forces; and with Northampton and other noblemen commanded the
second division at the battle of Cressy[52].
During the heat of the combat, when Prince Edward was surrounded by
the enemy and in personal jeopardy, Arundel and Northampton hastened to
his support; ordered their division forward, and closed with the enemy. The
English rushed upon their assailants with renewed ardour; the French line
was charged, broken, and dispersed; “earls, knights, squires, and men-at-
arms, continuing the struggle in confused masses, were mingled in one
promiscuous slaughter.” When night closed, King Philip, with a retinue of
only five barons and sixty knights, fled in dismay before the cry of “St.
George for England!” Eleven princes, twelve hundred knights, and thirty
thousand soldiers, had fallen on the side of the French.
On another occasion, but on a different element, Arundel was present
with the king, in his “chivalrous engagement with the French fleet, off
Winchelsea;” and four years later was deputed to the court of Pope Innocent,
then at Avignon, in the fruitless attempt to arrange the articles of a
permanent reconciliation between the Crowns of England and France.
Arundel survived these brilliant events many years; and during the leisure
secured to him by his great public services, appears to have found
occupation for his active mind and munificent taste in repairing and
embellishing his ancestral[53] Castle, where he died at an advanced age, and
bequeathed immense possessions to his family.
The contrast presented in the life and destinies of his son forms a
melancholy page in the family history. He was a brave man, and had
performed several gallant exploits. But it was his misfortune to fall upon evil
times, of which intrigue, disaffection, private revenge, and outward violence
were leading characteristics. Associating with the turbulent spirits who
surrounded an imbecile and capricious monarch, his character took the
complexion of the age.
1397. He is said to have been at the head of a conspiracy already
mentioned in this work, page 39, and which is thus recorded by Holinshed,

Graf
ton,
and
other
s of
the
old
chro
nicle
rs[54]
. The
Earls
of
Arun
del,
Derb
y,
Mars
hal,
and
War
wick
; the Archbishop of Canterbury, Arundel’s brother; the Abbot of St. Alban’s,
and the Prior of Westminster, met the Duke of Gloucester[55] in Arundel
Castle, where, receiving first the sacrament by the hands of the Archbishop,
they resolved to seize the person of King Richard the Second, and his
brothers the Dukes of Lancaster and York, to commit them to prison, and
cause the lords of the King’s Council to be drawn and hanged. This plot,
however, was divulged, it is said, by the Earl Marshal, and the apprehension
of Arundel led to the family catastrophe, which with some little abridgment
of the original authors is related as follows:—
Apprehended under assurances of personal security, he was hurried to the
Tower, and finally tried and condemned by the Parliament at Westminster.
On the feast of St. Matthew, Richard Fitz Alaine, Earl of Arundel, was
brought forth to swear before the King and whole Parliament to such articles
as he was charged with.[56] And as he stood at the bar, the Lord Neville was
commanded by the Duke of Lancaster, which sat that day as High Steward

of England, to take the hood from his neck, and the girdle from his waist.
Then the Duke of Lancaster declared unto him that for his manifold
rebellions and treasons against the king’s majesty, he had been arrested, and
hitherto kept in ward, and now at the petitions of the lords and commons, he
was called to answer such crimes as were there to be objected against him,
and so to purge himself, or else to suffer for his offences, such punishment as
the law appointed.
First he charged him that he had ridden in armour against the King in
company of the Duke of Gloucester, and of the Earl of Warwick, to the
breach of peace and disquieting of the realm.
His answer hereunto was, that he did not this upon any evil meaning
towards the King’s person, but rather for the benefit of the King and realm, if
it were interpreted aright and taken as it ought to be.
It was further demanded of him, why he procured letters of pardon from
the King, if he knew himself guiltless. He answered he did not purchase
them for any fear he had of faults committed by him, but to stay the
malicious speech of them that neither loved the King nor him.
He was again asked whether he would deny that he had made any such
rade with the persons before named, and that in company of them he entered
not armed unto the King’s presence against the King’s will and pleasure. To
this he answered he could not deny it, but that he so did.
Then the speaker, Sir John Bushie, with open mouth besought that
judgment might be had against such a traitor; and “your faithful commons,”
said he to the King, “ask and require that so it may be done.” The Earl,
turning his head aside, quietly said to him, “Not the King’s faithful
commons” require this, “but thou, and what thou art I know.” Then the eight
appellants standing on the other side, cast their gloves at him, and in
prosecuting their appeal—which already had been read—offered to fight
with him, man to man, to justify the same. “Then,” said the Earl, “if I were
at libertie, and that it might so stande with the pleasure of my sovereign, I
would not refuse to prove you all liars in this behalfe.”
Then spake the Duke of Lancaster, saying to him, “What have you further
to say to the points laid before you?” He answered, that of the King’s grace
he had his letters of general pardon, which he required to have allowed.
Then the duke told him that the pardon was revoked by the prelates and

noblemen in Parliament; and therefore willed him to make some other
answer.
The Earl told him again that he had another pardon under the King’s great
seal, granted him long after the King’s own motion, which also he required
to have allowed. The Duke told him that the same was likewise revoked.
After this, when the Earl had nothing more to say for himself, the Duke
pronounced judgment against him as in cases of treason is used.
But after he had made an end, and paused a little, he said, “The King our
sovereign lord of his mercy and grace, because thou art of his blood, and one
of the Peers of the realm, hath remitted all other pains, saving the last that is
to say, the beheading, and so thou shalt only lose thy head;”—and forthwith
he was had away, and led through London, unto the Tower-hill. There went
with him to see the execution done, six great lords, of whom there were three
earls, Nottingham, that had married his daughter; Kent, that was his
daughter’s son; and Huntington, being mounted on great horses, with a great
company of armed men, and the fierce bands of the Cheshiremen, furnished
with axes, swords, bows and arrows, marching before and behind him, who
only in this parliament had licence to bear weapon, as some have written.
When he should depart the palace, he desired that his hands might be loosed
to dispose of such money as he had in his purse, betwixt that place and
Charing Cross. This was permitted; and so he gave such money as he had in
alms with his own hands, but his arms were still bound behind him.
When he came to the Tower-hill, the noblemen that were about him
moved him right earnestly to acknowledge his treason against the king. But
he in no wise would do so; but maintained that he was never traitor in word
nor deed; and herewith perceiving the Earls of Nottingham and Kent, that
stood by with other noblemen, busy to further the execution, and being, as ye
have heard, of kin, and allied to him, he spake to them, and said, “Truly it
would have beseemed you rather to have been absent, than here at this
business. But the time will come ere it be long, when as many shall marvel
at your misfortune as do now at mine.” After this, forgiving the executioner,
he besought him not to torment him long, but to strike off his head at one
blow, and feeling the edge of the sword, whether it was sharp enough or not,
he said, “It is very well, do that thou hast to do quickly,”—and so kneeling
down, the executioner with one stroke, strake off his head. “Then returned
they that were at the execution and shewed the kinge merily of the death of
the erle; but although the kinge was then merry and glad that the dede was

done, yet after exceedingly vexed was he in his dremes.” The Earl’s body
was buried, together with his head, in the church of the Augustine Friars in
Bread-street, within the city of London.
The death of this earl[57] was much lamented among the people,
considering his sudden fall and miserable end, whereas, not long before
among all the noblemen of this land, there was none more esteemed; so
noble and valiant he was that all men spake honour of him.
After his death, as the fame went, the king was sore vexed in his sleep
with horrible dreams, imagining that he saw this earl appear unto him,
threatening him, and putting him in horrible fear, as if he had said with the
poet to King Richard—
“Nunc quoque factorum venio memor umbra tuorum,
In sequor et vultus ossea forma tuos.”—

With which visions being sore troubled in sleep, he cursed the day that ever
he knew the earl. And he was the more unquiet, because he heard it reported
that the common people took the earl for a martyr, insomuch that some came
to visit the place of his sepulture, for the opinion they had conceived of his
holiness. And, when it was bruited abroad, as for a miracle, that his head
should be grown to his body again, the tenth day after his burial; the king
sent about ten of the clock in the night certain of the nobility to see his body
taken up, that he might be certified of the truth. Which done, and perceiving
it was a fable, he commanded the friars to take down his arms, that were set
up about the place of his burial, and to cover the grave, so as it should not be
perceived where he was buried.
In less than two years, however, King Richard himself was a captive in
the hands of his subjects. Young Arundel and the son of the late Duke of
Gloucester were appointed his keepers. “Here,” said Lancaster, as he
delivered[58] Richard into their custody[59], “here is the king; he was the
murderer of your fathers; I expect you to be answerable for his safety.”
During the first five years of Henry the Fourth, young Arundel, among
other services, shared with his sovereign the reverses which attended his
invasion of the Welsh frontier, and his campaign against Owen Glendower.
—But at length the scenes of the camp gave place to domestic festivities;
and his approaching marriage with Donna Béatrice, daughter of John the
First, king of Portugal, was publicly announced. Great preparations were
made to receive the bride with all the honours due to her beauty and station;

the royal palace
and the earl’s
ancestral castle
were sumptuously
fitted up for her
reception. She left
Portugal with a
splendid retinue,
made a prosperous
voyage, and
arrived in London
in the middle of
November. On the
twenty-sixth of the
same month the
solemnity took
place in the Royal
Chapel, where, in
the presence of the
King and Queen,
Donna Béatrice
gave her hand to
the young Earl of
Arundel.
Their
subsequent arrival
at Arundel, and the
rejoicings which
there met the royal
bride, may be
better imagined
than described. All that could add to the splendour of the gala was
ingeniously arranged and displayed; and on her triumphant entry under the
old Norman gateway of her husband’s castle, Donna Béatrice might well
confess that “the castled heights of Algarva were not so beautiful as the
verdant hills, and embattled towers, of Arundel.”

Among the personal exploits by which his brief career was subsequently
distinguished, is the following.—During the excitement which prevailed in
France in consequence of the murder of the Duke of Orleans, “the author of
that assassination, Charles Duke of Burgundy, now taking the alarm, applied
to the English monarch for assistance.” His request was instantly complied
with; for Henry had “private motives which prompted him in this instance.”
1411. Arundel, at the head of a strong body of archers and men-at-arms,
was despatched to join the Burgundian leader, whom he met at Arras; and
thence directing their march upon the capital, arrived on the twenty-third of
October. The first point of attack was St. Cloud, where Arundel took charge
of the assault, and marching his men to the bridge which here crosses the
Seine, carried it by storm; took possession of the town with severe loss to the
enemy, and returned with numerous prisoners, immense booty, and the
thanks of the Burgundian chief.
The same Earl was also present at the siege of Harfleur, in the subsequent
reign; and under both sovereigns held many distinguished posts of high trust
and honour. But returning from the last campaign in ill health, he died at his
paternal seat of Arundel, where a magnificent monument, quartered with the
royal arms of Portugal, attests his virtues and patriotic services.
Of John Fitzalan, the eighth Earl, the public services and achievements,
“during the French wars,” are not sufficiently prominent to demand any
special notice in these pages; but John Fitzalan, the ninth Earl, is justly
celebrated for his abilities both as a soldier and a senator.
In the grand tournament[60] which took place in the French capital in
honour of the coronation of Henry the Fifth, the English monarch, there was
a brilliant display of all that was most dazzling to the eye, and daring to the
imagination. But at the close of the scenes in which the pride and prowess of
chivalry were never more strikingly exemplified, Arundel[61] and the Comte
de St. Pol, grand master of the household, were acknowledged to have
carried away the prize from every competitor[62].
Four years later, an event occurred which was destined to close his
military career and carry him off in “the blaze of his fame.” This happened
in an attack upon the old castle of Gerberoi, near Beauvais, during the
operations of the English army in Picardy.

Leaving Gournay at midnight, the Earl arrived in eight hours with the
advanced guard in sight of the towers of Gerberoi. But in his impatience to
reduce the fortress, he had miscalculated the strength of its walls and
garrison, with the experience of its veteran commandant La Hire, and his
own diminutive force. “The enemy,” says Holinshed, “perceiving that his
horses were weary and his archers not yet come up, determined to set upon
him before the arrival of his footmen, which they knew to be a mile behind.”
As soon as he came in sight the gates were suddenly thrown open, and three
thousand troops rushing upon the handful of men under his command, threw
them into confusion. An unequal conflict ensued—struck with panic, and
pressed by an overwhelming majority, the rout of the English became
general. Arundel, with a few undaunted followers, who had sworn to share
his glory or his grave, took up his position in “a little close” or corner of a
field, where his rear was under cover of a strong hedge, threw up a hasty
fortification of pointed stakes, and thus protected, kept the enemy at bay. But
other and more powerful means of annoyance were at hand. La Hire ordered
three culverins to be brought from the castle, and planted in front of the

“forlorn hope.” The first shot told sadly upon the members of this intrepid
band; but in the presence of their chief, nothing could damp their fortitude,
nothing could paralyse their exertions. The first discharge was received with
a shout of triumph and defiance. But the third striking Arundel in the knee,
shattered the bone and threw him to the ground. This shot was the loss of the
day. The French commander, seizing the favourable moment, rushed upon
the entrenchment—and while Arundel, though faint with loss of blood and
racked with pain, still continued to cheer on his men—effected a breach and
took captive the gallant earl and his companions.
Arundel survived the disaster for some time, but died at last of his wound,
and was buried in the church of the Grey Friars—the Frères Mineurs—of
Beauvais.
In the collegiate church of Arundel, where he had previously selected his
own place of interment, a cenotaph of beautiful design and elaborate
workmanship still marks the spot; but, owing to some unknown cause, as
Mr. Tierney informs us, “his executor neglected this last injunction;” and the
soldier was not permitted to find rest in the sepulchre of his fathers.
1304. Humphrey, his son, became heir to his titles and estates; but, not
surviving his father more than three years, they again passed to his uncle,
William Fitzalan, then in his twenty-first year. The events of his life,
however, are not of a character to interest the reader by any bright displays
of moral excellence, which could be handed down as examples to posterity.
“Obsequious—veering round with every change,
Now to the liege professing homage fervent;
Then as the sceptre dropp’d, could it seem strange
That faction found him its most humble servant!”

Yet with all his political faults, there was much in his private life and
conversation—much in his munificence to the church—and still more in his
encouragement of learning, to rescue his name from oblivion. He died at
Arundel, and was buried with his ancestors in the Chapel, where a splendid
altar-tomb attests his love and patronage of the fine arts.
In the preface to Caxton’s Golden Legende, honourable mention is made
of the puissant, “noble and vertuous lorde, Willyam, Erle of Arundelle.”
Dallaway quoting Vincent says—“William Earle of Arundell, a very father
of nurture and courtesy, died at a great age at Arundell, and there
triumphantly lieth buried.”

His successor, Thomas Fitzalan, was a man whose address and
accomplishments found ready acceptance at court, and secured the good-will
and approbation of more than one sovereign.
1543. Henry Fitzalan, on succeeding his father this year, returned from
Calais to England, and at Arundel kept the Christmas festivities in such style
with his neighbours, that it is known, says the MS. Life quoted by Mr.
Dallaway, as “the great Xmas of Arundel.”
1544. At the siege of Boulogne, in the following year, he was nominated
by King Henry as marshal of the field. The siege on this occasion proved
tedious; the town and garrison were resolute in their defence, and day after
day the besiegers were baffled in their efforts to force them to a capitulation.
At last, however, a mine, which had been successfully worked beneath the
castle, was sprung at midnight; the explosion shook the whole citadel, and

general confusion ensued. Seizing the favourable moment, Arundel ordered
the battering ordnance to play with redoubled fury upon the walls; and

heading at the same time a resolute detachment, took his station in the
entrenchments. There, while the shot and shell struck and exploded in the
ramparts over his head, he waited till a breach in the masonry was effected;
and then throwing himself into the gap, cheered on his men to the assault.
Inspired by their leader’s example, every soldier did his duty; the besieged
were driven from the works; their guns were turned against themselves, the
ramparts were cleared; capitulation was effected, and before morning the
flag of England floated in triumph from the Castle of Boulogne.[63]
But neither prowess in the field nor wisdom in the cabinet could exempt
Arundel from the trials, calumnies, and persecutions of those who only saw,
in the royal favour extended to him, a grand obstacle to their own
advancement. After the demise of Henry, charges were accordingly brought
against him, which—although never proved—formed the ground of his
exclusion from the council, were attended with a heavy fine, and aggravated
by imprisonment. The false evidence, however, on which these penalties
were inflicted, being speedily detected, his confinement was very brief. A
large portion of the fine was remitted, but the remembrance of such
unmerited treatment was never to be effaced. Subsequently, on the exhibition
of further charges against him, he was again sent to the Tower, where he was
detained a close prisoner during thirteen months, and was then enlarged on
payment of a heavy fine, and admonished to “behave himself according to
the duty of a nobleman, and to prove in deeds what he professed in words.”
But events were now fast hastening to a crisis. The demise of the royal
minor, the elevation of Lady Jane Grey, the ebullitions of party violence—all
spread universal excitement and alarm throughout the country.
Arundel, who had long fostered a spirit of secret enmity and revenge
against Northumberland, as the author of his misfortunes, now perceived that
the moment of retaliation was at hand. He invited and promised the full
weight of his support to the Princess Mary in private; but in public he
zealously espoused the cause of her rival, the Lady Jane; and was among the
first who offered her homage, and swelled the magnificence of her entry into
London.
1544. Northumberland was blinded by so much apparent devotion to the
cause; and when he reluctantly quitted London to stem the torrent that was
now rapidly setting in from the east, Arundel, says Stow, took leave of him
in these specious and hollow terms: “Farewell, my lord; and I pray God be
with your grace. Sorry indeed am I, that it is not my chance to go with you,

and bear you company, in whose presence I could find in my heart to shed
my blood, even at your feet.” But as soon as Northumberland was gone,
Arundel changed his tone; denounced him as a traitor; declared his
sentiments; and boldly asserted the sovereign right of the eldest daughter of
Henry the Eighth. His fervid eloquence and appeal to the nobles present
made a deep and visible impression. Pembroke[64], infected by the
enthusiasm of the speaker, starting up, and grasping the hilt of his sword,
exclaimed, “Either this sword shall make Mary queen, or I will die in her
quarrel!” The result needs not be told. In an instant the whole aspect of
affairs was changed. That very night Mary was proclaimed in every street of
the city—banquets, bonfires, riots, and illuminations, were called to attest
the fact.
The news of the revolution were scattered in all points of the compass,
and at Cambridge reached the Duke of Northumberland, who was astounded
at what had happened, and felt all the paralysing influence of his critical
position.
When Arundel, whose revenge was now secure, arrived with the warrant
for his apprehension, the duke threw himself upon his mercy, and implored
him, says the Chronicler, “to be good to him for the love of God!” But
Arundel coldly replied that his grace should have sought for mercy sooner,
and then committing him to safe custody, ordered him off to the Tower.
During the reign of Mary, Arundel had many honours heaped upon him,
and filled several important offices of state; nor did court favour desert him
on the accession of Elizabeth, who even made him her familiar companion,
and became his frequent guest. She visited him at her splendid palace of
Nonsuch, of which he was keeper; joined in all the revels in celebration of
her visit; accepted at her departure a “cupboard of plate” and repaid him
with assurances of cordial regard and unlimited confidence.
Flattered by such manifestations of royal favour, Arundel went so far in
his loyal attachment as to become one of her Majesty’s impassioned suitors.
He was a Catholic indeed, but love and loyalty were divinities to which
religion had been often known to bend; and having given his vote and
influence to all her state measures—and not weighing the “queen’s sincerity
by his own”—he looked forward with bright anticipations of the future. But
Elizabeth was as much an adept in manœuvring as the earl; her chief object
had now been accomplished; she no longer required his services—she
remembered his support of her sister Mary; and when Arundel ventured to

address her as the royal Chloë of his admiration, the queen threw off the
mask, and instead of receiving the homage thus tendered, in the sense it was
meant, ordered the noble earl to be placed under arrest. Well might he
exclaim—
“Tantæne animis cœlestibus iræ?”

The arrest however was soon removed; and with his enlargement a more
rational course presented itself for his choice. His health requiring change of
climate, he went abroad; and after spending fourteen months in travel
beyond seas, he returned to London in a style that resembled the triumphant
progress of a sovereign, and to present, as a peace-offering to her Majesty, “a
pair of the first silk stockings[65] ever seen in England.”
Once more restored to favour, he did not long maintain his position; but
again lapsing into unlawful practices, by tampering in the question
respecting Mary, Queen of Scotland, and the Duke of Norfolk, his son-in-
law; he finally lost the queen’s countenance, and was recommitted as a
prisoner to the palace of Nonsuch. The dreams of ambition were now past.
On his liberation, he retired from the political world to spend the remainder
of his days in study and domestic seclusion, where he could moralise on the
mad projects of ambition, the vexations and vanities of court life.

1589. He
died at
Arundel
House in the
Strand, and
was buried
“with solemn
pomp and
costly
funerall” in
the collegiate
Chapel of
Arundel,
where his
monument is
still an object
of no
common
interest to the
stranger.
We shall
next, in
accordance
with our plan,
proceed to notice such passages in the history of the Howards, Earls of
Arundel, as may best exhibit some of the public services, the extraordinary
events, or striking incidents in which they have severally been engaged. In
these sketches, however, we purpose to exemplify the character of each by
authentic traits of conduct in the field and the cabinet; in the noon of fame,
and in the night of misfortune.
In a review of their history and achievements, however, our notice,
strictly speaking, ought to commence at that period when the titles of
Arundel and Norfolk became first united in the same Peer. But the task will
not be tedious, and cannot be uninteresting, to present our readers with a
genealogical epitome of the Howards of Norfolk.
The origin of this family is involved in obscurity, which the diligence of
research appears to have rendered more obscure, making darkness visible.

For antiquity’s sake, however, it is sufficient to state that the name was of
some distinction in the 13th century; and that the ancestor of the present
family, John Howard of Wigen Hall, in Norfolk, was a Judge of Common
Pleas, summoned to Parliament by Edward the First, and distinguished for
his talents and public services. 1298-1307. Sir Robert Howard, the fifth in
regular descent, had the good fortune to contract a marriage alliance with the
second daughter of Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, and his Duchess Elizabeth,
sister and co-heir of Thomas Fitzalan, Earl of Arundel. By her father’s side,
the noble bride was a grand-daughter of Margaret Plantagenet, whose father
—Thomas de Brotherton—was the fifth son of Edward the First. This
alliance, by connecting Sir Robert and his descendants with the blood royal
of England, opened a path to those splendid honours by which they were
subsequently distinguished. Sir John Howard, his immediate descendant,
was promoted during the reign of three successive sovereigns to many high
1483. posts of trust and dignity; and at last summoned to Parliament by the
title of Baron Howard. Thirteen years later he was elevated to the highest
title in the peerage; his son was created Earl of Surrey, by Richard the Third;
he was invested with the hereditary office of Earl Marshal of England;
dignities which his ancestors Mowbray, Thomas de Brotherton, and Roger
Bigod, had severally enjoyed as Dukes of Norfolk. But the high honours thus
showered upon him, were doomed very shortly after to be blasted. The battle
of Bosworth was at hand; he had “touched the highest point of all his
greatness,” and whilst—
He bore his blushing honours thick upon him,
The third day came a frost, a killing frost.

The following letter, written only a very few days previous to the battle, and
addressed to the Sheriff of Norfolk, is a document of no inconsiderable
interest:—“To my well-beloved Friend John Paston, be this bill delivered in
haste.—Well beloved Friend, I commend me to you, letting you to
understand that the King’s enemies be a-land, and that the King would have
set forth as upon Monday, but only for our Lady-day; but for certain he
goeth forth as upon Tuesday, for a servant of mine hath brought to me the
certainty. Whereupon I pray you that ye meet with me at Bury, as upon
Tuesday night, and that ye bring with you such company of tall men, as ye
may goodly make at my cost and charge; beside that which ye have
promised the King; and I pray you, ordain them jackets of my livery, and I

shall content you at your meeting with me—Your lover, J. Norfolk.”—
Green.
One of the most important days in the annals of Great Britain was now at
hand. The royal family was nearly extinct; the nobility was sadly diminished
and cut off; the nation itself was thinned of its best and bravest inhabitants—
the sad results of twelve sanguinary engagements; and again two formidable
armies had taken the field under two of the ablest politicians that ever
hoisted the standard of ambition or revenge.
On this memorable day King Richard’s front was commanded by the
subjects of this notice, John Duke of Norfolk, and his son, the Earl of
Surrey; the second by Richard in person; and the right wing by Henry, Earl
of Northumberland. Richmond’s front, being very inferior in numbers to that
of his rival, was thinly extended over a wide surface, so as to present a more
formidable appearance, and was commanded by John de Vere, Earl of
Oxford, whose father and brother had both perished on the scaffold in
support of the house of Lancaster. De Vere was also first-cousin to Norfolk,
whose blood he was destined to shed on this disastrous field. The other
divisions of Richmond’s army were led by Sir John Savage, and Sir Gilbert
Talbot; while Richmond himself took up a conspicuous station in the field
under his uncle the Earl of Pembroke.
After a night of fearful preparation, Norfolk, in issuing forth early in the
morning, discovered the following rhyme rudely pencilled on the door of his
tent—sadly ominous of the event at hand—
“Jack of Norfolk, be not too bold,
For Dickon, thy master, is bought and sold[66].”

The battle, now set in array, commenced with a discharge of arrows; after
which, the Earl of Oxford, in order to concentrate his forces, issued a
command, that every man should fight close to his standard. In this
movement, Norfolk and Oxford, leading their respective vans, approached
each other. With a rancour sharpened at this moment by their very
relationship, each singled out the other as an object worthy of his lance. With
cool determined intrepidity they dashed forward to the rencontre; and
shivering their spears at the first thrust, drew their swords and resumed the
trial of strength and skill. Rushing in upon his antagonist’s guard, Norfolk’s
powerful arm made a sweeping blow at the head of De Vere; but the blade

glancing down from his polished helmet failed in its effect, and only
wounded him in the left arm.

Quickly recovering his balance, and exasperated by the dread of
discomfiture more than the pain of his wound, Oxford returned the blow
with tremendous effect; hewed the visor from Norfolk’s helmet, and thereby
exposed his face to the missiles that were falling in showers around them.
Oxford, like a generous knight, disdaining to take advantage of his gallant
adversary, instantly dropped the point of his weapon. But his forbearance did
not save his noble kinsman; for, at the same instant, struck in the forehead by
a shaft which penetrated the brain, Norfolk made a convulsive spring in the
saddle, and fell prostrate on the field. Oxford, deeply affected by his death,
sadly exclaimed—“A better knight cannot die, though he might in a better
cause!”
The result of this day needs not to be told; but the anecdote of the young
Surrey, embarked in the same cause, and in fulfilment of the same oath of
fidelity which bound his father to the standard of King Richard, is worth
repeating in this place.
During the heat of the battle, conscious of his father’s fall, and exhausted
by extraordinary exertions of mind and body, he was surrounded by a
powerful body of his antagonists, each of whom was ambitious to

distinguish himself by disabling or making him prisoner. Observing at this
moment the brave Sir John Stanley in the last charge, Surrey presented to
him the hilt of his sword, and said, “The day is your own, there is my sword;
let me die by yours—but not by an ignoble hand!” “God forbid,” replied the
generous Stanley—“live for new honours. Stanley will never shed the blood
of so brave a youth. No fault attaches to you! the error was your father’s!”
“What!” rejoined Surrey, again recovering his sword; “does the noble Talbot
insult the vanquished? Loyalty, Sir Knight, is the watchword of our house.
My father revered the sacred authority of the king, though he lamented the
errors of the man. Never shall I repent the choice I have made, seeing that it
can leave no stain upon my honour. Whoever wears the crown, him will I
fight for; nay, were it placed on nothing better than a stake in that hedge, I
would draw my sword in its defence.”
The same frank and gallant bearing in the presence of Richmond after the
battle, secured for young Surrey the royal confidence.
The scene is thus described by Sir John Beaumont, in his “Bosworth
Field.”

Courageous Talbot had with Surrey met;
And after many blows, began to fret,
That one so young in arms should thus unmoved
Resist his strength, so oft in war approved.
And now the Earl beholds his father’s fall,
Whose death like horrid darkness frighted all;
Some give themselves as captives, others fly;
But this young lion casts his generous eye
On Mowbray’s lion, painted on his shield,
And with that king of beasts repines to yield.
“The field,” saith he, “in which the lion stands,
Is blood, and blood I offer to the hands
Of daring foes; but never shall my flight
Dye black my lion, which, as yet, is white.”
His enemies, like cunning huntsmen, strive
In binding snares to take their prey alive,
While he desires to expose his naked breast,
And thinks the sword that deepest strikes is best.
Young Howard single with an army fights;
When, moved with pity, two renowned knights,
Strong Clarendon, and valiant Conyers, try
To rescue him—in which attempt they die.
Now Surrey, fainting, scarce his sword can hold;
Which made a common soldier grow so bold,
To lay rude hands upon that noble flower,
Which he disdaining—anger gives him power—
Erects his weapon with a nimble round,
And sends the peasant’s arm to kiss the ground.
This done, to Talbot he presents his blade,
And saith, “It is not hope of life hath made
This my submission; but my strength is spent,
And some perhaps of villain blood will vent

My weary soul; this favour I demand,
That I may die by your victorious hand.”
“Nay, God forbid that any of my name,”
Quoth Talbot, “should put out so bright a flame
As burns in thee, brave youth! where thou hast err’d
It was thy father’s fault, since he preferr’d
A tyrant’s crown before the juster side.”
The Earl, still mindful of his birth, replied,
“I wonder, Talbot, that thy noble heart
Insults on ruins of the vanquish’d part:
We had the right; if now to you it flow,
The fortune of your swords hath made it so.
I never will my luckless choice repent,
Nor can it stain mine honour or descent;
Set England’s royal wreath upon a stake,
There will I fight, and not the place forsake.
And if the will of God hath so disposed
That Richmond’s brow be with the crown inclosed,
I shall to him, or his, give doubtless signs,
That duty in my thoughts—not faction—shines.”

And the sincerity of his professions is fully attested by his subsequent
conduct, both in the camp and the cabinet. He became Lord Treasurer of the
Household, attended the Princess Margaret to Scotland on her marriage with
James the Fourth—the most chivalrous prince of his age,—and, with his
wife and daughter, was present at all the magnificent scenes, fêtes, banquets,
and tournaments, which attended that ill-starred alliance.
On the accession of Henry the Eighth, he continued in the same high
office—was elected a privy councillor, appointed earl marshal of the
kingdom, and his majesty’s lieutenant for the north of England. His next
appearance in the field was at the battle of Flodden, where, with his two
sons, he had the chief command. The fortunes of that day are too well known
to every reader to require any lengthened description in this place; but to
connect the achievements with the subject of this brief memoir, it becomes
necessary to take a cursory view
“Of the stern strife and carnage drear
Of Flodden’s fatal field;
Where shiver’d was fair Scotland’s spear,
And broken was her shield.”

Sept. 9, 1513. On the morning of the battle the English army advanced in
four divisions. On the right, which first engaged, were the two sons of Earl
Surrey: Thomas Howard, Admiral of England, and Sir Edmund, Knight
Marshal of the Army. Their divisions were separated from each other; but at
the request of Sir Edmund, his brother’s battalion was drawn up very near to
his own. The centre was commanded by Surrey in person; the left wing by
Sir Edward Stanley, with the men of Lancashire and Cheshire. Lord Dacres,
with a large body of horse, formed a reserve. When the smoke which the
wind had driven between the armies was somewhat dispersed, they
perceived that the Scots, after having set fire to their tents, had moved down
the hill in a similar order of battle, and in profound silence.

“Scarce could they see or hear their foes
Until at weapon-point they close—
They close in clouds of smoke and dust,
With sword-sway and with lances’ thrust;
And such a yell was there
Of sudden and portentous birth,
As if men fought upon the earth,
And fiends in upper air.
Oh, life and death was in the shout;
Revel and rally, charge and rout,
And triumph and despair!”

