Chapter IX: Part 9

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, by Robert, Consul and Earl of Gloucester, and patron of the Abbey.

[Sidenote: 1130. {]

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.

<g>Cloisters.</g>--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 <g>Cloister</g>, 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 <g>Piscina</g>, 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.

<g>The Grand Entrance</g> 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 <g>Choir</g> 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 <g>Western Portico</g> 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 doorway, there is a remarkable difference between those in England and upon the Continent. The German and French _portail_ forms nearly one half of the total space, and is surmounted by a circular or rose window of vast diameter;” while in the instance before us, as also at St. Albans, the doorway bears no relative proportion to the magnificent window which rises above it.

<g>Font.</g>--In the south transept is a beautiful baptismal Font, with a cover, richly carved, and finished with a cross. “The variety exhibited in the design of these is infinite, and upon no subject connected with ecclesiastical rites did sculptors exert more fancy and taste than in the design and workmanship bestowed on the font.” No genuine Saxon work is so frequent as this; fonts have often survived the church in which they originally stood, and been preserved as venerable relics of primitive Christianity. In the present specimen, however, elegance, design, and execution, not antiquity, are what chiefly claim attention, and which never fail to receive it from all who are curious in subjects of this kind.

Towards the close of the fourteenth century, a very ornamental appendage to fonts was introduced, and chiefly in the eastern counties. These consisted of carved oaken covers, exquisitely wrought and embellished, which were suspended from the ceiling, moveable at pleasure, and not unfrequently consisting of a pinnacle or frame several feet high. They have been classed by Mr. F. Simpson, in his Series of Baptismal Fonts, into Saxon, early English, and decorated English of the lower era.--See Dallaway, Bapt. Fonts, p. 205.

<g>The Roof</g> of this church has a great advantage over that of St. Albans, being of stone, and forming a magnificent groined vault, the ribs of which are richly carved at their points of intersection with curious devices, and ornamented with much beautiful tracery, which at that height has a particularly delicate appearance. The carvings, where the ribs cross each other or meet in clusters, are all emblematical of some passage in Scripture history, commemorative of events in that of the order of Benedictines, or obscurely referring to others against which the sculptor’s ingenuity indulged in a satirical humour. But here the latter is by no means so conspicuous as in others; for in those early times the ornaments of the churches were made the frequent vehicles of bitter satire against some rival brotherhood, whose vices, true or imputed, were hieroglyphically represented in the capitals, corbel heads, and archways of their respective buildings.

“No instance of a genuine Anglo-Norman building,” says a well-known authority, “possesses, or was intended to possess, a stone roof, which is indicated by the position of the capitals. The Norman wooden roof was open to the timbers, and hence the conflagration of the ancient churches were disasters of frequent occurrence. That of Tewkesbury was completely destroyed by fire--“igne consumpta.”

Far o’er the Severn’s crimson’d flood
That blazing Abbey flung its fire,
Till roof, and stall, and shrinèd rood
Their mass of smoking embers strew’d
On chancel, nave, and choir.

<g>Cloister Bell-case.</g>--Among other striking remains of elaborate workmanship with which the church was so profusely adorned, is a richly carved fragment, with pinnacles, supposed to have been the case in which was suspended the Cloister Bell, which at stated hours summoned the monastic brotherhood to prayers. It is at once elegant in design, and delicate in execution; and were larger models wanting, it would be sufficient of itself to illustrate the beautiful style of architecture to which it belongs.

Summoned by this bell, the whole brotherhood, with the Lord Abbot at their head, were wont to assemble for vespers; when the well-known hymn, in commemoration of the early life of their founder, Saint Benedict, was chanted in full chorus:--

Ille florentes peragebat annos
Cum puer dulces patriæ penates
Liquit, et solus latuit silenti
Conditus antro.
Inter urticas, rigidosque sentes
Vicit altricem scelerum juventam;
Inde conscripsit documenta vitæ
Pulchra beatæ.

<g>The Tombs</g> and sepulchral antiquities which here proclaim the virtues of the dead, and the sorrows of the living, are still numerous, though far from what they are known to have been at the dissolution of the monastery. Some of these are elaborate productions, and ably illustrate that period when the purchase of masses and the erection of costly sepulchres for the dead were the highest testimonies that could be offered to their memory. But to secure posthumous fame, liberality to the church was the surest channel, and of those erected to the great benefactors of Tewkesbury several remain in good preservation. The most interesting are those of Isabel, Countess of Warwick; of Hugh, Lord le Despenser; of Sir Edward le Despenser; of Sir Guy d’O’Brien; of Abbot Cheltenham; of Abbot Wakeman, &c. But the first in right of precedence, though not in beauty of design or workmanship, is the tomb of the founder, Robert Fitz-Hamon, to whose life the reader’s attention has been already directed. It stood originally in the Chapter-house, where he was buried in 1107; but in 1241 it was removed to its present situation in the church, where his bones were deposited with great solemnity in a tomb of grey marble, and afterwards enclosed with an altar-chapel by the Lord Abbot Parker. During the improvements which were made in the church about the end of the last century, this tomb was opened and examined, when the mortal relics, after an interval of more than six centuries, were brought once more to the light. At the head of the stone coffin, between two and three feet long, was a circular sheet of lead, in the inner fold of which were deposited the thigh-bones and one arm entire, and which were, beyond doubt, the last earthly remains of the venerable founder. It was originally ornamented with the founder’s effigy and other ornaments in brass; but these were all abstracted during the course of open spoliation which, subsequent to the dissolution of religious houses, mutilated or destroyed many of the finest sepulchral antiquities in the kingdom. The inscription which formerly, in short and simple phrase, directed the stranger to the founder’s tomb, was cut round the frieze of the chapel:--“In hac capella jacet Dns. Robertus Filius Hamonis, hujus loci fundator.”--Antiq. of Tewkesb.

