Part 11

“There must have been then great commotion in this hall, and considerable execution,” said Mr. Hertford, “if the culinary work in those days approached that of the ‘kokery’ in the days of Richard II., with all its ornamental devices.”

“Let us dream on,” I replied; “but good authorities consider that this ground-floor was only made a kitchen in the seventeenth century; and that these buildings of the monastery did not form part of the Refectory, though close to its site.”

By the kindness of Miss Heberden we were allowed to inspect this interesting house, and having viewed the kitchen, ascended by a fine old oak staircase to a spacious room, now used as a bedroom, lined with that small square panelling which dates from the seventeenth century. Here are long, low, many-mullioned windows, with stained glass, representing the arms of Fox, Wykeham, and others. Over the mantel-piece is an elaborate piece of oak carving. In the south gable end there is a beautiful rose window, traces of a larger one, and of the original entrance--the present door being in an old window. On the east are Early English windows.

[Sidenote: Dome Alley.]

Close to this house there is a road running westward. This is Dome Alley. On either side of it stand red brick houses, some two hundred years old, half concealed in luxuriant ivy. We observed grapes and other ornamental designs on the leaden pipes; on the right hand side the “Rose and Crown,” and on the left the “Cross Keys.” It appears that emblematic ornaments representing the Church and King went alternately along the fronts of the houses.

“I suppose the ‘Rose and Crown’ represented the English monarchy?” said Miss Hertford.

“The rose,” I replied, “was an ancient emblem of England; some have supposed the name Albion came not from the chalk cliffs, but from the white rose which flowers freely over the country.”

Adjoining the Close gateway we observed a large building with gables of “timber-crossed antiquity,” and found that beneath them was an apartment where the bishop’s “Cheyney” Court was held. Here are a curious old beam in the ceiling, and the royal arms, which were over the judge. This was the Court for the Soke, the prison of which we had already seen. Old men remember the last case tried here--a corn dispute from West Meon. The judge sat on the side near the porter’s lodge. The overhanging gables may be earlier than Elizabeth; the rooms beneath them have been used for Cathedral purposes.

From this point we made a little excursion, passing under Kingsgate, with its chapel and ancient doors, into Kingsgate Street to look at the red-brick gables of Mr. Toye’s house--dating from about 1600. About seven years ago some excavations were made through St. Swithun’s Street, the Kingsgate, and Kingsgate Street, which brought to light the stratum of a road at a depth of five feet. This must have belonged to some epoch of considerable civilization, perhaps even to that of Alfred and the saint who gave the name. The floor of the porter’s lodge at the Close Gate is three steps below the present surface.

[Sidenote: Monks’ Fare.]

Hence we retraced our steps through the precincts; and here, as we stand on the ground for centuries trodden by religious men whose “good deeds have been interred with their bones,” let me call attention to the little that remains concerning them, if it be merely their domestic arrangements. Dean Kitchin has with great perseverance and success deciphered a roll of regulations for the monastery in the fourteenth century, which had been rendered indistinct by the thumbing of many monks, and by a libation of their beer. Here we find directions as to dietary. The prior was to provide beer, bread, salt, wine, butter, and cheese. Nearly every day there was to be a large maynard of cheese (32 lbs.), and the anniversary of the deposition of the body of St. Swithun was to be honoured with an additional cheese, so that the monks of Hyde as well of St. Swithun might celebrate the day; and on the Translation of the saint’s body sufficient cheese was to be provided for those monks and other religious and lay people. The cheese was to be really good, if not it was to be returned. Psalm singing was regarded as thirsty work. The precentor and his men were to have a puncard (cask) of ale every Saturday, and another to cheer them whenever they sang the melancholy “Placebo,” or funeral service. They were to have a pitcher of wine as well as a puncard of good ale whenever they did the great O. At first we might suppose that this was synonymous with “doing the heavy,” but the dean tells us that, on the contrary, it generally meant doing nothing at all. But here it signified singing before the great festivals certain short prayers, beginning with “O,” the first of which was “O Sapientia.” On the Deposition of the body of St. Æthelwold, the keeper of the refectory was to carry round at dinner time the “Cup of St. Æthelwold,” first to the brethren in the refectory, then into the infirmary to the sick, and then to the table of the bled (a considerable number), and finally to the prior and such honoured guests as were with him. It is said that they were all to kiss the goblet; but we should have thought that the old conventuals would scarcely have expressed such sentiments as--

“Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine, Or leave a kiss within the cup, And I’ll not ask for wine.”