The Earls of Huntly and Home commanded the left wing of the Scots,
and charged Sir Edmund Howard with such impetuosity and success as
entirely discomfited his part of the right wing. Sir Edmund’s banner was
beaten down—
Then fell the spotless banner white,
The Howard’s ‘Lion’ fell—

and he himself escaped with difficulty to his brother’s division. The admiral,
however, stood firm; and quickly advancing to his support with the reserve
of cavalry, appears to have kept the victors in effectual check.
Then seizing the favourable moment and pushing forward, the admiral
charged and routed a large division of the Scottish army in his front,
commanded by the Earls of Crawford and Montrose, both of whom were
slain on the spot.
The King and Surrey, who led the centres of their respective armies, were
now engaged in close and doubtful conflict. James, surrounded by the flower
of his kingdom, supported by the reserve under the Earl of Borthwick, but
impatient and exasperated by the galling discharge of arrows from the
English bowmen, made his attack with such impetuosity that the standard of
Surrey was in imminent danger. But at that critical moment Stanley, who had
routed the Scottish wing on the left, and was now pursuing his career of
victory, arrived on the right flank in the rear of the king’s division, which,
by throwing itself into a circle, disputed the battle till night closed in upon
them.
Surrey then drew back his forces; for the Scottish centre remaining
unbroken, and their left wing being victorious, he yet doubted the event of
the field, for in the words of the poet—

“The stubborn spearmen still made good
Their dark impenetrable wood
Each stepping where his comrade stood
The instant that he fell;
No thought was there of dastard flight;
Link’d in the serried phalanx tight
Groom fought like noble, squire like knight,
As fearlessly and well.”

The Scottish army, however, dispirited by the loss of their king and his
principal chiefs, abandoned the field before day-break, with a loss of
between eight and ten thousand men—among whom were the very prime of
their nobility, gentry, and even clergy.—Here the reader is referred to
Pinkerton.
Surrey’s loss was also very great; perhaps within one-third of the
vanquished; but those who fell were only men of inferior note. According to
the old ballad, there perished—
“Never a nobleman of fame
But Bryan Tunstall bold, alas!
Whose corse home to his burial came,
With worship great, as worthy was.”

The trophies of this victory were received by King Henry under the walls
of Tournay, to which he had laid siege; and every honour which could testify

the royal satisfaction, or gratify a victorious commander, was subsequently
conferred on the hero of the day. 1524. He was restored to the dukedom of
Norfolk, acquired immense possessions, filled the highest offices of state,
lived in princely splendour at the royal castle of Framlingham, and died at
the age of eighty; leaving a numerous family to support his dignities, and
share his vast possessions. He was the last of the Dukes of Norfolk buried in
the Abbey of Thetford.
Her eldest daughter, Elizabeth, was the mother of Anne Boleyn, who fell
a victim to the very hand which heaped so many honours upon her uncle and
his sons. The Duke himself presided as High Steward at her trial; and even
her father, “reluctantly it is to be hoped, sat among the judges.”
Thomas Howard, Admiral of England, his eldest son and successor,
inherited the talents of his father; but with the accumulated honours of his
house, and the satisfaction which accompanied him in the discharge of his
duties to the sovereign and the state, misfortune was intimately blended. His
achievements in the field, his wisdom in the cabinet, his devotion to the
throne, appeared merely to hasten a catastrophe, from which he was only
saved by the death of his persecutor; but which struck, in the person of his
Son, one of the noblest victims that ever sank under the axe of despotism:—
“Who has not heard of Surrey’s fame?
His was the hero’s soul of fire;
And his the bard’s immortal name,
And his was love exalted high
By all the glow of chivalry.”

The crime for which this young nobleman was arraigned has never been
properly investigated. His biographers and historians of the time, satisfied
with the manifest absurdity of the treason alleged against him, have omitted
to point out the grounds upon which the inference of Surrey’s guilt was
founded, namely, the crime of quartering, with his own, the royal arms of
England. A few words on this subject, on the authority of a recent
biographer, may serve to elucidate some portion of its obscurity.
The arms of Edward the Confessor are said to have been a blue field,
charged with a gold cross at the end, flory, between five gold martlets. Royal
arms appear to have been used in the time of Richard the First, who bore a
red shield, charged with three gold lions, which have ever since been the
royal standard of England[67]. In the reign of Edward the First, and perhaps
even in the previous century, the arms of three saints—Saint George, Saint

Edmund, and Saint Edward the Confessor—were always borne on the
national banner; but none of which were supposed to have any connexion
with the
sovereignty of
England.
Richard the
Second,
however,
choosing the
Confessor for
his patron or
saint, impaled
his arms with
those of
England and
France; “and
granted, at the
same time, the
Confessor’s
arms to be
borne, per pale,
by two or three
of the most
eminent men of
his court, who
were
descended
from the blood
royal.” One of
the noblemen
so
distinguished
was Thomas
Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk; the right to whose arms and quarterings was
indisputably inherited by the Earl of Surrey; but whether the coat or shield of
the Confessor was granted to Mowbray for life only, or to him and “his heirs
for ever,” is a question which remains still unsolved. Surrey, however,

conceiving himself entitled to it, obtained the sanction of the heralds, and
assumed the distinction among his other armorial quarterings. But the
injustice of construing this act into a treasonable design is too glaring to
require either comment or exposure. “The King himself, in granting armorial
bearings to Anne Boleyn, took especial care to show her royal and illustrious
descent through the Howards, by introducing the arms of Thomas de
Brotherton, son of Edward the First; and of the Warrens, Earls of Surrey, out
of the Howard shield![68]” But in that despotic reign, virtue, talent, and
integrity were no protection against the highest penalty—the severest
sentence which an obsequious legislation could pronounce or inflict. Surrey
was too bright an ornament to be endured near the throne. His very
accomplishments—his prowess—his high spirit—his sword and pen—his
triumphs in the lists—and his success on the lyre, all raised up enemies
whose private resentments could only be appeased with blood.
1547. Surrey was brought to trial at the Guildhall on the 13th of January,
where he defended himself with singular courage and ability; repelled the
charges so insidiously preferred against him; impeached the flimsy evidence
set up in support of the trial; appealed to the authority of the heralds for the
obnoxious quarterings on his shield; and disclaimed, with all the indignation
of conscious innocence, the treasonable imputations so rancorously heaped
upon him.
In the course of examination, when a witness stated that, in a former
conversation with the accused Earl, he repeated some strong expression used
by Surrey, with his own insolent reply—which left it to be inferred that
Surrey had tamely brooked his defiance—the young noble fixed his
penetrating glance for an instant on the speaker, then turning round to the
jury—“I leave it to you,” he said, “to judge whether it be possible that the
man before you should so address the Earl of Surrey, and he not strike him
on the spot.”
But the die was cast; the sentence of forfeiture was pronounced; the King
was deaf to the supplications of his friends—to the last appeal for mercy.
The thirst of blood had increased with the last agonies of dissolving nature;
and, on the twenty-first morning of the same month, Surrey was hurried to
Tower-hill, and there, under the blow of the executioner, bequeathed that
name to posterity, around which, poet, painter, historian, and every lover of
his country and her literature, have twined the wreaths of immortality.

“Thou jealous ruthless tyrant, Heaven repay
On thee, and on thy children’s latest line,
The wild caprice of thy despotic sway;
The gory bridal bed; the plundered shrine;
The murdered Surrey’s blood; the tears of Geraldine!”

Of the lives of Surrey and fair Geraldine, and the tournament in which his
knights carried away the prize in the Tuscan capital, we adopt the following
short sketch from the “Loves of the Poets:”—
“In the reign of Cosmo the First, the second Grand Duke of Tuscany of
Lorenzo’s family, Florence, it is said, beheld a novel and extraordinary
spectacle. A young traveller, from a court and a country which the Italians of
that day seemed to regard much as we now do the Esquimaux, combining
the learning of the scholar, and the amiable bearing of the courtier, with all
the rash bravery of youthful romance, astonished the inhabitants of that
queenly city, first by rivalling her polished nobles in the splendour of his
retinue—the gallantry of his manners; and next, by boldly proclaiming that
his ‘Ladye-love’ was superior to all that Italy could vaunt of beauty. That she
was ‘Oltre le belle, bella,’—fair beyond the fairest; and maintaining his
boast is a solemn tourney, held in her honour, to the overthrow of all his
opponents. This was our English Surrey, one of the earliest and most elegant

of our amatory poets, and the lover of the fair Geraldine. According to the
old tradition repeated by all Surrey’s biographers, he visited on his travels
the famous necromancer Cornelius Agrippa, who, in a magic mirror,
revealed to him the fair figure of his Geraldine, lying dishevelled on a couch,
and, by the light of a taper, reading one of his tenderest Sonnets.”
“Dark was the vaulted room of gramarye,[69]
To which the wizard led the gallant knight,
Save that before a mirror, huge and high,
A hallow’d taper shed a glimmering light
On mystic implements of magic might;
On cross, and character, and talisman,
And almagest, and altar, nothing bright:
For fitful was the lustre, pale and wan,
As watchlight by the bed of some departing man.

“But soon, within that mirror huge and high,
Was seen a self-emitted light to gleam;
And forms upon its breast the Earl ’gan spy,
Cloudy and indistinct, as feverish dream;
Till, slow arranging, and defined, they seem
To form a lordly and a lofty room,
Part lighted by a lamp with silver beam.
Placed by a couch of Agra’s silken loom,
And part by moonshine pale, and part was hid in gloom.

“Fair all the pageant—but how passing fair
The slender form, which lay on couch of Ind!
O’er her white bosom stray’d her hazel hair,
Pale her dear cheek, as if for love she pined;
All in her night-robe loose she lay reclined,
And, pensive, read from tablet eburine,
Some strain that seem’d her inmost soul to find:—
That favour’d strain was Surrey’s raptured line,
That fair and lovely form, the Lady Geraldine.”

Within the narrow limits to which this work is necessarily restricted, it is
impossible to do justice to this melancholy subject, which of itself has
afforded, and would again afford, matter sufficient to form a volume of the
deepest interest. It has, however, long since engaged the genius of Campbell
and some of the best spirits of our literature, in whose works the name and
fame of Henry Howard are embalmed.
Thomas, the eldest son of the “murdered Surrey,” was restored to the
dukedom of Norfolk by Queen Elizabeth. Loaded with many honours and
dignities which evinced the entire confidence she reposed in him, all

appeared to augur that so brilliant a career would have closed in a tranquil
night. But the evil genius, which presided over his worldly destinies, was yet
to be appeased. The orders of knighthood; the captain generalship of the
forces the embassies and commissions, with which he was successively
honoured by his sovereign, were only preludes to the last sad history of his
life:—
He did but dream on sovereignty,
Like one that stands upon a promontory,
And spies a far-off shore, where he would tread,
Wishing his foot were equal with his eye,
And chides the sea that sunders him from thence.
King Henry VI.

Having received his early education under Fox, the martyrologist, then
tutor in the family of his aunt, the Duchess of Richmond, he took the degree
of master of arts at Cambridge, on the grand reception and entertainment of
Queen Elizabeth at that University.
After discharging with fidelity and éclat the high posts of trust already
mentioned; he was at last entangled by the snares of flattery and
overweening ambition, and charged with treasonable designs entered into by
him to forward the schemes of Mary Queen of Scots, with the view of
allying himself with that ill-fated Princess by marriage,—views in which his
ambition or his sympathy had got the better of his deliberate judgment, and
in which he appears to have been encouraged by those hollow friends, who
sought not his honour but his disgrace. He was accordingly arraigned, tried;
and confessing his wilful participation in the plot, expiated his offence on
the scaffold with characteristic firmness and composure.
1572. By his alliance with Mary Fitzalan of Arundel, whom he lost within
a year of their marriage, he had one son—Philip, Earl of Arundel.
To detail the circumstances of his life would far exceed our limits; but
one or two incidents, taken from his later history, will be neither
uninteresting nor uninstructive.—The charges brought against him were—
conspiring, with Cardinal Allen, to restore the Roman Catholic faith in
England; and concerting measures for quitting the realm without the queen’s
knowledge and permission. With regard to the conspiracy, the evidence was
too much based on party jealousy, vague hearsay, and surmise, to establish
anything like conviction in the minds of unprejudiced judges. But of his

attempted evasion from the kingdom, the fact is abundantly clear, and is thus
related.
After his liberation from the Tower, his fears of new prosecutions and
imprisonment became so excited, that he hastened from London to his castle
of Arundel, and there prepared to join a vessel previously engaged for his
service, and then waiting for him at Little Hampton.
Walsingham, however, who had his eyes and his spies everywhere, and is
proudly recorded to have “out-shot the Jesuits with their own bow, and over-
reached them in their equivocation,” was already in the secret. Before the
Earl could reach the coast, the captain had received private notice from the
Council, and was prepared to act in accordance with his instructions. Day
after day was consumed in waiting, as the skipper pretended, for “a fair
wind.” At length, the propitious moment having arrived, Arundel, attended
by two domestics, went on board, and the wind being in their favour, the
vessel made rapid way, and soon cleared that beautiful coast where the castle
and forest of Arundel were among the last objects that faded from his eye,
and led him, reflecting on the past, to ejaculate—
Quæ regio in terris nostri non plena laboris!

Continuing their course across the channel, his mind now recovered some
portion of that serenity, to which he had long been a stranger. The danger of
discovery was seemingly past; the treachery of friends and the machinations
of enemies were alike forgotten or forgiven; and full of pleasing
anticipations of the future, he resigned himself to repose, with this hope—
Hæc olim meminisse juvabit.

His soothing reverie, however, was soon to be dissipated. At midnight, a
rocket, or other private signal, previously agreed upon, was let off from the
mast-head, whilst the vessel continued her course. But at length they were
suddenly hailed by a ship of war—ordered to lay-to—and instantly boarded.
The result is briefly told; the noble fugitive was hurried back to the shore,
delivered into safe custody, carried to London, and lodged in the Tower,
where, after trial and conviction, he was suffered to drag out an existence of
several years under all the harshness of office, the pangs of disappointment,
the hourly sorrows of paternal solicitude, and an exhausted constitution.
Four years afterwards this nobleman was arraigned of high-treason, brought

to his trial in Westminster Hall
before twenty-five of his peers,
the Earl of Derby being high
steward on the occasion.
The “Earl appeared in a
wrought velvet gown furred with
martins, laid about with gold
lace, and buttoned with gold
buttons, a black satin doublet, a
pair of velvet hose, and a high
black hat on his head.” He was a
very tall man, somewhat swarthy,
and coming to the bar made two
obeisances to the state, and to the
nobles, and others present. Being
required to hold up his hand, he
raised it very high, saying, “Here
are as true a man’s heart and
hand as ever came into this hall.” It was urged against him that “he was a
traitor, being a Papist; that the Queen of Scots had considered him one of her
best friends; that Cardinal Allen had spoken of him as the chief hope of the
Roman Catholics in England;” and that his letter to Queen Elizabeth, written
on the eve of his intended escape by sea, had plainly accused the national
justice, with regard to his father’s trial. He was then remanded to the Tower,
and there languished till his death, which was evidently accelerated by the
cruel suspense in which he was kept as to the final remission or execution of
his sentence.
1592. Thomas Howard, the celebrated Earl, was brought up under the care
of his mother, a lady of great and eminent virtues; who “was not negligent,”
says Sir Edward Walker, “in his education; so that Robert Devereux, Earl of
Essex, was wont to call him the ‘Winter Pear,’ and to say, that, if he lived, he
would become a great and a wise man.” On the accession of James the First,
he was not only restored in blood by act of parliament, but also reinstated in
all such titles of honour and precedence as Philip Earl of Arundel had
forfeited; and in the honour, state, and dignity of Earl of Surrey, and to such
dignity of baronies as Thomas Duke of Norfolk, his grandfather, had lost by
his attainder.

In Italy, where he delighted to reside, he greatly improved his natural
taste and disposition, and became an excellent judge and patron of the fine
arts In the parliament of this year, says Collins, Robert Lord Spencer, during
the debates on the prerogative, speaking with great freedom against the
government, and citing examples from history to illustrate his arguments, the
Earl of Arundel interrupted him, by saying, “When those things happened,
my lord, your ancestors were keeping sheep;” to which Spencer replied,
“And yours, my Lord Arundel, were hatching treason.” They were both
ordered to retire; and Arundel, as the aggressor, was, notwithstanding the
court interest, sent to the Tower, from which he was soon released upon
making his submission.
He attended King Charles at his coronation in Scotland; where all persons
strove to outvie each other in the splendour of their apparel, retinue, and
entertainment; but, still keeping up his own simplicity of dress and living,
lost not on that account the honour and esteem due to his person and quality.
—He possessed the richest gallery in Europe.
1646. His personal appearance and character are thus drawn: “He was tall
of stature, and of shape and proportion rather goodly than neat; his
countenance was majestical and
grave; his visage long; his eyes
large, black, and piercing; a
hooked nose, and some warts or
moles on his cheeks; his
complexion was brown, his hair
thin both on his head and beard:
he was of stately presence and
gait, so that any man who saw
him, though in never so ordinary
a habit, could not but conclude
him to be a great person: his garb
and fashion drawing more
observation than did the rich
apparel of others; it being a
common saying of James Hay,
Earl of Carlisle, ‘Here comes the
Earl of Arundel in his plain stuff and trunk hose, with his beard in his teeth,
that looks more like a nobleman than any of us.’ ”

He was more learned in men and manners than in books, yet understood
the Latin very well, was master of the Italian; and a great favourer of learned
men, such as Sir Robert Cotton, Sir Henry Spelman, Mr. Camden, Mr.
Selden, and other antiquaries. He was a great master of order and ceremony,
and knew, and kept greater distance towards his sovereign than any person
of that time, and expected no less from his inferiors; often complaining, that
the too great affability of the king, and the French garb of the court, would
bring majesty into contempt. In council he was grave and succinct, rather
discharging his conscience and honour, than complying with particular
interests; and so was never at the head of business, or principal in favour;
contenting himself to be as it were the supporter of ancient nobility and
gentry, and to interpose in their behalf.—He was a Protestant in religion, but
no bigot or puritan; and professed more to affect moral virtues, than nice
questions and controversies. He was most faithful and affectionate to his
lady, indulgent to his children. His recreations were,—the education of his
grandchildren; conversation with them; overlooking his rare collections; and
when not diverted by business, pleasing himself in retirement to the
country.”
The anecdote of
the earl’s
presenting old Parr
to King Charles
may possibly be
new to some of our
readers. Parr at that
time had lived and
enjoyed twice
‘three score years
and ten,’ without
manifesting either
infirmity of mind
or body. He was
one day the subject
of conversation at
Court; and Arundel was authorised to present this living chronicle of the
kings of England to his majesty. Introduced to the royal presence, King
Charles addressed him with much affability, and said—“Well, Parr, you have

lived much longer than other men; pray, what have you done more than other
men?” “Done, your highness?” said Parr; “I think I may say without vanity
that I have done more than other men—I did penance after I had passed my
hundredth year.”—The following is told of his son Lord Mowbray:
“At a committee of the House of Lords,” says Clarendon, “in the
afternoon, in some debate, passion arose between the Earl of Pembroke, then
lord chamberlain of the household, and the Lord Mowbray, eldest son of the
Earl of Arundel; and from angry and disdainful words, an offer or attempt of
blows was made; for which misdemeanour they were the next day both sent
to the Tower by the House of Lords. The king, taking advantage of this
miscarriage, and having been incensed by the carriage of the Earl of
Pembroke, sent to him for his staff, and bestowed it upon the Earl of Essex.”
It is certain that Arundel faithfully adhered to the king, serving as a
volunteer in his army, till he was sent for by his father to join him at Padua,
where, after some stay in that city, and when on the point of returning home,
his father, who resolved to follow him, became suddenly indisposed and
died. Whereupon his lordship immediately gave orders for embalming his
remains; brought them over with him to England, where he found the king’s
affairs in a deplorable condition.
Thomas, (son and heir to Henry, Earl of Arundel,) who was Earl of
Arundel, Surrey, and Norfolk, after travelling into Italy, died at Padua,
unmarried. The family honours and estate descended to Henry his brother,
sixth Duke of Norfolk, who, being desirous of improving his natural abilities
by travel, set out from London in February 1664, with his brother Edward to
visit Constantinople, in compliance with an invitation from Count Lesley,
whom the Emperor Ferdinand had nominated his ambassador extraordinary
to the Sublime Porte. His Lordship was received, in every city and town in
his way through Germany, with the honours due to his birth and fortune. At
Vienna, he was immediately presented to his Imperial Majesty, and had the
honour of being a frequent guest with the Emperor and Empress; as
contained in his “relation of a journey from London to Vienna, and thence to
Constantinople.”
After his Lordship’s return to England, in 1665, he was created Doctor of
the Civil Law at Oxford, having been a munificent benefactor to that
University, by his gift of the famous Marmora Arundeliana[70].
Henry, seventh Duke of Norfolk, was of Magdalen-College, Oxford,
where he took the degree of master of arts. In his father’s life-time, he was

summoned to Parliament, by
the title of Lord Mowbray, and
next day, being introduced into
the House of Peers, took his
place at the upper end of the
Barons’ bench. On the
accession of James II., he
signed the order, dated at
Whitehall, for proclaiming him
King of England. And by his
Majesty’s being Sovereign of
the Order of the Garter, his
stall, as Duke of York, became
vacant; when, at a chapter held
at Whitehall, Norfolk was
elected of that most noble Order, and installed at Windsor, the same year. He
was then appointed Colonel of the twelfth regiment of foot: but, in the
course of next year, resigned his command. Bishop Burnet relates, That the
King giving the Duke of Norfolk the sword of state to carry before him to
the Chapel Royal, where service was to be performed, the Duke went with it
as far as the door of the Chapel, and there with a profound obeisance, made a
dead halt. Observing this, the King said to him, My lord, your father would
have gone further: to which the Duke very significantly answered, Your
majesty’s father was the better man, and He would not have gone so far.
Additional and more recent anecdotes of the House of Howard will be
found in subsequent portions of this work.

TOMB OF THE HOWARD FAMILY IN FRAMLINGHAM CHURCH.

Authorities quoted or referred to:—Orderic, Vitalis, Histor. Ecclesiast.
lib. xiii.—Simeon Dunelmensis,—Simeon of Durham, Hist. Kings of
England, A.D. 616-1113, ed. 1732. Camden, Annales, ed. 1717.—Doomsday
Book, ed. 1783.—Bishop Rede’s Register, on the authority of Mr. Tierney, p.
16.—Royal Patents—Clarendon’s History.—Broughton, (Hugh and
Thomas,) Collins, Peerage, 1760, 7 vols.—Caraccioli, History of Arundel.—
Dallaway, Rape of Arundel—Do. West Sussex.—History of the Castle and
Town of Arundel, by the Rev. M. A. Tierney.—Criticisms on the above.
Horsfield, History, Antiquities, and Topography of Sussex. Speed, fol. ed.
Harding’s Chronicles. Grafton’s Chronicle. Froissart. Monstrelet, 4to.
Montfaucon—France Monumentale. MS. Description of Arundel and
Environs. Notes on Mr. Tierney’s History, MS. English, French, and Latin
Poets. Pictorial History. Civil and Military Transactions. Histories of Hume,
Smollett, Lingard, Hallam, Chalmers’ Caledonia. Pinkerton Histories of
Framlingham—Loder, and Green.—Lodge, &c. &c.

Sᵀ. ALBAN’S ABBEY.

THE ABBEY OF ST. ALBANS.
“————————————- Claustrum
Martyris Albani, sit tibi tuta quies!
Hic locus ætatis nostræ primordia novit,
Annos felices lætitiæque dies!
Hic locus ingenuis pueriles imbuit annos
Artibus, et nostræ laudis origo fuit.
Hic locus insignes magnosque creavit alumnos.
Felix eximio martyre, gente, situ,
Militat hic Christo, noctuque dieque labori
Indulget sancto religiosa cohors.”

T HE profound interest connected with the Abbey of St. Albans, has been
much increased of late years by the prospect still held out of seeing its
magnificent church converted into a cathedral. That this may be speedily
and permanently effected, is a hope which every admirer of ecclesiastical
architecture, every lover of that soil which has been hallowed by the blood
of martyrs, will rejoice to see realised.
In the short historical introduction to this subject, we shall adopt the
testimony of the old chroniclers, whose names, with other authorities, will be
found, chronologically arranged at the end of the chapter, so that the reader
may know where to apply for such copious details as cannot be comprised
within the limits of the present work. This plan will be carefully adhered to
in the successive portions of the work, so that the inconvenience arising
from a multiplicity of notes, and the frequent repetition of names and
authorities, in the same chapter, may be effectually obviated.
That the first bishops in England were of Roman origin is obvious from
their very names: and that wherever St. Augustin appointed a bishop he
founded a monastery, is a fact established by the history of every cathedral.
But in cases where the metropolitan did not found a monastery and appoint a
bishop at the same time, it appears that a monastic establishment was formed
shortly after by the newly appointed bishop. By the time of Offa, king of the
Mercians, about twenty great monasteries had been established in England,
with nearly the same number of episcopal sees. Of the latter, several were
not conjoined with the former; the general design of both being to civilise
and instruct mankind by inculcating the doctrines of divine truth and

revelation; but in ways that
differed much in after ages, not
only between the several bodies,
but also between the superiors to
whom they respectively
adhered. Offa’s zeal prompted
him to do, what many of his
crowned predecessors had done
before him; and feeling perhaps
the acute pangs of a guilty
conscience, in reference to the
death of Ethelbert, he sought
peace of mind and reconciliation
with Heaven, by erecting some
splendid monument of his
penitence and remorse. It were
needless to remind the reader
how many of the great
ecclesiastical establishments of
Christendom have originated
from similar causes: how many
propitiatory Altars have been raised, only to attest those “compunctious
visitings” by which their noble or royal founders were driven from the
glittering pageants of state, to seek hope and refuge in the sanctuaries of
religion—in the lowly cell
of the anchorite. What made monastic endowments part of a dying man’s
charity, was the special provision it secured for his safety and welfare in
another world. Here was an institution in which the “rich profligate” was
deeply interested; in which, after he himself had long passed away, he might
still benefit by the prayers and devotion of those who ministered within its
walls, and blessed the munificence of the founder. Such were the hopes, such
was the resolution, of King Offa, when intending to finish a life of great
earthly glory, sullied with many crimes, he bethought him of building “a
house where God might dwell.”
With regard to the precise site of the Abbey in contemplation, and the
name of the saint under whose tutelar guardianship it was to be placed, Offa
seems to have been undecided; till a miraculous intelligence, says the

legend, removed his
perplexities and settled
the question, to the
entire satisfaction of
himself and his prelates.
“Being then at Winslow,
the king prayed
earnestly to God that, as
he had often delivered
him from the dangers
and assaults of his
enemies, and from the
snares and subtilty of
his wife, so he would
vouchsafe him further
light and information to
enable him to complete
his vow of founding a
Holy Monastery, in
token of his devotion.
He entreated his friends,
at the same time, that
they would
unanimously and
devoutly beseech God
to enable him to carry
his intentions into
effect. Hereupon all retired into the adjoining chapel to pray; and having
prayed longer than ordinary, and offered up the same petition as the king had
dictated, a sudden light from heaven filled the place with more than meridian
splendour. This was viewed as the acceptable token of God’s favour, and the
king determined to grant the royal manor of Winslow for the new
foundation. But by another vision this pious intention was defeated. At the
dead of night, while the king lay at Bath, shortly after, he was graciously
accosted by an angel, as he thought, who admonished him to raise out of the
earth the first British martyr, Albanus, and place his remains in a shrine with
more becoming ornament. Hereupon, attended by the prelates of his court
and a multitude of followers, King Offa set out in quest of those sacred

relics, which had now been entombed upwards of five hundred years.
Journeying onward, divine assistance was once more interposed in favour of
the king: a light, resembling a mighty torch, was seen blazing over the very
city of the saint—yet the difficulty was where to find his grave. But they
were not kept in long or painful suspense: a ray of fire stood over the place,
like the star that conducted the Magi to the Holy Child Jesus at Bethlehem.
The ground was opened; and, in the presence of Offa, the body of the
English martyr was found, together with some relics, in a wooden coffin, at
the very spot where he had suffered five hundred and seven years before.
Great was the joy of the king and his faithful subjects at this auspicious
event. A circlet of gold was placed round the martyr’s skull, with an
inscription to signify his name and title: a shrine was prepared for its
reception, richly adorned with gold and silver, till a more noble and befitting
repository could be designed and finished.” This is said to have happened in
the year seven hundred and ninety-one.
Assembling the prelates and officers of state in full council, Offa laid
before them his plan for the foundation and endowment of a new temple for
the service of God. His zeal and devotion were highly applauded by the
court; and, with their consent and approbation, Offa prepared to set out on a
pilgrimage to Rome, there to obtain advice and sanction from the great head
of the church. This pilgrimage to the holy city forms no unimportant event in
English history, for, in return for the immunities and privileges granted by
the sacred conclave to the new abbey, Offa engaged to levy an annual tax
upon his subjects, amounting to one penny in every thirty, as a tribute to the
see of Rome—a tribute which was long rigorously exacted and faithfully
paid by Offa and his successors under the name of Peter’s-pence. On his
return from Rome, Offa took measures for carrying the grand object of his
life into execution. He made ample provision for its maintenance; special
revenues were set apart for the exercise of hospitality; so that the devout
pilgrim, the wayfaring stranger, the poor and the sick, might be
indiscriminately entertained at its gate, and the new abbey become the
foster-mother of active charity and Christian benevolence.
It is not our intention to enter into the question which has been started by
very learned antiquarians, as to the verity of the above; nor would we
remove one stone from the temple which tradition and history have alike
ascribed to Offa—

“Offa, who deem’d that abbey which he built
Might well atone the Mercian monarch’s guilt,
To saintly odour deadly sins convert,
And lay the accusing ghost of Ethelbert.”

The building, now finished under his immediate inspection, was opened
for the reception of a hundred monks of the Benedictine order—men who
had been selected with great care from the celebrated monasteries of the day.
The royal founder, however, was not destined to find a tomb where he had
found so much pious and soothing occupation. He was buried in a chapel
near the river Ouse, of which not a vestige is left—the water, it is said,
having overflowed its banks, and completely destroyed the chapel and its
saintly deposit. The abbot, we are informed, was anxious to have secured the
dust of the founder as a precious treasure for the monastery; but Offa’s son
and successor having refused compliance, the worthy abbot took it so much
to heart that he did not long survive the royal benefactor.
Viewed externally, this Abbey is a grand and imposing feature in the
landscape, and never fails to inspire the stranger with feelings of awe and
admiration. Its lofty square tower meets the eye of the traveller in every
approach to the ancient Verulam, and conjures up a host of names and events
that have made a figure in history during the long lapse of centuries—
“Since first along the Ver’s embattled banks
The Roman leader stretch’d his martial ranks,
Till Henry’s mandate struck the fated shrine
And sadly closed St. Alban’s mitred line.”

But without occupying further space in the dry routine of description, we
enter at once into the sanctuary, and notice such of the noble and majestic
features as may best convey to the reader some adequate idea of its internal
magnificence. Although familiarly acquainted with the finest specimens of
monastic buildings on the Continent, yet so much were we struck on our last
visit to this noble pile in January, that it seemed to take precedence of all that
we could remember; and, as we passed before its shrines, through its

pillared avenues, paused in its choir, and stood in awe in front of its great
altar, compelled us to ejaculate—“We have seen nothing finer than this.”