<g>The Chancel</g> (p. 169), where this tomb, with several others, is still shown, exhibits a combination of magnificent features. It is supported by six pillars of noble proportions, and over these are seven windows of stained glass, richly ornamented with effigies and armorial bearings of the ancient Earls of Gloucester.

There the lone MONK would muse and read,
And meditate on sacred lore;
Or view the WARRIOR on his tomb,
With raised hands seeming to implore
Of Heaven a mitigated doom!
So shaded would each figure lie,
Tall arches pointing overhead,
That, though a window placed on high,
Its gloom through distant colours shed,
So dim would lie in shades below,
That whether living shape or dead,
The monk who gazed might hardly know.

<g>Le Despenser’s Chapel</g>, or that dedicated to St. Mary Magdalen, is a beautiful specimen of the style called Gothic. The roof is elaborately carved, supported on slender pillars of marble--now much destroyed. It was originally adorned with representations of our Saviour and his apostles, and emblazoned with armorial bearings of the families with which the Despensers claimed relationship. Under a canopy of state, on the same side, is another--consisting of three compartments, each diminishing as it ascends, till the last terminates in a point--with the effigies of Lord and Lady Despenser, in white marble. The whole of this shrine is richly carved, and, with its arches and pinnacles gradually tapering off in the form of an obelisk, is a very elegant and beautiful object, and well illustrates the florid style so prevalent in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. It was founded by the Lady Isabella Despenser, the Countess of Warwick already mentioned, in honour of St. Mary Magdalen. The countess died in the Minories, London, in 1439, and was buried at the right hand of her father in the choir.--See, _ante_, p. 179.

The chapel of <g>the Holy Trinity</g>, on the south side of the chancel, was erected by the Lady Elizabeth, to the memory of her husband, Edward le Despenser, whose figure as an armed knight, with the bearings of the family emblazoned on his surcoat, occupies the top in a posture of supplication. What remains of these chapels is sufficient to show how highly they must have been ornamented, particularly the roof, upon which great taste and ingenuity have been displayed.

Nearly opposite the Despenser monument, and in the aisle surrounding the chancel, is the tomb of Guy d’O’Brien, already mentioned in the genealogical descent of the manor, as the second husband of the Lady Despenser. It is of open tabernacle-work, and under the arch is a recumbent figure of a knight in armour, with the arms of the O’Briens (Lords of Thomond) and the Montacutes.

Not far from the preceding, is the chapel of <g>St. Edmund the Martyr</g>. The monument is supported by an arch, under which, according to the fashion of those days, is a monk in the last stage of emaciation, stretched upon a shroud, and serving as a moral lesson to his brethren and all spectators, that to such complexion they must come at last. It is richly ornamented with Gothic ornaments, all minutely carved; and is understood to have been designed and executed by Wakeman, who was Abbot of Tewkesbury at the dissolution of the abbey; but he was not buried here. In a small chapel adjoining that of the Holy Trinity before mentioned, is the tomb traditionally known as that of the twelfth abbot, who presided in this monastery twenty years, and died in the middle of the thirteenth century. In Willis’s time, says Dyde, there appears to have been an effigy of this abbot, as that author mentions, that “under this arch are the effigies of a man lying in full proportion, which,” he adds, “is said to have been for Robert Fortington, the last abbot.”

Near this are the tombs of two other abbots; one a monument of dark marble, with the inscription in Saxon letters, of “Johannes Abbas hujus loci;” and another in the south wall, to the memory of “Alanus Dominus Abbas.” The latter is a fine example of its kind, and has often been engraved.

On the south side, at <g>the Abbots’ Entrance</g> into the church, is a monument with the arms of the De Clares, Earls of Gloucester, erected, as it has been conjectured, to the memory of Beaufort, Duke of Somerset,[185] who was beheaded after the battle of Tewkesbury. But it is probable, from the arms and other circumstances, that it is rather a memorial of the De Clares, several of whose name and family are interred within these precincts. The tomb is close to a rich-pointed doorway in the south transept, called the Abbot’s entrance, which communicated with the adjoining cloisters.

On the north side, and under an arch not unlike the preceding, is a recumbent figure of the unfortunate Lord Wenlock, whom, in a moment of fierce exasperation, Somerset struck down with his battle-axe in the field adjoining: but his body, as Leland reports, “was removed to some other place.”

Under the Tower is a brass plate with an inscription to the memory of Edward, Prince of Wales, only son of Henry the Sixth, the circumstances of whose death will be more particularly noticed hereafter. The spot where he was interred, however, is a mystery; it is merely stated that, in the common fosse, dug for the reception of the other victims, in the abbey, the body of the unfortunate prince was included.[186]

No useless coffin enclosed his breast,
Nor in sheet, nor in shroud, they bound him.

