Part 6

The structure of which we now see the ruins was built by Bishop de Blois, brother of King Stephen, out of the materials of the former castle, and of the Saxon palace in the square. It was not long constructed before it was used in a manner which showed that the bishop’s weapons were not entirely spiritual.

[Sidenote: Burning of Winchester.]

In 1141, during the civil wars, the southern part of the city, including the Bishop’s palace and the Cathedral, supported King Stephen, while the northern, containing the best houses and Royal Castle, held out for the Empress Matilda. A storm of fire-balls poured forth from Wolvesey Castle, destroying the Abbey of St. Mary, twenty churches, large private buildings, the suburb of Hyde, and the splendid monastery there situated. Fighting and firing raged in the heart of the city for seven weeks! The Northern party were at last driven into the Royal Castle, and the water cut off. The Empress now adopted a clever expedient; she kept out of sight, caused a report to be circulated that she was dead, and had preparations made for her funeral. Her body was enclosed in lead like a corpse, and was thus allowed to be carried out in a horse-litter through the besiegers’ camp. Once safely in the open country she soon was out of her coffin and into her saddle, and, bestriding her good steed, galloped off towards Devizes. Stephen, upon his obtaining the castle, prepared it for vigorous defence, but before he was ready heard an army was collecting against him and took to flight. The monks of Hyde Abbey maintained that during this conflict Bishop de Blois intentionally fired from Wolvesey upon their monastery.

The war which devastated the country at this time greatly interfered with agriculture, and a synod was convened at Winchester, at which it was resolved, “that plough and husbandman should have the same privileges of sanctuary with churches,” and the whole assembly, with torches in their hands, pronounced a blazing excommunication against any one who injured an agriculturist.

Wolvesey saw Henry II.--who had been crowned at Winchester--in one of his worst moments. After the murder of À Becket he found a great storm of public feeling raised against him, and felt no longer safe. On the 6th of August he passed through Winchester, and visited this grim old Norman castle, where Henry de Blois was dying, and here he heard the bishop’s last words of bitter reproach, as he foretold the great calamities which Divine vengeance would pour upon the murderer of the Archbishop. From this Henry hurried to Wales and to the subjugation of Ireland. As late as Leland’s time this was “a castelle, or palace well tow’red,” and it was a residence till the Civil War.

[Sidenote: Raleigh.]

Here, in Henry VIII.’s time, Bishop Fox, as a blind and aged man, was interrogated about Prince Arthur, who was born here, and gave very interesting and lucid replies. Here Mary first saw Philip. Here took place the famous trial of Raleigh before Popham and others, during which the apartments of the warden and fellows of the College were requisitioned for the judges, sheriffs, and principal lawyers. The fine old sailor kept a very cheerful countenance, we are told, though so unwell and feeble that he was accommodated with a seat. He was charged with attempting to induce foreign enemies to invade the King’s dominions; with attempting to restore the Romish religion; and to place on the throne Arabella Stuart, whom he was to meet in Jersey. The celebrated Coke was the Crown counsel against him, and indulged in virulent and coarse invectives, calling him a terrible and detestable traitor.

“He hath a Spanish heart. You are an odious man. See with what a ---- forehead he defends his faults. His treason tends not only to the destruction of our souls, but to the loss of our goods, lands, and lives. This is the man who would take away the King and his cubs.”

Raleigh sometimes smiled during this tirade. The last accusation was the only one which moved him, and he said, referring to it, that Coke was a base slave. “Humble, but not prostrate,” he answered for himself; “showing love of life rather than fear of death.” The charges against him were on the authority of only one man, his former friend, Lord Cobham. Raleigh quoted Scripture, that “in the mouth of two or three witnesses shall every word be established,” and demanded that Cobham should be brought face to face with him. This was refused. He said that in the Tower he got a poor fellow to throw up an apple with a letter tied to it to Cobham, who said, in reply, that he had wronged him. But all was of no avail, and Popham condemned Raleigh to be hanged till half dead, and then cut down, quartered, and disembowelled. He left the court without showing any signs of dismay. This account is the more interesting and valuable, as it comes from the pen of Sir Thomas Overbury, an estimable man, poisoned by Carr, who afterwards married his wife.