“Bold is the Abbey’s front, and plain;
The walls no shrined saint sustain,
Nor tower nor airy pinnet crown;
But broadly sweeps the Norman arch
Where once in brighten’d shadow shone
King Offa, on his pilgrim-march,
And proudly points the moulder’d stone
Of the high vaulted porch beneath,
Where Norman beauty hangs a wreath
Of simple elegance and grace;
Where slender columns guard the space
On every side, in cluster’d row,
The triple arch through arch disclose,
And lightly o’er the vaulting throw
The thwart-rib and the fretted rose.”

The fresh florid painting of the chestnut roof, upon which not a brush has
been employed for three centuries or more, is very remarkable, and shows
that the secret of mixing colours for the eye of posterity has not descended to
the present day. In the several compartments of this roof, as faintly seen
ihs
Jesu Hominum Salvator.
in the foregoing view, the three initial letters are the only ornament; and
being in the Saxon form, the effect is rather pleasing than otherwise.—But in
order to give the reader a more correct notion of the interior, we proceed to
the particular features selected for illustration. Among these is
The Nave, to which we have slightly alluded, and on the spectator few
things can be imagined more likely to make a strong and lasting impression.
From whatever point it is contemplated, laterally or longitudinally, grandeur
of design and elaborate execution are the leading characteristics. To enter
into minute detail of its architectural beauties were impossible in our narrow
compass. The general effect is all that we can presume to describe; and of
this, assisted by the very correct view prefixed, the reader will have little
difficulty in forming a just estimate of the magnificence that reigns in this
venerable temple of our ancestors. There is one feature particularly
deserving of notice, as a boundary line between two grand epochs in
ecclesiastical architecture: this is, the point where the Saxon and Gothic
meet in the same column. From the great western entrance, right and left, the
massive clustered pillars have been evidently chiselled, at vast labour and
expense, out of the original Saxon—thus engrafting the new style upon the

primitive stock. The point where the Gothic ceases and the Saxon remains,
and marking where the progressive work of transformation had been arrested
by some public event, forms an admirable contrast, and shows the Gothic to
infinite advantage. But the Saxon arches, still untouched by the reformer’s
chisel, will be viewed by every lover of native art as precious relics of
antiquity.
“In Saxon strength that abbey frown’d,
With massive arches, broad and round,
That rose alternate, row and row,
On ponderous columns, short and low.”

Near the centre of the pavement is a remarkable echo, limited to one
particular position, and quite inaudible as we diverge from the spot. The
voice, or clapping of the hands, is reverberated with a noise like the
discharge of cannon, or the roll of distant thunder; at first, loud and
multiplied, and then dying gradually away in languid undulations.
St. Cuthbert’s Screen,[71] which divides the nave from the choir,
forms an imposing boundary to the coup-d’œil; but over its top the
spectator’s eye penetrates the lofty transept, takes in the whole space
between the high altar and the western portal, and wanders over the richly
emblazoned ceiling with feelings of mingled awe and admiration. To the
right and left are objects that rivet his attention to the spot: the names and
monuments of the dead; the tablets that encrust the walls, or mix with the
pavement, are eloquent of the past, and address him in terms of solemn
admonition. The dust of many abbots, the remains of unnumbered monks,
rest within its walls; ‘these all died in the faith,’ and, from the steps of the
altar, descended into the regions of silence. They, too, who had circled the
monarch’s throne, swayed the senate, fought his battles, fostered science,
and enriched their country with the spoils of nations, have all in their turn
craved, like Wolsey at last, the favour of a little hallowed earth to rest their
weary heads on. To enumerate the illustrious dead who have here taken up
their last abode, is not within our limits; but we must not omit, even in the
most cursory notice, to mention the famous traveller who saw, or feigned,
more wondrous things than ever fell to the lot of any other “pilgrim of the
nations.” We mean Sir John Mandeville, a native of the place, whose tomb,
covered with a massive slab of grey marble, and verified by an inscription on
the adjacent column, bears record to his eventful history. But as he died at
Liege in 1372, after thirty-four years spent in travelling, doubts must

necessarily arise as to the fact of his being buried here. The evidence by
which it is supported, however, is equal to that of his travels.
The Choir, comprising the whole space between the western arch of the
tower and the great altar, is indisputably grand. Flanked by two magnificent
tombs right and left; closed on the east by the celebrated altar screen,
canopied, niched, and carved—magna componere parvis—with all the
fanciful, yet classic elegance of an ivory fan, the stranger is almost
bewildered by the profusion of objects that here claim his notice and
admiration. To dwell upon these in anything like minute description, would
preoccupy the space which we must reserve for other particulars; but a few
words are indispensable for
the sake of the engraved view. The light, which is finely modified by the
means usually adopted, falls from the centre of the tower upon the various
objects in the choir, with a subdued religious effect which greatly adds to the
general impression. In this position, surrounded by the varied labours of
many centuries, we can fancy in part the scenes and events which have
transpired within these arches, before that altar, at which so many kings and
peers have bent the suppliant knee in penitence and confession. In those
early times it was a blessing, that when outrage, violence, and injustice were
irrepressible by any other means, the strong arm of the church was sufficient
to restrain—and when it could not effectually restrain, to punish with its
stigma—the licentious baron, the crowned despot, and make the culprits
quail at the very head of their armies and retainers. Where the law was weak,
religion was strong, and, like the voice of God, heard upon earth, encouraged
the prostrate, and brought the rebellious under subjection. Without its power
and influence—its holy exercises and humanizing studies—without the
spiritual arm to check aggression, to redress grievances, the baser passions
must have revelled without control, and life have become a scene of
continued warfare. These considerations are nowhere felt with more obvious
truth than on the spot where we now stand, where so many deadly feuds
have given way to religious exhortation; where they who had met as foes
quitted the altar as friends—friends at least in act, if not in heart—and
returned the guilty sword to its scabbard. But we need not detain our readers
with what is manifest to every reflecting mind—that if justice and redress
were anywhere to be found in those times, it was rather in the abbeys, than
either in the Star Chamber or Westminster Hall.

The Screen of the great altar, or “Wallingford’s screen,” was begun and

finished in the reign of Edward the Fourth, and is one of the best—if not the
very best—specimens of the style and architecture of that epoch. It was the
munificent taste of Abbot Wallingford, and his liberal encouragement of the
arts, which have bequeathed this precious morceau to the admiration of
posterity. It has suffered little from the lapse of time and the momentous
changes which have passed over the abbey; and for beauty of design and
elegance of workmanship is worth a pilgrimage. Its front consists of three
divisions—a centre and two wings, the latter being perfectly symmetrical;
the lower part of the centre displays a double series of small niches with rich
canopies. On great festivals of the Church this splendid tabernacle was
covered with cloth of gold or crimson, and, drooping from its lofty pinnacles
in ample folds, must have produced an effect worthy of the gorgeous taste of
Wolsey himself, who carried the “state ecclesiastical” to a higher pitch than
any of his predecessors.
The Pulpit, which is a fine specimen of oak carving, though not
apparently of a remote date, is well deserving of attention; and in recalling
the splendid ceremonial of former times, with the impressive but simple and
decorous service of the present day, the mind is prepared to weigh and
contrast the spiritual energies which, exercised under that canopy, have
expounded the doctrines and enforced the duties of a religious life. The
pulpit of St. Albans would be no bad subject in the hands of another Boileau.
On the right of the altar, and closely adjoining the screen, is the tomb of
Abbot Ramryge—an elaborately carved Gothic chapel or shrine, greatly
admired for the beauty and delicacy of its workmanship, which is in high
preservation.
Opposite to this, and occupying the corresponding arch, is another but
less ornamental shrine to the memory of Abbot Whethamstead. Both are of
native stone—of a remarkably fine close texture, procured from the quarry
of Tottenhoe, light Portland colour, and capable of being wrought into the
most delicate tracery. Of this material all the finest chisel-work of the abbey
is composed.
Erected against the south wall of the church, where a door formerly
existed, is a beautiful Piscina, represented in many engravings. It has all the
marks of antiquity, and is said to occupy the spot where, in the earliest times
of Christianity in this country, two devout Eremites had chosen their cell,
and there, by a life of austere penance and mortification, left a holy example
for their brethren in after times. As a fragment of the colossal Abbey, this

traditionary relic is of itself a gem, and never fails to secure a full share of
the stranger’s attention.[72] On one of the windows of the south aisle, was “a
representation of the martyrdom of St. Alban” in painted glass, only a few
fragments of which remain. On the wall below was an inscription, now
almost obliterated, beginning thus:—
“This image of our frailty, painted glass,
Shews where the life and death of Alban was.
A knight beheads the martyr, but so soon
His eyes dropt out to see what he had done;
And leaving their own head, seemed with a tear
To wail the other head laid mangled there,” &c.

Between the east façade of the great screen and the end of the church
wall, is the space occupied by the modern Vestry, containing several objects
well deserving of notice, and long hallowed in the eyes of priest and pilgrim
as the spot on which the Shrine of the protomartyr had stood for centuries,
and drawn much tribute from the devout of all nations. Deeply cut in the
pavement near this spot, is the following inscription:
St. Albanus Verulamensis Anglorum Protomartyr. xvii. Junii. ccxcvii.

In the pavement six small artificial grooves mark the spot where rested
the pillars of the shrine, weighed down by the accumulated riches with
which it was loaded in the shape of votive offerings.
On the north side is the Rood-loft—a carved Gothic shrine of oak, in the
upper part of which, behind a lattice-work, the monks kept constant watch
over the sacred treasures, while the pilgrims knelt at the shrine. In the floor
several hollows are observable around the spot—worn, it is said, by the
successive crowds whose “penitential knees” subjected the stone during
centuries to perpetual friction and pressure. Such an effect is by no means
improbable. Whoever has witnessed the fervour with which that ancient
bronze, the statue of St. Peter at Rome, is saluted by a continual stream of
pilgrims, will not be surprised to find that the same spirit of devotion has left
a deep impression on the hard pavement of St. Albans. We do not “speak
irreverently;” where so many tears have undoubtedly been shed, so many
sins confessed, it is pleasing to indulge the belief that the sincerity, if not the
form, was accepted; that many a heavy heart, many an oppressed conscience,
has here found relief, and formed lasting resolutions of amendment.

“Prostrate on this cold stone, what tears and sighs
Have pour’d from breaking hearts the sacrifice!”

The clerk, who is well informed, and a professed collector of curiosities,
showed us several skulls and bones which had been found in the adjoining
fields[73]—some of which, from their gigantic proportions, are worth
inspection.
One or more sepulchral brasses are also deserving of notice, one in
particular—that of an Abbot, richly carved, of large dimensions, and
affording a fine specimen of the state of the art in his day. How it escaped
the soldiers of Cromwell—the greatest “collectors” of their age—is a
mystery The guide has taken some very good impressions of this and other
objects by a very simple process, for the accommodation of intending
purchasers. But the grand object of attraction is the Shrine-Tomb of the
good Duke Humphrey of Gloucester, whose unhappy destiny is familiar to
every reader of English history. This tomb was erected during the abbacy of
Whethamstead, who, for his taste and knowledge of architecture, has been
justly styled the “Wykeham” of his time. The description, which may be
seen in the printed history, and equally applicable at all times, is here
omitted; for, where the engraving of the subject is presented to the reader,
the necessity of description is much obviated, and the writer is thus
permitted to dwell at greater length on the interesting portion of history with
which the subject is connected.—A detailed account of this shrine is given in
Blore’s “Sepulchral Antiquities,” Part the third.
The character of this unfortunate Prince has been represented under
different aspects by the writers of his day; but by far the majority bear
willing testimony to his virtues, to his personal accomplishments, to his
liberal encouragement of science and literature, in which he himself had
acquired some merited distinction. At that epoch, however, the sword was
too indispensable, peace and tranquillity were too little felt and enjoyed, to
allow much scope for the more humanizing studies and pursuits. The dawn
of science was still but an indistinct speck in the horizon; and the few who
had already tasted the sweets of literature were continually roused from their
intellectual feast by the clang of arms, and the shouts of fresh combatants.
It was under such unpropitious circumstances that Humphrey the Good
gave his heart to letters; but with armed hand sought those means for its
prosecution which were never to be realized. The history of his life and

death may be
comprised in a few
sentences, and in
doing so we give a
ready preference to
the authority of old
Grafton, with only
slight alterations in
the orthography:
—“Divers articles,”
says he, “both
heynous and odious,
were laid to hys, the
Duke’s, charge in
open counsayle, and
in especial one, that
he had caused men,
adjudged to die, to
be put to other
execution than the
law of the land had
ordered or assigned:
for surely the Duke,
being very well
learned in the law
civil, detesting
malefactors, and
punishing their
offences, gat great
malice and hatred of
such as feared to
have condign reward
for their ungracious
actes and
mischievous doings. Although the Duke, not without great laud and praise,
sufficiently answered to all things to him objected; yet, because his death
was determined, his wisdom little helped nor his truth smally availed; but of
this unquietness of mind he delivered himself, because he thought neither of

death, nor of condemnation to die, such affiance had he in his strong truth,
and such confidence had he in indifferent justice. But his capital enemies
and mortal foes, fearing that some tumult or commotion might arise, if a
prince so well beloved of the people should be openly executed and put to
death, determined to trap and undo him ere he thereof should have
knowledge or warning. So, for the furtherance of their purpose, a parliament
was summoned to be kept at Bury, whither resorted all the Peers of the
realm, and amongst them the Duke of Gloucester, which, on the second day
of the session, was by the Lord Beaumont, then High Constable of England,
accompanied by the Duke of Buckingham and others, arrested, apprehended,
and put in ward, and all his servants sequestered from him, and thirty-two of
the chief of his retinue sent to divers prisons, to the great admiration and
surprise of the common people. The night after his imprisonment the Duke
was found dead in his bed, being the twenty-fourth day of February, and his
body showed to the Lords and Commons, as though he had died of a palsey
or impostume. But all indifferent persons well knew,” continues the
Chronicle, “that he died of no natural death, but of some violent force; some
judged him to be strangled, others write that he was stifled or smoldered
between two feather-beds.”
“The dead corpse of this Duke was caryed to Saint Albans, and there
honourably buryed. Thus this noble prince, son, brother, and uncle to kings,
which had valiantly and politiquely, by the space of twenty-five years,
governed this realm, and for his merits was called ‘The good Duke of
Gloucester,’
was, by a bone cast by his enemies, choked and brought to his fatal fine and
last ende.” This Duke Humphrey was “not only valyant and noble in all his
acts and doings, but sage, politique, and notably well learned in the civil
law.”[74] In proof of this, the reader may refer to an amusing anecdote of him
in Sir Thomas More’s “Dialogue concerning Heresies,” &c., chap. xiv.; also,
to Shakspeare’s Henry VI., Act II., Scene I. The good Duke is also said to
have “builded the Divinitie Schole at Oxford, which is a rare pece of
worke.”
The Vault in which the “good Duke’s” remains had been deposited, was
only discovered by accident early in the last century. When “first opened, the
body was found in a leaden coffin, in perfect preservation, and floating in a
strong pickle, which, however, on being exposed, soon evaporated and left
the body to decay. At the foot of the coffin was painted on the wall a picture

of the
crucifixion,
with a
chalice at
each hand, a
second at
the side, and
a third at the
feet, to
receive the
blood
trickling
from the
Saviour’s
wounds,
with a hand
extending
from the
dust with
this scroll
—“Blessed
Lorde haue
mercye on
mee.” This
painting is
still visible
on the stone
of the vault,
which was
remarkably
dry in
January last, and of a temperature considerably higher than that of the
chancel above. The skull, which shows the intellectual characteristics of the
phrenologists, and a great portion of the skeleton, are still left; but no care
having been taken of it for many years after its discovery, various portions
were appropriated by relic-hunters, and other conveyancers of anatomy.

In the summer of 1765—as related in the Topographical Library, article
Hertfordshire—David Garrick and Quin, who was remarkably fond of good
living, made a trip to St. Albans; where, on visiting the Abbey church, and
being shown the bones of Duke Humphrey, Quin jocosely lamented that so
many aromatics and such a quantity of spirits should have been wasted in
preserving a dead body. After their return to dinner, and whilst the wine was
circulating, Garrick took out his pencil and composed the following verses,
which he termed
QUIN’S SOLILOQUY.
A plague on Egypt’s arts, I say!
Embalm the dead! On senseless clay
Rich wines and spices waste!
Like sturgeon, or like brawn, shall I
Bound in a precious pickle lie,
Which I can never taste?

Let me embalm this flesh of mine
With turtle fat, and Bourdeaux wine,
And spoil th’ Egyptian trade!
Than good Duke Humphrey, happier I,
Embalmed alive, old Quin shall die
A Mummy ready made!

The Chapel of Our Lady, which is now converted into a public school,
presents in its architecture the same style and embellishments which
distinguish the most highly-finished ecclesiastical structures of its time. The
entrance from the south in the “olden time,” as here represented in the
engraving, is one of the most effective points of view. To describe minutely,
would be only to load our pages with unnecessary repetition; for nothing in
the form of words can adequately convey the great elegance and beauty
which predominate throughout the whole edifice. To be rightly understood
and appreciated, it must be seen; and of this the admirers of antiquity seem
fully aware, for the numbers who continually resort to the Abbey church for
the study and improvement of architectural science, bear ample testimony to
the exquisite materials which it offers for that purpose. The erection of new
churches, and the restoration of others in a dilapidated state, are greatly
facilitated by the numerous models, in every department, which are here
thrown open for imitation. Artists are seen taking casts; others measuring the
proportions, comparing the drawings, selecting the beauties, and copying the
example of whatever is chaste in design or exquisite in workmanship. In

short, the Abbey of St. Albans may be considered as a vast museum, or
school of arts, where the student may improve and perfect his designs upon
the best models; and which, were every other lost, might still supply the
elements for constructing a masterpiece of ecclesiastical Architecture.

All the subjects in this superb Abbey, to which we have thus briefly
adverted, are more or less striking in their kind; yet the effect is peculiarly
enhanced or diminished according to the season and hour selected for the
visit. The glare of noon, and the sober light of evening, produce effects
which are scarcely credible to those who are not familiarized to such
contrasts; but in no instance have we ever seen this venerable and majestic
pile to such advantage as during our recent visit, when we resolved to take a
view after the twilight had passed away, and the still deep shadows of night
had thrown their mantle over the scene. One of our party, who is an excellent
judge and an enthusiastic admirer of “Gothic grandeur,” strongly advised us
to make a survey by torch-light; but to this certain objections were started,
which it became necessary to respect. Reluctantly abandoning the torch, we
sallied forth into the sacred precincts under the dim light of a westering
moon, and, sauntering along in a silent contemplative mood, enjoyed a treat
of which the noon-day visitor can form no adequate conception. It afforded

what may be truly called a “night at St. Alban’s,” and seemed to address us
in the words of the poet—
“Ye, whose high spirit dares to dwell
Beyond the reach of earthly spell,
And tread upon the dizzy verge
Of unknown worlds, or downward urge,
Thro’ ages dim, your steadfast sight,
And trace their shapes of shadow’d light;
Oh! come with meek, submitted thought,
With lifted eye by rapture taught,
And o’er your head the gloom shall rise
Of monkish chambers, still and wide,
As once they stood: and to your eyes
Group after group shall slowly glide,
And here again their duties ply—
As they were wont, long ages by.”

The entrance to Lady-chapel from the north, of which a view has been
already given at page 80, is particularly characteristic and picturesque. The
massive square tower, showing at intervals its Roman materials and ancient
masonry, throws a solemn and stately grandeur over the scene. It seems,
while we look upon its scars, as if covered with hieroglyphics which embody
the sacred and political history of a thousand years, during which it has been
a cherished landmark to the pilgrim, a home to the weary, and an object of
sanguinary contention between rival armies.
“Here to its hospitable gate,
In want or woe, the pilgrim came;
For at its portal Pity sate,
To dry the tears of sin and shame.
And here have armies on their march,
And monarchs with their chiefs of fame,
Paused, as beneath that lofty arch
Their lips invoked St. Alban’s name.”

The great western entrance has a very imposing aspect, and conveys to
the spectator’s mind those ideas of ecclesiastical magnificence which can
only be inspired by the noblest constructions of art—such as are here
presented to his contemplation. It consists of a projecting porch, elaborately
ornamented, niched and pillared, and subdivided into numerous
compartments, upon which the artist’s chisel has been most skilfully
employed.

“Beside this porch, on either hand,
Giant buttresses darkly stand,
And still their silent vanguard hold
For bleeding knights, laid here of old;
And Mercian Offa and his queen,
The portal’s guard and grace, are seen.
This western front shows various style,
Less ancient than the central pile.
It seems some shade of parted years
Left watching o’er the mouldering dead,
Who here for pious Henry bled;
And here, beneath the wide-stretch’d ground
Of nave, of choir, of chapels round,
For ever—ever rest the head.”

Over the entrance is the magnificent window, shown in the steel plate: it
occupies nearly the whole breadth of the nave, and through its numerous
mullioned and transomed squares, pours a flood of light upon the long
Gothic aisles as far as the high Altar. To see the interior of the church to the
greatest advantage, the spectator should take his station at this entrance, and
at that hour after mid-day when the light and shade are brought into
strongest contrast.
In the south Aisle, nearly opposite the steps leading into the Chapel of St.
Alban, is the subject of the annexed cut. It is an oblong table of stone,
covered with a massive slab of dark marble, which is considered to be of a
rare and precious quality. It is marked with several small crosses, rudely
traced, and, as we were told by our cicerone, is the original Altar-table of the
Monastery, which, after the suppression of the latter in 1539, was removed
from the choir.
This Aisle, including the exterior of Abbot Whethamstead’s monument on
the left—that of Duke Humphrey in the distance—the entrance to the shrine
of the patron saint between, and with the outer doorway arches, windows,
and altar on the right, is one of the most interesting scenes in the church.
Standing by this altar of a thousand years, the lines of the French poet
possess a force which in any other situation would be scarcely felt:

Les arcs de ce long clôitre, impénétrable au jour,
Les degrés de l’autel usés par la prière,
Ces noirs vitraux, ce sombre et profond sanctuaire,
Où peut-être des cœurs, en secret malheureux,
A l’inflexible autel se plaignoient de leurs nœuds,
Et, pour des souvenirs encore trop pleins de charmes,
A la religion dérobaient quelques larmes—
Tout parle, tout émeut dans ce séjour sacré!

The Gate-House, with its ponderous oaken doors still closing the lofty
pointed archway, is a massive and cumbrous pile of building, and has all the

rude

strength of a fortress crowned with embattled walls. It stands parallel with
the west end of the church, at the distance of about one hundred and fifty
feet, and formed the original grand entrance to the Abbey-court, which was
bounded, at the distance of about three hundred feet, by a lower gate leading
to the Abbey Mills. Both these gateways were originally crowned with
turrets. The smaller gate has long since disappeared; and the larger fabric,
which still survives the shock of centuries, has undergone many alterations
in recent times, as is sufficiently apparent in the view annexed. The massive
oak doors, still firm on their hinges, are good specimens of ancient
carpentry. This gate is said to have been built in the reign of Richard the
Second, and is every way characteristic of that age of treason and feudal
splendour. The lower apartments were appropriated to malefactors under the
jurisdiction of the Lord Abbot; and, with the exception of the order having
been reversed—by converting the upper rooms to a similar purpose—it is
still the prison for the borough and liberty of St. Albans.
The high and distinguishing privileges enjoyed by the spiritual lords of
this Abbey gave them precedence of every other in the kingdom. “The king,”
says Weever, “could make no secular officer over them but by their own
consent; they were alone quit from paying that apostolical custome and rent
which was called Rom-scot, or Peter-pence; whereas neyther kinge,

archbishop, bishop, abbot, prior, nor any one in the kingdom, was freed from
the payment thereof. The Abbot also, or monk appointed archdeacon under
him, had pontifical jurisdiction over all the priests and laymen, of all the
possessions belonging to this church, so as he yielded subjection to no
archbishop, bishop, or legate, save onely to the Pope of Rome. This Abbot
had the fourth place among the Abbots which sate as Barons in the
Parliament House.” “Howsoever, Pope Adrian the Fourth, whose surname
was Breakspeare, born hereby at Abbots-Langley, granted this indulgence to
the Abbots of this monasterie, namely—that as Saint Alban was distinctly
known to be the first martyr of the English nation, so the Abbot of this
monasterie should at all times, among other Abbots of England, in degree of
dignity, be reported first and principal. The Abbot and convent of this house
were acquitted of all toll throughout England. They made Justices ‘ad
audiendum et terminandum,’ within themselves, and no other Justice could
call them for any matter out of their libertie. They made Bayliffes and
Coroners; they had the execution and returne of all writs, the goodes of all
outlaws, with gaole and gaole deliverie within themselves.”—These
particulars have been carefully embodied in a poem on the subject, from
which we have already quoted. In the prosperous days of the Abbey, several
apartments were built exclusively for the use of strangers.[75] These adjoined
the cloisters; and beyond them, in a separate range of buildings, were the
king’s and the queen’s apartments.[76] But notwithstanding this preparation
for visitors, and these indirect invitations, it would seem, on the authority of
Matthew Paris, that some of the earlier “monarchs came too often, or at least
with too cumbrous suites.”
The princely state which the Abbots maintained in their style of living, in
their table and retinue, partook much more of regal splendour than of
religious restriction. The scene, as exhibited on a festal day in the Abbey, is
thus effectively sketched by Mrs. Ann Radcliffe:—

. . . The stately walls, with tapestry richly dight,
Of the Abbot’s banquet-hall, where, as on throne,
He sat at the high dais, like prince alone,
Save when a Royal guest came here,
Or papal Legate claimed a chair.
Here marble platforms, flight o’er flight,
Slow rising through the long-lined view,
Showed tables spread at different height,
Where each for different rank he knew.
And, with pleased glance adown the hall,
Saw Bishops in their far-sought palle,
The Abbey’s noble Seneschal;
Barons and Earls in gold array,
And warrior knights in harness gray.
There was the Prior’s delegated sway;
The grave Archdeacon sat below,
And the hundred Monks in row and row,
Not robed in dismal sable they
Upon a high and festal day,
But all in capes most costly and most gay.
There too the Abbey Marshal shone;
And there, beside the Abbot’s throne,
Chaplain of honour from the Pope alone.”

The battles, of which the immediate vicinity of St. Albans has been the
theatre, are familiar to every reader of history.[77] In connection with our
immediate subject, however, we may briefly advert to them as melancholy
contrasts to that peace and religious tranquillity which were supposed to be
the cherished inmates of this magnificent sanctuary.
The first battle. 1455. It was now, says Newcome, when the first battle of St.
Albans happened; the causes of which it is unnecessary to relate. Suffice it to
say, that the king attended with his nobles, or such as were of his council,
and a number of armed troops came down from London; and probably with
the view that a treaty with the Duke of York might be carried on with less
interruption or danger from the military. The duke was coming from the
north; and brought with him 3000 men of that body which he had raised
there, and took part in the great field on the east side of the town, called
Key-field. The king’s men had barricadoed all the avenues on that side. The
cry among the Yorkists was, “Give up the Duke of Somerset;” but no
concession of this sort being made, the duke’s men broke into St. Peter’s
Street; and being there met by the royalists, a dreadful conflict ensued;
where, after many were slain, the king’s party lost courage and fled, leaving
their sovereign alone, and standing under his standard. He, perceiving

himself thus deserted, walked away into a small house, that of a baker; and
here the duke finding him, led him out, and conducted him to the Abbey,
where he first placed him close to the shrine, whether for safety and
sanctuary, or to induce him to return thanks for his safety. He then conducted
him to the royal apartments, and the next day to London. The effeminacy of
the king’s men, and to which is ascribed the loss of the battle, is thus
described by our author, who saw both parties, and writes of them thus:—
Quicquid ad Eoos tractusque regni tepores
Vergitur, emollit animos Clementia Cœli: et
Omnis in arctois sanguis quicunque pruinis
Nascitur, indomitus bellis, et mortis amator.

The duke’s men fell to plundering the town, but, by the commands of the
duke, they abstained from doing any injury to the Abbey; but the Abbot

thought it necessary to send out to them great quantities of victuals and wine,
and this, together with the protecting hand of the martyr, as my author
asserts, preserved the Abbey and church from any injury by spoil and
depredation. The slain lay thick in the upper street, and at the division of the
ways about the market; and among them were seen the dead bodies of
Edmund Beaufort, Duke of Somerset; of Henry Percy, Earl of
Northumberland; and of Thomas Clifford, Lord Clifford. But because they
were persons well known to be hateful to the Duke of York when alive, none
ventured to prepare for their funerals, or showed any decent regard to their
dead bodies. Whereupon Abbot John addressed the duke, and begged him to
spare the vanquished, and suffer some honours to be paid to the deceased
—“Not enemies will I call them,” says he, “but your relations by blood,—
your fellow patriots.” And saying more to recommend moderation in his
victory, the duke commanded him to take the bodies and provide for their
funerals. The Abbot then caused some of the brethren to go forth and take up
the deceased. This being done, and the dead bodies received into the church
and laid out in decent order, in a few days the funeral obsequies were
performed, and the bodies had interment in the chapel of the Blessed Virgin.
They were laid in the ground “lineali ordine, juxta statum, gradum, et
honorem, dignitatis. Unde de his dominis et de eorum sepulturâ scribitur in
ista formâ:”[78]—
Quos Mars, quos Martis sors sæva suæque sororis,
Bello prostrarunt, villæ medioque necarunt.
Mors sic occisos tumulaverat his simul ipsos,
Postque necem requiem causavit habere perhennem,
Est medium sine quo vult sic requiescere nemo:
Hic lis, hic pugna, mors est quæ terminat arma;
Mors, sors, et mavors, qui straverunt dominos hos.