The epitaphs in the church are numerous--some curious, and all more or less illustrative of feelings by which, in general, the mourners were actuated, and of times when a mixture of classic taste and monkish superstition was the chief characteristic. Out of the many, that which follows is selected as a specimen. It is taken from a brass plate, on a stone in the body of the church, and has often been copied. (Histor. and Antiq. of Tewkes.) “In hoc Tumulo sepulta jacet Amia uxor Johannis Wiatt, Tewkesburiensis generosi, quæ spiritum exhalavit xxv August., Ao. Dni.” [Year effaced.] It is an acrostic--_Amie Wiatt._

In cujus obitum versiculos perlegito subsequentes.

<g>A</g>: A me disce mori, mors est sors omnibus una; <g>M</g>: Mortis et esca fui mortis et esca fores. <g>I</g>: In terram ex terra terrestris massa meabis; <g>E</g>: Et capiet cineres urna parata cinis. <g>V</g>: Vivere vis cœlo, terrenam temnite vitam: <g>V</g>: Vita pijs mors est; mors mihi vita pia. <g>J</g>: Jejunes, vigiles, ores, credasq potenti, <g>A</g>: Ardua fac: non est mollis ad astra via. <g>T</g>: Te Scriptura vocat, te sermo, ecclesia Mater. <g>T</g>: Teque vocat Sponsus, Spiritus atque Pater.

<g>N.B. The Area</g> consists of a grand principal aisle or nave, a transept or cross aisle, and two spacious side aisles, somewhat lower than the main body of the church, and separated from the nave by two rows of massive pillars. Also a handsome semicircular aisle surrounding the chancel, from the north to the south ends of the transepts, in which are the vestry (where the abbey records were formerly kept), several recesses and chapels dedicated to the founder, the benefactors, and other persons of distinction, with several Gothic tombs of splendid execution. We _recapitulate_ these as the chief features of the Area.

Taking his position in the centre of the chancel, the stranger commands the most imposing features in the church; the rich groined roof, the bold massive pillars, the richly-sculptured tombs, the painted windows, blazoned shields, emblematic groups and Gothic inscriptions--all strike the mind with feelings of deep solemnity, and carry us back into the gorgeous imagery of the middle ages. Well may we exclaim with Quintilian--“En morti sacratos lapides!”--See, _ante_, p. 169.

<g>There</g>, in their sepulchres of costly art,
Where still the gold clings to the Parian stone,
Legend and shield and effigy impart
The accumulated fame of ages flown,
O’er sainted dust the classic wreath is strewn.
But now no mass is said--no requiem sung,
The priest is mute, the choristers are gone;
No votive “rose” upon the shrine is hung,
No flowers upon the FOUNDER’S tomb are flung.

<g>The Chapter-house.</g>--This appendage to the Abbey--in which was the original tomb of the founder--is considered from the best evidence to be coeval with the building. Chapter-houses were introduced by the early Norman prelates, and formed an indispensable adjunct to every cathedral and monastery subsequently erected under their superintendence. They were not, however, built as merely necessary to the conventual establishments, and for assembling the members of the church at their elections, but they were likewise the depositaries of deceased superiors and noble benefactors. Here Fitz-Hamon, the great benefactor, or rather founder of Tewkesbury Abbey, was buried, as already mentioned, but afterwards removed to a more sacred dormitory within the church. The approach to the Chapter-house was uniformly through the cloisters, and in certain instances, as at Chester and Bristol, it had a large vestibule. That of Tewkesbury is now used as a school. The windows are lancet-pointed, and round the base and walls are pannellings and arcade mouldings after the Norman style.--See Discourses on Architecture, with the Analysis of Conventual Churches.

On the outside of the south wall is “a very beautiful arch, now closed, which opened a communication between the south aisle and the remaining abbey and cloisters.” From the style of the remaining arches in the side walls, the latter appear to have been extremely handsome. In the south wall, near the vestry door, is the tomb of <g>Alanus</g>--already named--the friend and biographer of Thomas-à-Becket, who died in 1202. The body is “deposited in a coffin of Purbeck marble, laid under a very plain semi-quatrefoil arch.” The coffin was opened in 1795; when the lid was taken off, the body appeared surprisingly perfect, considering that it had lain there nearly six hundred years. The folds of the drapery were very distinct, but from being exposed to the air, the whole very soon crumbled away, and left little more than a skeleton. The _boots_, however, still retained their shape and a certain degree of elasticity, and hung in large folds about the legs. On his right side lay a plain crosier of wood, neatly turned, the top of which was gilded, having a cross cut in it. It was five feet eleven inches in length and remarkably light. On his left side lay the fragments of a chalice.--Sepulch. Antiq.

<g>Stalls</g> are of the same early introduction as the other Norman appendages. “When composed of stone,” says the author already quoted, “they were first used near the altar by the officiating priests in choirs, and as subsellia in parish chancels.” Those of oak, now seen in the <g>North Transept</g> of the abbey, formerly stood in the choir. They are tolerably perfect; and in their canopies much intricate design and delicate carving are apparent. “In choirs, where many were united in one general plan, oak was soon introduced in place of stone,” as a material much better adapted to the purpose of elaborate carving.

The cenotaph of Abbot Wich is at the entrance of St. Edward’s Chapel; it represents, as already stated, an emaciated figure, surrounded by the ensigns of mortality, which seem to address every ear in these emphatic words--Memento mori!