Raleigh, though he remained afterwards thirteen years in the Tower, until his unfortunate and dishonest expedition, was finally executed under this sentence passed at Winchester.

[Sidenote: Wolvesey.]

All is now peaceful enough at Wolvesey. Time has gnawed the walls, the Roundheads destroyed the defences, and Bishop Morley peeled the whole to erect the new palace which now stands beside these sad remains. The string courses in the walls seem to be a continuation of Roman architecture, and we observe two good Norman windows and a couple of imperfect arches; the outside of the keep can still be recognized and the refectory. But nearly all the interior is in a confused state of disintegration, and the man who can call the ruins picturesque must have a happy imagination. Morley’s palace, now used for school classes, is uninteresting; so is the chapel, though, as a builder who had to repair the roof assured me, the wood there, the east window and south wall existed in the days of the castle.

Leaving Wolvesey, we continued by the line of the city wall, and marked in places the insertion of Roman tiles. There is little here to recall the conflicts of men, but much, in the dark fruit-laden boughs, to make us reflect on the generosity of nature and on piping times, when every man can sit happily beneath his own vine and fig-tree. And now we continue our walk by the smooth river and by cottage gardens bright with everlastings and “gipsy roses” (scabious), till we find ourselves again on the site of the Eastgate from which we started.

FOOTNOTES:

[46] Called of Winchester from having been born there.

[47] These town ditches were let to different parties, the grass being of some value. In the Black Book we find, in Henry IV.’s reign, a grant by the Mayor of Winchester, giving to the Abbot and Convent of the Church of St. Barnabas, of Hyde, a certain part of a ditch called Walldych, extending from the Northern Bridge to a certain place called the Bowe, where flows Kyngesbroke. The convent to resign all claim to the fishing in the ditch, and give free ingress to a certain part at the end of the bridge called Northbrigge, for nets and all instruments for cleaning.

[48] In the Pat. Rolls, 43 Ed. III., there is an order for towers and walls to be repaired.

[49] Near this, at the commencement of the Andover Road, a Roman coin of the year 340 was found at a depth of sixteen feet. The staple grounds were within the walls here.

[50] The monks of St. Swithun had “Viridaria” or pleasure grounds outside the precincts.

[51] Founded by the brethren of St. Swithun’s for fifteen nursing sisters.

[52] Wykeham seems to have had a peculiar reverence for St. Thomas à Becket. The election of scholars into New College and Winchester School was to take place every year between the festival of the Translation of St. Thomas à Becket (July 7), and the 1st of October.

[53] There are here also three Anglo-Saxon charters, and in the Audit-room some fifteenth-century tapestries and the coats of mail worn by the warden’s escort.

[54] His father’s name was John Longe, perhaps from his stature.

[55] Does this similarity account for the proverbial good luck of the horse shoe?

[56] That is, Richmond, where Wykeham improved the palace.

[57] When Henry VI. founded Eton on the plan of Winchester, Wayneflete (the headmaster here and afterwards bishop) migrated with five fellows to the new foundation.

[58] Wykehamists are proud of this gallant soldier who fell recently, fighting in the Soudan, and have erected a memorial gateway in his honour.

FOURTH DAY.

Jewry Street and the Jews--Hyde Abbey--St. Grimbald--Destruction of Tombs--Headbourne Worthy--King’s Worthy--The Nun’s Walk.

The west side of the George Hotel is in Jewry Street, the _ghetto_, a name recalling the wealth, rapacity, and persecutions of this peculiar people. They managed to obtain property and to increase in this city, apparently in the thirteenth century, previous to which this street was called Scowertene Street. In 1232 a story was circulated that a boy had been tortured and murdered by them.

“Invented, perhaps, by their debtors,” suggested Mr. Hertford.