During a period of more than seven centuries, “this Abbey continued to
flourish with various improvements, under the government of no less than
forty-one Abbots, many of whom enriched it with additional buildings and
treasures; so that its extent was in proportion to its immense estates, and
more resembled a town than a religious establishment. To its apartments we
have already adverted. Here, in 1215, King John, during his opposition to the
Barons, ‘held a grand consultation’ in the Chapter-house; here also Louis the
Dauphin, who arrived shortly after, exacted a heavy contribution for carrying
on the war, in which he had been invited to take part. Henry the Second and
Henry the Third were often entertained by the Abbots of St. Albans, and

were liberal benefactors to the monastery;” but the eighth Henry, as every
reader is aware, pursued the opposite course. Its funds were appropriated to
state purposes, its privileges abolished, its inmates dismissed; but the fabric
itself, comparatively, suffered little from the violence of the transition.
In a careful perusal of the history of this monastery, the reader will find
abundant materials for reflection. The lives of the Abbots, as recorded by a
member of their own body, present many instructive anecdotes and examples
of the civil and religious government, the state of society, the progress of
science, and that encouragement of the arts over which they exercised so
direct and beneficial an influence. “Although originally subject to the
Diocesan, the Lord Abbot gradually advanced in external splendour till the
Abbey-church became a rival to the Cathedral; and this,” as Newcome has
observed, “went on till, at the Dissolution, the mitred Abbots, who had
laboured for pre-eminence, outnumbered the Bishops in the House of Lords,
amounting in 1514 to twenty-eight, whilst the Bishops were only eighteen or
nineteen.”
There were many other considerations that tended to give the Monks
power and consequence; and Abbeys were found to be such beneficial
institutions, that they would have stood their ground to the present day, had
not their great possessions and revenues tempted indigent courtiers “to
combine and plot against them.” “Their utility,” continues the same author,
“appeared in these respects, that they exercised great hospitality towards the
poor; and this was done at one-tenth of the expense which the poor now
(1790) create, by being maintained by a legal provision. The monastery was
the house of reception for all the sick, who were here nursed, spiritually
consoled, and cured. The monastery generally employed masters to teach the
poor children of the neighbourhood; entertained all persons who were
ingenious in any art or science, and transcribed books when few understood
the art, or could undertake it. There is now extant a chronicle composed and
printed at St. Albans, in 1484, under the countenance then given to this
particular Abbey by Richard the Third.”
“These old religious houses kept public registers of all great public
transactions; and to them we are indebted for all our English historians down
to the period of the Dissolution. They were possessed of all the learning that
was in any repute at the time prior to the coming of the friars. The
monasteries, in general, furnished the men who were fit for embassies
abroad, or for offices of trust and distinction at home: and to their honour it

is recorded, that all the inferior officers, both in the courts of law and in the
civil departments of the Government, who are called clerks, owe this
appellation to the religious houses, Abbeys or Cathedrals, from which the
first officers were taken. The landed property belonging to these houses at
the time of the Dissolution was so great, that it was computed at one-third of
the kingdom. Yet, whatever were their temporal possessions, they were
always found to be good landlords, ever ready to forward improvements, and
accomplishing many great works in draining, enclosing, and planting, which
could never have been undertaken by individuals.” “In truth,” adds the
historian quoted, “they did more to civilize mankind, and to bring them
within the comforts of society, than any set of men of any denomination
have ever done. And yet the ungrateful world, that was enjoying the fruits of
their labours and their riches, now that it beheld the edifice completed, cast
down the builders and the scaffoldings as if no longer useful! In spite of all
the calumny thrown out against these monastic institutions, nothing so well
proclaims their utility as this—that they maintained themselves in credit and
repute, some of them a thousand years; and many of them during the space
of three hundred, four hundred, and five hundred years; and that, when they
were dissolved, Edward the Sixth and his counsellors found it necessary to
endow new hospitals, to build new schools, and to provide new relief for the
poor and helpless.”
Such is the testimony of a liberal-minded clergyman of the Church of
England, who spent a great portion of his leisure in investigating the history
of monastic institutions, particularly that of St. Albans. “These religious
foundations,” he adds, “fell with such undeserved calumny and slander, that
it is but common justice to restore their character, and give them their due
praise, wherever that can be done; and if all others were as free from
corruption and ill government as the Abbey of St. Albans, it would be seen
how unjustly they were accused, and that their overthrow was effected for
other reasons than pretended misrule and corruption. But as they had been
ever the main pillar and support of the Papal dominion, it was natural and
consistent to abolish the members after the Head was rejected. They were
bodies so nearly allied to the Papal power, that they must of necessity fall
with it; and although a gradual reformation might have been effected in
them, yet, in the new plan of church government, they were deemed
unnecessary; for the new Head of the

Church and his
counsellors wished to
have as few subjects
in the Church to be
governed as might be.
Accordingly, by
dissolving the regular
clergy, and limiting
the Church, to the
episcopal order of
seculars, they rejected
above one hundred
thousand of the
former, and retained
about eight thousand
of the latter.
Whatever was the
pretext, the real truth
appears to have been
this—that their
temporal power and
wealth tempted their
downfall; and in spite
of all the good and
real merit that was to
be found in them,
they fell a prey and
spoil to an
extravagant monarch, and his ‘needy and profligate’ courtiers. In the
legislature of those times, there were many great and able men; but whatever
cause there may be to charge them with want of piety, there is no room to
accuse them of any want of worldly wisdom, or of their embracing that self-
denial and contempt of the world, which they were so ready to condemn in
the monks. They made laws and ordinances to support a new religion, when
they could enrich themselves by suppressing the old.” “But,” continues this
able writer, “the bright examples of the bishops and clergy who submitted to
the flames at that time, will appear more illustrious when it is seen how just
and rational was their opposition to the worship then in use, as well as to the

doctrine; the first having in it as little of true piety and devotion, as the latter
had of reason and revealed truth. It was the blood of those men who could
die for the truth, that gave the new Establishment a firm and solid
foundation, when neither the will of the Prince nor the laws of his
Parliaments could have been able, without that cement, to effect a new
construction and edifice.”[79]
The Abbey of St. Albans has the credit of having introduced a printing
press soon after the invention of types; and may thus truly be said to have
fostered within itself the elements of its own dissolution. One of the first
works issued was by the lady prioress of the adjacent nunnery of Sopwell,
Dame Juliana Berners, who composed several treatises on hawking, hunting,
and heraldry, which were so well received that two editions were printed at
St. Albans, between 1481 and 1486.
The local scenery around St. Albans is pleasing, occasionally
picturesque, and, owing to its including the ancient Verulam, is never
without deep interest to all who have a knowledge of ancient history, and a
taste for antiquarian research.
The finest point of view is that which was chosen by the artist for the
steel engraving, namely—from the south near the walls of the ancient city;
the streets of which are still discernible in the green field, by the thin short
grass that covers them, and under which the Roman brick yet retains its
original bed. A great portion of the ancient substructure, matted with weeds
and shaded with trees and brushwood, still invites the curious stranger, and
offers him every facility for investigation. But, except the horizontal layers
of brick, mortar, and shingle—the brick generally carbonized in the centre—
there is nothing left to repay investigation. The soil has been ransacked too
effectually by the antiquaries of monastic times to encourage further
research; but the situation will please every one who delights in classic
associations, while the Abbey, which crowns the adjoining eminence, gives a
rich hallowing interest to the whole scene:—
“Whose Norman tower lifts its pinnacled spire:
Where the long Abbey-aisle extends,
And battled roof o’er roof ascends;
Cornered with buttresses shapely and tall,
That sheltered the Saint in canopied stall.”

There is no single object, however, after the Abbey, half so attractive as
the old church of St. Michael’s, the sacred repository of the great Lord
Bacon. It is built within the precincts of the ancient city, and, crowning a
gentle undulation of the surface, forms a beautiful feature in the landscape.
The interior still preserves its simple antique appearance, and is rich in
sepulchral objects. It was founded about the middle of the tenth century, by
Abbot Ulsinus; and its massive piers and plain semicircular arches still show
unquestionable evidence of the original Saxon architecture. It is kept
remarkably neat, and has, what we have rarely observed in other churches,
small fire-places in several of the family pews.
But the tomb and statue of Bacon soon arrest the eye, and claim, for a
time, the stranger’s undivided attention. The statue we need not describe; it
speaks for itself in the beauty of the sculpture, and in the classic elegance of
the inscription. But how appropriate are these lines:—

“Unfit to stand the civil storm of state,
And through the rude barbarity of courts,
With firm but pliant virtue, forward still
To urge his course; him for the studious shade
Kind nature form’d, deep, comprehensive, clear,
Exact and elegant; in one rich soul,
Plato, the Stagyrite, and Tully joined.
The great deliverer he! who, from the gloom
Of cloister’d monks, and jargon-teaching schools,
Led forth the true Philosophy, there long
Held in the magic chain of words and forms.”—Thomson.

Lord Bacon, “the illustrious subject of the following inscription, was the
son of Sir Nicholas Bacon, lord-keeper of the great seal under Elizabeth,
who was married to Anne, daughter of Sir Anthony Cooke, a lady of the
most profound erudition and brilliant talents. Francis, the illustrious son of
such distinguished parents, was born in the year 1560, and even in his
infancy gave indications of the most uncommon abilities, united with the
greatest and most unwearied assiduity in the pursuit of knowledge and
investigation of truth; his cleverness gained him, even in his earliest youth,
the admiration of Elizabeth. At Cambridge, where
he completed his education, his talents obtained universal applause. While
prosecuting his studies at the university, he detected the fallacies of the then
customary mode of philosophizing, which at a more mature age he published
to the world, and laid down those laws which opened the way to all the
brilliant and surprising discoveries of modern days. His university education
being completed, he commenced his travels, from which the unexpected
death of his father suddenly recalled him; upon which he applied himself to
the study of the common law, at Gray’s Inn, and soon elevated himself to the
highest dignities of his profession. But his character was not without a
blemish—‘humanum est errare;’ and even the illustrious Bacon fell from the
giddying height he had so proudly attained. After his disgrace, he applied
himself wholly to literary and philosophical pursuits, enriching the world
with his discoveries, and enlightening it by his reasonings. His love for
philosophy was the immediate cause of his death, of which the following
narrative is given by Aubrey, in his MSS., which are now deposited in the
Ashmolean Museum at Oxford:—
“The cause of his lordship’s death was trying an experiment as he was
taking the aire in the coach with Dr. Witherborne, a Scotchman, physitian to
the king, towards Highgate: snow lay upon the ground, and it came into my

Francis. Bacon. Baro de Verulam. S. Albans Vicᵐᵉˢ. seu notioribus titulis. scientiarum
lumen. facundiæ lex. sic sedebat. qui. postquam omnia naturalis sapientiæ et civilis arcana
evolvisset naturæ decretum explevit—‘Composita Solvantur’ Aⁿᵒ. Dⁿⁱ. mdcxxvi. Ætat. lxvi.
Tanti Viri Mem. Thomas Meautys Superstitis cultor defuncti admirator. H. P.0[80]

lord’s thoughts, why flesh might not be preserved in snow, as in salt. They
were resolved they would try the experiment presently. They alighted out of
the coach, and went into a poor woman’s house at the bottome of Highgate-

hill, and bought a hen, and made the woman exenterate it, and then stuffed
the body with snow; and my lord did help to do it himself. The snow so
chilled him he immediately fell so ill, that he could not return to his lodgings
(I suppose then at Gray’s Inn), but went to the Earl of Arundell’s house at
Highgate, where they put him into a good bed, warmed with a panne; but it
was a damp bed, that had not been lain in for about a yeare before, which
gave him such a cold, that in two or three days, as I remember he told me, he
died of suffocation.”—Topographical Library, page 113-5.
Sopwell Nunnery is thus described in the History of the Abbey. It was
founded by “Abbot Geoffry about 1140, on his observing two poor women
dwelling there in a wretched hut of their own constructing, and living a most
austere life on bread and water, and in regular devotion to God. Their piety
induced him to build a house for their comfortable living; and to bestow on
them some possessions. He appointed also a chapel and a church-yard;
ordaining that none should be buried there except the nuns; none to be
admitted into that house but maidens; and the number not to exceed thirteen.
“Henry de Albini or Albeney, of the house of Todenei, gave to this house
two hides of land, with his wife’s consent, in their manor of Cotes, in
Beaulieu. His son Robert, and his mother Cicely, gave a rood more, in the
same manor. Richard de Tany, or Todenei, gave them the land called Black
hides in Ridge parish.
“Abbot Michael, about 1338, ordained certain rules for the regulation of
this house, and enjoined a better order and observance than they had before
practised. They are as follows: 1. That the commemoration of St. Alban
should be kept as usual. 2. That no more than three nuns should sit in the
chapter. 3. That silence be observed, as by the rule of St. Benedict, in the
church or chapel, in the cloister, in the refectory, and the dormitory. 4. That a
little bell do ring in the morning, as notice to rise and appear; and that none
leave the dormitory before the bell rings. 5. That the garden door be not
opened (for walking) before the hour of prime, or first hour of devotion; and
in summer, that the garden and the parlour doors be not opened until the
hour of none (nine) in the morning; and to be always shut when the corfue
rings. 6. That no sister hold conversation in the parlour without her cowl on,
and her face covered with her veil. 7. That tailors, or other artists, be persons
of good character, but to work in some place assigned them without the
monastery; and never to be admitted into chambers or other private places. 8.
That if any sister be under a sentence of penance, this shall not exclude her

from the duties of the church. 9. The sick to be kept in the infirmary. 10. No
nun to lodge out of the house; and no guest within it. 11. All the sisters to be
present at the mass of our Lady.”—History of St. Albans, page 468.

Returning from the ruins of Sopwell, we take a parting view of the great
west entrance to the Abbey Church, the principal features of which we have
already noticed, page 94. The ground in front of the porch is entirely
occupied as a public cemetery; but none of its sepulchral antiquities are of a
character to demand particular notice as works of art.
The ceremony represented in the woodcut is the “distribution of alms,”
which usually took place at the church door, on particular festivals, when
“give-ale” and the “dole” drew together the neighbouring poor. The “give-
ale,” so called, was distributed on anniversaries, often with bread and other
dole, to the poor, for which purpose land had been left to the church by the
person whose birth-day, saint’s-day, or burial-day, was to be commemorated.
Anniversaries were sometimes kept on the birth-day of a donor, during his
life-time, or on the saint’s-day of the church where it was appointed. The
doles of money and bread were distributed at some altar in the church, or at
the tomb of a deceased benefactor. The “give-ale,” being chiefly allotted to

great festivals, was usually distributed in the church-porch, where the people
assembled, and where they sometimes remained wassailing in the church-
yard till it became a scene of merriment and tumult. Some of these
anniversaries, as it is well known, gave rise to Fairs, which were once most
improperly held in churchyards.—Gaston de Blondeville, vol. iv. p. 68.

In the preceding notice of St. Albans, the narrow limits assigned to this
work has made it necessary to confine our sketches and observations to the
more striking features of the Abbey and its vicinity. Where the materials are
so abundant and inviting, and where only a few characteristic portions can
be admitted, their selection must be always attended with more or less
difficulty; but in the present instance, it is hoped, the order of subjects has
been so arranged as to present the reader with a faithful picture of the Abbey

as it now is, and such as, with the vast improvements in contemplation, it
may continue to be for ages to come. For the lives and acts of its “forty
abbots and one,” we must refer our readers to the chronicles of the Abbey,
and the other sources of information hereunto annexed.
“Now closes the scene; and here,” in the words of the historian, “may we
behold fallen and set for ever the glory and splendour of this and all other of
those religious corporations, which, with most pious intentions in the
founders, with general good conduct in the rulers, with most grateful
acceptance in the sober and virtuous of all ranks, had provided for the wants
and necessities of men; and the revenues, which had cheered the hearts of
the naked and hungry, now turned out of the channel of hospitality and
beneficence, to be dissipated and wasted in the voluptuous pleasures and
base gratifications of the court and its followers.”
“Here forty abbots have ruled and one,
Twenty with palle and mitre on,
And bowed them to the Pope alone.
Their hundred monks, in black arrayed,
The Benedictine rules obeyed;
O’er distant lands they held their sway;
Freed from Peter’s-pence were they;
The gift of palle from Pope they claimed,
And cardinal-abbots were they named;
And even old Canterbury’s lord
Was long refused the premier board;
For this was the first British martyr’s bier,
And the Pope said ‘His priest shall have no peer.’
Now know ye St. Alban’s bones rest here!
Kings and heroes here were guests
In stately halls, at solemn feasts.
But now, nor dais nor halls remain;
Nor fretted window’s gorgeous pane
Twilight illuminated throws,
Where once the high-served banquet rose.”—Anne Radcliffe.

Appendix.[81]—1.
The present roof of
the Abbey was
erected at the
expense of Abbot
Whethamstead, after
the original, which
is said to have been
of stone, had been
blown down in a
tempest. The
“Wallingford
Screen” was built, in
1480, by the Abbot
of that name, at an
expense of eleven
hundred marks. It
reaches from the
ground to the eastern
window, and for
beauty and
magnitude is said to
surpass everything
else of the kind in
Europe. It was
adorned, in the
palmy days of the
Abbey, with “a profusion of gold and silver ornaments;” but in its present
condition, stripped of all such glittering ornaments, and its elegant simplicity
so much more apparent, it is thus “unadorned, adorned the most.”
2. The Abbey Church of St. Albans was “chiefly erected by Paul, the first
Norman Abbot, early in the reign of William Rufus, at which period the
edifice erected by Offa had become extremely ruinous. The Norman
architecture is consequently preserved in the greater part of the building,
particularly in the choir, nave, transepts, and great tower; but a very
considerable portion has been rebuilt in the various styles of the times when
repairs became necessary, the particulars of which may be seen in the lives

of the different Abbots. For the purposes of repair, the materials were chiefly
furnished by the ruins of Verulam; among which was a profusion of Roman
brick.”—Archt. of St. Albans.
3. We are aware of the difference of opinion which once subsisted among
writers as to the true era and character of the round and pointed arches which
distinguish the Abbey Church. But the round arches which were formerly
considered Norman, have been lately, we understand, pronounced Saxon by
a distinguished architect, who has bestowed great pains in the investigation;
and has at last, it is to be hoped, settled the question
“And proved, when Mercian Offa was anointed,
Arches were broad and round—not lancet-pointed.”

4. P. 87.—The epitaph on the two hermits, Roger and Sigarius, states, that
thinking themselves unworthy to rest within the church, they chose a resting-
place in the wall below. Legendary inscriptions on the clustered pillars are
still dimly visible through the modern whitewash.
5. This Abbey Church, venerable
alike for its antiquity, and admirable
for its design and workmanship,
“possesses all the magnitude and
dignity of the largest Cathedral. It is
cruciform, measures from east to
west, including the Lady Chapel, six
hundred and six feet in length; the
extreme breadth, at the intersection of
the transepts, is two hundred and
seventeen feet. The height of the body
is sixty-five feet, and that of the tower
is one hundred and forty-four feet.”
Authorities:—M. Paris.—Grafton.
ARMS OF ST. ALBANS.
—Harding.—Holinshed.—Speed.—
Camden.—Archæologia.—Newcome.
—Clutterbuck.—Topography of Great Britain.—Guide to St. Albans Abbey.
—St. Augustine.—Radcliffe’s St. Albans Abbey.—Holcroft’s Margaret of
Anjou.—Memoir of Lord Bacon.—Blome’s Britannia.—Weever.—Willis.—

Tyrrell.—Burnet.—Dugdale.—Visit to St. Albans, January 1842, MS. Notes
by an Artist, MS.
The Society of Antiquaries has published very splendid illustrative plans,
elevations, and sections of the Abbey Church of St. Albans.

HALL OF ELTHAM PALACE.
A.D. 1365.
LONDON. GEORGE VIRTUE.

INTERIOR OF ELTHAM HALL.

MDCCCXLII.

ELTHAM PALACE,

Kent .
Qui, dans ces temps affreux de discorde et d’alarmes
Vit les grands coups de lance et les nobles faits d’armes
De nos preux chevaliers, des “Bayards,” des Henris;
Aujourd’hui la moisson flotte sur ses débris!
Ces débris, cette triste et mâle architecture
Qu’environné une fraiche et riante verdure.

T HE royal palace of Eltham is a subject which has often engaged the
historian’s pen and the pencil of the artist; and, as intimately associated
with many national events, it possesses an interest to which neither the
lapse of time nor its own decay can ever render us indifferent. A visit to the
“old Hall of Eltham,” forms one of those incidents in life to which we look
back with as much pleasure as the pilgrim was wont to do after he had paid
his devotions at the “shrine of our Lady of Walsingham.” Every feature in
this primitive abode of kings, this favourite resort of our native princes,
arrests attention, and carries us back into the days of chivalry and romance.
While sauntering through its deserted, and, as we may truly say, its
desecrated court, imagination delights to expatiate among those recorded
scenes of court festivity, military fêtes, and national solemnities, of which it
has so often been the scene. The very echoes which, if at all disturbed, now
only reply to the thresher’s song or the lowing of cattle, were once roused
into loud and long-continued reverberations by the plaudits of knights
within, and popular acclamations from without. In the twilight, the dim
figures of its long line of possessors seem to flit before our eyes; while the
mind is busily occupied in filling up the picture, from the days of Edward
the Confessor down to those of James the First:
“Again, again, along the wizard’s glass,
In waving plumes they reappear and pass.”

It is gratifying to think that, whilst the plough may be said to have passed
over many of our classic and historical sites, the Hall of Eltham is still

spared. The ground on which it stands is sacred in the eyes of every patriot:
it is an interesting field of study for the artist and antiquary; and in beauty of
situation challenges the admiration of the most ordinary observer. Its
position on a gently elevated surface, commanding a fine view in nearly
every direction, surrounded by an extensive chase, and in the immediate
vicinity of the capital, made Eltham highly eligible as an occasional
residence for the sovereign. But the surrounding country has undergone so
many alterations, Eltham itself is so shrunk, dilapidated, and “curtailed of its
fair proportions,” that it is impossible to form a just estimate of what it must
have been during the feudal period; adorned, as it undoubtedly was, with all
the embellishments of art, inhabited by kings, with “kings for their guests,”
and frequented by the élite of English beauty and chivalry.
Enough remains, however, to fill a long summer day with agreeable
amusement and profitable entertainment; and to those who take pleasure in
contemplating such monuments of the regal sway in England, the old palace
of Eltham has attractions peculiarly its own.
Nearly all the writers who have given their attention to the topography of
Eltham and its vicinity, complain of the great want of authentic records, for
the satisfactory elucidation of its early history. This is a subject of much
regret; obscurity is intimately connected with the origin of the place; the
documents which we possess consist chiefly of those casual notices
embodied in the old Chronicles, where the subject is of only secondary
consideration, and often merely alluded to by way of illustration. During the
last twenty years, particularly since the discoveries of some subterranean
passages within the walls, Eltham has been a subject of frequent description
in the periodicals[82] of the day; and that frequency is a proof how much it
has attracted, and still continues to attract, the public attention.
In the well-known county histories of Kent, as well as in all the
topographical works which we have seen, the description of Eltham is given
in nearly the same words, each successive writer contenting himself with
what he has read, rather than what he had personally observed in the
venerable ruin itself. We are far from presuming to do much more than our
predecessors in the same walk; but, as the objects of our study and research
are chiefly to ascertain and retail what has been done, rather than what is to
be seen at Eltham, we shall, as usual, willingly avail ourselves of the old
chronicles as our principal authorities, and, avoiding mere technical
description, endeavour to bring the subject home to the mind and eye of the

reader. But whilst to a certain class of readers we can only address the
following well-known lines—
“Oisifs de nos cités, dont la mollesse extrême
Ne veut que ces plaisirs où l’on fuit soi-même,
Qui craignez de sentir, d’éveiller vos langueurs,
Ces tableaux éloquents sont muets pour vous”—

to another, a more congenial fraternity, we can speak with confidence, and
calculate on their sympathy and support:
“Mais toi, qui des beaux-arts sens les flammes divines,
Ton âme entend la voix des cercueils, des ruines;
De la destruction recherchant les travaux,
Des états écroulés tu fouilles les tombeaux.
Tu lis, le cœur saisi d’un agréable effroi,
La marche de ce temps qui roule aussi sur toi;
Quel livre à ton génie offrent de tels décombres!”

Eltham, anciently written Ealdham and Aletham, carries a proof of its
antiquity in the very name, which is a compound of two Saxon words
signifying the old home, town, or dwelling; “heim,” being still the modern
German word used to express the same meaning, and, with some
characteristic prefix, is frequent in Saxon topography. But this is so well
known as scarcely to require a passing remark. Bounded by Greenwich,
Woolwich, Plumsted, and Kidbrook on the north; by Bexley on the east;
Chiselhurst and Mottingham on the south, and the picturesque village of Lee
on the west, Eltham enjoys most of the advantages that result from a position
in the centre of a rich cultivated neighbourhood.
The manor of Eltham is said to have existed as a royal demesne in the
time of Edward the Confessor; to have been given by William the Conqueror
to one of his family, Odo Earl of Kent, and Bishop of Bayeux,[83] after
whose disgrace and banishment, it reverted partly to the crown and partly to
the Norman family of Mandeville, from whom it took the name of Eltham-
Mandeville. That portion which fell to the crown was, according to Dugdale,
given by Edward the First to John de Vesci, who was related to queen
Eleanor by his marriage with Isabel de Beaumont, and afterwards, by an
exchange of other lands with Walter de Mandeville, became sole proprietor
of the manor. We shall not, however, detain our readers by tracing the
descent with genealogical minuteness. From the Vesci family it passed into
that of de Ayton—thence to Scroop of Masham; who afterwards presented it

to queen Isabel in
1318, or probably a
year later. About the
middle of the
following century, it
was granted to
Robert Dauson for
seven years; and in
the beginning of his
reign, Henry the
Eighth bestowed it
successively upon
Sir Henry
Guildford,
Comptroller of the
Household, and Sir
Thomas Speke. By
Edward the Sixth it
was granted to Sir
John Gates,
lieutenant of the
Tower, who was
afterwards executed
for high-treason;
and down to the
close of Queen
Elizabeth’s reign, it
was successively
held of the crown
by William Cromer
and Lord Cobham.
On the accession of King Charles the First, it was held in lease by the Earl of
Dorset; but in the time of the Commonwealth, Eltham manor was seized by
the Parliament, and, along with the manor-house then called Eltham Place,
and great part of the demesne lands, was valued and sold to Nathaniel Rich
of Fulham. At the restoration a renewal of the lease was obtained on
purchase, by Sir John Shaw.—For these brief particulars we are indebted to

an “Account of Eltham,” printed about fifty years ago, and drawn up from
standard authorities on the subject.
We shall next advert to the historical incidents which connect Eltham
Palace with the record of public transactions, while it was the residence of
successive monarchs, and the resort of all who were most distinguished in
the court history of their day; and then conclude with a brief account of it as
it now appears, with all its “venerable scars and chronicled events” clustered
together under the roof of its ancient Hall.
During the reign of the early monarchs, and more particularly during that
of Henry the Third, Edward the First, and Richard the Second, Eltham
appears to have been the locale chosen for the celebration of those court
pageantries, and gorgeous festivals of the church, which softened the sterner
features of the age, smoothed asperities, and brought the serf into friendly
communion with his suzerain. In 1270, Henry the Third and his queen,
attended by all the chief men of the state, kept open court at Eltham during
the Christmas holidays, making merry with their attendant lords and ladies,
and dispensing much generous hospitality to strangers.
Anthony Beck, Bishop of Durham and Patriarch of Jerusalem, who died
at Eltham in 1311, is said to have expended great treasure on the fresh
“edification and adornment” of the palace. He “builded,” says Stow, “the
manor house, and gave it to the queen;” but this, as appears from “the
statement given in the descent of the manor,” it was not in his power to have
done. “Beck,” says the author of a paper on this subject, already quoted,[84]
was a trustee under the will of William de Vesci; and the only way in which
the fact can be reconciled is, by supposing him to have betrayed his trust,
and to have obtained fraudulent possession of the estate.” “This prelate,”
says Mr. Hutchinson, in his History of Durham, “merits notice for the
singularity of his character; he led the van of Edward the First’s army
gallantly against the Scots, at the battle of Falkirk, and dared even to make a
harsh retort to a reproof from that stern monarch. At Rome, he opposed
single-handed a body of ruffians who had entered his house. So active was
his mind, that he always rose when his first sleep was over, saying ‘It was
beneath a man to turn in his bed.’ He was so modest, that although he smiled
at the frown of a king, he never could lift his eyes to the face of a woman;
and when the remains of Saint William were to be removed to York, he was
the only prelate whose ‘conscious chastity’ permitted him to touch the sacred
bones. And yet this mirror of purity could defraud the natural son of his

friend, the Lord Vesci, of a large estate which had been trusted to the
Bishop’s honour.[85] Beck loved military parade and had always knights and
soldiers about him, and through vanity was prompted to spend immense
sums. For forty fresh herrings he once gave a sum equal to forty pounds
sterling; and a piece of cloth, which had proverbially been said to be ‘too
dear for the Bishop of Durham,’ he bought and cut out into horse-cloths. To
conclude—this haughty prelate once seized a palfrey of King Edward as a
deodand; and at last broke his heart at being excommunicated by the
Archbishop of York.”

Eltham was also the favourite residence of Edward the Second, whose
son being born here, received the name of John of Eltham: a circumstance in
which originated the common error of its having been the palace of King
John. At twelve years of age, this prince was created Earl of Cornwall; was
appointed “custos of the citie of London:” died in Scotland in the flower of
his age, and was buried in Westminster, where his monument is one of the
chief sepulchral ornaments.
It was here, in his palace of Eltham, that Edward the Third held several
parliaments; in one of which his faithful commons petitioned him to make
his grandson, Richard of Bordeaux, Prince of Wales. In 1364, the same
monarch gave a splendid banquet at Eltham, in honour of King John of
France, whom the fate of war had made his prisoner, but whose captivity
was soothed by every demonstration of respect and hospitality on the part of
his royal brother and his consort. “The court of this sovereign,” says Warner,

“was the very theatre of sumptuous carousal and romantic elegance. The
martial amusements of tilts and tournaments, which were always
accompanied by splendid feasts, were so much encouraged, that we have
instances of their being solemnly celebrated by royal command, in different
cities, no less than seven times in the course of one year.” “This gentle king
of England,” says Froissart, “the better to feste these strange lordes and all
their company, held a great court on Trinity Monday in the Friers, whereat
he and the queene his mother were lodged, keeping their house eche of them
apart. At this feaste, the king had well five hundred knights, and fifteen were
new made. And the queene had well in her courte sixty ladies and
damozelles. There might be seen great nobles, plenty of all manner of
straunge vitaile. There were ladies and damozelles freshely apparelled, ready
to have daunced if they might have leave.” The above, though applied by
Froissart to the reception of John of Hainault, was a general feature in the
court life of this period; and it is no wonder that King John of France, whom
Prince Edward had pronounced “the bravest of knights,” found the weight of
captivity much lightened in the congenial atmosphere of Eltham palace.
The evening of Edward’s reign, however, exhibited a very different
picture. Feast and tournament were gone, or rather the pleasures which they
had once furnished to that chivalrous monarch during a long protracted
reign, had now lost their zest. He spent the last months of his life between
Eltham palace and his manor at Shene. “Decay,” says the historian, “had
fallen heavy on body and spirit; he was incapable of doing much, and he did
nothing. The ministers and courtiers crowded round the Duke of Lancaster,
Prince Richard, and his mother. The old man was left to his mistress; and
even she, it is said, after drawing his valuable ring from his finger,
abandoned him in his dying moments,”
The splendour of Eltham, however, was speedily revived in the person of
his grandson, Richard the Second, whose reign, dazzling at its
commencement, inglorious in its course, and disastrous at its close, the poet
Gray has thus strikingly depicted:—

“Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows,
While proudly riding o’er the azure realm,
In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes,
Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm;
Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind’s sway,
That, hushed in grim repose, expects his evening prey.

“Fill high the sparkling bowl!
The rich repast prepare;
Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast.
Close by the regal chair,
Fell Thirst and Famine scowl
A baneful smile upon their baffled guest.”

Of the numerous historical scenes and incidents connected with King
Richard’s sumptuous court at Eltham, a very few may be here introduced as
characteristic of an age when “the example of the monarch sanctioned the
extravagance of the subject.” He celebrated in particular three Christmases at
Eltham, at which every imaginable entertainment was provided for a court
overflowing with all the beauty and chivalry that could flatter a monarch,
and scatter flowers over the dangerous precipice to which he was hastening.
“The king,” says Hollinshed, “kept the greatest part, and maintained the
most plentiful house that ever any king in England did, either before his time
or since; for there resorted daily to his court above ten thousand persons, that
had meat and drinke there allowed them. In his kitchen there were three
hundred servitors, and every other officer was furnished after the like rate.
Of ladies, chamberers, and landerers, there were above three hundred at the
least; and in precious and costlie apparell they exceeded all measure.