The east end is hexagonal, separated from the aisles by six short massive columns supporting pointed arches. Beneath these are some larger monuments, and over them are windows fitted with painted glass. In two of them are very curious figures of knights in armour, eight in number, and represented standing under very rich Gothic canopies, each filling nearly one of the principal compartments of the windows, some in mail, others in plated armour. They are said to represent Robert first earl of Gloucester, the three Gilberts de Clare, Richard de Clare, Hugh le Despenser the younger, and one of the La Zouch family; all of whom have been already noticed in the genealogical introduction to this subject.--History of the County, art. Tewkesbury.

<g>Benedictine.</g> To fashion my reply to your demand
Is not to boast, though I proclaim the honours
Of our profession. _Four emperors_,
Forty-six kings, and one-and-fifty queens,
Have changed their royal ermines for our sables.
These cowls have clothed the heads of fourteen hundred
And six kings’ sons; of dukes, great marquises,
And earls, two thousand and above four hundred
Have turn’d their princely coronets into
An humble coronet of hair, left by
The razor--thus.--SHIRLEY.

<g>Tewkesbury Abbey</g> was the last of the monastic establishments in Gloucestershire which surrendered to the mandate of Henry the Eighth. The surrender was made, under the convent seal, by John Wich, with fifteen of the brotherhood, on the 9th day of January, 1539, being the thirty-first year of the king’s reign, and began in these terms:--“To all Christian people to whom these presents shall come, We the Abbot, etc., and Brothers of the said monastery, send greeting. Know ye, that we upon full consideration, certain knowledge, and mere motion, and for divers causes just and reasonable moving our souls and consciences thereto, have freely and voluntarily given and granted to our Lord the King,” etc.

The clear annual “value of all the possessions belonging to the said monastery, as well spiritual as temporal, besides £136 8_s._ 1_d._, granted in fees and annuities to several persons by letters patent, under the convent seal, for their lives, was £1595 17_s._ 6_d._ The pensions assigned by the royal commissioners--Southwell, Petre, Kairn, Price, Kingsmen, Paulett, and Bernars--to the abbot, the prior, and other members of the establishment, amounted to £532 6_s._ 8_d._, leaving a handsome balance of £1063 10_s._ 10_d._ in favour of his Majesty’s exchequer. The keys of the treasury were delivered to Richard Paulett, receiver; but the records and evidences belonging to the monastery, which were deposited therein, and the houses and buildings which were to remain undefaced, were committed to the keeping of Sir John Whittington. Of the houses and buildings to be preserved were,--the lodging called Newark, leading from the gate to the <g>Abbot’s Lodgings</g>, with the buttery, pantry, cellar, larder, kitchen, and pastry thereto adjoining: the late abbot’s lodging; the hostrey; the great gate entering into the court, with the lodging over the same; the Abbot’s stable, bakehouse, brewhouse, and slaughter-house; the almary, barn, and dairy-house; the great barn next the river Avon; the malt-house, with the garners in the same; the ox-house in the Penton gate, and the lodging over the same.”--These afford some notion of the domestic offices of a lord abbot of that day.

The buildings “deemed to be superstitious or superfluous, and therefore to be demolished, were the church--but which was happily preserved with its appendages, and made parochial--the chapels, the cloister, the chapter-house, the two dormitories; the infirmary, with the chapels and lodgings within the same; the workhouse, with another house adjoining to the same; the convent kitchen, the library, the misericorde, the old hostrey, the chamber and lodgings, the new hall, the old parlour adjoining the abbot’s lodgings, the cellarer’s or butler’s lodging, the poultry-house, the garner, the almary, and all other houses and lodgings not before reserved.”

The list of materials to be converted to the king’s use, and delivered to the commissioners, were as follows:--the leads remaining on the choir, aisles, and chapels annexed; “the cloister, chapter-house, fratery, St. Michael’s chapel, halls, infirmary, and gatehouse, were estimated at 180 fodder. The bells remaining in the steeple were eight poizes, by estimation 14,600 lbs. weight.”

The jewels reserved for his Majesty’s use were,--two mitres, gilt, garnished with rugged pearls and counterfeit stones. The silver plate consisted of silver-gilt, 329 oz.--parcel of do. 605 oz.--plain silver, 497 oz.--making a total of 1431 ounces, which evinced no great luxury in that department. The ornaments reserved for his Majesty’s use were,--one cope of silver tissue, with one chesible and tunicle of the same; one cope of gold tissue, with one chesible and two tunicles of the same. The ornaments, goods, and chattels belonging to the said monastery were sold by the said commissioners, as in a book of sales thereof made appears, for the sum of £194 8_s._ To money given to thirty-eight religious persons of the said monastery, £80 13_s._ 4_d._ To one hundred and forty-four servants, for their wages and liveries, £75 10_s._ Paid the debts of the said monastery, £18 12_s._ These together made a sum of £174 15_s._ 4_d._, which deducted from the proceeds of the sale, left a balance in the commissioners’ hands of £19 12_s._ 8_d._--History of the Abbey, referring to the Record in the Augmentation-office, dated 38 Hen. VIII.--Dyde.