Moreover a pitcher of wine was to accompany the cup which apparently was exhausted before the end of the ceremony. The refectorarius was to have a second pitcher for himself, and we might suppose he wrote this order, for he spells the word in a very hickupy manner, “pichicherum.”

Wykeham found the monastery in a disorderly state. Some of the monks were guilty of grave irregularities. He gave them strict statutes. Wearing ornaments was forbidden, and also hunting.

“Hunting!” exclaimed Mr. Hertford. “How I should like to have seen them flying along in their gowns. Think of the jumps!”

“Wykeham did not like the sight,” I replied; “it was, I suppose, not an uncommon one, for we find in Henry III.’s reign complaints that the dogs of the Abbot of Hyde and Abbess of St. Mary’s were committing depredations in the King’s forests.”

[Sidenote: Swithun’s Tomb.]

Hence we made for the north side of the Cathedral, where we passed through the iron gate to walk on the grass. Close to the Cathedral on the north-west near a water drain, I observed that the ground had been recently moved, and the sod was broken, revealing a piece of wall. This was, in fact, the site where St. Swithun had by his own desire been humbly buried, “so that the sun might not shine upon him.” Since the translation of his body the earth here had not been moved until two years ago, when in digging, several coffins of chalk and stone were found with bones, and also the mysterious ring already mentioned.

Proceeding towards the east we noticed the doorway into the north transept by which the pilgrims entered to have their squint through the grille gate. Beyond the north transept another cut in the grass showed a wall of great solidity--probably part of the foundations of the “New Minster,” whose monks moved to Hyde. This wall, lately discovered, was traced northwards to a point where a stone has been placed in the grass, and two other stones show the building was square. The old Saxon church might have been here--some fragments stood above ground in the beginning of the last century.

We here saw close to us a pointed arch standing alone. It formerly led to some of the prior’s premises. To the north of it I saw a line of small, dilapidated houses, bearing the pretentious name of “Paternoster Row,” which, I fear, does not always awaken religious feelings in the hearts of authors. Some of these dwellings were very old, and boasted a little external ornamentation. In the doorway of one of them sat an aged woman sunning herself. Her features were finely chiselled, and she had a profusion of white glossy hair. She must have been handsome when young, and was still

“Bearing through winter The joys of the spring.”

I asked her if she could tell us the age of her house.

“No, I cannot, sir,” she replied, “but it must be very old from the way it is built. There are five doors to this room. Pray walk in.”

We complied, and found a very neat little apartment with tables covered with ornaments, and a brave show of glass. There was a beam across the ceiling, which I could touch with my hand.

“You can see at the back how old the houses are. Some of the cottages in the corner have lately been taken down,” she added.

[Sidenote: Bourne.]

We passed with her out of the back door, and saw some very dilapidated tiled gables. What surprised me most was to find that a clear stream of water, about a yard wide, flowed under these houses. This, then, was the “fishful” rivulet of Æthelwold, the Lourtebourne, which he brought from Headbourne Worthy (by a lower channel, I think, than that by the Nuns’ Walk), to cleanse and refresh the monastery.[94] It was covered here with tombstones. I crossed by one, taken of course from the neighbouring graveyard, which commemorated some of the Henley family who lived in the seventeenth century. Stones of this kind, as well as monoliths, are utilized here, for stone is scarce about Winchester. The flight of stairs up to Morestead Church, which stands above the road two or three miles from this is formed of tombstones.

“I hope that they have been steps to heaven in every sense,” said Mr. Hertford.