Yeomen and groomes were clothed in silks, with cloth of graine and
skarlet, over sumptuous, ye may be sure, for their estates. And this vanitie
was not onelie used in the court in those dayes, but also other people abroad,
in the townes and countries, had their garments cut far otherwise than had
been accustomed before his daies, with embroderies, rich furs, and
goldsmith’s worke, and everie daie there was devising of new fashions, to
the great hinderance and decaie of the commonwealth.”—Page 508, sect. 10.
From this description, the reader may easily picture what must have been
the splendid profusion which marked King Richard’s doings at Eltham,
when arriving with his gorgeous retinue from the capital, he “courted
repose” in a new and most extravagant series of festivities. The extensive
park, which spread its wooded avenues in all directions, afforded ample
scope for the indulgence in silvan sports; while minstrels, jesters, and
jongleurs drove ennui from the gate, and kept the monarch and his guests in
a continued enjoyment of mirthful excitement. On one of these occasions,
the arrival in England of a guest of no ordinary station was announced, and
on the following day was received by the king and queen at Eltham. “This,”
says Speed, “was Leo, King of Armenia, a Christian prince, whom the

Tartars had expelled out of his kingdom. The pretence of his negotiation was
to accord the realms of England and France, that the princes thereof might,
with joint forces, remove the common enemy from Christendome. Therein
he could effect nothing; but his journey was not otherwise unfruitful to
himself; for King Richard, a prince, to speak truly, full of honour and
bountie, gave him, besides a thousand pounds in a ship of gold, letters
patent, also, for a thousand pounds yearly pension during life.”
Eltham Palace was also the scene of the following incident in the court
life of King Richard. “The king having proclaimed that he would hold a
solemn feast at his palace here on Palm Sunday, invitations were sent to the
Dukes of Lancaster and York, and the Lords of the Council, to be in
attendance for the occasion. When the day of the feast was arrived, and all
the lords had retired after dinner with the king to his council-chamber, Earl
Marshal, having settled in his own mind how to act and what to say, threw
himself upon his knees before the king and thus addressed him:—‘Very dear
and renowned Lord, I am of your kindred, yʳliege man and marshal of
England; and I have besides sworn on my loyalty, my hand within yours,
that I never would conceal from you anything I might hear or see to your
prejudice, on pain of being accounted a disloyal traitor. This I am resolved
never to be, but to acquit myself before you and all the world.’ The king
fixing his eyes upon him, said, ‘Earl Marshal, what is your meaning in
speaking thus? We will know it.’ ‘Very dear Lord,’ replied the Earl, ‘as I
have declared, I will not keep any secret from you: order the Earl of Derby
to come to yʳpresence, and I will speak out.’ The Earl of Derby was called
for, and the king made the Earl Marshal rise, for he addressed him on his
knees. On the Earl Derby’s arrival, who thought no harm, the Earl Marshal
spoke as follows:—‘Earl of Derby, I charge you with having thought and
spoken disrespectfully of your natural lord the king of England, when you
said he was unworthy to hold the crown; that without law or justice, or
consulting his council, he disturbed the realm; and that without any shadow
of reason, he banished those valiant men from his kingdom who ought to be
its defenders; for all of which I present my glove, and will prove, my body
against yours, that you are a false and wicked traitor.’
“The Earl of Derby was confounded at this address, and retired a few
paces without demanding from the Duke his father, or any of his friends,
how he should act. Having mused awhile, he advanced with his hood in his
hand towards the king, and said, ‘Earl Marshal, I say that thou art a false and

wicked traitor, which I will boldly prove on thee, and here is my glove!’ The
Earl Marshal seeing his challenge was accepted, showed a good desire for
the combat by taking up the glove and saying, ‘I refer your answer to the
good pleasure of the king and the lords now present. I will prove that your
words are false, and that my words are true.’ Each of those lords then
withdrew in company of his friends, and the time for serving wine and spices
was passed by; for the king showed he was sore displeased, and retiring to
his chamber, shut himself in.... When the day for the combat was at hand,
and the two lords waited only for the king’s commands, King Richard’s
secret advisers asked, ‘Sire, what is your pleasure respecting this combat?
will you permit your two cousins the Earl of Derby and Earl Marshal to
proceed?’ ‘Why not?’ replied the king; ‘I intend to be present myself and see
their prowess.’ The king’s advisers showed great firmness in resisting his
determination, and showed him some very cogent and unexpected reasons
for his adopting another course, at which,” as the chronicler relates, “the
king changed colour. Shortly after, a great council of the chief nobles and
prelates was summoned at Eltham. The Earl of Derby and the Earl Marshal
were sent for and put into separate chambers, for they were not permitted to
meet, when after certain preliminaries the king’s pleasure was thus delivered
in presence of the assembly: ‘I order that the Earl Marshal, for having caused
trouble in this kingdom, by uttering words which he could not prove
otherwise than by common report, be banished the realm for life. I also order
that the Earl of Derby our cousin, for having angered us, and because he has
been in some measure the cause of the Earl Marshal’s crime and punishment,
prepare to leave the kingdom in fifteen days, and be banished hence for the
term of ten years.’ ” Our readers will find other particulars in Froissart; but
our chief inducement in selecting these passages is, their being scenes which
actually transpired at Eltham, and at the same time are highly characteristic
of the manners of that age. We ought not to omit mentioning, however, that
“on the day the Earl of Derby mounted his horse to leave London, upwards
of fifty thousand men were in the streets, bitterly lamenting his departure.”
In 1405, King Henry the Fourth “celebrated his Christmas” here, after the
manner of his predecessors; and on this occasion, says the chronicle, the
Duke of York was “accused of an intention of breaking into the palace, by
scaling the walls, and murdering the king.” The same monarch kept open
court at Eltham on two subsequent occasions, and was residing in the palace
when seized with the malady of which he died. But these festivals were

celebrated with even more than former splendour by King Henry the Sixth.
By Edward the Fourth the palace was repaired and embellished at great
expense; and here his daughter Bridget Plantagenet—who became a nun of
Dartford—was born, and next day baptized in the palace chapel by the
Bishop of Winchester. Three years later, Eltham palace was again the scene
of magnificent banquets and shows, during which two thousand persons
were daily entertained at the king’s expense. King Henry the Seventh built
the front of the palace towards the moat, and frequently resided in it; but he
was the last of a long race of sovereigns who honoured it with any
lengthened visit; for although Henry the Eighth[86] celebrated two
Christmases here, the royal visits had now become “few and far between;”
and one of the last occasions on which the palace was made the scene of a
great court festival, was that appointed for his conferring the honours of the
peerage upon Sir Edward Stanley, of Hornby Castle, in Lancashire, whose
services at the battle of Flodden have already been noticed in these pages.
His claims to that honour were founded on his being “one of the most
discreet persons, and justices of the peace, for assessing and collecting a
subsidy of one hundred and sixty-three thousand pounds by a poll-tax;” of
his having commanded the rear of the English army at Flodden-field, and
forced the Scots, by the power of his archers, to descend the hill, which, by
causing them to open their ranks, gave the first hopes of that day’s victory.
[87] The ceremonial on this occasion was stamped with all the gorgeous
display so usual in that reign; but as a contagious disorder was then raging in
London, none were permitted to dine at the “king’s hall at Eltham,” except
the officers of arms, who, “at the serving in of the king’s second course of
meat, entered, according to custom, and proclaimed the king’s style and title,
and also that of the new lord.”
During the civil war, Robert Earl of Essex occupied the palace of Eltham,
and dying here, was buried in Westminster Abbey. On the establishment of
the Commonwealth, it was seized by the Parliament, and sold; the parks
were broken into, the deer dispersed or killed by the soldiers and the mob;
and the work of devastation once begun, continued till the greater part of the
palace was reduced to a state of ruin.[88]
At last, however, the beauty of Greenwich and the great convenience of
the river as a channel of communication with the capital, gradually deprived
Eltham of court patronage. Its palace was only enlivened at long intervals by
the presence of royalty; while its rival, the new Placentia, grew more and

more in favour, till it became the
habitual residence of the
sovereign, and the scene of those
splendid exhibitions which
subsequently characterized the
reigns of Henry the Eighth[89]
and his magnanimous daughter,
Queen Elizabeth. The latter,
during her infancy, was often
taken to the “Old House of
Eltham” for change of air; and on
coming to the throne, paid it an
occasional visit of recognition.
But it was no longer considered
fit for a royal establishment; and,
although visited by King James
and his successor, it never regained any share of its former importance; but,
being every year more and more neglected, it became at last a splendid ruin,
yet a monument on which were inscribed the early chronicles of the English
monarchy. But, although the property reverted to the crown at the
Restoration, no pains were taken by government to protect the ruin from
violence and spoliation. On the contrary, the old palace was turned into a
quarry, and all the materials that could be converted to use were gradually
removed and sold. Fortunately for the Hall, it was considered by some
influential observer on the spot that it would make a good barn;[90] and to
this accidental circumstance we are chiefly indebted for its preservation.
The three parks attached to the palace, with the demesne lands, extended
over sixteen hundred and fifty-two acres, on which grew seven thousand
seven hundred trees; of which four thousand were declared in the Survey to
be “old and decayed,” and the remainder were marked out for the use of the
navy.[91] A book, called the Mysteries of the Good Old Cause, published in
1660, says, “Sir Thomas Walsingham had the Honour of Eltham given him,
which was the Earl of Dorset’s, and the middle Park, which was Mr. White’s.
He has cut down five thousand pounds’ worth of timber, and has scarcely left
a tree to make a gibbet.”
The Approach.—The royal Hall is visible at a considerable distance;
and, from various points of Blackheath and its vicinity, forms an interesting

landmar
k to the
stranger.
This,
however
, is
chiefly
during
the
winter
and
spring
months;
for as
soon as
the trees
resume
their
foliage,
it is lost among the wooded landscape, or only seen by glimpses through the
straggling trees of the park—remnants of that primeval forest by which it
was once surrounded. In the immediate approach, the first objects that catch
the eye are masses of ancient wall, thickly mantled with ivy, at the base of
which the water of the original moat still keeps its bed. Over this, an ancient
bridge of three arches leads to the inclosure, once covered with the
habitations of royalty, but now reduced to this solitary hall, and flanked on
the left by several dwelling-houses, that harmonize much better with our
modern ideas of comfort than the moated walls of antiquity. Halting on the
bridge for a few minutes, the effect of the scene from that point is at once
pleasing and impressive. On the left, overhanging the moat, which here
forms a very small but picturesque sheet of water,[92] is a modern farm-
house in a pleasing rustic style, with a balcony supported on slender pillars
that rest on the edge of the fosse below. On the margin of the water opposite,
is a small fresh lawn, bordered with shrubbery, and covered with that beau
gazon on which the eye delights to repose. This spot, including the house, a
projecting gallery, and several other compartments, presents an excellent
subject for a cabinet picture. The bank of the moat was an extensive work,

and of much greater magnitude on the west and south sides than towards the
north, composing a terrace to the south of at least one hundred feet broad.
The design of the palace[93] was quadrangular. The hall, surmounted by
its louvre, rose above the other edifices, standing in a direction nearly due
east and west; and the common rule was observed of limiting the general
elevation to two stories. Like other castellated mansions, the outline was
irregular, towers and projecting masses breaking the line at intervals with
picturesque effect. The area of the palace was an imperfect square,
surrounded by buildings on the north and west, and partly inclosed on the
other two sides, the centre being occupied by four quadrangles, of which two
towards the west were of large dimensions, and formed wide and spacious
courts. Standing on an eminence of greater elevation than any in the
immediate district except Shooter’s-hill, the ground sloped gently away
towards the west, over a rich and interesting landscape, including
Blackheath, Greenwich Park, and the Surrey hills, between which stood
London with the lofty spire of the old cathedral of St. Paul in view, and the
insulated pile of Westminster Abbey, then without towers; the distant heights
of Highgate terminating the background. It was surrounded by a moat
inclosing above an acre of ground within its limits.[94] The moat was about
sixty feet broad, except the portion towards the north entrance, where it was
increased to one hundred and fifteen feet. On the west side of the bridge, the
water of the moat still washed the old ivyed walls of the palace—now
reduced to little more than the foundations. In front, through a few straggling
elm-trees, the venerable old Hall presents itself. The avenue to the door is
flanked by two cottages, evidently built out of the old materials of the
palace, and now posted like sentinels for the protection of its remains. In one
of these resides the female custode of the hall, who reaps no inconsiderable
harvest from the visitors who resort hither for a view of “King John’s
Palace,” as it is called.

Visit.—Conducted by our guide, we once more entered the royal Hall of
Eltham, with such feelings as naturally accompany those who are treading
on that time-hallowed ground where history, tradition, and fiction, have
impressed their respective seals. Entering the door, a screen, once
elaborately carved, and running across the building, opens a thoroughfare to
a corresponding entrance on the opposite side. In the centre of the screen is
an inner door to the hall. Of the latter, the noble proportions strike the visitor
at the first glance, and challenge his admiration. In its present state, however,
the general effect is much injured by the very means employed for its
security,—namely, the heavy wooden frame-work raised to support the roof,
but which conceals the beauty of its proportions. With this, however, we
must not find fault; some of the noblest statues of antiquity have been
obliged to support their dignity by “accepting modern pedestals;” and
without the means here ingeniously employed, the Hall of Eltham must long
ere this have been laid open to the weather. In the sixth volume of the
Archæologia, Mr. King has given minute descriptions of the Hall, to which
we refer our readers.

The Screen, already mentioned as running before the offices, was richly
carved, with a gallery over it for the musicians. Through this door entered
the guests who were not in immediate attendance upon the king. Here the
brave and the beautiful of other days were received by the great officers of
state, and conducted to the dais, where, on his throne, the monarch received
their homage and congratulations. The two great bow-windows at either side
of

the upper end, in which were placed the royal sideboards, are adorned with
beautiful flowing tracery, and in style and proportions are magnificent. All
the windows were obviously placed in such a manner as to afford an
opportunity of hanging arras under them,[95] as in the banquet scene
represented in the steel engraving. The length of the Hall is rather more than
a hundred feet, the breadth thirty-six, and the height forty-five feet. It has
five double windows on each side, exclusive of the great bays, at the end of
which was the chief entrance into the state apartments.
The purposes of a common barn, to which this magnificent hall has been
so long applied, have materially altered and defaced some of its noblest

features. One of the gorgeous oriels, for example, that opened to the east and
west, has been partly broken and cut away in order to admit loaded waggons
into the interior; and various other mutilations, the effects of violence, not
time, are observable in other parts of the building. But our regrets on this
head give way to something like a feeling of congratulation, when we reflect
that, had not this change in its destination occurred, the Hall of Eltham
would have long since disappeared, like the original palace to which it
belonged. At the upper or north end of the building was the high dais,
slightly elevated, and running across the hall. This is now the threshing-
floor; and at both ends of this platform, east and west, are the magnificent
bay windows above mentioned, each forming a deep recess, and exhibiting,
in design and workmanship, all the characteristic beauty of its class and
epoch. The most cursory view will enable the reader to judge of their shape
and proportions; but to form any adequate conception of what they must
have been when filled with richly-stained glass, and pouring a flood of
gorgeous colours upon the royal banquet, requires no little effort of the
imagination.
“There the raised platform, near the bay,
Served well for stage: that oriel gay
Rose with light leaves and columns tall
Mid ‘roial glass’ and fretwork small;
While tripod lamps from the coved roof
Showed well each painted mask aloof:
Lanfranc and Saxon Edward there
Watching the scene they once could share.”

The Roof.—The following observations on the construction of the roof
were given by Mr. Chessel Buckler while the last repairs were going on. The
preservation of this noble monument of ancient English architecture is an
honour to the country. When stripped of its external covering, the roof
distinctly exhibited the beauty of its carpentry, and the extent of its injuries.
It is wholly constructed of chestnut, the strength and solidity of which,
though unimpaired by time alone, were in many places destroyed by the
operations of the weather.[96] The main beams of the roof are full seventeen
inches square and twenty-eight feet long, perfectly straight, and sound
throughout, and are the produce of trees of the most stately growth. A forest
must have yielded its choicest timber for the supply of this building; and it is
evident that the material has been wrought with incredible labour and
admirable skill. The repairs are limited to the roof, the parapet by which it is

protected, and the
buttresses by
which it is upheld.
As it has been
stated that the
joints and
mouldings of the
roof are secured
by wooden pins
only, it may not be
superfluous to
remark that the
structure is held
together by the
assistance of nails.
[97]

The
Souterrains.—
Of the
subterranean
passages lately
discovered at
Eltham Palace, the
following facts are
contained in a
small pamphlet on
the subject,
published at
Greenwich.
Tradition has always kept up the belief of an underground passage from
Eltham Palace to Blackheath, Greenwich, or the River; and it was affirmed
in the neighbourhood that at Middle Park, connected with the passages, there
was stable-room under ground for sixty horses. Under the floor of one of the
apartments of the palace, a trap-door[98] opens into a room under-ground, ten
feet by five, and proceeding from it, a narrow passage about ten feet in
length, conducts the stranger to the series of passages with decoys, stairs,
and shafts, some of which are vertical, and others on an inclined plane,

which were once used for admitting air, and for hurling down missiles upon
enemies, according to the modes of defence then in use. And it is worthy of
notice that, at points where weapons from above could assail the enemy with
the greatest effect, there the shafts are made to verge and concentrate. About
five hundred feet of these passages have been entered and passed through in
a western direction towards Middle Park, and under the moat to the extent of
two hundred feet. The arch is broken down in the field leading from Eltham
to Mottingham, but still the brickwork can be traced further, and proceeding
in the same direction. The remains of two iron gates, completely carbonized,
were found in that part of the passage under the moat; and large stalactites
formed of super-carbonate of lime hung down from the roof of the arch,
which sufficiently indicated the time that must have elapsed since these
passages were last entered.
Environs.—Shooter’s-hill, the well-known landmark in this part of
Kent, is within a very short walk of Eltham Hall. The tower commands a
beautiful prospect of the metropolis, Greenwich, Woolwich, the Thames, and
the adjacent counties, and thus forms the centre of of a most extensive
panorama.[99] It was erected by Lady James, in honour of her husband Sir
William James, Baronet, who commanded the Company’s marine forces in
the East Indies, and in 1755, distinguished himself, by the taking of
Severndroog Castle, on the coast of Malabar. It is triangular in shape, and
about forty-five feet high. In the vestibule were formerly arranged numerous
specimens of the armour and trophies taken at Severndroog, and in front is
an inscription commemorative of that victory.
Blackheath, of which the above is the most conspicuous feature, is often
mentioned in the old chronicles as the scene of “notable events.”[100] The
view which it commands is celebrated in all languages, and still continues to
be a theme of universal admiration. Previously to this, Shooter’s-hill was a
beacon station; and in the Churchwardens’ Account at Eltham, in 1556, there
are frequent charges made for “watchinge the becon on Shutters-hill.”
The old military road from London to Dover is supposed to have
followed nearly the same track as the present. Various Roman antiquities
have been dug up on the Heath, an account of which may be seen in the
Archæologia. With the popular names of Jack Straw, Wat Tyler, Jack Cade,
the counterfeit Mortimer, and with the military operations of Henry the
Sixth, Henry the Seventh, the “bastard Falconbridge,” Lord Audley, the
Cornish rebels, Edward the Fourth, and other personages and events,

Blackheath is intimately associated. It has also been the scene of many great
public exhibitions of military pomp and court ceremony. It was on this heath,
in the immediate vicinity of his “faire house of Eltham,” that Henry the
Fourth, with great parade and magnificence, met the Emperor of
Constantinople, when he arrived in England to solicit assistance against
Bajazet. And here, on the 23rd of November, the mayor and aldermen of
London, with four hundred citizens “clothed in scarlet, with red and white
hoods,” met their victorious monarch on his return from Agincourt. Here
also the citizens met the Emperor Sigismund, when he came to mediate a
peace between France and England; and here Edward the Fourth was also
welcomed to England by a multitude of loyal citizens, who conducted him in
triumph to his palace. Here, in 1519, a solemn embassy, consisting of the
Admiral of France, the Bishop of Paris, and other grandees of church and
state, with twelve hundred persons in their train, were met by the Lord
Admiral of England and a numerous retinue; and the same year, Cardinal
Campeius, the Pope’s legate, was received, with great splendour, on
Blackheath, by the Duke of Norfolk, and “conducted to a rich tent of cloth of
gold, where he arrayed himself in his cardinal’s robes, and then rode in
princely state to London.”
But the most magnificent “Blackheath procession” on record, was that
which took place at the interview between Henry the Eighth and the Lady
Ann of Cleves, with an abridgement of which we shall conclude our present
notice of Eltham and its vicinity.
“On the morrow, the thirde day of Januarie, being Saturdaie, in a fair
plaine of Blackheath, was pitched a pavilion of rich cloth of gold, and divers
other tents and pavilions, in which were made fires and perfumes for her, the
Ladie Anne, and such ladies as were appointed to receive her; and from
the tents to the parke-gate of Greenwich, all the bushes and firs were cut
downe, and a large open waie made for the shewe of all persons. And first,
next to the parke pale on the east, stood the masters of the Stilliard, and on
the west side the merchants of Genoa, Florence, and Venice, and the
Spaniards, in cotes of velvet; then, on both sides of the waye, stood the
merchants of the citie of London, the aldermen and councillors, to the
number of a hundred and three score, which were mingled with the esquires;
then the fifty gentlemen pensioners; and all these were apparelled in velvet
and chaines of gold, truely accounted to the number of twelve hundred and
above, beside them that came with the king and her, which were six hundred,

in velvet cotes and chaines of gold. Behind the gentlemen stood the serving
men in good order, well horssed and apparelled; so that whosoever had well
viewed them might have said, that they, for tall and comelie personages, and
clean of lim and bodie, were able to give the greatest prince in Christendome
a mortall breakefast, if he had been the king’s enemie.
“About twelve of the clocke, Her Grace, with all the companye which
were of her owne nation, to the number of an hundred horse, accompanied
with

the Dukes of Norffolke, Suffolke, the Archbishop of Canterbury, and other
bishops, lords, and knights, came doune Shooters-hill, towards the tents, and
a good space from the tents met her, the Earl of Rutland, and all her
councellors and officers, amongst whome Doctor Daie, appointed her
almoner, made to her an eloquent oration in Latine, which oration was
answered unto by the Duke her brother’s secretarie; which done, the ladie
Margaret Dowglas, daughter to the Queene of Scots, the ladie Marquesse
Dorsset, daughter to the French queen, being neeces to the king, and the
Dutches of Ritchmond, the Countesses of Rutland and Hereford, with divers
other ladies and gentlewomen, to the number of three score and five, saluted

and welcomed her grace, who alighted out of her chariot, and with courteous
demeanour and lovinge countenance, gave to them hartie thanks and kissed
them all, and after all her councellors and officers kissed her hand; which
done, she, with all the ladies, entered the tents, and there warmed them a
space; and (it being the depth of winter) when the king knewe that she was
arrived in her tent, he with all diligence set out through the parke. And first
issued the King’s trumpets, the officers of his council, the officers of his
privie chamber, the barons, the lord mayor, the bishops, earles, the Duke of
Baviere, and countie palatine of the Rhine; then the ambassadours of the
French king and emperor, Cromwell, the lord privie seale, the lord
chancellour, the garter king-at-arms, and the other officers and sergeants of
arms, gave their attendance on each side the lord. The lord Marquesse
Dorsset bare the sword of state, and after him, a good distance, followed the
King’s Highnesse, mounted on a goodlie courser.
“To speake of the rich and gorgeous apparel that was there to be seen that
daie, I have thought it not greatlie necessarie, sith each man may well think
it was right sumptuous and very faire and costlie. After the king followed the
lord chamberlayne, then the master of his horsses richly mounted and
leading the king’s horsse of estate by a long reine of gold. Then followed the
pages of honour, riding on great coursers, then the captaine of the gard, then
the gard well horssed, and in their rich cotes, etc.
“When Her Grace understood that the king was come, she came forth
of her tent, and at the doore thereof, being set on a faire and beautiful horsse,
richly trapped, she rode forth towards the King, who perceiving her to
approach, came forward somewhat beyond the Crosse, then staid till she
came nearer, and then putting off his cap, he made forward to her, and, with
most loving countenance and princelie behaviour, saluted, welcomed, and
imbraced her, to the great rejoising of the beholders: And she likewise, not
forgetting her dutie, with most amiable aspect and romantic behaviour,
received him with many apt words and thanks, as was most to purpose.
“After the king had talked a small while, he put her on his right hand, and
so with their footmen they rode together; and returned in this manner
through the ranks of the knights and esquires, which stood still all this while,
and removed not.” (The procession through the park is glowingly described,
but her reception in the palace is all we can introduce in this place.) “Now
were the citizens of London rowing up and doune on the Thames before

them, every craft with his barge garnished with banners, flags, streamers,
pencels, and targets, painted and beaten with the king’s armes, some with her
armes, and some with the armes of their craft and mysterie. There was a
barge called the Bachellors Barke, richlie decked, on the which waited a
foist that shot great pieces of artillerie; and in every barge was great store of
instruments of divers sorts, and men and children singing and plaieng
altogether, as the King and the Ladie Anne passed bye the wharfe. When
the king and she were within the utter court, they alighted from their horses,
and the king lovinglie imbraced her, kissed her, and bade her welcome to her
owne, leading her by the left arme through the hall, and so brought her up to
her privie chamber, where he left her for that time, while a great peal of
artillerie was shot off from the tower of Greenwich and thereabout.”
Such are a few of the particulars given by Holinshed of this matrimonial
fete: but the account by Hall is still more circumstantial, and both afford
vivid pictures of the regal splendour which characterized all the court
pageants of that gorgeous reign. Little did Anne of Cleves imagine, as the
magnificent view opened upon her, with Eltham Hall on her left, Greenwich
on her right, Westminster and St. Paul’s in the distance, a sovereign at her
feet, and an assembled nation eager to do her homage—little did she imagine
how dark would be the sunset of this bright day; and yet, compared with that
which overtook her unhappy sisters—partners of the same throne—her
destiny was rather to be envied than lamented.
The town of Eltham, of which our limits prevent a more deliberate notice,
is still one of the most favourite retreats in the vicinity of town, and formerly
could number among its residents many celebrated names. The church and
churchyard are interesting, and contain several classic tombs and
inscriptions. The environs are rich and picturesque, the society is select and
intellectual, the air is salubrious; and within seven miles of the capital it
would be difficult to find any point that offers so many inviting qualities for
a quiet and cheerful residence as Eltham.
Authorities:—Camden.—Stow.—Blome.—Leland.—Grafton.—Hall.—
Life of the Black Prince.—do. Richard the Second.—Archæologia.—
Gentleman’s Mag.—Hasted.—Parliamentary Surveys.—Lambard.—Lysons.
—Kilburne.—Graphic Illustrator.—Collins’s Peerage.—Buckler.—Notices
of Eltham.—MS. Visit to Eltham, March, 1842.—Royal Halls.

For an admirable description of Greenwich Park and its vicinity, the
reader is referred to Mr. Miller’s “Lady Jane Grey,”—“Banks of the
Thames,” etc. etc.

ROCHESTER CASTLE.

THE CASTLE OF ROCHESTER.
Long have I loved to catch the simple chime
Of minstrel-harps, and spell the fabling rhyme;
To view the festive rites, the knightly play,
That deck’d heroic Albion’s elder day;
To mark the mouldering Halls of Barons bold,
And the rough Castles, cast in giant mould;
With Gothic manners Gothic arts explore,
And muse on the magnificence of yore.—Warton.

“A
S we descended the hill towards Rochester, how solemn the
appearance of the Castle, with its square ghastly walls, and their
hollow eyes rising over the right bank of the Medway, grey and
massive and floorless—nothing remaining but the shell!” Such was the
memorandum of her visit to this scene, left by the author of the Mysteries of
Udolpho, as she descended Strood Hill, and gazed upon the magnificent ruin
to which this portion of our work is to be directed. Viewed from this point—
the hill above named—the Castle appears to great advantage. Soaring in
lofty pre-eminence over the surrounding buildings, and even the Cathedral, it
conveys to the spectator’s mind a deep impression of what it must have been
in the palmy days of chivalry, when mailed warriors lined its ramparts, when
joust and tourney animated its courts, and banners floated from its towers. In
its present condition it bears that resemblance to its former self which a
skeleton bears to the living body. The framework is there, but the life is fled,
—the light is extinguished; and in the full glare of day, like the wreck of
mortality, it assumes only a more melancholy aspect. But still, the interest
connected with this landmark of antiquity is increased, rather than
diminished, by contemplation. Fancy repeoples its courts, rebuilds its
towers, restores its original order and dimensions, till we enjoy the picture
which imagination thus embodies, and seem for the time, as if we were
transported into romantic ages and took a part in those historic scenes of
which its walls were once the theatre. At every one of those loop-holes and
unlatticed casements, we seem to discern the warlike forms that once
animated the building, and hurled defiance on the assailants. We hear the
sound of revelry in the hall, the clang of arms in the ‘bayle,’ and the rattle of

the portcullis as it drops from the lofty archway, and fastens its iron teeth in
the pavement.—But we need not proceed with a picture which so vividly
presents itself to every imaginative pilgrim who halts on the bridge of
Rochester, and surveys the vast and venerable pile which here crowns the
adjoining bank, and takes undivided possession of the scene.
Rochester
Castle is
beyond doubt
one of the most
complete
Norman
strongholds that
the slow waste
of centuries and
the ravages of
war have left in
our island; and,
in its noble style
and elegant
proportions,
offers one of the
best examples
extant of that
class of
domestic
fortresses by
which the early
barons rendered
themselves so
formidable to
the crown. The
castles or stone-
built fortresses
of England,
previously to
the Conquest, were few and inconsiderable. Those of Roman foundation had
fallen into ruin; and although the great Alfred had strengthened the frontier

and more assailable points of the country with fifty or more of these towers
of defence, they had not been kept up with the same vigilance by his
successors; and to this deficiency of national bulwarks may be attributed the
speedy reduction of England to the Norman yoke.
At the period in question, the castles and places of strength in general[101]
appear to have been constructed principally of wood: in proof of which, the
only mechanical implement which the vassal was required to bring with him
in aid of the work, was a hatchet. Aware of their great importance in securing
the fruits of conquest, the Norman ruler immediately adopted the policy of
the Roman, and began to measure the duration of his power by the number
and strength of his castles. In process of time the great martial tenants of the
crown followed his example, and, by erecting places of strength in the
various provinces assigned to them as the spoils of conquest, secured to
themselves and their families the newly-acquired domain. At the close of
Stephen’s reign, the number of these domestic strongholds appears to have
amounted to eleven hundred; a fact which led to the most deplorable
consequences. Contempt of allegiance, family feuds, mutual acts of violence
and outrage—a state of society which admitted no superior, respected no law
but that of force, and accepted no arbitrator but the sword—were daily
opposed to the right administration of affairs.[102] Such, however, was the
prelude to happier times, when the castles—after having been for a season
the strongholds of lawless domination—were transformed at last into
temples and sanctuaries for the regeneration of native freedom. It was in the
recesses of those embattled walls that the rights of the people were at length
asserted, that their wrongs were redressed, and that the sword of despotism
was transformed into a sceptre of peace. It was by the masters of those
castles that the bloodless victory of Runnymede was achieved, and freedom
established on a permanent basis.
The continual struggle, however, in which these generous efforts involved
the early barons, had for a time its full portion of evil as well as good. It
distracted society, fostered suspicion and distrust in the people, awakened
personal animosities among the nobles, and occasioned disunion among
those who had but one great object in view, that of securing and
consolidating under one legitimate head the interests of all. But the
unwearied vigilance, prudence, and personal intrepidity which were
necessary to carry forward those labours to a successful crisis, had the happy
effect of bringing into full play the noblest qualities of the human mind, and

were the certain forerunners of that political wisdom and military prowess
which in every subsequent reign have distinctly marked all our great national
events.
But to return to the subject before us—we may observe that at the period
of the Conquest the security of the new dynasty depended as much upon the
faithful attachment of its great vassals in time of peace, as the late victory
had depended on their exertions in the field. Making it therefore their
interest to be faithful to him, William extended to his followers immediate
rewards with the prospect of future aggrandizement. The number of those
who had held rank in his army at the battle of Hastings[103] amounted to
seven hundred. To these extensive domains were assigned (as already
mentioned in the case of Roger Montgomery) in all parts of England where,
with true Norman policy, they erected those majestic structures which
overawed the conquered, and secured to their lords the quiet enjoyment of
their newly-acquired power. But it is a fact not to be questioned, that these
strongholds were too often subservient to the worst purposes.[104] Where the
will, authority, or caprice of the chiefs was the only law; where his interest
and family aggrandizement were the great ends to be kept in view, justice
and humanity were not likely to hold the scales with an impartial hand. The
virtues of that age were not of the stamp which at a later period characterized
Fitzwalter and his brother barons. To extend their possessions by the sword
—as in their inroads across the Welsh and Scottish frontier—to defend them
by the like means—to exact implicit obedience from their vassals and
retainers—to marshal them under their own banners in time of war, and to
lead a life of feudal splendour in the short intervals of peace, filled up the
life and labours of the great military leaders of that day. It was like the cloud
which intervened between the darker and brighter pages of our history; but
through which were seen occasional glimpses of those events which the
maturer age of chivalry, the growth of moral principle, and the progress of
refinement, improved to the national glory.
The Castle of Rochester, though stripped of nearly all its outworks, and
mutilated in its internal features, is as perfect an example as we possess of a
Baronial castle. It exhibits in detail nearly all the characteristic features of
the eleventh and twelfth centuries; and where the hand of violence has not
been applied, it displays all the beauty of outline, richness of workmanship,
and solidity of structure, which mark the great buildings of its class and
period. The situation is exactly such as the Norman barons usually selected

for their strongholds. These were in many instances built on the remains of
Roman forts, or on those which had been constructed or repaired in the time
of Alfred, evidence of which, may be generally obtained by a careful
examination of the substructure. The space it occupies is believed to have
been the site of a Roman fortress; for the point was too eligible, and the
district itself was too accessible, to have been left without a military defence
during their possession of the country. Besides, it was a station on the great
military road between Dover and London; and being in a central point
between the capital and the coast, and having the double advantage of road
and river communication, was peculiarly suited to all the purposes of a
provincial fortress.
But in order that we may have a correct notion of the castellated
structures of those days, we shall here, in as few words as possible, give a
general idea of a Norman Castle or fortress[105]. It consisted, with very
few exceptions, of an enclosure of from five to ten acres of land; and, as in
the present instance, was encircled by a river, or artificial canal called a
moat, on the scarp or edge of which was a strong wall, succeeded by
another; and between these was the first ballium, or outer court of the castle.
Within the second wall, or that which immediately surrounded the keep, or
great tower, were storehouses for the garrison, and other offices suitable to
the extent and distinction of the fortress. In the centre of this interior space
or enclosure, was the citadel, or master-tower, as it is more properly called,
in which resided the suzerain, or feudal chief; but occasionally it was
occupied by the deputy or castellan, who for the time being was the
representative of the baron, and had the full exercise of his delegated
authority. This master tower was generally built upon an artificial mound, as
already described in our notice of Arundel. It contained the state-apartments,
which were in proportion to the style and retinue of the founder, with all the
other domestic offices belonging to the strongholds of that period. In the
centre of the tower, and descending to the lowest part of the foundation,
were the dungeons, in which were confined the prisoners of war, the felons
or malefactors of his jurisdiction. In several instances, access to the various
compartments of the castle was provided by secret inlets through the centre
of the walls, and by subterraneous passages made under the fosse, as
mentioned in the notice of Eltham.
In advance of the ditch or moat, was the barbican, or outer defence, with
a watch-tower that communicated with the interior by means of a

drawbridge across the moat, which opened inwards, so as to be under the
control
of the sentinel or guard. The entrance to
the ballium, or outer court, was secured
by gates, with a ponderous grating or
portcullis, which was raised or lowered by
means of those iron chains and pulleys
which are still used in some of our
military fortresses, and are always met
with in the fortified cities of the
Netherlands. The walls were further
protected by towers and battlements, from
which, as well as through the numerous
loopholes by which they were perforated,
arrows and other missiles could be
discharged with deadly effect; while
through the apertures of the machicolation
above,
“Sudden, on the assailants’ head,
Blocks of stone and molten lead,
O’er the foe descending—gushing,
Scorching as they fell, or crushing
Helmèd warriors in their fall,
Guarded each embattled wall.”