The ecclesiastical livings in the gift of the monastery were numerous;[187] the abbots, who successively presided as the spiritual lords of Tewkesbury, were twenty-six in number, and filling a long interval of four hundred and thirty-four years. Their names are,--Giraldus, 1104; Robert, 1110; Benedict, 1124; Roger, 1137; Fromund, 1162--during whose abbacy the conventual church was burnt. (A vacancy occurs here.) Robert II., 1182. (Another vacancy.) Alan, prior of Canterbury, 1187; Walter, 1202; Hugh, 1213; Bernard, a monk of Tewkesbury, 1215, but not approved; Peter, a monk of Worcester, 1216; Robert Fortington, prior of the Abbey, 1232; Thomas Stoke, 1253; Richard de Norton, 1276; Thomas Kemsey, 1282; John Cotes, 1328; Thomas de Legh, 1361; Thomas Chesterton, 1362; Thomas Parker, 1390; William Bristow, 1414; John Abingdon, 1443; John de Salys; (?) John Strensham--supposed that in his time the abbey was made parliamentary; Richard Cheltenham, 1481; Henry Bewly, 1509; John Wich or Wakeman, the last abbot, and first bishop of Gloucester, 1531. The abbey demesnes consisted of Stanway, modified and enlarged by Abbot Cheltenham; Forthampton, on the right bank of the Severn, about a mile below Tewkesbury; and Tewkesbury Park, Manor Place, on the east or left bank of the Severn.--Hist. and Antiq. of Tewkes. Chron. Series of the Abbots.

<g>Domesday Survey.</g>--In Teodechesberie were fourscore and fifteen hides in the time of King Edward. Of these forty-five were in demean, and free from all royal service and tax, except the service due to the lord of the manor. The manor was in _capite_. There were in demean twelve plough-tillages, and fifty between the _servi_ and _ancillæ_, and sixteen _bordars_ in waiting about the hall, and two mills of 20 _sol._, and one fishery, and a salt-pit at Wich, belonging to the manor.... In all Teodechesberie there are 120 acres of meadow, and a wood one mile and a half long, and as much broad.... There are now thirteen burgesses paying 20 _sol._ a-year; a market, established by the queen,[188] pays 11 _sol._ and 8 _den._ And there is one plough-tillage more, and twenty-two between the _servi_ and _ancillæ_, a fishery, and a salt-pit, &c.... This manor of Tewkesbury, when entire in the time of King Edward, was worth 100 _lib._ Whereas Radulf received 12 _lib._ because it was spoiled and disordered.... Brictric, the son of Algar, held this manor in the time of King Edward; and at that time had the underwritten estates of other thanes under his jurisdiction, &c. &c.--Dyde, 135. [The Norman pound or _lib._ equal to 12 ounces solid silver = £3 2_s._ sterling; the _sol._ = 3 shillings sterling; 48 Saxon shillings = £1 sterling.[189]--Ibid.]--See References and Authorities.

<g>Environs.</g>--The first locality in the immediate neighbourhood to which the stranger’s attention is directed is the ancient battle-field, or, as it is now emphatically called, the “Bloody Meadow.” It was on this spot--the “field of Tewkesbury,”--that, on the 4th of May, 1471, the grand question between the rival houses of York and Lancaster was finally decided. The subject is familiar to every reader of history and the drama. It is commemorated, with many interesting details, by the old chroniclers; it is chosen by Shakspeare himself as the closing scene of one of his most powerful dramas; while the fair author of “Margaret of Anjou” has made it the theme of a spirited and graceful poem, in which the morning of the battle is thus introduced:--

“’Tis May--a bright and cloudless morn
Smiles on the world--on every thorn
The newly-open’d blossom glows,
And rich the woodland music flows;
Each hails the promise for his own,
As if the beam on nature’s face
Shone forth his single crest to grace,
And spake to him alone.
Alas! the welkin’s dazzling eye
But mocks the fleeting pageantry.”

“When <g>Queen Margaret</g>,” says Grafton, “knew that King Edward was come so near her, she tarried not long at Bath, but, removing in great haste to Bristow, sent out certain horsemen to espie whether she might safely pass ouer the riuer Seuerne, by Gloucester, into Wales, whither she determined first to go to augment her armie; and then without any delay, with speere and shielde, to set on her enemyes wheresoeuer they would abyde.” But having learned from the spies that the city of Gloucester had been intimidated by Richard, the king’s brother; that the Governor, Lord Beauchamp, had peremptorily refused to allow her to pass over their bridge; and that the townspeople were neither to be won by promises nor deterred by threats, “she shortly departed from Bristow with her armie to a propre towne on Seuerne-syde, called <g>Tewkesbury</g>. The Lord Beauchamp tooke from her rere-ward more ordinance than she might have well spared, which did to her no small prejudice.” The march lasted from sun to sun--impeded by the wretched cross-roads, and in continual skirmishes with the enemy.

“In weary march the night had pass’d,
And Lancaster with joy espied
Fair <g>Tewkesbury’s</g> hoary towers at last
Reflected in Sabrina’s tide.
Gloster had closed her gates, and sent
Loud insults from each battlement:
Nor did the rebel town make known
Her enmity in scoffs alone;
For many a mile, from copse and dell,
As onward passed the arméd train,
An arrowy shower around them fell,
And many a gallant form was slain--
Unseen the hand that brought his bane.
Bold Beaufort, who the vaward held,
As morning’s dewy mists dispell’d,
And Tewkesbury’s turrets tipt with light
Rose on his view--a welcome sight--
Through all his host the signal pass’d.”