We left the little dwelling very favourably impressed with the old lady, and were surprised and sorry when we heard that she was obliged to be in receipt of parish relief.[95]

Passing by Bishop Morley’s almshouses for matrons we regained the High Street, and we now proposed to make a circuit to look at the streets on the other side.

[Sidenote: Decay.]

Winchester declined greatly in Henry III.’s time, and Edward I. removed the royal residence to London, and although at Wykeham’s solicitation Edward III. made it one of the chief wool marts in England, he added another disappointment when he removed the “staple” to Calais. From a dismal complaint presented to Henry VI. by the inhabitants, it would appear that the greater part of the town was then almost a heap of ruins. It states that the “Desolation of the saide powere Citee is so grete and yerelye fallyng for there is such decaye that withowte graciose comforte of the kynge oure Soweraigne Lord the Maire and the Bailiffs must of necessitee cesse to delyver uppe the citee and the keyes into the Kynges Handes.” Seventeen parish churches and 997 houses were void, and within eighty years Jewry Street had fallen from eighty houses to two, Fleshmonger Street from 140 to two, Colebroke Street from 160 to sixteen, Calpe Street from 100 to six, Gold Street (Southgate Street) from 140 to eight, Gar Street from 100 to none. In its palmy days, soon after the Conquest, the city extended to St. Cross, Wyke, Worthy, and Magdalen Hill, and in Henry I.’s reign the population was about 20,000, but so greatly did it decrease that all the progress of this century has only just brought it back to that number. It is said that there were once 173 churches and chapels here, probably an over-statement.

In Edward III.’s time there were 44, among them All Saints in Vineis,[96] St. Nicholas extra Pisces, St. Martin’s in Fosseto, and St. Peter’s in Macellis. Now there are eight; Bishop Fox disestablished many because there were no funds to sustain the clergy.

Proceeding up the High Street, we crossed into St. Peter’s Street by “God Begot” House. This was a fashionable quarter in the Stuart days. The Royal Hotel stands on a site where was a nunnery twenty years since. We come to the office of the Probate Court, a new looking building, which has old walls. At the south side of it we see a leaden pipe with E.G. 1684, on it--supposed to stand for Eleanor Gwynne. An old staircase remains at the top of this house. The original building was much larger, the centre has been taken down, but the other wing remains. We may gain some idea of how handsome it once was by looking at the next ivy-mantled mansion--a structure of about the same date, with a fine staircase.

We now come to the Roman Catholic Chapel, and examine the arched entrance--the only relic remaining of Magdalen Hospital, founded 1174. In the porch I called attention to the “Druidical” stone.

“But some say that the monoliths in this Itchen valley have more connection with drifts than with Druids,” observed Mr. Hertford.

“Yes, and take away the poor things’ character,” I replied. “Why should we try to dive into the mud and gravel that lie beneath our fancies?”

Close by, standing back in a garden, is the “White House,” which is also of Stuart date, and has a handsome staircase and panelled room. All these houses were probably occupied by Charles II.’s courtiers. Milner says that the Duchess of Portsmouth had a house at the south end of this street.

[Sidenote: Middle Brooks.]

From the end of Peter’s Street we turned down the City Road, and passing by “Upper Brooks,” where there are more monoliths, soon entered, on the right hand, Middle Brooks--so called from the stream flowing along it, which in the memory of old people ran down its centre. Here we came to a remarkable edifice, built of flints, and of a somewhat “gingerbread” character--a miniature castle with two towers. It forms a couple of houses, and the tenant of the nearer one told us that the building was called the Hermitage. It is nearly one hundred years old, and formed out of the materials of Swathling House,[97] which belonged to Mr. Erle, and stood between Winchester and Southampton. The front room, which we were invited to enter, is lined with panelling--covered with paint, I regret to say, for it is of walnut wood--and in some places adorned with gold and colours. Round the ceiling there is a “tongue and udder” moulding, and there is also carving round the door. The young tenant pointed out to us an old engraving on canvas, “The Bloody Sentence of Christ,” which, he said, had been two hundred years in his family. There was a note beneath it to say it had been taken from a stone in Vienna.