The outer walls were generally from six to ten feet thick; those of
Rochester Castle are seven[106]; while the walls of the keep, to which all
looked for retreat under desperate circumstances, were often fifteen feet in
thickness, and contained in their centre many secret closets, passages, and
recesses, to which none but the castellan and his family had access. In the
castle of Glamis[107] there is a secret chamber, the key of which is
transmitted from father to son, and never known to more than the “seigneur
actuel,” and some trustworthy official. Before the invention of artillery, one
of these strongholds, such as we have described, might have been considered
impregnable; and when taken, the surrender was generally in consequence of
famine, revolt or cowardice on the part of the garrison, or of stratagem on
that of the besiegers.

Nearly all the fortresses of this class were erected during the period that
elapsed between the reign of the Conqueror and that of Edward the Third.
The Castle of Rochester appears to have been erected soon after the decisive
battle of Hastings; and in tracing its history and that of its founder, we shall
adhere to the general opinion, so far as that may be found to harmonise with
historical documents. Castles built on the Norman model varied according to
the natural shape of the ground selected for their erection. The military
baron, following the example of the Roman general, selected that position to
which nature had given the best means of security, which provided against
sudden approach or surprise, and in cases of extremity, offered some
facilities for escape, of which various instances are recorded in history. The
sites chosen were generally on capes or promontories overlooking the sea;
on high banks protected by a river, or on isolated hills, where connecting
valleys, by forming a natural fosse, would interpose a chasm between the
besiegers and the besieged. These natural positions were readily taken
advantage of by the warlike baron; while the difficulty of access could be
increased by artificial means, such as damming up the stream which flowed
through the ravine, and thus transforming it into a temporary lake. The
situation of Rochester Castle is partly an example of this kind: the high
ground on which it stands, and its immediate access to the river, were natural
recommendations not to be lost sight of; and which the founder took every
opportunity of turning to the best account. In castle-building the general
maxim was—
“Where the land o’erlooks the flood,
Steep with rocks and fringed with wood;
Where, throughout the circling year,
Wells the fountain fresh and clear;
Scoop the dungeon, rear the wall,
Pile on high the feudal hall.”

We shall now quote one or more authorities respecting the Castle of
Rochester. “Neere unto the church,” says Camden, “there standeth, over the
river, an olde Castle fortified both by art and situation, which, as the report
goeth, Odo, Bishop of Bayeux and Earle of Kent, built; but it was no doubt
King William the First that built it; for, in Domesday Book we reade thus:
‘The Bishop of Roucester holdeth in Elesford for exchange of the land on
which the castle is seated.’ Yet certain it is that Bishop Odo, when his hope
descended of a doubtful change of the state, held this against King William

Rufus; all which time there passed a proclamation through England, that
whosoever would not be reputed a ‘niding,’ should repair to the recovery of
Rochester Castle. Whereupon, the youth, fearing that name as most
reproachful and opprobrious in that age, swarmed thither in such numbers,
that Odo was enforced to yield the place, lose his dignity, and abjure the
realme.”
But concerning the reconstruction of the “Kentishmen’s Castle,” Camden
quotes the text of Roffensis, an ancient manuscript of the Church of
Rochester, which narrates the following particulars:—“When King William
the Second would not confirm the gift of Lanfranck, unless Gundulph,
Bishop of Rochester, would give unto the king an hundred pounds of
deniers; at last, by the intercession of Sir Robert Fitzsimon, and Henry, Earl
of Warwick, the king granted it thus far forth in lieu for the money which he
demanded for grant of the manor, that Bishop Gundulph, because he was
skilful and well experienced in architecture and masonrie, should build for
the king, at his own
proper charges, a castle of stone. In the end, when as the bishops were
hardlie brought to give their consent unto it before the king, Bishop
Gundulph built up the castle full and whole at his owne cost.—Hence the
name of Gundulph’s Tower.—And a little after, King Henrie the First
granted unto the church of Canterbury and to the archbishops the keeping
thereof, and the constableship, to hold ever after, as Florentius of Worcester
saith, yea and a licence withal to build in the same a towre for themselves.
Since which time it was besieged by one or two great sieges, but then
especially when the barons with their alarmes made all England to shake;
and Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester, assaulted it most fiercely, though
in vaine, and cut down the wooden bridge, which was afterwards repaired.”
To the historical names and events thus connected with the castle we shall
briefly advert. Odo, whose name is so closely associated with the castle and
the county of Kent, was one of the military prelates who followed the
victorious standard of King William, pronounced a benediction on his army
at the battle of Hastings, and shared largely in the plunder of the vanquished.
He was half-brother, by the mother’s side, to the Conqueror, and could
handle the sword as well as the crosier. William, to save the bishop and
secure a steady adherent to the crown, made him Earl of Kent, and along
with the title conferred many other substantial favours. “But,” says an old
authority, “he was by nature of a bad disposition and busie head, bent

alwaies to sow
sedition and to
trouble the state;
whereupon, he
was committed to
prison[108] by a
subtile distinction
as Earle of Kent,
and not as Bishop
of Bayeux, in
regard of his holie
orders; and
afterwards, by a
most dangerous
rebellion which
he raised, he was,
by his nephew
King William
Rufus, deprived
of his places of
dignity, lost all his
goods in England,
and abjured the
realme.”
The rebellion
in which he was
concerned, and
which proved
fatal to this
ambitious and intriguing prelate, is matter of local history. He was a
formidable partisan, a man formed to be the leader of a conspiracy; he had
many friends among the most powerful of the barons; and when Duke
Robert promised to come over with an army to wrest the sceptre from his
brother Rufus, Odo engaged to do the rest. At the Easter festival, Rufus kept
his court at Winchester, and there he invited all the great lords to attend
him[109]. Odo and his friends were also there, and took that opportunity of
arranging his plans. From the festival he departed to raise the standard of

Robert in his old earldom of Kent; while
Hugh de Grantmesnil, Roger Bigod,
Robert de Mowbray, Roger de
Montgomery, William Bishop of Durham,
and Geoffrey of Coutance, repaired to do
the same in their respective fiefs and
governments. Thus a sudden and
dangerous rising took place in many parts
of England. But the insurgents lost time;
while the army from Normandy, which
Odo was instructed to provide for, was
slow in making its appearance[110]. Rufus,
in the mean time, on hearing that warlike
preparations were going forward in the
very heart of his kingdom, permitted his
subjects to fit out cruisers, which rendered
him very important services; for the
Normans calculated that there was no
royal navy to oppose them, and that they would be received on landing by
their confederates. The followers of Odo and his party began to cross the
Channel in small companies, and so many were intercepted and destroyed by
the English cruisers, that the attempted invasion was abandoned. The bishop,
however, had fortified the castles of Rochester and Pevensey, and, fearful
that no assistance might reach him from Normandy, prepared to stand a
siege. Rufus now issued the proclamation already quoted—namely, “Let
every man who is not a nithing[111] (cipher) in the martial catalogue of his
country, quit home and hearth, and hasten to join the standard of his
sovereign!” To this appeal thirty thousand men responded,—men of the old
Saxon blood, whom the conciliatory measures recently adopted by Rufus
had brought over to his cause. With this powerful army he marched against
the bishop, who having delegated the command of Rochester Castle to
Eustace, Earl of Boulogne, lay in the strong fortress of Pevensey, in
expectation that Duke Robert and his Normans might still make good their
landing on that part of the coast. After a siege of seven weeks, Odo was
obliged to surrender; and on taking an oath that he would place Rochester
Castle in the king’s hands, Rufus pardoned this act of rebellion, and
dismissed him, with an escort of Norman horse, to Rochester, there to fulfil

his engagement[112]. By a preconcerted plan, however, between Eustace and
himself, means were taken to evade the performance of his oath; for while
reciting the set form of words by which he demanded the surrender of the
castle, Eustace, pretending great indignation at the proposal, arrested the
bishop and his guards on the spot, as traitors to Robert, and carried them into
the castle. The scene was well acted; and Odo, trusting to be screened from
the accusation of perjury by the compulsory means employed against him,
remained in the fortress as a witness, and, no doubt, an active partisan in the
cause[113].
Exasperated by such treachery, Rufus soon environed the castle with a
powerful army of infantry and horsemen. The castle, however, was strong
and well garrisoned: five hundred Norman knights, without counting the
meaner sort, fought on its battlements; and after a long siege the place was
not taken by assault, but forced to surrender either by pestilential disease, by
famine, or probably by both. The English, who had shown great ardour
during the siege, would have granted no terms of capitulation; but the
Norman portion of the king’s army, who had friends and relations in the
castle, entertained very different sentiments, and at their earnest entreaty,
though not without difficulty, Rufus allowed the besieged to march out with
their arms and horses, and freely depart the land[114]. The unconscionable
bishop, however, would have included in the capitulation a proviso that the
king’s army should not cause their bands to play in sign of triumph as the
garrison marched out; but to this the king replied, in great anger, that he
would not make such a concession for a thousand marks of gold. The
partisans of Robert then came forward with colours lowered, and the king’s
music playing the while. When Odo appeared, there was a louder crash; the
trumpets screamed; and the English, scarcely able to keep their hands from
his person, shouted as he passed—“Oh for a halter to hang this perjured
murderous bishop[115]!” Such was Odo’s last appearance in the earldom of
Kent.

The next important epoch in the history of this fortress is the Siege,
which carries us forward to the reign of King John—a reign of tumult and
civil distraction, but relieved in its darker features by events which laid the
foundation of British freedom. But the barons, as Hume has justly observed,
having once obtained the Great Charter, seem to have been lulled into a fatal
security. They took no rational measures, in case of the introduction of a
foreign force, for reassembling their armies. The king was from the first
master of the field, and immediately laid siege to the Castle of Rochester, of
which, at the head of a hundred and forty knights with their retainers,
William de Albini held the command. A few of the particulars are thus
recorded by Holinshed:—“King John having recovered strength about him,
and being advertised that William de Albiney was entered into the castle of
Rochester with a great number of knights, men at arms, and other souldiers,
hasted thither with his whole armie and besieged them within, enforcing
himselfe by all waies possible to win the castell, as well by battering the
walles with engines as by giving thereunto many assaults. But the garrison

within, consisting of ninety-and-foure knights, beside demilances and other
souldiers, defended the place verie manfullie in hope of rescue from the
Barons, which laie then at London; but they coming forward one daies
journie unto Dartford, when they heard that the king was comming forward
in good arraie for battel to meet them, upon consideration had of their own
forces—for they were not able to match him with footemen—they returned
backe again to the citie, breaking that assured promise which they had made
and also confirmed by their solemn oaths; which was, that if the castell of
Rochester should chance to be besieged, they would not faile but raise the
siege[116].”
“At length they within for want of vittels were constrained to yield it up
unto the king after it had been besieged the space of three-score daies;
during which time they had beaten back their enemies at sundrie assaults
with great slaughter and losse. But the king having now got the possession of
that hold, upon grief conceived for the losse of so manie men, and also
because he had lien so long about it yer he could winne it to his inestimable
cost of charges, was determined to have put them all to death that had kept
it. But Sauveric de Mauleon advised him otherwise[117], lest, by such
crueltie, the barons in any like case should be occasioned to use the same
extremitie towards such of his people as by chance might fall into their
hands. Thus the king spared William de Albiney and the other nobles and
gentlemen, and sent them to Corfe Castle, and other places, to be kept as
prisoners[118].
“Neverthelesse—as the booke that belonged to Bernewell Abbie saith—
there was not any of them hanged, saving one arcubalister onelie, whome the
king had brought up of a child. But, howsoever the king dealt with them
after they were yielded, true it is (as by the same booke it appeareth) there
had been no siege in those daies more earnestlie inforced, nor more
obstinatlie defended: for after that all the limmes of the castelle had beene
reuersed and throune downe, they kept the maister tower, till halfe thereof
was also overthrowne, and after kept the other halfe, till through famine they
were constreined to yeeld, having nothing but horsse-flesh and water to
susteine their liues withall[119].”
Of William de Albini, who had command of the castle garrison, and was
the best officer among the confederated barons, the following anecdote is
recorded[120]:—Early one morning, after the fortunes of the besieged had
become nearly desperate, and when Albini was making his usual round of

the battlements, to see that all was in good order and every man at his post,
he was thus accosted by one of his retainers, a favourite cross-bowman:
“Seigneur, behold the tyrant!” pointing at the same instant to the well-known
person of King John, who was cautiously reconnoitring the weakened points
of the castle.
“Well,” said
Albini, “it is the
king; what
wouldest thou?”
“Shall I take
him off, by your
leave?” said the
bowman, suiting
the action to the
word and adjusting
a steel bolt to the
bow-string; “shall I
despatch this swift
messenger to his
highness? only say
the word!”
“Nay, God
forbid!” said
Albini, raising his
hand to check the
rash attempt
—“forbear! it is
the king!”
“Very well,
seigneur,” said the
arcubalister, with a
mortified air; “be it
according to your
pleasure. Only,
methinks, that
were the tyrant in your place, and you on the outwork yonder, there would
be no ‘God forbid!’ ’Tis a fine target, seigneur!”

“Nay, nay, no more of this; keep thy shafts for better use; we must not do
as the king would do, nor as the king has done. He is the anointed of the
realm; and if his deeds have ill corresponded with his duties, we shall not
mend things by an act of treachery.”
“True, seigneur,” said the bowman, submissively, but still keeping his eye
on the mark, and raising the weapon instinctively to his eye; “and yet, ’tis
the last chance, and when the horse-flesh and fresh water fail us, God have
mercy upon the garrison!”
“Let us abide the worst,” said Albini; “brave hearts and the favour of
Heaven are a match for the king and all his army. Besides, I expect
Fitzwalter and his barons to raise the siege.”
“They are right tardy in their march, seigneur; almost two months have
they loitered thus.”
“Nay, methinks I see them even now, descending yonder height. Seest
thou aught?”
“I can see nothing but the king and this cross-bow,” said the archer; “and
now,” added he, despondingly, “ ’tis beyond reach—‘tis lost!”
“No matter,” said Albini, “thou hast more honourable work before thee:
for see, they prepare for a new assault—the ladders are out—to thy post, and
I to mine. The event is with God, not with King John!”
“Maybe so,” said the staunch bowman, “maybe so, but with King John I
wot is neither sickness nor starvation, His host, I warrant me, have all
breakfasted this morning, while some that I could name have been three days
under arms with little better cheer than the castle well.”
“Too true,” said Albini, “too true. We must all fast as well as fight; but to-
night, please God, even to-night, the barons may arrive, the siege may be
raised, and thou and thy brave companions shall sup in the king’s larder.
What say’st thou to that, Hugo?”
“My appetite is right keen, seigneur, and my thirst not a whit behind my
appetite.”
“Well then, courage! and see what God will send us.”
“Amen!” said the bowman, “and never fear me for courage when Albini
commands. And yet, seigneur, had this little bolt been sent home, much
blood, methinks, would have been spared. But no matter now, the die is cast;
and if once caught by the tyrant, yonder stands the gibbet! So once more,
here goes.”

“Ay, by my troth, and a right good aim,” said Albini; “thou hast hit the
first man between the joints of his harness—he tumbles dead from the
ladder. This is the right game, so once more, God and freedom be the word!”
“God and freedom!” responded the bowman; and herewith the closing
horrors of the siege began.
The aid sent to the barons by the French court in this struggle is stated at
nearly seven thousand men. “Heere is to be noted,” says Holinshed, “that
during the siege of Rochester, as some write, there came out of France to the
number neere hand of seaven thousand men, sent from the French king vnto
the aid of the barons, at the suit of Saer de Quincie Earle of Winchester, and
other ambassadours that were sent from the barons, during the time of this
siege; although it should seeme, by Matthew Paris, that the said earle was
not sent till after the Pope had excommunicated the barons. The Frenchmen
that came over at this first time landed at Orwell, and other hauens there
neere adioining[121].”
Elated with the success which had crowned his operations against the
Castle of Rochester, King John, says the historian[122], marched through the
kingdom like an implacable despot, inflicting every act of barbarity and
spoliation on the relations and estates of those who had opposed his
tyrannical measures. In the mean time, the barons, hopeless of ever
retrieving their wretched state of affairs by their own unaided strength, had
recourse to the last painful expedient of calling in foreign aid, and applied to
Philip of France, who, as it favoured his own interest, and flattered his
ambition, was easily persuaded to enter into their views. Intent upon this
grand object, extensive preparations were set on foot; an armament was
fitted out, and the following year, his son Louis the Dauphin was placed at
its head, and with a fleet of seven hundred vessels set sail for the English
coast. Landing at the port of Sandwich, the French auxiliaries were joined by
those of the confederate barons, and presented so menacing a front that King
John, becoming alarmed, left the capital and set out for Winchester. On his
march through Sussex he was met by Gualo, the Pope’s nuncio, who had just
arrived in England, and in whom the despotic monarch found a warm
partisan. For the sacrilegious Dauphin having thus dared to invade the
patrimony of St. Peter—as his Holiness was pleased to style the kingdom—
it became his duty to wield the spiritual weapons of the Church against him.
With this view he repaired to the French camp, and there excommunicated
with all due solemnity the rash intruder and his whole army. Louis was at

first intimidated by this awful denunciation, and made some concessions in
order to ward off the coming vengeance; but when he found that the sun was
not darkened—that the elements did not fight against him—that his camp
was not depopulated, nor his march impeded, he resumed courage, set the
legate at defiance, and proceeded in his expedition. As the first operation of
the war, he invested the Castle of Rochester, which, having lost much of its
defensive outworks in the previous siege, could offer no effectual resistance,
and speedily fell into the hands of the Dauphin. He then proceeded to
London, where he was received with triumph[123]. But the King dying the
same year, his son Henry succeeded to the throne, and this event, for a time,
restored public tranquillity, and rendered the cause of freedom independent
of foreign influence.
Rochester Castle, however, was destined to figure once more in the same
great question which had agitated the country during the preceding reign.
Henry the Third, by that open predilection for foreigners which he exhibited
on various public occasions, had excited both disgust and indignation among
the nobles of his own court, who in their turn lost no favourable occasion of
manifesting the sentiments by which they were guided. This spirit was fully
evinced at the grand tournaments which from time to time drew together the
chivalry of the land, and where they always found, to their mortification, a
preference given to foreign adventurers by the English monarch. Meditating
designs against the freedom of his own people, he naturally foresaw the
consequences, and appears to have been anxious to conciliate the favour of
those foreign knights whom, after the manner of his father, he could make
the willing instruments of his despotism whenever the question should be
ripe for discussion in the field. This unnational prejudice was particularly
observed at the great solemn tournament which was held on the 8th of
December, 1251, in the fields to the south-east of Rochester Castle. It was
one of the most imposing military spectacles that had ever taken place in the
King’s presence, and numbered among the combatants the noblest and the
bravest of the land; while the lists were graced with all that native beauty
and virtue which so fascinated the chivalry of other nations, and inspired the
noblest deeds among their own. Attracted to this spectacle, where they were
sure of a cordial welcome, a crowd of foreign knights arrived at Rochester
on the eve of the fete, and were received with marked distinction by the
king. The morning of the spectacle brought a still greater portion into the
lists; but the events of the day were not marked by anything in speech or

bearing that could reflect disgrace on the knightly courtesy which passed
between the combatants. The English knights, determined to maintain their
national character, entered the lists against all foreigners without exception.
Their challenge was freely accepted by the strangers, and in the course of the
day many a spear was shivered, many a knight unhorsed; but still the palm
was borne away by Englishmen. Mortified with defeat, the foreigners were
compelled to retire into the city without any of the usual tokens of victory
for which they had travelled so far; while some of them, conscious that their
conduct in the lists had violated certain laws of chivalry, took refuge in the
Castle, there to avoid popular indignation and await some favourable
moment for escape[124].
It was on this occasion that
Henry was made fully aware of the
spirit which now actuated his young
nobles; and the result was another
civil war, and another siege of the
Castle of Rochester by Simon de
Montfort. The Castle at that time
was held by Earl Warren for the
King; and on Montfort’s arrival on
the west bank of the Medway,
opposite the fortress, he found an
army strongly posted, and ready to
dispute with him the passage of the
bridge. He determined,
nevertheless, to try the fortune of war. He condensed his strength, and,
having sent Gilbert de Clare to attack the town on the south, so as to draw
off part of the enemy’s force and divert his attention from the design in
progress, he then ordered vessels to be filled with combustibles, and setting
fire to them, sent them adrift on the stream, which, running strong at this
point, bore them immediately down against the wooden bridge which then
crossed the river. The bridge having caught fire, the smoke and flames which
issued from the timber arches drove the enemy from their position in the
centre of the bridge, where they had charge of a tower, with a drawbridge
which cut off all communication with the opposite side. During the obscurity
and confusion which this stratagem occasioned, Montfort, seizing the
favourable instant, passed the river in boats, and commenced his attack upon

the outposts with such resolution and success that he entered the city in the
evening of Good Friday—spoiled the Church, and vigorously attacked the
Castle. Warren and his gallant supporters, however, defended the citadel with
such courage and determination that, after a siege of seven days and nights,
Leicester had only captured some of the outworks. Yet owing to the state of
the Castle at that time, it is very probable that had the siege been continued
only a short time longer, it must have fallen into his hands. But the great
cause in which he had embarked demanding his presence in London, which
was threatened with a hostile visitation from the king, he drew off the main
body of his army to defend the capital, and thus the Castle of Rochester was
spared the disgrace of another surrender. Shortly after this, Montfort, as Earl
of Leicester, fought the battle of Lewes, where, as already described in a
former part of this work, he gained a victory which richly compensated for
the sudden retreat from the Castle of Rochester.
Subsequently to this period, the Castle of Count Odo—as this fortress is
sometimes called—continued to be held by successive constables, men of
high military standing in the country. But from the above period downwards
it has not been the scene of any remarkable event, and consequently its
history is little more than an enumeration of its castellans and the local
incidents and irritations with which their caprice or authority diversified the
not always “even tenor” of their sway[125].
The chief duty in which they appear to have latterly engaged[126] was that
of keeping a vigilant eye upon the monastery, which was gradually rising in
strength, and improving in territory as the Castle ramparts fell into disuse;
and, considering the talents possessed by the bishops and superior clergy
who successively presided in the Cathedral and adjoining cloisters of
Rochester, the office of castellan was no sinecure. Stephen de Dene,
however, attempted to set a bold example to his successors in that office by
taxing the monks for certain premises about their convent; but the latter
carried the day, and the question being tried by law, the castellan was not
merely nonsuited, but dismissed from his office under the Crown. From that
time, therefore, no man appears to have been hardy enough to contest a civil
question with the spiritual authorities; and we may conclude that more than
one or two of these castellans would have enacted the tyrants of the place,
had they not been deterred by the sturdy bedesmen, and the terrors of
excommunication. Thus mutual vigilance between the castle and the convent
did the public tranquillity some service. But it was the invention of

gunpowder, the use of cannon, which gave the finishing blow to all these
magnificent ruins upon which we still gaze with feelings of mixed wonder
and veneration. Ceasing to be places of security—unless in particular
instances—they ceased to be appreciated for any other quality of site or
structure. Commanded, as that of Rochester is by all the neighbouring
heights, it could offer no resistance to those engines which supplanted the
balista, the battering-ram, and the cross-bows; and continued thenceforward
to be a mere monument of other days, reminding us of those patriotic men
and measures by which the national liberties had been achieved, and who led
the way to these happier times, when the safeguard of society is the law of
the country, and when the humblest cottage is a domestic fortress.
“Unconquer’d patriots! form’d by ancient lore,
The love of ancient freedom to restore;
Who nobly acted what they boldly thought,
And seal’d, by death, the lessons which they taught.”

At the accession of James the First—whose personal recollections of
Falkland and Gowrie House had given him a noted abhorrence of all such
strongholds—Rochester Castle was one of the Crown manors, but was then
given, with all its services annexed, to Sir Anthony Weldon[127], of
Swanscombe. Much land in Kent and other counties is held of the Castle of
Rochester by the service of “perfect castle guard.” Every St. Andrew’s Day,
old style, a banner is hung out at the house of the steward; and if there be
any unlucky tenant who cannot bring in his rent at the hour specified, he is
liable to have the sum doubled at “every return of the tide” in the Medway,
till the whole amount is paid up. Nothing, therefore, can be more unwelcome
to the ear of the insolvent tenant, than that peculiarly harsh sound with which
the full tide rushes through the centre arch of Rochester Bridge on the
thirtieth of November. In vain his friend ejaculates, addressing the steward—
“Gladly would thy servant pay,
Spare him but another day!
He’d not absent him from your audit—
Poor man! he’d pay it an’ he had it!”

but the immovable steward answers—
“Spare him? No!—Let the law decide—
Think ye that I can ‘stop the tide?’ ”

So true it is, that time and tide wait for no man.
When at last, like so many of its contemporaries, this castle was finally
deserted as a habitable dwelling, it was stripped of all its carpentry, the hewn
stone composing the stairs was removed, and all the materials that could be
turned to money were announced for public sale. The old timber, consisting
of the oak joists, on which rested the roof and floors of the principal
apartments, was bought up and employed in the construction of a
brewhouse[128]. But in attempting to remove the solid materials of the walls,
the operations were suddenly arrested by this conviction, that it was much
easier to quarry from nature than from such a reservoir of art; for the
pickaxes made so little progress in the demolition of these massive walls—
the very mortar of which is harder than the stones it cemented together—that
the enterprise was soon given up in despair, as the chasm now left in the
outer wall fully demonstrates[129]. The stone employed in by far the greater
portion of the Castle is the same as that used in the Tower of London[130],
built under the same ecclesiastical architect, Bishop Gundulph; and is what
passes under the name of Caen-stone, a vast quantity of which must have
been imported from the royal quarries in Normandy. In several of the repairs,
however, native stone appears to have been used; but it was introduced,
comparatively, at a late period. The facing of the walls is all of Normandy
free-stone, and the centre is filled up with grout-work; that is, a mass of
pebbles, flint shells, and sand, cemented by mortar poured into the interstices
in a liquid state, and forming the whole into a solid, compact, and almost
inseparable mass, more durable than the stone itself, and capable of resisting
the action of the weather with scarcely any perceptible loss of substance.
Visit to the Ruins.—Having thus far adverted only very briefly to the
several compartments of which this majestic fortress consists, we shall now
take them more in detail, and introduce such particulars as may serve to
conduct the stranger in his research, and point out those objects in the Castle
which chiefly arrest attention, and fix themselves in the memory[131].
The Entrance into the Castle area was by a bridge formed on two
arches, over a deep dry fosse. On each side of the portal, part of which is
remaining, is an angular recess, with arches on the outside that commanded
the avenues; and over the gateway and the recesses was a large tower. The
Keep stands at the south-east angle of the area, and in the opinion of some
writers, with a tower in Dover Castle, and the White Tower within the Tower
of London, was erected by Julius Cæsar. But we have already shown that the

architect was
undoubtedly
Bishop
Gundulph.
The area of
the castle
district is
about three
hundred feet
square; but
all the inner
buildings,
storehouses,
magazines,
stables,
armouries,
have long
since
mouldered
away.
The
Tower, or
Keep, and, as
it is generally
called, in
honour of the
builder,
Gundulph’s
Tower, is quadrangular, its angles nearly corresponding with the four
cardinal points of the compass. It is about seventy feet square at the base; the
outside of the walls is built with a slight inclination towards the centre, and,
in general, are about twelve feet thick. Adjoining to the east angle of this, is
a small tower, about two-thirds of the former in height, and twenty-eight feet
square. In this tower was
The Grand Entrance, with a noble flight of steps, eight feet wide,
through a lofty arched gateway, richly ornamented

with curious
fretwork, the
zig-zag or
chevron
characteristics
of the time.
For the greater
security of this
entrance, there
was a
drawbridge,
under which
was the
common
entrance to the
lower
apartments of
the Great
Tower, which
consisted of
only two
divisions, and,
receiving no
light from
without, must
have been as
dark and
gloomy as a
cave
underground.
They are divided by a partition-wall, five feet thick, which is continued to
the top, so that the rooms were twenty-one by forty-six feet on each floor. In
the lower part of the walls are several narrow openings, or slits, for the
partial admission of air and light; and in the partition-wall are also arches, by
which the two rooms communicated with each other. These were probably
the store-rooms of the Castle. In the partition-wall in the centre of the Great
Tower, is that upon which the tenure of the whole fortress depended, and

without which neither strength nor stratagem could avail the besieged—
namely, that indispensable necessary,
The Well.—This was admirably contrived; its diameter is thirty-three
inches, and the workmanship is finely executed. This hollow tunnel, or shaft,
passes through the centre of the wall, from the turrets to the foundation, and
communicates with every floor; so that an ample supply of water could be
had with the greatest convenience. It was literally such as the poet describes;
not liable to have its clear lymph disturbed by those accidental
circumstances to which other fountains are subject. Fons erat “Castelli”—
Quem neque pastores, neque pastæ monte capellæ
Contigerant, aliudve pecus; quem nulla volucris,
Nec fera turbârat, nec lapsus ab arbore ramus.