Here, after their harassing night march, the troops were permitted to halt for some slight rest and refreshment; and, drawn up close to the banks of the Severn, could scan during their hasty repast the verdant field, now bright with the morning sun, over which the angel of destruction was hovering with outstretched but invisible wings. But full of hope, and encouraged by the words and presence of the Queen and her son Prince Edward, who had both shared with them the terrors of the night, and now anticipated a triumphant day, no thoughts of discomfiture once crossed the soldier’s mind.

“On Severn’s banks, in gladsome groups,
In thoughtless mirth, the scatter’d troops
Waste the free hour; some cast aside
Their heavy harness; some divide
With vigorous arm the opposing tide.
Nor did the crested CHIEFTAINS scorn
Their cumbrous helms aside to throw,
And woo the freshness of the morn
To fan each gallèd brow.
And many a richly blazon’d shield
Lay scatter’d on the dewy field.
But the loud laugh, the song, the jest--
Blithe echoes of the careless breast--
Rose from the _humbler_ swarm; the rest,
Though thrown aside their _outward_ gear,
Did still their bosom-burthens bear!”

“When the Queen,” continues the chronicle, “was come to Tewkesbury, and knew that Kinge Edward followed her with his horsemen at the very backe, she was sore abashed, and wonderfully amazed, and determined in herselfe to flie into Wales, to Jasper, Earle of Pembroke. But the Duke of Somerset willyng in no wise to flie backward, for doubts that he casted might chaunce by the way, determined there to tarrye to take suche fortune as God woulde sende.” When Oxford advised that, for another day at least, and until Pembroke’s reinforcements should have arrived, the Queen should not hazard a battle, where in point of numbers the chances were so much against her,--and added that if she did, her advisers would “think of it ere night,”--

“Not fight to-day!” cried Somerset:
“Thy words would tempt me to forget
That I have seen thee play a part
Which vouches for thy manly heart.
‘Think on’t ere night!’ Why, what care I?
’Tis _now_ we’re call’d by Destiny!
Yes, Oxford, I do hope thy sword,
Ere this bright morn has pass’d away,
Shall proudly contradict thy word--
Yes, Oxford, _we must fight to-day_!”

This resolution having been confirmed by the sanction of the Queen; the Prince, her son, exclaims, in bitter remembrance of the field of Barnet, in which both the Nevils had perished--

“Is’t not time
To close the scene of woe and crime!
This hour _shall_ close it! Ne’er again
Will I turn back from battle-plain
A beaten fugitive! Ere Even
With parting smile shall gild the west,
This sword shall triumph win, or rest--
Victory on earth, or--peace in heaven.”

Hereupon “the Duke of Somerset, like a pollitike warriour, trenched hys campe round about of such an altitude, and so strongly, that his enemyes by no means easily could make any entry; and further, perceiuyng that his part could neuer escape without battaile, determined there to see the ende of hys goode or yll chaunce; wherefore he marshalled his hoste after this maner: he and the lord Iohn of Somerset, his brother, led the forewarde; the middle warde was gouerned by the Prince, under the conduyte of the Lord of Saint Iohns and Lorde Wenlocke, whome King Edward had highly before preferred, and promoted to the degree of a baron.” [This fact the chronicler mentions in order, probably, to account for his subsequent conduct, and to justify the suspicion that he was not a hearty partisan in the queen’s cause.] “The rere-warde was put in the rule of the Earle of Deuonshire. When all these battayles were thus ordered and placed, the Queene and her sonne, Prince Edwarde, rode about the fielde encouraging their souldiors, promisyng to them, if theye did shew themselves valiaunt against their enemyes, great rewardes and high promocions, innumerable gaine of the spoyle and bootye of their adversaryes, and, above all other, fame and renoune through the whole realme.”

“Give me earth’s triumphs,” Margaret cries,
“This nether world concludes my schemes!
Ne’er could I teach my soul to prize
The moping beadsman’s dreams.
‘_Victory on Earth!_’--Friends! to this hour
A whole life’s energies are due!
Whate’er of ardour, skill, or power,
Your noble breasts imbue,
Call to the conflict! loudly call,
This grasping hour demands them all
’Tis a vast moment! ’tis the goal
Toward which, through years of strife, the soul
With untied vigour bent its force--
And _now_ we touch the limits of the course!”

“In the meantime,” says the chronicler, “King Edward, which the day before had come within a mile of Tewkesbury, put his brother, the Duke of Gloucester, in the forewarde, and himselfe in the middlewarde; the Lorde Marques and the Lorde Hastyngs led the rere garde. The Duke of Gloucester, which lacked no pollicy, valiauntly with his battayle assaulted the trenche of the Queene’s campe, whome the Duke of Somerset with no less courage defended. Then the Duke of Gloucester, for a very pollitik purpose, with all his men reculed backe, the which Somerset perceiuying, like a knight more couragious than circumspect, came out of his trenche with his whole battayle and followed the chase, not doubting but the Prince and the Lorde Wenlocke, with the middlewarde, had followed just at his backe. But whether the Lorde Wenlocke dissimulated the matter for King Edward’s sake, or whether his harte serued him not, still he stoode lookyng on. The Duke of Gloucester, takyng the advantage that he adventured for, turned again face to face to the Duke of Somerset’s battayle; which, nothyng lesse thinkyng on than of the returne, were within a small space shamefully discomfited. <g>Somerset</g>, seeyng hys unfortunate chaunce, returned to the middlewarde, where, seeyng the Lorde <g>Wenlocke</g> standyng still, and after having reuyled and called hym traytor, with hys axe strake the braynes out of his heade.