Proceeding on towards the High Street we came to a row of houses with overhanging stories and huge dark beams. It had a central archway and heavy oaken door, and seems to have originally formed one large house. Antiquaries owe a great debt of gratitude to the owner, Mr. Buckingham, for preserving this relic of the past when pressure was put upon him to demolish it. There is much “wattle and dab” work in the walls, and in an upper front room of the northernmost house there is herringbone work and a fine chalk mantelpiece with mouldings and entablature. Chalk becomes hard from exposure, and will last almost for ever if protected from the weather. Cut stone can be seen here in the back wall, and also in a house beyond the yard fence, whence it has been conjectured that this was a monastery or important structure--could it have been connected with the Franciscan monastery, usually placed in Lower Brooks? A cannon ball, found two feet below the floor of one of the back rooms, is in Mr. Buckingham’s possession. It probably came from the Castle or Cromwell’s battery.

[Sidenote: Coins.]

Before these houses were repaired, two years since, some of the panelling inside them was beautifully carved, and there still remains ornamental tracery on the outside of some of the windows, but much has been removed. What was more remarkable was the discovery of numerous coins about the panelling, as if some of them had accidently slipped behind it. Among them were a Roman coin and a Spanish, some leaden coins and medals, and a token of the Corporation of Southampton made of brass, with three roses on the obverse.

On our way back we met an aged man with a light blue coat and an oblong silver badge, with something like a shamrock upon it. The wearer of this gay apparel belonged to “Christ’s Hospital” (1607), near the Cathedral. The brethren’s house looked as bright as their coats, with scarlet virginian and blue clematis.

* * * * *

As the next day was Sunday, which is no day for excursions, and we had pretty well explored the principal part of Winchester, my friends now took their departure. They said that they had enjoyed their visit. With me the time had passed rapidly. I tried to make a favourable impression, and am vain enough to think I succeeded, especially on one occasion while Mr. Hertford was deeply studying the guide-book.

On Sunday morning I felt lonely. I sauntered down the High Street. There were many young fellows standing about who had evidently come in from the country. Some looked very gay, wearing sunflowers in their buttonholes, and talking to their sweethearts. This sight made me feel still more forlorn.

I went to the invisible Church--I mean St. Lawrence’s--which cannot be seen from the outside. The sermon pleased me. I remember that the preacher said: “Some men put on their religion on Sundays with their best coat, and when the day is done take off their religion and their coat, and hang them up until next Sunday.”

FOOTNOTES:

[88] The boundaries of Wansborough are given here with much quaintness and particularity. “From the Stone to the Eden, from the Eden to the Lent, from the Lent to the great Thorn.... From the hollow thorn to the hoar stone, from the hoar stone to the hollow pan.... From the crooked link to the cat-holes, from the old treestead to the crooked apple-tree.”

[89] In the possession of the Duke of Devonshire.

[90] The Carmelites would not have been pleased with this representation, as they think the first of their white gowns was thrown down by Elijah, and the black stripes they wear are to show where it was singed by the wheels of fire.

[91] Tradition said, as late as 1650, that the Domesday Book was kept in a vault or in a chapel called Domus Dei, in the Cathedral. If so it was only there just after its compilation. The earlier Domesday book, or Dombroc, of Alfred, was kept here or at Wolvesey.

[92] The refectory, which was forty feet long, stood on the south-west of the cloisters. The “vocal” crucifix was at the east end of it. In 1798 there were, according to Milner, four round-headed windows in the north wall.

[93] There could have been no lack of money on this occasion, for the King found £900,000 in gold and silver besides jewels in the treasury at Winchester.

[94] It passed through the dormitory, cloisters, buttery, malthouse, kitchen, and quadrangle.

[95] In the street just by the back of this house two shells were found, probably some of Waller’s “granadoes.”