The Prison.—On the north-east side, within the Great Tower, is a small
arched doorway, through which is a descent by steps leading into a vaulted
apartment under the Small Tower. This is supposed to have been the state
prison; and in shape, substance, and dimensions, it well corresponds with
such a destination. One may still fancy the words which it once addressed to
the shackled captives as they entered this dreary receptacle—“Voi qui entrate
quì, lasciate ogni speranza!”—and, no doubt, it has witnessed many a scene
of crime and desperation concerning which history and tradition are alike
silent.

The Battlements.—From the ground-floor there is a winding
staircase, between five and six feet wide, in the east angle, which leads to the
top of the Tower, and, in its ascent, communicates with every floor. The
steps were nearly demolished during the frequent attempts made to remove
the hewn stone, during the time already mentioned, when this baronial
monument was condemned by sordid interest, and that spirit of native
Vandalism from which it was only rescued by the invincible nature of its
own masonry, which resisted all efforts employed for its destruction. The
staircase, however, is still accessible, in spite of the efforts made to destroy
it, and retains the impressions of the winding centres on which the arches
were turned. The floor of the
First Story was about thirteen feet from the ground. The holes in the
walls opposite, where the timbers were laid, distinctly mark the different
stages or floors. But the massive oaken joists were long since disposed of in
the way we have mentioned, when the walls were finally dismantled, the
interior laid open to the weather, and the timber of the Barons’ Hall sold to

construct Gimmet’s brewhouse. These oaken joists were nearly a foot
square, and about thirteen inches apart, but less in the upper floors, and
extended from the outer wall to the centre partition, where their sockets still
appear in the stone. In the west angle is another staircase, which ascends
from the floor to the top of the tower, and, like the former, communicates
with every room. In this story
The Rooms are about twenty feet high, and were probably intended for
the accommodation of the Barons’ household servants. The apartment in the
north-east side, in the Small Tower over the prison, and into which the
outward door of the grand entrance opened, was on this floor, and was about
thirteen feet square, and richly ornamented with Norman chisel-work, in
which the chevron moulding on the arches of the doors and windows is the
characteristic feature. This room communicated with the state apartments in
the Great Tower, by means of an archway, six feet by ten and secured by
means of a portcullis; the groove for which is well worked in the main wall
through to the next story. The rooms also communicate with each other, by
means of arches in the partition; and in the external walls are many holes, or
œillets, for the admission of light, and the discharge of weapons in time of a
siege. In the north angle of this floor, appears to have been a small room,
with a fireplace in it, which antiquaries have described as the guardroom of
certain officers of the garrison[132]. In the south-east is a small door intended,
it is supposed, for those who were not admitted at the grand entrance; the
inside of which is constructed in a manner peculiarly adapted for its security.
From this floor we ascend by the principal staircase to
The State Apartments, or Barons’ Hall, which, in point of size,
proportion, decoration, and harmonious combination of parts, presents a
noble specimen of Norman design and workmanship. The arches, doors, and
window are elaborately chiselled, and exhibit most of the beautiful
mouldings of which the architecture of that day was so prolific. This
apartment was about thirty-two feet high, separated by three massive
columns, each eighteen feet in height, forming four grand arches richly
ornamented, and included the

whole space within the walls. The stair leading to this was much more
commodious than the others; and in cases of danger and necessity, the great
warlike engines then in use could be set up in the hall[133], for the immediate
protection of its inmates.
The chimneys were semicircular, very capacious, and projected
considerably into the rooms, and rested upon small pillars. The smoke was
carried off from each fireplace by means of a perforation in the wall behind.
The sinks were so contrived in an oblique direction that no weapon could be
sent up them.[134] All the interior arches, doorways, and windows, are
ornamented with the same carved mouldings as those already mentioned.
With respect to the Chapel in Rochester Castle, no precise account has
been given; and even its place in the fortress is still a subject of conjecture.
But that an oratory once existed here, as in all other strongholds of the same
class, there can be no doubt; and in the upper story, next the battlements, are
the remains of semicircular arches[135] in the wall, which, perhaps, mark the
spot under which stood the altar of the garrison Chapel[136]. Other
appearances in the same floor seem to strengthen the conjecture. At Arundel
Castle, the Oratory, as described in a first portion of this work, occupied the
highest story of the Keep; and it seems by no means improbable that in
Rochester Castle[137] the Chapel may have occupied a similar position. But
if not here, there is no other part of the Castle with which any oratory or
chapel can be so properly identified.
About midway in the ascent to the next or highest floor, there is a narrow
arched passage or gallery in the main wall, quite round the Tower. In the
Upper Floor, the apartments appear to have been sixteen feet high. The roof,
as above mentioned, was long since removed, and from top to bottom
nothing is left but the naked walls. The stone gutters which carried off the
rain are still entire. From this upper portion, the stair rises about ten feet
higher to the top of the Great Tower, which is about one hundred and four
feet from the ground, and surrounded with battlements and embrasures seven
feet high. At each of the four angles is a turret, about twelve feet square, with
floor and battlement above it. From this elevation the panoramic view of the
country is highly interesting. The neighbouring heights, bristling with
military forts and covered with standards; the Medway studded with ships,
and seen as far as its confluence with the Thames; Brompton—Chatham
Lines—the Dockyard—Upnor Castle—the wooded heights opposite; the
bridge, once the most elegant in England—Strood, Rochester, Chatham, and

numerous other scenes and objects with which the historical deeds of the
past are closely associated—all awaken so deep and lasting an interest in the
spectator’s mind, that it would be difficult to select any point in the kingdom
which embraces a landscape so various and so striking in its character.
A very accurate investigator of the antiquities of Rochester, and who
resided in the neighbourhood and made repeated researches on the subject,
was of opinion, that a wall must have extended originally from the tower in
the east wall to that in the west. The ground to the north of this partition-wall
would answer to what in other Norman castles is often called the inner
ballium, bayle, or court-yard. Several towers were stationed in the angles
and sides of the Castle-walls, to give more scope to the besieged in the
distribution of their forces; and, in particular, there was a large tower at the
north angle, for the security of the
bridge. Near
this tower is a
long opening
in the wall
from top to
bottom, which
is supposed to
have been
used for the
secret
conveyance
of stores and
necessaries,
from boats in
the river, into
the Castle. In
the south
angle of the
walls, there was another tower; and from the number of loop-holes, it must
have been designed to annoy an enemy who had succeeded in any attack on
the south gate of the city. At a small distance from this tower are steps
descending to Bully or Boley Hill[138]; and while the Castle was in force,
there might be here a postern gate to this part of the outworks.

In a survey of this gigantic fortress and its now deserted walls the
imagination is powerfully awakened. It speaks audibly of generations long
since swept away; when the life of a chieftain, as Mr. Dallaway observes,
appears to have been passed in building castles, and in defending them when
not actively employed in destroying those of others. Although constructed as
if to last for ages, the long reign of Henry the Third, spent in a ceaseless
contest between the King and his revolting Barons, affords numerous
instances of fortresses which were scarcely finished before the outworks, at
least, were levelled with the ground. They more frequently escaped utter ruin
after a long and obstinate siege. This demolition was effected by means of
vast military engines, such as the catapulta and battering-ram, the use of
which had been retained, and applied according to the Roman system of
war[139]. These observations belong likewise to the Barons’ wars in the reign
of the second Edward. We cannot, indeed, in the words of the same
authority, fairly account for the total subversion of so many castles as the
Chronicles have asserted, but by concluding that after a castle was taken, the
whole soldiery engaged as victors did not leave until the entire demolition
was effected, agreeably to the sentence—“funditus demoliendum[140]!” The
Castle of Rochester is one of the few that have survived the effects of time
and revolutions; and in the almost entire state of its Keep and other
subordinate compartments, distinctly points out the living manners of the
people, and their warlike operations during the turbulent periods of the
national history.
In process of time, several improvements, both in respect to military
strength and commodious habitation, were adopted in these Norman
fortresses. The second ballium was protected by smaller towers; and those of
the barbican and gate of entrance admitted of spacious rooms. In these the
feudal Baron resided with his family, who only made use of the Keep during
a siege, or when driven to it as a place of security[141] under any sudden
danger or alarm.

In
Rochest
er
Castle
there
was this
peculiar
ity
among
others,
the
passage
or
narrow
gallery
which
was
lighted
from the
interior and by a small loophole. This passage did not run horizontally, but
rose unequally, and without were steep steps leading to a false portal. This
served as a military stratagem, by means of which in the most desperare
circumstances the conflict might be kept up by the besieged even after the
Keep itself had been forcibly entered. Each successive rise in the gallery was
a point which could be defended by the inmates, who, when driven back,
could take up a second position in the same passage, which, by its elevation,
would give them a similar command over their assailants, while only a few
of their own body were exposed at once. These and similar contrivances and
decoys evince great ingenuity on the part of the architects.
Another peculiarity in Rochester Castle is the absence of the lofty
artificial mound on which so many of the ancient castles are built, and of
which that of Arundel, already described, is an instance. But Gundulph, the
architect who enjoyed “the greatest celebrity in the reigns immediately
succeeding the Conquest, appears to have considered the artificial mound,
originally of Danish usage, as unnecessary.” His castles are distinguished
from all others of that period by their stately dimensions, and the genius
displayed in their design—by the military contrivances already mentioned,

and by the solidity and skilful execution of the workmanship. His central
towers are so lofty as to contain four distinct floors: in the basement was the
dungeon, without light; while the portal, or grand entrance, was many feet
above the ground, so that the necessity for an artificial mound was greatly
obviated. But his greatest merit consisted in various architectural
contrivances, by means of which as much security was afforded to his
Keeps, as by their elevation and real strength.[142] Bishop Gundulph died at
the commencement of the twelfth century, but having completed the Tower
of London and the Castle of Rochester, he may be considered as having
invented and left models of that description of castle architecture, which, in
the opinion of all competent judges, bear ample testimony to his abilities as
an architect. He was consecrated bishop of Rochester by his illustrious
patron the archbishop Lanfranc, in March, 1077, and lived thirty years in
possession of the see. He is said to have been “the first who introduced the
architectural ornaments of the Norman style both within side and without.”
Of this, the interior of the state apartments affords abundant evidence; and
whoever takes a view of these from the West Gallery leading round the
inside of the court, cannot fail to be struck with the beauty of the chevron
mouldings by which the principal arches of the doors and windows are all
elaborately adorned. In many instances these mouldings appear quite sharp,
as if fresh from the sculptor’s chisel.
In the Castle of Rochester there is another portion in the basement story
which is well deserving of attention. Over the present entrance is a
temporary scaffolding of wood, supported by props of the same material
inserted into the masonry beneath. On the left is a small arch with an inner
doorway; and immediately under the platform is one of larger span, showing
the thickness of the wall. Within the latter, which is of strong compact
workmanship faced with small blocks of stone, is a staircase, consisting of a
flight of Caen stone steps which lead to the inner gallery, and thence to all
the apartments. From this the light penetrates the enclosure underneath,
streaming down the steps, but in such a manner as to increase rather than
diminish the effect produced by a survey of this melancholy receptacle. It
was through this passage that, in feudal times, the prisoners and military
captives were introduced to that destination which awaited them at the hands
of the feudal lord. Standing in this dreary vestibule, with the door of the
prison on the left, and the archway and main staircase that communicated
with the Baron’s Hall on the right, it requires but little force of imagination

to conjure up one of the
many scenes of mingled
triumph and despair
which must have often
met and exchanged
glances under that very
arch. The same victory
which awoke the sounds
of festive mirth in the
Hall, and summoned the
Baron and his warlike
knights to the feast,
consigned his prisoners
to the dungeon, where
the bitterness of their
fate was increased by
their conscious vicinity
to the Banquet Hall.
Odo, it may be
presumed, made much
use of this gloomy
appendix to his Castle;
for the vast treasures
which he collected
during his occupation of
the fortress were not
secured without the frequent imprisonment and oppression of his vassals,
and of those wealthier individuals in the

county over whom his judicial authority extended. During the time he
exercised an almost unlimited power as Earl of Kent, and kept his court in
this Castle, most of the old writers agree in representing him as an avaricious
tyrant, whom the desire of riches impelled to the commission of every crime,
and from whose prison nothing could ransom the captive but his gold. His
grand object in accumulating so much wealth was to facilitate his
advancement to the Papal crown, to which he ardently aspired. But his
ambition was happily defeated by the measures already mentioned. The
haughty prelate was himself thrown into prison; while the unhappy victims
who filled the cells of Rochester Castle saw the prison doors burst suddenly
open, and under that very arch, perhaps, met the welcome of those who had
long regarded it as the living tomb of all their earthly hopes.
Environs.—The principal object in the immediate vicinity of the Castle
is the Cathedral; but as that will be made the subject of a future article, the
next prominent feature in the landscape is the Bridge. The first historical

mention of a bridge at Rochester occurs in the various accounts of the siege,
to which we have already adverted. “Now am I come to the bridge over the
Medway,” says Lambard, “not that alone which we presentlie behold, but
another, also more ancient in time though less beautiful in work, which
neither stoode in the self same place where this is, neither yet verie farre off;
for that crossed the water over against Stroud Hospital, and this latter is
pitched some distance from thence towards the south.”[143] “That old worke
being of timber building, was fyred by Symon, the Earl of Leycester, in the
time of Henry the Third; and not full twentie yeares after, it was borne away
with the ice in the reign of King Edward, his sonne.” Kilburne, in addition to
the above, says, that “Fitzwalter put out the fyre and saved it.” This,
however, appears contrary to the fact; for in his attempt to co-operate with
Albini, Fitzwalter marched no “further than Dartford, and then marched back
again.” It was not till two years after that Leicester set fire to it in the manner
described, when the wooden tower and arches were burnt down.
Dr. Thorpe, in his Antiquities, was of opinion that the first bridge over the
Medway at this point, namely between Rochester and Stroud, was built in
the reign of Edgar the Peaceable.[144] It is certain, however, that there was a
bridge here before the Conquest, and that on divers tracts of land an annual
tax was imposed for keeping it in repair. This is proved by several very
ancient MSS., one of which, in the Saxon language, marks with exactness
such portions of the work as were to be executed by the respective landlords.
The bridge was then of wood, and placed in the line of the principal streets
of Rochester and Stroud; it was four hundred and thirty feet in length, nearly
the present breadth of the river at this place, and consisted of nine piers with
eight spaces or arches. But the depth of water, its constant rapidity, the
occasional roughness of the tides, and the shocks of large bodies of ice at the
breaking up of winter, occasioned such frequent and severe damage, that the
repairs became a heavy burden to the owners of the contributory lands.[145]
In a petition presented to Parliament at the end of the fourteenth century,
the landholders who were taxed for the repairs of the bridge were
represented as having been nearly reduced to ruin in consequence, and that
the bridge at the same time was very unsafe for passengers. Under these
circumstances, Sir Robert Knowles and Sir John de Cobham built at their
joint expense the present bridge, thereby relieving private individuals from
an oppressive tax, and conferring a lasting benefit on the public. In the reign
of Richard II. a patent was obtained from the crown, which was afterwards

confirmed by the Parliament, for constituting the proprietors a body
corporate, under the title of Wardens and Commonalty, and a license granted
enabling them to receive, and hold in mortmain, lands and tenements to the
amount of two hundred pounds per annum. Sir John Cobham was the first
and greatest benefactor, and his example was followed by such liberal
donations from others that the estates usually termed proper, became in
process of time justly adequate to the repairs of the bridge, without levying
any assessment on the contributory lands.[146]
Until the
erection of that
at Westminster,
Rochester
Bridge was
justly
considered the
second in the
kingdom; and
even now, after
the splendid structures which have sprung up in recent times, it is still an
object of great elegance and beauty. Its original length was four hundred and
sixty feet by fifteen in breadth. It consisted of eleven arches, the largest of
which had a space of forty feet, and the others above thirty. At one of these
spaces between the piers was formerly a drawbridge, by means of which the
castellan who held command of the fortress could break off all
communication with the opposite banks of the river. The greatest water-way
is three hundred and forty feet. Joneval,[147] in his Travels, makes a mistake
in supposing that this bridge “is founded on a rock;” the piers rest on
wooden piles, and to have laid the foundation of so massive a fabric in a
river where the flux and reflux of the tide are so strong, must have been an
arduous undertaking. Unfortunately the name of the architect has not
descended to posterity, but the bridge is a lasting monument to his genius.
[148]

At the east end of the bridge was formerly a chapel, founded by Sir John
Cobham, with an endowment of eighteen pounds a year, payable out of the
bridge lands, for the support of three priests. According to the rules
established by the founder, three masses were to be said daily; the first
between five and six in the morning, the second between eight and nine, and

the third between eleven and twelve o’clock, so that travellers might have an
opportunity of being present at the sacred offices. But at each mass there was
to be a special collect for all the benefactors to the bridge, living or dead,
and for the souls of Sir John Cobham and others, whose names were to be
recited. There was another chapel at the west end of this bridge, but its exact
site is not known.
Memorabilia.—When the Emperor Charles the Fifth made his second
visit to England, in the summer of 1522, he arrived at Rochester on the
second of June, where he was received by Henry the Eighth, and set out on
the following day for London, or rather the royal palace of Greenwich. It
was at Rochester, also, that King Henry had his first interview with Anne of
Cleves, whose reception at Blackheath has been already described. Her
picture, it is said, had been drawn in so flattering a manner by Holbein, that
the amorous monarch, impatient to see the original, set out incognito for
Rochester on the morning of her expected arrival in that city, and in the
evening was among the first to bid her welcome. The painter, however, was
detected in having practised a great deception: Anne was not the divinity
represented on the canvas; Henry was disappointed, and is recorded to have
vented his chagrin in terms far from complimentary to the Lady Anne, or the
minister who had negotiated the alliance. This, however, he disguised; and
before taking leave presented her with a “suit of sables, as a new year’s gift.”
In April, 1556, Rochester was the theatre of one of those horrid scenes
which disgraced the reign of Queen Mary. John Harpole, of St. Nicholas
parish, and Joan Beach, of Tunbridge, were burnt alive as heretics, according
to the sentence of Maurice Gryffith, bishop of the see, for denying the
authority of the Church, and the transubstantiation of the sacramental
elements.—See History of Rochester, with biographical notices of the
bishops.
Queen Elizabeth, who took great pride in superintending the naval
department, in which she foresaw the only sure bulwark of her empire, made
it her custom to visit, among many other places in Kent, Chatham Dock-
yard. On one occasion she spent four days at the Crown Inn of Rochester;
but on the fifth accepted the hospitality of one of her loyal subjects, Mr.
Watts, at his house at Boley Hill, near the Castle; to which, according to
tradition, she gave the title of Satis as expressive of her satisfaction with her
entertainment.

On the return of King Charles the Second to England, he was received at
Rochester with demonstrations of loyalty, and conferred the honour of
knighthood on two gentlemen of the place, named Clarke and Swan. The
Mayor and Corporation at the same time presented his Majesty with a silver
basin and ewer, which were “graciously accepted.” Here, also, James the
Second arrived after his abdication, and continued for a week under the
protection of a Dutch garrison; but, apprehensive of his personal safety, he
went privately on board a tender, set sail, and, with the Duke of Berwick and
others of his suite, landed at Ambleteuse in Picardy.
Another object of no little interest, on the opposite side of the river, is
Upnor Castle, famous in history for the attack made upon it by Admiral Van
Ruyter.[149] Having burnt the storehouses, and blown up the fortifications at
Sheerness, Van Ruyter despatched the second Admiral, Van Ghent, up the
Medway, which Monk, Duke of Albemarle, had secured as well as the
circumstances of the case would allow. But a strong east wind and springtide
bringing up the enemy with resistless force, a chain was immediately
broken; three Dutch ships, taken in the war and stationed to guard the chain,
were set fire to by Van Ghent to retrieve his country’s honour; and, pressing
forward between the sinking ships, he brought six of his men-of-war and
fire-ships in front of Upnor Castle. Major Scott, who had command of the
fort, gave them as warm a reception as the condition of the place would
permit, and was well seconded by Sir Edward Spragge, who had escaped
from Sheerness, and now opened his guns upon the enemy from a battery at
Cockham Wood.[150] The Dutch, however, seized the hull of the Royal
Charles, and on their return burnt the Royal Oak, and much damaged two
other ships of the line. Captain Douglas, who commanded the Royal Oak,
was burnt in his ship, although he might easily have escaped. But “No!” said
this intrepid commander, when he perceived the danger and was urged to
strike, “No—it was never known that a Douglas left his post without
orders;” and thus resolved, he perished in the flames.
Among the numerous tourists who have made Rochester and its Castle
the subjects of remark, is the celebrated Hogarth, who, in company of four of
his intimate friends, Tothall, Scott, Thornhill, and Forrest, made an excursion
of four days to this part of the county in May, 1732, which is amusingly
detailed in a short folio brochure, accompanied with ten illustrations and
caricatures of their adventures, and published in 1781.

Classical
Scenes.—To
every reader of
Shakspeare the
names of
Gadshill,
Falstaff, and
Prince Hal,
will conjure up
many
ludicrous
associations;
and few
travellers will
enter
Rochester
from the west,
without a short
halt on this
poetical
ground,—the
spot where
Prince Henry
and his
dissolute
associates robbed the Sandwich carriers, and the auditors who were carrying
money to the royal exchequer. Theobold mentions that he had read an old
play, in which the scene opens with Prince Henry’s robberies, and Gadshill is
there named as one of the gang.[151] A comfortable inn, with a characteristic
sign of Falstaff on one side, and Prince Hal on the other, invites him to alight
for half an hour, and over a “cup of sack” peruse that mirth-moving scene in
the first Part of “Henry the Fourth,” which has conferred immortality on the
spot:—
Act II. Scene II.—The Road by Gadshill.
Enter Prince Henry and Poins; Bardolph and Peto at some distance.
Poins. Come, shelter, shelter; I have removed Falstaff’s horse, and he frets like a gummed velvet.
Pr. Henry. Stand close. [Enter Falstaff.]

Falst. Poins! Poins, and be hanged! Poins!
Pr. Henry. Peace, ye fat-kidneyed rascal: what a brawling dost thou keep!
Falst. Where’s Poins, Hal?
Pr. Henry. He is walked up to the top of the hill; I’ll go seek him. [Pretends to seek Poins.]
Falst. I am accursed to rob in that thief’s company; the rascal hath removed my horse, and tied
him I know not where. If I travel but four foot by the squire further afoot, I shall break my wind. Well,
I doubt not but to die a fair death for all this, if I ’scape hanging for killing that rogue. I have
foresworn his company hourly any time this two-and-twenty years; and yet I am bewitched with the
rogue’s company. If the rascal hath not given me medicines to make me love him, I’ll be hang’d; it
could not be else; I have drunk medicines.—Poins! Hal! a plague upon you both. Bardolph! Peto! I’ll
starve ere I rob a foot further. An ’twere not as good a deed as drink, to turn true man, and leave these
rogues, I am the veriest varlet that ever chewed with a tooth. Eight yards of uneven ground is three
score and ten miles afoot with me; and the stony-hearted villains know it well enough. A plague
upon’t, when thieves cannot be true to one another! [His companions whistle.] Whew! a plague upon
you all! Give me my horse, you rogues: give me my horse, and be hanged!
Pr. Henry. Peace, ye fat-guts! lie down; lay thine ear close to the ground, and list if thou canst hear
the tread of travellers.
Falst. Have ye any levers to lift me up again, being down? ’Sblood, I’ll not bear mine own flesh
so far afoot again for all the coin in thy father’s exchequer. What a plague mean ye to colt me thus?
Pr. Henry. Thou liest; thou art not colted—thou art uncolted.
Falst. I prithee, good Prince Hal, help me to my horse, good king’s son!
Pr. Henry. Out, you rogue! shall I be your ostler?
Falst. Go hang thyself in thine own heir-apparent garters. If I be ta’en, I’ll peach for this. An I
have not ballads made on you all, and sung to filthy tunes, let a cup of sack be my poison. When a jest
is so forward, and afoot to,—I hate it. [Enter Gadshill.]
Gads. Stand!
Falst. So I do, against my will.

But we must here close the quotation. The reader will readily imagine
himself a spectator of the scene, where the thieves rob the true men, and
where retaliation is made upon the thieves by “two of their own gang, in
forcibly taking from them their rich booty;” and he will again enjoy the
conceit of Falstaff with his cups of limed sack, telling “incomprehensible
falsehoods,” in order to cover his own cowardice; his long rencounter with
the two “rogues in buckram suits, growing up into eleven,” all of whom he
peppered and payed till three misbegotten knaves in “Kendal green (“for it
was so dark, Hal, thou couldst not see thy hand!”) came at his back and let
drive at him!” Thus, on the stage, in the closet, on the road—as a local writer
has well observed—Falstaff’s adventure at Gadshill is likely to be “not only
an argument for a week, laughter for a month, but a good jest forever.”
Authorities:—Radcliffe.—Caumont.—Culmien.—Hasted.—France
Monumentale.—Matth. Paris.—Hist. Angl.—Hist. of Eng. Civil and Milit.—
Pictorial Hist. of Engl.—Holinshed.—Fabyan.—Hist. and Antiq. of Rochest.

—Hist. of the Castle and Cathed.—Lambard, 1576.—Kentish Tourist.—
King.—Grose.—Denne.—Kilburne.—Local Pamphlets.—Dallaway.—Milit.
Archit.—Discourses, Antiquities of Kent.—Hardynge.—Registrum
Roffense, by Thorpe.—Eadmer.—Polyd. Virg.—Selecta Monumenta.—
Camden.—Somner.—Battely.—Antiq. Itiner., etc. etc.

TEWKESBURY ABBEY.

Mcccclxxi.

THE ABBEY OF TEWKESBURY,

Gloucestershire.
Ampla foro, et partis spoliis præclara, Theoci
Curia, Sabrinæ quà se committit Avona,
Fulget; nobilium sacrisque recondit in antris
Multorum Cineres, quondam inclyta corpora bello.—Leland.

FOUNDATION.—In his desire to do more especial honour to Tewkesbury,
William of Malmesbury has fancifully traced its etymon to the Greek word
Theotocos[152]—the Mother of God—because the monastery which was built
here was dedicated to the Virgin Mother. It is certain, however, that the town
occupied the ground long before the monastery was erected. The popular
tradition is, that a religious recluse, named Theocus, had a Christian cell or
chapel in this place about the end of the seventh century—“ubi quidam
heremita manebat nomine Theokus, unde Theokusburia”—and that from him
the “Curia Theoci” was in process of time modified into Tewkesbury. In
Weever’s Funeral Monuments, however, there is an ancient Saxon
inscription, discovered in the church of Leominster at the close of the
sixteenth century, which states that, in the Saxon era, Tewkesbury was called
, that is, Theotisbyrg, from which it would appear that
Tewkesbury was the town, castle, or borough of Theot. Others, by
conjectures equally vague or plausible, have laboured to prove that the name
is derived from Dodo or Thodo, one of the first lords of the manor, and
founder of the monastery, adducing as corroborative evidence that the Ð and
Th are frequently substituted for each other in the Saxon language;
wherefore, say they, from Thodo comes the Latin derivative Theodocus, and
from that, Teodechesberie, as in Domesday Book. But further, it has been
conjectured that Theocus and Dodo, or Thodo, were one and the same
person; and those who are curious in the investigation of such questions will
find the subject elaborately discussed in all the principal histories of the
county[153] and abbey.

The foundation of this Abbey takes precedence of most others in the
kingdom, and dates from the first fifteen years of the eighth century. In the
reigns of Ethelred, Kenred, and Ethelbald, kings of Mercia, two brothers,
with the euphonious names of Odo and Dodo, flourished in this beautiful
district, and adorned their high station by the practice of many Christian
virtues and pious examples. Of their zeal for the honour of God they were
resolved to leave some permanent evidence to posterity, and with this view
selected a suitable spot on their manor of Tewkesbury, and there erected[154]
the monastery which in after times became famous throughout the land.
They endowed the abbey with much landed property—Stanwey cum
membris, sic dicta, Tadington Prestecote et Didcot[155]—which continued to
form part of the abbey revenues till the Dissolution. The institution gradually
extended its authority temporal and spiritual, and acquired a reputation for so
much sanctity, that to obtain a grave in its sacred enclosure became an object
of devout competition among the pious, and brought no little treasure to the
prior’s exchequer.
The first personage of royal dignity who was buried in the Abbey was
Brictric, king of the West Saxons, and son-in-law to King Offa. The next was
Hugh, a Mercian noble, and patron of the abbey, who had procured for it the
distinction of a royal mausoleum in St. Faith’s Chapel; to which his own
remains were afterwards consigned, with all the monks attending in solemn
procession, and chanting his requiem.
Towards the middle of the tenth century, Haylward Snew, descended from
King Edward the Elder, founded a monastery on his own manor at
Cranburne,[156] in Dorsetshire, and to this he subjected the priory of
Tewkesbury, of which he was patron. Historians give him the credit of
having possessed, in an eminent degree, the virtues of personal valour and
earnest piety; and of the latter, no better proofs could be adduced than the
fact of his having bestowed much of his substance upon the church. Algar,
his eldest son and successor, did not long enjoy his inheritance; and to him
succeeded his younger brother, Brictric, of whom the annexed adventure is
recorded.[157]
When the Battle of Hastings had secured a vacant throne to William the
Conqueror,[158] Brictric was among those patriotic chiefs who survived
that decisive field, and afterwards retired to the banks of the Severn, to
concert measures for the recovery of the Saxon throne, or to bury his vain
regrets in the bosom of his faithful friends and retainers. By one of those

strange
accidents,
however,
which
frustrate all
preconcerted
schemes,
Brictric’s
hopes of
freedom
were
completely
blasted.
Great as the
grief of
Maud had
been at his
abruptly
quitting her
father’s court
in Flanders,
as stated in
the preceding
note, it was
not of long
duration; for
the Duke of
Normandy
having
shortly after
solicited her
hand, and as such a union offered her no distant prospect of avenging
herself, she at once assented. The marriage was solemnized. She was carried
in triumph to Normandy; and now, when the subjugation of England had
been effected, she did not lose the opportunity thereby afforded of resenting
the slight which the impolitic Brictric had offered to her beauty. He was
accordingly denounced as an enemy to the new dynasty; and the strongest
argument produced against him being that he was a brave man, with a broad

tract of country which he called his own,
the evidence in proof of his disaffection
to the Conqueror was conclusive. Maud,
the queen, too, was actively employed in
expediting the measures instituted
against him—
Could she forgive him!—no! it was her duty
To crush a wretch that could resist such beauty.