“The Duke of Gloucester entered the trench, and after him the King, where, after no long conflict, the Queene’s part went almost all to wrecke, for the most part were slaine. Some fled for succour in the thicke of the Parke, some into the Monastarye, some into other places. The Queene was founde in her chariot almost dead for sorow, the Prince was apprehended and kept close by Sir Richard Croftes. The Duke of Somerset and the Lorde Prior of St. Johns were by force taken prisoners, and many other also. In the field and chase were slaine John, Lord Somerset, the Earle of Deuonshire,

Sir John Delues, Sir Edward Hampden, Sir Robert Wychingham, Sir John Lewkenor, and three thousand other.” In this battle the last blood and strength of the House of Lancaster being spent, Edward was established

----“On England’s royal throne,
Repurchased by the blood of enemies.--
What valiant foemen, like to autumn’s corn,
Have we mow’d down, in tops of all their pride!
Three Dukes of Somerset, threefold renown’d
For hardy and undoubted champions:
Two Cliffords, as the father and the son,
And two Northumberlands; two braver men
Ne’er spurr’d their coursers to the trumpet’s sound.
With them the two brave bears, Warwick and Montague,
That in their chains fetter’d the Kingly Lion,
And made the forest tremble when they roar’d.
Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat.”----

The chronicle then proceeds with the sad detail as follows:--“After the field ended, King Edward made a proclamation that whosoever could bring Prince Edward to him alive or dead should have an annuitie of an hundred pound duryng his lyfe, and the Prince’s lyfe to be saved. Sir Richard Croftes, a wise and a valiaunt knight, nothing mistrustyng the king’s former promise, brought forth his prisoner, Prince Edward, beyng a goodly feminine and a well-featured young gentleman, whome when King Edward had well advised, he demanded of him howe he durst so presumptuouslye enter into his realme with banner displayed. The Prince beyng bold of stomack, and of a good courage, answered, saying, ‘To recover my father’s kingdome and enheritage, from his father and grandfather to him, and from him, after him, to me lineally descended.’ At these wordes King Edward sayde nothing, but with his hand thrust him from him, or as some say stroke him with his gauntlet, whom incontinent they yᵗstoode aboute, which were George, Duke of Clarence, Richard, Duke of Gloucester, Thomas, Marques Dorset, and William, Lord Hastyngs, sodainly stroke and cruelly murthered him. The bitternesse of which murder some of the doers after in their latter dayes tasted and assayed by the very rod of justice and punishment of God”--each of them, the king excepted, having met with a tragical and untimely death. “His bodye was homelye interred with the other simple corses in the churche of the Monastarye of Blacke Monkes, in Tewkesbury.”

This interview between the king and the prince is powerfully drawn by Shakspeare,--in scene fifth of the third Part of “King Henry the Sixth”--who takes the old chronicles of his day as his authority for the death of <g>Prince Edward</g>, who received the daggers of the King, Gloucester, and Clarence, in quick succession:--

_K. Edw._ Take that, the likeness of this railer here. (_Stabs him._)

_Glo._ Sprawl’st thou? take that to end thy agony.

_Clar._ And there’s for twitting me with perjury. (_Each stabs him in turn._)

It is supposed that, when the queen was found and introduced into the presence of the conqueror, she was not aware of the extent of her misery. She believed that her son at least had escaped the carnage of the field, and believing this, all her agony was assuaged. But when the dreadful truth flashed upon her, and she beheld in the looks of those around her a ferocious exultation which could not be mistaken,--

“She look’d upon their weapons red,
She guess’d what blood their points had shed--
‘Where is my child? Mine only one!
Oh God--oh God! Is this my son?
Monsters! a mother’s curse lie strong
And heavy on ye! May the tongue--
The ceaseless tongue--which well I ween
Lives in the murderer’s murky breast--
With goading whispers, fell and keen,
Make havoc of your rest!
For ever in your midnight dream,
May the wan smile, which yet delays
On yon cold lips, appal your gaze--
And may a madden’d mother’s scream
Ring in your ears till ye awake,
And every limb with horror’s palsy shake!’--
An impulse like the grasp of death
Now hardly held her gasping breath.
Dire was the conflict. Mute she stood,
Striving--and fain to utter more,
Her writhing features struggled sore
With black convulsion, till the blood
Burst from her lips, a ghastly flood.
Then nature gave the combat o’er,
And the heart-stricken queen fell senseless on the floor!”