[96] Winchester was celebrated for its imported and native wine.

[97] In which the celebrated Admiral Lord Hawke died.

SEVENTH DAY.

Southgate Street--St. Cross--Dr. Lewis--Regulations--St. Catherine’s Hill.

This day I proceeded in the direction of the Hospital of St. Cross, which is one mile from Winchester. On my way down Southgate Street I passed, on my right, the profusely decorated and almost flamboyant modern Church of St. Thomas. It contains some of the sepulchral slabs of the older church to that saint, which stood beside the graveyard on the east side of the road. That building had some architectural beauties, but had long lapsed into a state of dilapidation. In Henry III.’s time the Sheriff of Southampton was ordered to have an image of the “Majesty of the Lord” made and placed beyond the altar in that church.

A few yards beyond this I passed the site of the old Southgate, and then came to the “Friary”--the site upon which the Augustine hermits established themselves in the thirteenth century. This order is best known to London men, from Austin Friars in the City.

Next I came to “St. Michael’s,” the rectory of the parish. Just behind it stands the church, but it has been rebuilt, and presents nothing of interest except a round thirteenth-century sun-dial not eight inches wide. In former times a spring rose just above the church, and in the winter flooded it on its way down. The rector keeps the doors of the church always open, and, like many others, has suffered for his good nature. A short time since the poor-box was broken open and robbed, and the only melancholy consolation was, that there was not much in it.

[Sidenote: St. Cross.]

A line of bright villas extends here on the right side, and I soon reached the graveyard of St. Faith’s, another deceased church. Even in the time of Henry III. it was in a weakly state, for we find beech trees given to prop its foundations. The only relic of it remaining, is the Norman font and bell, which are preserved at St. Cross.

Here I am now at my destination. I pass through the village of Sparkford,[98] and stand before the ancient structure founded by Bishop de Blois for the (much needed) health of his soul and for the repose of the kings of England. He endowed it from his private revenues, as well as from gifts of rectories and from the spoils of Hyde Abbey, which consisted of 500 pounds weight of silver, 30 marks of gold, and three crowns of gold, with thorns of gold set with diamonds. The revenue was originally £250 a year, but had risen to £300 in Wykeham’s time.

The management of the hospital was originally delegated to the brethren of the Hospital of St. John of Jerusalem, saving to the Bishop of Winchester canonical jurisdiction, but Henry II. gave the administration entirely into the hands of the bishops.

On the tower over the archway are four heads--those of Henry IV., “time-honoured” Lancaster, Beaufort, and Catherine Swinford. Catherine here finds herself in good company. She was, as most know, a pretty governess, whom John of Gaunt’s wife had the temerity to engage, with the result that her husband had several natural children, among them Cardinal Beaufort. Over these heads are three canopied niches for statues--the idea being evidently taken from those on the tower of the College. In the centre was the Virgin, and by her side the Cardinal; but we observe that though he is on his knees he is too grand to take off his hat to her. When the figure of the Virgin fell, some years since, it was not replaced.

How well I remember the day when I first stood before this gateway as a tired wayfarer, and demanded the pilgrim’s right. I was promptly provided with half a pint of fair small beer and half a slice of bread. I observed that the drinking-horn was set in silver, and, in answer to a question, was informed--

“Two of the cups have been set in silver to commemorate the fact that the Prince of Wales and Crown Prince of Germany drank out of them. The other cups are not set; we keep these for the upper classes.”

I had not then heard of the fate of the “Hampshire Grenadier,” and much cheered by the refreshment and the fragrance of royalty, marched into the courtyard, and admired the long row of chimneys--twenty feet high--made thus when they first succeeded holes in the roof. I wished I could see the thatch that the chapel had for two hundred years. Seeing an old gownsman standing about I accosted him, and asked if he would be so good as to show me over the hospital.

“Hospital!” he replied, sharply. “There ain’t no hospital here. That’s where everybody makes a mistake. When any of the brethren are ill we have to send to Winchester for a doctor.”

“Well--the institution” I substituted.