In Henry III.’s reign there was an order that the Jews in Winchester should be taxed according to their ability, as in London; but when the barons sacked the town they are said to have extirpated them. In 1268, however, one of them was made a member of the Merchants’ Guild here, the only fact, as far as I know, that corroborates the statement of Richard of Devizes, that “Winchester alone, the people being prudent, spared its vermin.” We have seen what became of “Aaron’s land,” and that of the “son of Abraham” did not escape confiscation, for we find that in Edward I.’s reign--“Thomas de Palmere was granted a messuage in the great street of Winchester, valued at four shillings a year. It had belonged to Benedict, son of Abraham the Jew, and had been forfeited to the King.”[59] At a Parliament, held here in 1290, the Jews were expelled from the country.

Proceeding up the street, we pass on the right-hand side the old stable in which “Master Say” was tortured in the time of the Civil War. A little farther on, if we look up over the shops on the other side, we shall plainly trace the outlines of a large building. This was once the city gaol, built by James I., rebuilt in 1771, and the central portion of it, where there is now an ironmonger’s shop, was the governor’s house about twenty years since, and boasted a haunted chamber, in which one of the debtors committed suicide. It was afterwards used for the Museum until the Guildhall was built in 1873, and the gaol and bridewell were removed to the Romsey Road. Farther on stands the Corn Exchange and Cattle Market.

[Sidenote: Hyde Street.]

Crossing the City Road we went straight on into Hyde Street, which seems like a continuation of Jewry Street. On the right Fossedyke House commemorates the city walls and ditch. Farther on I noticed a relic of the past--a small shop with a gable, very low rooms, and windows scarcely more than a foot high. Two steps descended into it, a proof of age--as either the soil outside has risen, or the owner has been, like the Irishman, “raising his roof.” On the other side, we came to the large malthouse of Mr. Dear, with walls of cut stone, formerly a barn belonging to Hyde Abbey.

Opposite, we see through a side street the “Soldiers’ Home.” This was about fifty years ago the celebrated school of Mr. Richards, at which were Deans Garnier and Gaisford, Lord Liverpool, George Canning, Wolfe the poet, and perhaps Disraeli who was at a boarding school in Winchester. It was afterwards the Museum, and is now used for Salvation meetings. The Army has been “bombarding” Winchester for some time, and now marches through the streets with Salvation guernseys, hallelujah bonnets, and scarves white, red, and blue, to the music of drums, trumpets, and cymbals. All this noise and dramatic show is attractive: whether it makes people religious I cannot say, but it promotes the cause of teetotalism. I went one day from curiosity to a “free and easy” at the Corn Exchange, and observed that the congregation were mostly men. Their attention was kept by the variations in the service, by “knee-drill,” singing on the knees, clapping the hands, and singing with the eyes shut. The preacher, an eloquent man, said they wanted money to build a barrack in Parchment Street, which was to be somewhat larger than the Cathedral! (a titter.) He added that some considered that the Salvationists could do nothing right, nothing properly. They even thought they could not make a collection properly, and he was almost inclined to agree with them, when he saw the miserable contributions there were last Sunday.

[Sidenote: Hyde Abbey.]

A Roman urn was found in this street; and in turning to the right, down Alfred Place I noticed a corner-stone of a “Druidical” character. In a few yards, we came to the little church of St. Bartholomew, with a Norman entrance arch, rich in zig-zag--one-third restored. Here is a stoup, and the lancet windows in the nave are in their original positions. Close beside the churchyard is a building with an arch, apparently the entrance to the monastery. On either side of the arch is a head, much decayed, but the drawn-back hair can be traced, and the crowns of Alfred and his son Edward, it is supposed. These carvings seem older than the arch, which is only Tudor. In the massive wall of an adjoining garden a low window was pointed out to me, now half hidden in the soil; and until lately there was an arch visible beside it, which is now walled up. Passing through the gate into the farmyard I came to the stream which rises at Headbourne Worthy, and here runs under a very primitive arch, which has some of the old monastery wall still remaining on it. The rivulet flows round the black fence of the Steam Laundry into a street, called from it, Upper Brooks.