Queen Margaret, adds the chronicle, “lyke a prisoner, was brought to London, where shee remayned till King Reyner, her father, raunsomed her with money, which summe, as the French writers affirme, he borrowed of King Lewis XI.; and because he was not of power nor abilitye to repaye so great a dutye, he sold to the French Kinge and hys heyres the kingdomes of Naples and both the Sicilies, with the countie of Prouynce, which is the very tytle that King Charles the Seaventh made when he conquered the realme of Naples. After that raunsome payde, shee was conveyed into Fraunce with small honor, which with so great triumph and honorable enterteynment was with pompe above all pride receyved into this realme xxvii. yeres before. And where in the begynning of her tyme she lyved lyke a queene; in the middle shee ruled like an empresse; towards the ende she was vexed with trouble, never quyet nor in peace. And in her very extreme age she passed her dayes in Fraunce, more like death than lyfe, languishing and mourning in continuall sorow, not so much for herselfe and her husbande, whose ages were almost consumed and worne, but for the losse of Prince Edwarde, her sonne, whome shee and her husbande thought to have bothe overlyver of their progeny, and also of their kingdome, to whome in thys lyfe nothing could be more displeasant or grievous.”

Of the ancient lords of the manor of Tewkesbury we have given a brief account in tracing the descent of that honor; but in a future portion of the work, the “doings and sufferings” of the De Clares and the Le Despensers, with various biographical anecdotes, will be introduced. In the meantime, we take leave of this venerable Abbey--every feature of which is eloquent of the past--with a legend which, as connected with its founder, Robert Fitz-Hamon, has often been told and listened to in these very <g>Cloisters</g>, and with that implicit belief which nothing but the revival of miracles and monachism can restore! These apartments are now laid open to the blast; and over the grave of the beadsman “the stones of the sanctuary” are piled in mouldering heaps. Through the fretted shrines and casements, the March winds are now whistling a cold and shrill matin. The labourer has paused from his toil to discuss the merits of the New Parliament, the Gloucester Railway, and the Corn Laws! Shade of Fitz-Hamon, beholdest thou this!

<g>Legend.</g>--“On the day preceding his death in the New Forest, King Rufus had a dream, and behold he felt as if grievously wounded by a javelin, and that forthwith there gushed a stream of blood which reached even to the sky, cast its shadows over the sun, and diminished the very light of day. Starting from his sleep, the king invoked the name of the Blessed Virgin, and calling for lights, ordered his chamberlains to stay by him, and so passed the remainder of the night wide awake, being sorely troubled with the vision.

“But in the morning very early, a monk from beyond seas, who was then in attendance upon the king for certain affairs of the church, beckoning to <g>Robert Fitz-Hamon</g>, a man of great weight and influence about the king, said unto him that his rest had been troubled with a frightful dream, which he thus related:--‘As I lay on my pallet in sound sleep, methought I saw the king enter a certain church with a proud step and haughty demeanour, as is his wont, and shewing his contempt for those who were there gathered around him. Anon, seizing the crucifix with his teeth, he gnawed off its arms (brachia illius corrosit), and left it hardly a limb to stand upon. Now, when the crucifix had quietly borne with this horrible treatment for some time, at length, provoked beyond sufferance, and drawing back its right foot into a kicking attitude, it spurned the king’s person with such terrific strength that he fell prostrate on the pavement; and there, issuing from his mouth as he lay insensible, I beheld a flame widely diffused around me, and a cloud of smoke, like chaos, rising towards the sky.”

When the monk had thus related the terrific vision, Fitz-Hamon rehearsed it to the king, who, bursting into a loud incredulous fit of laughter, exclaimed “A monk, a monk! who for his own lucre hath dreamt a monkish dream. Give the friar a hundred shillings, that he may see that he has dreamt to some purpose.” But these signs and wonders were not yet over. The king himself had another dream within a few hours of his death. There appeared unto him a Child of surpassing beauty standing at a certain altar, whereupon the king, unable to overcome a strong propensity which he felt to taste the infant’s flesh, went up to it, and took a mouthful of the flesh, which was so remarkably sweet that he would have greedily devoured the whole body. But the Child putting on a stern and forbidding aspect, said to him in a threatening tone, “Forbear! thou hast already had too much!” Hereupon the king suddenly wakening, consulted a certain bishop as to the interpretation of this strange vision. The bishop suspecting that some fearful retribution was at hand, said to him, “Forbear, O king, to persecute the Church as hitherto; for in this dream behold the warning voice and paternal admonition of God, and go not forth to hunt this day as thou hast purposed.”

But the king, despising this ghostly counsel, went forth into the forest to commence his sport; when lo, as a mighty stag passed before him, he called out to the attendant, Walter Tyrrell, who stood near, “Draw, devil, draw!” Tyrrell instantly drew and let fly his arrow, but instead of hitting the stag, it glanced against a tree and struck the king in the heart. Thus was there a fearful confirmation of all the omens which had haunted the king’s pavilion the preceding night.

But without the following particulars, gravely related by the same author--Matthew of Saint Albans--the picture would be incomplete.

All the king’s followers having fled in alarm at this terrible accident, the dead body was removed from the spot where it lay by a char-burner, but so unaccountably heavy was the load, that the car broke down under it, and it was again left unattended in the depths of the forest. Here, however, a certain count having lost his companions in the chase, beheld to his utter amazement a huge, black, bristly stag carrying off the king’s body; whereupon he halted and adjured the stag by the Holy Trinity to declare what this fearful sight meant. “I am carrying your king,” said the stag, “even the tyrant William Rufus, the enemy of the Church, to the bar of judgment!”

For the sake of those who are curious in such matters we add the original Latin,[190] by which it appears the “stag was no other than the ‘foul Fiend!’”