One night, therefore, while returning
from vespers, Brictric was seized at the
door of his own manor of Hanley, and
sent under a Norman guard to
Winchester, where he pined for some
time, oppressed with the double weight
of degradation and imprisonment, and at
length died without issue. His estates, in
the meantime, had been given to Queen
Maud, who enjoyed their revenues till
her death; after which they were
incorporated with the other royal
demesnes of King William.
At the death of the Conqueror, they passed to his son Rufus, who some
time afterwards bestowed Brictric’s Honor of Gloucester upon Robert Fitz-
Hamon, son of Hamon Dentatus, Lord of Corboile in Normandy, as a reward
for many important services performed in defence of his father’s crown.[159]
This Robert Fitz-Hamon may be considered the second founder of
Tewkesbury Abbey; for, at the instance of Sybil his wife, and Giraldus[160]
Abbot of Cranburne, he rebuilt the church with all its appendages, and
endowed it with many large possessions.[161] In confirmation of the elegance
and liberality with which this was accomplished—“It cannot be easily
reported,” says William of Malmesbury, on two several occasions, “how
highly Robert Fitz-Hamon exalted this monastery, wherein the beauty of the
buildings ravished the eies, and the charity of the holy brotherhood allured
the hearts of all who repaired thither.”[162] This great and pious undertaking
is stated to have been accomplished as an act of atonement and public
satisfaction for the destruction of the church of Bayeux in Normandy, which

King Henry had burnt in order to liberate him from prison; but which, struck
with remorse at the sacrilege, he afterwards re-edified and restored.
Having rebuilt the Abbey of Tewkesbury in the
manner stated, and finding that it became more and
more an object of attraction among pilgrims and
devotees, Fitz-Hamon changed the Abbey of
Cranburne into a priory, and made it subject from
that time forward to the “Blackfriars” of
Tewkesbury[163]—so called from the black habit
worn by monks of the Benedictine order.
But, to preserve the name of the founder in that
sanctity to which his piety and good works had
given him so just a title, a prior and two monks
were left to minister in holy offices at Cranburne,
so that the cause of true religion might suffer no
detriment by the transfer thus effected. The
situation of the New Abbey, in the centre of a fair
and fertile country, variegated with beautiful
landscapes, curtained almost round by green-
wooded hills, and watered by noble rivers,
presented all that could be desired for the
advancement of those worldly objects in which
men so spiritually-minded might be supposed to take any interest. With the
completion of the New Abbey prosperity took up her abode under its
immediate wing: habitations multiplied, trade was introduced, the produce of
the adjoining vale increased with the demand, and the population was
rapidly improved. In process of time the abbey was almost surrounded by a
thriving town; while money, freely circulated by commerce, as well as by the
better class of pilgrims, improved the general appearance of the habitations,
and gave an air of cheerfulness and prosperity to the town and abbey.
Fitz-Hamon, who just lived long enough to witness the first prosperous
days of the abbey, being general of the king’s army in France, repaired to the
siege of Falaise,[164] in Normandy, where he received a wound on the
temple, and died shortly after,[165] His remains were carefully brought home
and deposited with great solemnity in the Chapter-house of the Abbey, of
which the arcade mouldings, vaulted ceiling, pillars, buttresses, and pointed
doorway, retain

much of their original beauty. It is now the grammar-school of the place. But
in this part of the abbey, hereafter to be described, his relics were not
permitted to rest more than a hundred and thirty-four years; they were then
removed by Robert, the third abbot of that name, and interred in a plain tomb
between two pillars on the right side of the Chancel, which, with the
Chapter-house, will be noticed in a subsequent page.
1397. One hundred and fifty-six years later, Thomas Parker, the eighteenth
abbot, caused the original tomb to be enclosed within a richly-carved chapel,
“satis mirifice tabulatam,” and appointed a mass to be celebrated every day
for the souls of Robert Fitz-Hamon, and Sybil his wife. By this lady he left
issue four daughters, co-heiresses to vast possessions which, during his
active services in places of the highest trust under government, had greatly
accumulated during the last two reigns. But King Henry, who was averse to
seeing the Honor of Gloucester thus subdivided, adopted such arbitrary
measures as effectually prevented the execution of the testator’s will, and
disposed of his daughters in the following manner:—Hawise he made

Abbess of Chichester; Cecilia he appointed Abbess of Shaftesbury; Amicia
he gave in marriage to his firm adherent, the Earl of Brittany; and to Robert,
his natural son, by the daughter of Rhys ap Tewdwr, Prince of Glamorgan,
he united Mabilia, the eldest. Thus the four daughters of Fitz-Hamon were
fairly settled by “royal authority,” and the estates concentrated upon his son,
Earl Robert, and his descendants. But Mabilia, it appears, expressed some
reluctance when this alliance was first proposed by the king, alleging that, as
his son Robert had then no baronial title nor high military standing in the
country, such a union was neither agreeable to her taste nor suitable to the
rank and possessions bequeathed to her by so many illustrious ancestors.
These objections, as stated by the monk[166] of Gloucester, were too
reasonable and well grounded to be confuted by the mere art of logic; but the
king found a much more speedy and effectual way of removing them, by
creating his son Earl and Consul of Gloucester, and installing him in the
various high offices therewith connected. Of this earl, as the reader may
remember, we have already spoken in a previous division of this work, when
adverting to the Empress Maud, daughter of King Henry. “He was
unquestionably,” says Lyttleton, “the wisest man of those times; and his
virtues were such that even those times could not corrupt it.” It is to Count
Robert of Gloucester that William of Malmesbury dedicates his work, and
speaks of him in these terms: “Nullum enim magis decet bonarum artium
esse fautorem quam te; cui adhæsit magnanimitas avi, munificentia patrui,
prudentia patris, &c.... Consentaneous ergo sibi mores experiuntur in te
literati, quos citra intellectum ullius acrimoniæ benignus aspicis, jucundus
admittis, munificus dimittis. Nihil plane in te mutavit fortunæ amplitudo nisi
ut pene tantum benefacere posses, quantùm velles.”
But the trait of character which connects Earl Robert more immediately
with our subject is, that every Sunday throughout the year he had the Abbot
of Tewkesbury and twelve of the monks to dine with him, thereby keeping
up a most friendly understanding with the Church, patronizing learning and
all who excelled in the arts, and building various castles and priories. He
founded the priory of St. James in Bristol, and made it subject to the Abbey
of Tewkesbury. But although he patronized the latter in an eminent degree,
he chose the priory for his last resting-place, and was there buried in the
choir, under a tomb of green jasper.[167]
It was during the life of this earl, that Walleran de Beaumont, a younger
son of the Earl of Leicester, and Count of Meulant, ransacked the town of

Tewkesbury, which, judging by the quantity and value of plunder carried off,
must have been, even at that early period, a town of no little opulence.[168] In
this raid, however, the goods of the Abbey were respected; for to such men
an interdict from the Church was more terrific than “an army with banners.”
William, son and heir to Earl Robert, and his wife Matilda, confirmed all
the charters which had been granted by his ancestors to the Abbey of
Tewkesbury, and certified his approbation by conferring upon it several fresh
endowments. He died in 1283, when the estates of the earldom were again
vested in three daughters. But the policy which had been adopted by King
Henry was again employed by King Richard, who had bestowed the
youngest of the three heiresses with the earldom and its domains upon his
brother John—a name sufficiently notorious in these pages—but by whom
she was divorced shortly after his accession to the throne. Mabel or Mabilia,
the eldest daughter of Earl William, married the Count d’Evreux in
Normandy, by whom she had a son, Almeric Montfort, who died about the
year 1221, leaving no children by his marriage. But the second daughter,
who had married Richard de Clare,[169] Earl of Hertford, had a son, Gilbert
de Clare, who, on the failure of the previous branches, was admitted to the
honours of Gloucester and Glamorgan, as his legal inheritance, and was the
first who held conjointly the earldoms of Gloucester and Hertford. He
resided at Holme Castle, a feudal residence which crowned an eminence in
the near vicinity of Tewkesbury, and married Isabel, daughter of William
Marshall,

In Eccles. Nostra de Theokes. in medio Presbyterio. A.D. MCCXXX.

Earl of Pembroke. He was a great benefactor of the monastery, and dying
in 1230, was buried in the middle Chancel of the Abbey church—the view
of which is strikingly grand—with all the ceremony due to his rank and
liberality.
His son Richard de Clare succeeding to the family titles and estates,
supported the baronial character of his ancestors, and is recorded to have
held a magnificent Christmas in his castle at Tewkesbury, where sixty
knights were in waiting. In July 1262, “beyng with King Henry in Fraunce,
this Richard Counte de Glocestre dyed of the febre quartane, and was buryed
at Tukesbyri Abbay, where aboute his toumbe be wryten his noble
actes.”[170] Of his body there was a tri-partition: the bowels were bequeathed
to the church of Canterbury; his heart to that at Tunbridge, and in the Abbey
of Tewkesbury, on the right side of his father’s tomb, his body was deposited
with great pomp, graced by the presence of two bishops, twelve abbots, and
a great company of barons, knights, and other personages, who had repaired

from all quarters to offer their testimony of respect to his memory. His tomb
was subsequently adorned at vast expense by his Countess Matilda, daughter
of the Earl of Lincoln. It was embellished with gold and precious stones,
with an effigy in silver of the sword and golden spurs which he had lately
worn in battle. The inscription was: Hic. pudor. Hippolyti: Paridis. gena:
Sensus. Ulyssis: Æneæ. pietas: Hectoris. ira. jacet. This monument has long
been removed or demolished.
To Earl Richard[171] succeeded Gilbert the Red—so named, like Rufus,
from the colour of his hair. He married Alice, daughter of Guy Count of
Angoulême, niece to King Henry the Third, but having obtained a divorce
against this lady, took for his second wife Joan d’Acres, daughter of Edward
the First. This earl, according to Leland, dealt hardly with the Abbey of
Tewkesbury, and took away the benefactions of his grandfather, Earl Gilbert,
but which were subsequently restored by his son. He died at his castle of
Monmouth, and was buried in the Abbey of Tewkesbury, near the tomb of
his predecessors, leaving issue one son, Gilbert, the third earl of that name,
who married the lady Matilda, a daughter of John de Borow, Earl of Ulster,
and by this union had one son, who died in early life, and was buried with
his ancestors. The earl himself was one of those chivalrous nobles who
surrounded the throne of Edward the Second, and fought under his banner.
He held a command in the disastrous expedition into Scotland headed by that
unhappy monarch in 1314, and fell at the battle of Bannockburn, in the
twenty-third year of his age,
When the best names that England knew
Claim’d in that death-prayer dismal due.[172]

From the field of battle, the body of the gallant earl was conveyed by his
friends and retainers to the Abbey of Tewkesbury, and there, in the Chapel of
the Blessed Virgin, consigned to kindred dust, in the midst of prayers and
lamentations. His death was more especially felt by the Abbot and
brotherhood, because he had liberally repaired the injury inflicted upon the
monastery by his father, and was the last of that honoured name who held
the title and territories of the De Clares in the county of Gloucester.
In the former part of this work, we have had more than once occasion to
remark how frequently these old family estates and honours passed away
with the female line: and here was another instance. Leaving no issue by his
marriage, the Gloucester and Glamorgan estates devolved upon his three

sisters, among whom they were divided. Elianora, the eldest, married Hugh
le Despenser—a name of tragical association in English history; and with
her the earldom of Gloucester, the third part of the estates, and the patronage
of the Abbey of Tewkesbury, passed into that family. Five years later, this
unhappy nobleman was apprehended, and put to the cruel and ignominious
death related in a former part of this work. Some portions of his
dismembered body, after their miserable exposure in different parts of the
kingdom, “were buried in Tewkesbury Abbey, near the lavatory of the high
altar.” He left by his wife three sons, Hugh, Edward, and Gilbert, but with no
inheritance save the pains and penalties entailed upon them by his own
forfeiture. The Monument of the Despenser family, hereafter noticed, is
one of the finest objects in the Abbey church.
The widow of this nobleman—
who had lost both her brother and
husband by violent deaths—sought
consolation in a second marriage
with William, Lord le Zouch, by
whom she had a son, named Hugh.
But she survived her second
husband only two years. He was
buried in the Abbey chapel of Our
Lady; and at her own demise, the
earldom of Gloucester was
conferred on her sister Margaret’s
husband, Hugh de Audley.
Hugh le Despenser, eldest son
of the unfortunate Hugh by his
wife Elianora, succeeded him in
the inheritance of Hanley Castle,
Tewkesbury, Yairford, and other
baronies—which were
occasionally disunited from the
honour of Gloucester—and
married Elizabeth, the widow of
Giles de Badlesmere, and daughter
of William de Montacute, Earl of
Salisbury. This earl, among other good gifts, appropriated the church of

Lantrissant to the abbot and convent in succession, from which they received
fifty marks annually. Dying without issue, he was buried on the right side of
the high altar at Tewkesbury. His widow was afterwards united in marriage
to Gwido de Bryen, knight—said by some writers to have been of the
Thomond family in Ireland, and by others, of the O’Briens of Castle
Walwaine in Pembrokeshire—who was buried along with a numerous line of
illustrious persons near the high altar in St. Margaret’s—or, as it was
subsequently called, O’Brien’s Chapel[173]—one of the chief sepulchral
ornaments of the church. This posthumous distinction was secured by very
substantial benefits conferred on the church in his lifetime.[174]
The tombs of the illustrious individuals above mentioned are all more or
less visible from the same point, and the coup-d’œil is very impressive.
This distinguished Patron of the monastery died near the close of the
fourteenth century 1390. ; when the nephew of his wife—Edward, the second
son of Hugh le Despenser the younger—took possession, in right of his aunt,
of the old family estates of De Clare, among which were Hanley Castle,
Tewkesbury Manor, and Malvern Chase. This nobleman espoused Anne,
daughter of Lord Ferrers, and by this marriage left issue four sons, Edward,
Thomas, Henry, and Gilbert. Edward, who was made Knight of the Garter
and summoned to Parliament in the thirty-first year of Edward the Third,
succeeded to the estates of Earl Hugh, his uncle, and married Elizabeth,
daughter of Lord Bartholomew de Burghurst, the king’s chamberlain. He
commanded the rear of the English army during their fatiguing and perilous
march from Calais to Bordeaux in 1373. He gave a cup of gold to the
monastery, and a precious jewel, says the Chronicle of Tewkesbury,
“wonderfully contrived to hold the sacrament on solemn days.” His eldest
son, Edward, died early at Cardiff Castle, and, with two other children, a
brother and sister, was buried in the family vault at Tewkesbury. At his
death, two years after the expedition above mentioned, Edward left a son,
named Thomas, and three daughters, Elizabeth, Anne, and Margaret, and
was buried in the Abbey church of Tewkesbury, before the vestry door, near
the chancel; where his widow, Dame le Despenser, to perpetuate his
memory, built the Chapel of the Holy Trinity, hereafter mentioned. This lady
survived her husband thirty-three years, and retained, as “her dowry, the
lordships of Hanley, Fairford, and Tewkesbury,” and died at the
commencement of the fifteenth century, when they fell to her grandson
Richard, whose father, Thomas—the second son of the last-named Edward

—had fallen a victim to the axe at the accession of Henry the Fourth. She
was buried near her husband; and during her life, among various other
benefactions, she bequeathed to the Abbey a suit of scarlet vestments,
embroidered with lions of gold—namely, one coat with three royal robes and
white vestments, and fifteen mantles or copes.[175]
Thomas, her nephew above mentioned,
married Constance, daughter of Edmund
Langley, Duke of York, and was created Earl
of Gloucester by Richard the Second, in right
of his descent from Elianora, wife of Hugh
Despenser the younger. But having taken an
active part in the conspiracy formed to
dethrone Henry the Fourth, he was
apprehended at Bristol and executed, 1400.
and a sentence of attainder passed upon his
titles and estates. He was afterwards buried in
the middle of the Choir in Tewkesbury church, where a lamp was kept
constantly burning before the host. He left two children, Richard, who died
at the age of eighteen,[176] and Isabel, who, succeeding to the family estates,
was married by the Abbot of Tewkesbury to Richard Parker, son and heir of
William Lord Beauchamp, and afterwards Earl of Worcester. At the siege of
Meuse-en-Bry (Meaux) in France, this nobleman was wounded by a stone
cast from a sling, ‘lapide balistæ,’ and dying in consequence, his body was
sent home and interred near the founder’s chapel, between the pillars at the
bottom of the Choir; where the lady Isabel, his widow, erected a chapel to
his memory and dedicated it to St. Mary Magdalen. It was covered with
pictures of our Saviour, the twelve apostles, and emblazoned with coats of
arms—long since defaced. This lady afterwards, by a papal dispensation,
married her late husband’s cousin, Richard Beauchamp, fifth earl of
Warwick, who was governor of France under 1439. King Henry the Sixth,
and died at the city of Rouen, leaving issue by the said marriage a son and
daughter, named Henry and Anne. The lady Isabel was a munificent
benefactress of the Abbey of Tewkesbury, having settled upon it, for the
support of six additional monks, lands worth three hundred pounds per
annum. At her death she also left to it all her jewels and other personal
ornaments, valued at three hundred marks additional, and procured the
church of Farrande in the diocese of Salisbury, and the church of Penmarshe

in that of Llandaff, to be appropriated to this Abbey. Furthermore, she
ordered four masses to be said in the new chapel which she had founded, for
the good of her soul and the souls of her ancestors and successors; and
bequeathed to each of the priests who should officiate two shillings, to be
paid weekly. She also confirmed all the privileges granted to the monastery
by her ancestors, and was buried near the chapel which she had built, with
great funeral pomp, by the bishop of Hereford, her confessor, and the lords
abbots of Tewkesbury and Winchcomb, as specified in the Abbey Chronicle.
Henry Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, son of Richard by Isabel, heiress of
the Despenser family, was about fourteen years old at his father’s death. He
was crowned King of the Isle of Wight by Henry the Sixth, and at the age of
eighteen was created Duke of Warwick, and declared premier Earl of
England. He had the Castle of Bristol given him, with the islands of
Guernsey and Jersey, the patronage of the church and priory of St. Mary
Magdalen of Goldcliff, with leave to annex it to the church of Tewkesbury.
1446. He confirmed the grants made by his predecessors to the church of
Tewkesbury; gave all the ornaments he wore to purchase vestments for the
monastery; died in the twenty-second year of his age; and was buried in the
middle of the Choir. He left issue by his marriage with Cecilia, daughter of
the Earl of Salisbury, one daughter, Anne, who died in infancy; whereby
Anne, his sister, became sole heiress to his estates. This lady married
Richard Nevil, Earl of Salisbury, who in right of his wife succeeded to the
vast united inheritance of the Despensers and the Beauchamps—families in
which the original possessions had been accumulating for ages. Nevil, in
order that his rank in the peerage might keep pace with this great accession
of property, was now created Earl of Warwick—familiarly known in the
writings of his day as the stout Earl of Warwick, or the King-maker—for
both King Henry the Sixth and Edward the Fourth held or lost the sceptre at
his dictation. His deeds and prowess are familiar to every reader of history,
and will be more particularly noticed when we arrive at that portion of the
work with which the name is more intimately connected. 1471. His death at
the battle of Barnet, and the results of the still more sanguinary battle of
Tewkesbury,[177] placed the crown on the head of Edward,[178] and
introduced a new order of affairs in the state.
After the fall of this renowned earl, Anne his countess, “reduced to great
distress, was forced to abscond. King Richard would have willingly seized
on her estates, had not her two daughters, Isabel and Anne, been his own

sisters-in-law; but he put these ladies in possession of them all by an equal
partition of the vast inheritance between them, which was confirmed by act
of parliament.” Isabel, the elder of these daughters, married George, Duke
of Clarence, brother to Edward the Fourth; and in her division of the
family domains, the ancient manor of Tewkesbury was included. With this
lady, therefore, the subject under consideration is more particularly
connected. But she was destined not long to survive her renowned father,
and died in child-bed in the twenty-fifth year of her age, at Warwick Castle,
from which her remains were conveyed to the Abbey of Tewkesbury, and
made the object of a grand funeral solemnity, which was prolonged to an
unusual duration.
The annexed particulars
may give some idea of the
gorgeous ceremonial practised
on that occasion:—Lord John
Strensham, Abbot of
Tewkesbury, with several other
abbots, in the ecclesiastical
habits of their order, and all the
brethren of the convent,
received her body in the middle
of the choir. The funeral office
was first performed by the
Lord Abbot and his brother
abbots there present, with the
whole of the convent, in nine
lessons; then by the suffragans
of the bishops of Worcester and
Llandaff; and lastly, by the
dean and chaplains of the Duke
of Clarence. The vigils were
observed by the Duke’s own
family till the following day, which was the vigil of the Epiphany. The
suffragan of the bishop of Lincoln celebrated the first mass of St. Mary in
the Chapel of the Virgin; the second mass of the Trinity was celebrated by
the Lord Abbot at the high altar; the suffragan of the bishop of Worcester
said the third mass of “Eternal Rest,” at which Dr. Weld, of the Grey Friars

of Worcester, preached a sermon in the choir before the prelates and monks
there assembled. Mass being ended, the body was left under the Herse, a
fabric erected for that purpose in the middle of the choir, for the space of
thirty-five days, on every one of which the same solemn obsequies were
repeated. The body of this lady was then buried in a vault behind the high
altar, before the door of the Lady Chapel, opposite that of St. Edward the
Martyr’s.—To the fate of George Duke of Clarence, who only survived his
lady about a twelvemonth, we need not particularly advert in this place. He
was also buried at Tewkesbury, and left issue two children, Edward and
Margaret. This Edward Plantagenet, entitled Earl of Warwick, and heir of
Tewkesbury, was first seized and imprisoned by his uncle, the tyrant
Richard; next, for safer custody, removed to the Tower, by his cousin, Henry
the Seventh, and beheaded on the charge of a pretended conspiracy. But the
only crime that could be alleged against him was his being heir male of the
house of York; and to this and the king’s invincible jealousy he fell a victim
in the flower of his age. But as we shall have occasion to revert to this
subject hereafter, we omit in the meantime this part of the family history.
Margaret, the only sister of this unfortunate young noble, met with a fate
equally tragical and unmerited on her own part, and disgraceful to the tyrant
by whom it was inflicted. She was married to Sir Richard Pole in early life,
by whom she had a family, and upon an act of attainder passed against her
for corresponding with her son Cardinal Pole, she was beheaded in the
thirty-third year of the reign of Henry the Eighth.
Anne, youngest daughter of Richard Nevil, Earl of Salisbury and
Warwick, was first married to Edward Prince of Wales, son of King Henry
the Sixth, who, being taken at the battle of Tewkesbury, was there murdered
by Richard Duke of Gloucester, whom she afterwards married, and had issue
Edward Prince of Wales, who died not long before his mother, who is said to
have been poisoned by Richard to facilitate his intended union with his
niece, Elizabeth, daughter of Edward the Fourth, and afterwards queen of
King Henry the Seventh.[179]
From this period till the accession of Edward the Sixth, the lordship of
Tewkesbury was annexed to the crown. 1609. It was then granted to Sir
Thomas Seymour, who held it till his attainder; when it reverted back again,
and continued vested in the crown till the seventh of the reign of James the
First, when it was granted, by letters patent from that monarch, to the

corporation of Tewkesbury, for the sum of “two thousand four hundred and
fifty-three pounds seven shillings and fourpence halfpenny.”[180]
Such is the descent of the
manor of Tewkesbury in connexion
with the Abbey to which it gave
origin, and with which it was
intimately associated during the long
lapse of six or seven centuries.
During the many ages of
prosperity which intervened between
the period of its foundation down to
that of its dissolution the Abbey of
Tewkesbury is a name of frequent
recurrence in history. Its abbots were
generally men of learning,
moderation, and piety; and possessed
an influence in public affairs which
extended far beyond the jurisdiction of their convent. They had possessions
in ten different counties, and, with few exceptions, exerted a mild and
benignant sway over the monastic brotherhood, of whose moral and
intellectual improvement they were the watchful guardians. The compliment
paid to this Abbey and its numerous inmates by William of Malmesbury,[181]
already quoted, appears to have been well merited. But in later times it was
still more deserving of admiration. The magnificent style of its architecture,
the number and richness of its shrines, tombs, and chapels, the elegance of
design and beauty of workmanship by which they were distinguished, did
honour to the classical taste of the abbots, and fostered that national love of
the fine arts which has never found more zealous or more munificent patrons
than among the old English Hierarchy.
They loved the arts: what taste and truth approved,
What genius formed they patronized and loved.

The Abbey cloisters and offices have almost disappeared; they were
demolished by the commissioners; but, like those of St. Albans, their
remembrance is perpetuated in the sacred edifice of the conventual church to
which they belonged, and which has happily escaped those violent state
commotions which have exploded more than once under its very walls. Its

dimensions bespeak the early importance to which it laid claim as one of the
great temples of the national religion;[182] whilst the style and elaborate
execution exhibited in detail, do full justice to the noble design of the
general mass as it first meets the eye. This church contains a rich and varied
series of monuments, from the “early style to that of the late perpendicular.
They amount to at least a dozen—all of excellent workmanship, and several
of very singular composition. It contains also several good specimens of
stone and iron work.” It is also enriched with a series of genealogical
portraits in stained glass of the De Clares, the Despensers, and other
benefactors of the Abbey—
—— who struggled to keep alive
The lamp of Hope o’er man’s bewildered lot.

But the Gateway is the only remaining feature that conveys to the
spectator’s mind some idea of what the Abbey itself must have been in the
days of its prosperity. It is a structure of great solidity, finely proportioned,
crowned with embattled walls, and is much admired by architects and others
for the beauty of its Norman arch. In its minuter features, it displays much of
the fine and graceful workmanship usually observed in Gateways of

its class and period. Like that of St. Albans, it is said to have been the prison
of the Abbot’s jurisdiction; and certainly no building connected with the
monastery could have been more adapted for a place of “durance.” It was the
strongest portion of the conventual buildings, and in cases of emergency
served the double purpose of prison and barbican. At the period of the
Dissolution it was particularly specified as one of the conventual buildings
that were to be kept up.
When yonder broken Arch was whole,
’Twas there was dealt the weekly dole;
And where yon mouldering columns nod,
The Abbey sent the hymn to God.
So fleets the world’s uncertain span;
Nor zeal for God, nor love to man,
Gives mortal monuments a date,
Beyond the power of time and fate.—Scott.

The Abbey church of Tewkesbury presents in design and construction the
characteristic features of its class and era. It is built in the usual form of a
cross; with the central tower, erected over the great arcade which divides the
transepts, and separates the nave from the choir. “This tower is considered
the finest Norman specimen of its kind in England, and was only equalled by
that of Malmesbury, now in ruins. It was built early in the twelfth century
1130. , by Robert, Consul and Earl of Gloucester, and patron of the Abbey.
In the first era of Norman architecture, towers of very large dimensions
and great height were placed within the centre or at the west end of the
cathedral and abbey churches. Many of these now lose the appearance of
their real height from their extreme solidity. This abbey tower, like those of
St. Albans, Lincoln, and others, was originally finished with a lofty wooden
spire, covered with lead;” a plan which is still observed in Germany, where
the church spires, constructed of wood and covered with tin or iron, serve as
distant landmarks to the traveller. In forest countries this was not only
ornamental but necessary. “One of the earliest deviations from the original
timber spire to that of stone was in that of Salisbury Cathedral.”
The height of the abbey tower is upwards of a hundred and thirty feet.
The height of spires and towers is usually found to be equal to the height and
length of the nave—or, more accurately perhaps, of the transept. (Mitred
Abbeys, Architect. Discourses: Notes.) Externally, this tower is a very
striking feature in the landscape, and is much improved by the pinnacles at
each corner, which, however, are comparatively modern. The three tiers of
arcade mouldings on the outer walls are highly ornamental, and in the
intermediate row intersect each other, so as to give the whole square mass a
light and graceful appearance.
Cloisters.—There are some traces of the cloisters remaining on the
South side of the nave. They were in the perpendicular style, very rich, and
contain the remains of several stalls and screen-work carved in oak. The
windows are very elegant. In several instances the tracery is quite fresh and
highly ornamental. The upper windows are nearly of the same character, but
those underneath are of richer workmanship, with mullions, transoms, and
all the minute chisel-work of the florid style. This part of the conventual
remains is full of interest, and carries back the spectator into times when the
genius of architecture, fostered by the spirit of religion, shed unrivalled
lustre over the land.

Now, if this Cloister, fallen and gone,
Ye fain would view as once it shone,
Pace ye with reverend step, I pray,
The moss-grown and forgotten way;
While murmurs low the fitful wind,
Winning to peace the meeken’d mind;
And evening, in her solemn stole,
With stillness o’er those woods afar,
Leads in blue shade her bright’ning star,
As spreads the slow gloom from the pole.

Cloisters were first introduced as an appendage to the larger monasteries,
and in this variable climate their use is sufficiently obvious. They are
common to all the chief conventual houses in England; but the most
remarkable and capacious are those of Canterbury, Salisbury, Norwich,
Exeter, and Gloucester. They were particularly adapted to conventual life;
the “ambulatory” round the square, its open windows that descended by a
dividing mullion to the floor,[183] and the small grass-covered cemetery that
occupied the centre of the enclosure—the silence of the place—the sanctity
of every object around—all favoured a spirit of monastic seclusion, while, at
the same time, the inmates found under these solemn arcades that healthful
air, exercise, and social intercourse which they were not permitted to enjoy
in public.
The modern entrance to the church is from the north side through a portal
of considerable width and elevation, and is furnished with iron gates. Over
the entrance is a mutilated image of the Madonna, under whose tutelary
guardianship the abbey enjoyed many ages of prosperity. In one of the round
massive columns near the entrance into the north aisle, is an ancient
Piscina, or vessel for holy water; and attached to the same pillar are two
antique alms-boxes, which appear to have been the expressive monitors of
charity during many generations.
The internal area of the church consists of the nave, the transepts, with
two extensive side aisles, and a semicircular aisle surrounding the chancel.
The lateral aisles, which are rather lower than the body of the church, are
divided from the nave by double rows of massive pillars, which bear the
stamp of the twelfth century. In the aisle, which forms a semicircular sweep
from the north to the south ends of the transept is the modern vestry—an
apartment in which the archives of the abbey were formerly kept. The whole
of the interior—the nave, choir, aisles, and transepts, are rich in the

monuments of past ages.
Shrines, tabernacle-work,
sacella, tombs, inscriptions,
religious imagery, military
and heraldic badges, impart
an air of solemn magnificence
to the scene, and address the
spectator from every part of
the walls. The principal
arcades, by which the nave is
divided from the aisles, are
circular, like those in the
Cathedral of Gloucester.[184]
The centre, or nave, was
highest in most of the great
churches, and had a breadth
scarcely less than the space of
the pier arches.
The Grand Entrance
from the west is the most
striking point of view in the
whole structure. The Great
West Window is
“perpendicular,” converted into a very lofty Norman arch of great depth,
with shafts and mouldings. “The clerestory windows of the nave are inserted
in the Norman arcade; those of the Choir are of the finest decorated tracery,
with considerable remains of ancient stained glass.” In design and
workmanship the arch possesses nearly every feature that can enter into the
combination of what is beautiful and even sublime in architecture.
The perspective, though injured by modern arrangement—the
introduction of the organ, and the consequent interruption of the grand coup-
d’œil—is still solemn and impressive, and readily suggests to the mind a
clear idea of what it must have been when the eye could range at once
through the whole nave, with nothing between that and the choir to intercept
the view.
The nave in style and construction is Norman; the piers are round,
massive, and lofty. At the intersection of the cross is the fine Norman tower,

so much admired
by all
connoisseurs and
men practically
skilled in the
science of
architecture. It is
ornamented with
rows of arches in
successive stages,
both within and
without, which
give lightness to
the mass, and take
off the heaviness
that would
otherwise mark
the structure.
The choir has a
multangular east
end, with
additional chapels
and a Chapter-
house, all of
excellent
decorated
character. Of the
windows in the
aisles, some of
them are
decorated, others perpendicular. The great window of this arch was thrown
down in a storm in 1661, and twenty years elapsed before it was restored.
King selects the Western Portico of Tewkesbury as the grandest in
England in point of extent and effect. The western front, or façade, has
always occupied a prominent part in every large church. “It exhibits in
various instances a gradual alteration of style, from the early Norman to that
at the close of the fifteenth century. In the principal feature, the entrance