I found that the road past the monastery ended immediately, and learned that the reason of this was that for a short time the Bridewell, for which the ruins of Hyde Abbey were despoiled, stood till late years at the termination.

This information I obtained from a mechanic whom we met with. I was desirous of obtaining local information, and asked him if there were more ruins here.

“Well, sir, I think there’s some of the old tackle up there,” he replied, pointing in the direction of the barn.

“Do you belong to this place?” I said.

“Yes, sir,” he replied; “and for forty years I belonged to the devil.”

I stared at him, for he was a most respectable-looking man.

“Yes, sir, I did,” he continued. “But what a difference it makes to a man when he has his eyes opened! I never used to pray. I used to eat and drink and work, and go once a week to the organ-loft of St. Bartholomew’s there, and have a sing, and thought that was all that was necessary. How differently I feel now!”

“Much better, no doubt,” I returned. “Have any ancient remains been discovered here?”

“Something less than twenty years ago a man was digging about the site of this bridewell wherever they would let him. He was a long time at it, but he had read books, and knew exactly where to go. He was a strange sort of man, fond of bones and coffins, which he found and put into the church.”

[Sidenote: King Alfred.]

Hyde Abbey, called the New Minster, previous to Norman times went on its travels like the other Winchester institutions. It was founded by Alfred close to the northern side of the Cathedral. He bought ground for the chapel and dormitory, and perhaps built them, but left the main work to be completed by his son. It was called the Monastery of St. Grimbald. When Alfred went to Rome with St. Swithun, he stopped for some days on his way at the convent of St. Bertin, in France, and there sat, a lovely and studious child, at the feet of Grimbald. He not only profited by the religious teaching, but conceived a great affection for this gracious president, and sent for him to superintend his new foundation. Grimbald came in 885, and the King and Archbishop Ethred received him “as an angel.” A meeting was called, and Grimbald made an effective speech, strongly condemning the sins of unchastity, covetousness, lying, murder, and theft. He also spoke of pride and gluttony, “through which our first parent was driven from his flowery abode.” Alfred followed with a speech commending study to his nobility, who were very illiterate at the time.

Learning was then at a low ebb in England owing to the ravages of the Danes, and in Winchester the churches had been despoiled, the priests murdered, the nuns outraged, and Christianity nearly abolished. Alfred resolved to reinstate it, and Grimbald was to teach the children of the thanes as well as to give advice about the proposed monastery.

Alfred died fifteen years after Grimbald’s arrival in England, and the Annals tell us he was buried “becomingly, and with kingly honour in the royal city of Winchester, in the church of St. Peter’s. His tomb is still extant, made of the most precious porphyry marble.” Although unwilling to say a word against the good monks of Hyde, I fear that it must be admitted they were now guilty of a little trickery. The canons of St. Swithun “foolishly thought they saw the disembodied spirit of King Alfred moving about their habitation,” and I am afraid we must conclude that some of the monks of Hyde, to obtain the valuable body of the King, dressed themselves up as the ghost and frightened the poor canons. Thus the corpse was transferred to the New Minster.[60]

The monastery soon obtained another melancholy acquisition. The building was finished in 903, and, Ponthieu in Picardy having been ravaged, the inhabitants fled, and nobles and religious people came swarming like bees to St. Grimbald, and brought with them the bones of the sacred confessor St. Josse--a British prince. Grimbald received this consignment with great honour, with a brilliant retinue of clergy, and an immense concourse of the faithful. Miracles soon appeared, and the dry bones brought life and livelihood into the monastery. At the dedication of the basilica to the Sacred Trinity, St. Mary, St. Peter, and St. Paul, there was a brilliant assembly, and farms were bestowed by the King and nobles. Queen Emma afterwards gave the head of St. Valentine.

Grimbald, “a good singer and most learned in holy Scripture,” had a conflict with the old scholars at Oxford, and was not well pleased at the impartial manner in which Alfred decided it. As he became old he withdrew himself, and lived privately in this Abbey at Winchester, intent only upon psalms and hymns, and unwilling to speak of anything secular.

[Sidenote: Sword and Gown.]

The New Monastery fared badly after the battle of Hastings. The Abbot at this time was unfortunately an uncle of Harold. When he heard of the Norman invasion he persuaded twelve stalwart brethren to take the Saxon helmet, and, raising twenty additional men, marched to Hastings with his little company. They took the sword in place of the crucifix, and used it with such effect that they became conspicuous in the conflict. The Abbot fell close to Harold. Perhaps their costume attracted attention, they may have had gown and sword, but at any rate William’s attention was attracted to them, and he determined to take vengeance on an establishment whose members gave him so much trouble. He confiscated some fifteen manors belonging to them--about 17,000 acres of land, and he built his palace in such a position as greatly to inconvenience them, shutting up the communication by St. Lawrence’s into the High Street.

It now became clearly recognized that the New Monastery was too much confined, it was so close to St. Swithun’s that the ringing and singing were “like sweet bells jangled.” The monks resolved to move outside the city to Hyde Mead, though the ground in that locality was so springy that they had to bring a quantity of clay, and to cover it, in some places, four feet deep. The old site was given to St. Swithun’s, which in return gave some land and some additional days at St. Giles’ fair. In 1110 the fraternity moved in solemn procession, with all their worldly goods, consisting mainly of the cross of Cnut, body of Alfred, and some other old bones, into what promised to be a peaceful abode.

[Sidenote: Treasures of Hyde.]

But thirty years afterwards, on the occasion of the conflict between Stephen and Matilda, the establishment was destroyed, as I have already said, by Bishop de Blois sending fire balls at it out of Wolvesey. From the representations now made to the Pope we learn how magnificently adorned the church was, and how successful had been the miracles there wrought. The flames melted the gold and silver, and the bishop compelled the monks to give him the precious ashes, especially those of the great cross, given by Cnut, which contained sixty pounds of silver, and fifteen of gold, that king’s revenue for a year.

There were three diadems of gold and precious stones worth £118, two images adorned with gold and gems, worth £49. Of silver there were many other valuables, the seal of the house, two patens, a vase for holy water, and two lavers, nobly adorned with gold and gems, said to be of Solomonic work, perhaps in imitation of those in the Jewish temple, and worth £35. De Blois had endowed his hospital of St. Cross out of the spoil, and the whole amount of damages claimed was not less than £4,862, which might be multiplied by twenty to form a right estimate of it at present.

In consequence of the complaints sent to the Pope, the warlike bishop had to make some restitution. But it was not till twenty-six years afterwards (1167) that a goldsmith’s copy of the cross[61] was executed and presented to the Convent. The restoration of the buildings was gradual, and in 1312 part was still in ruins.

Hyde Abbey, though planned by St. Grimbald with such excellent intentions, was not free from the weakness inherent in all human institutions. There was from 1182 such a flow of miracles from the altar of St. Barnabas there that the monastery was sometimes spoken of as if dedicated to that saint. Crowds of poor, sick, and infirm people congregated there, and as the place declined in morality it grew in celebrity, so that in 1390 William of Wykeham authorized the abbot to use a mitre, ring and pastoral staff.

In 1507 the vices attendant on wealth and luxury became so conspicuous as to require rebuke. The good monks were making free use of the taverns, and were bringing into the monastery women who were not of a saintly character. The last abbot of Hyde, John Salcot, was “a great cleark, and singularly learned in divinity.” He became Bishop of Bangor, and then of Salisbury, and his principles were of the willow pattern. At Windsor he tried three reformers, and condemned them to be burnt, and burnt they were; but under Edward VI. he himself became a reformer, and gave the Duke of Somerset several church manors. In Mary’s reign he averred that his compliance with Edward’s wishes had been caused by threats and from fear of his life, and sentenced Hooper and Rogers and three others to the stake, where they were burned.

[Sidenote: Spoliation.]