Part 17

We linger a moment to catch a glance at the remarkable Saxon doorways still preserved in the nave,--relics coeval with the age when _Old_ Sarum was in its best estate, and centuries before the glorious fane that adorns its _new_ namesake was born or thought of,--and then emerge into the pleasant evening sunlight. How delightfully-reviving the communion with the purity of Nature, after our thoughts have been saddened by a contemplation of the self-sought miseries of her children. We saunter quietly along under the fine trees that overhang our path, loiter awhile to survey an old moated house, and then pass on by a winding path through mead and lane to Salisbury. Before us is the bright, busy little city, and above it is upreared the remarkable feature that has made its reputation world-wide, the glorious spire of its Cathedral. Higher and still more heavenward, its faultless proportion rises at every step, until standing within its shadow, our thoughts are lost in admiration of those men, who, when they had built an earthly home "to the high and lofty One that inhabiteth eternity," reared this shaft of beauty from its midst, in testimony that their aspirations were not satisfied until they had placed its top-stone as near His heavenly home as human hands could raise it.

SALISBURY SPIRE.

Eyes of the soul,--turn from thought's busy realm, And dwell awhile on yon height-piercing spire, The sight is none that all things overwhelm, But one that bids us rise to all things higher. Delved from the earth a rude and shapeless thing, Rended by force from the deep quarry's breast,-- Behold from such, a pure form upward spring, In beauty's fairest vesture aptly drest.

So may'st thou ravish thought's uncultured mine, From the rude mass harmonious outlines blend, Clothe with true beauty all the fair design, That based on earth shall to the heaven ascend Like Babel's tower,--but no confusion show, By one grand purpose raised from all that's low.

UNHORSED AT BOSWORTH.

The "silent finger that points to heaven" has, beyond all comparison, its finest exemplar at Salisbury, and this record, although common as a household word, is, notwithstanding, none the less true and impressive, and ever returns with Tithonic vigour at each renewed contemplation. Graceful in the happiest degree in proportion, its great altitude gives a power to its slender beauty of form, altogether beyond the rivalry of its sister spires that spring with humbler charms from this land of ours. Thus it stands in grand isolated dignity, amid the long-swelling undulations of the Wiltshire hills, with base trending earth-ward, yet lost before touching the ground amid the blue mist that creeps with shrouding haze along the wolds,--but its fine-drawn point pierces with no uncertain intention the quiet amber of the evening sky.

It would be perhaps difficult to find any where, taken in sympathy with its peculiar associations, a picture more impressive and delightful. The purpose of its builders,--the object of its dedication,--its majesty of size and height, lifting itself as it were far from the busy haunts and homes of those, who living, nestle at its feet, or in death are laid beneath its protective shadow,--its dark-tinted, yet well-defined, heaven-ward rising, beautiful outline,--so suggestive in its form of the design of this life, scarce rooted in the earth, yet with apex cleaving the sky, and tinctured too akin with the gloomy tints of human uncertainty, summon a host of thoughts from the inner recesses of the soul, and bids the gazer on its fair proportion and upward glance ask himself as he views it, how far the resemblance reflects his own condition, what he was designed for, what he has made himself.

And now the attraction of its wonderful presence has drawn us nearer, and we are sitting contemplatively under one of the large elms in the Close where the grand proportions of the fine cathedral are before us. Almost oppressive for a while, is the realization of its great size, and the glance upward from the spirelets of the west front to the apex of the glorious spire, vanishing in the blue ether. But the eye must not dally with, nor dwell too lovingly on the delicate interlacery it is arrayed in, for however beautiful in itself, or when viewed alone, its decoration scarcely harmonizes with the bolder and more largely-defined ornamental details of the structure below; and the comparison at once assures us that this splendid addition was the offspring of a somewhat later age, but redolent of the truest and purest perception of architectural beauty, and was placed there with feeling akin to the tasteful hand that completes the cluster of gathered flowers with a tall spikelet of harmonious form, but of otherwise almost imperceptible contrasting beauty.

What words may appropriately describe this almost unrivalled picture? Two lines from one of our greatest bards suggest themselves,--

"Simple, erect, severe, austere, sublime-- Relic of nobler days, and noblest arts!"

to which may be added that rare impression of unbroken harmony, and the pleasant satisfaction of this feeling clothes gratefully every aspect presented.

Singularly pleasant to the eye, also, and giving a sense of stability to this fine building, is the noble base-line of strong moulding that follows every length, angle, and recess, and adds the finish of completeness from spire to basement.

We enter, and within as without all is pure, severe, and uniform, the offspring of an age before men's minds and hands were wooed of their strength by the blandishments of ornament, and while yet they relied on the rare and noble simplicity of perfected outline, ever the most difficult of achievement, and, consequently when attained, ever the more enduring of pleasure. Those dark, slender shafts, with their deep-cut capitals, stand with airy but decided purpose from jutting quoin, or flank the strong arches, perfectly harmonizing with the contour of all about them; and while they relieve the monotony or severity of their surroundings, do not intrude on the eye, nor distract the attention further, but quietly and unobtrusively fill the true subsidiary position that should ever be assigned to ornament, and nothing beyond.

Were it possible to take a stranger into the cathedral, and, ignorant of its existence, place him under the spire, the wildest flight of imagination could not conjure within his mind the possibility of the existence of the noble finial that rises above his head. The piers of the arches on which it rests afford no clue, and although somewhat larger than those near them, are nevertheless so comparatively slender that they would attract no notice unless carefully pointed out, and then a glance outside, and another survey within would startle him into an almost awe-struck realization of the consummate boldness that planned, and ability that carried to completion, this wonderful afterthought, and impress him that there were indeed giants in architectural resource, even in those "dark days," as we are sometimes pleased to call them.

Another and most distinguished charm too, finds striking witness at Salisbury. Its chaste and simple grandeur has fairly put to the rout the modern decorator, with his paint-pots and gold leaf,--that sturdy and well-patronized defacer of the real, with the garniture of the cheat. No room for him here, or but scant and in soberest guise, and his meretricious attractions are met everywhere with the declaration mirrored in the gleaming Purbeck, or nestling in the ghost-like shadows that haunt the deep-cut foliage that crowns it,--there is no beauty like reality.

Thus much for our short survey of the stately fabric. Our next inquiry is, what is the special purpose of our visit to-day--where is the object we are in search of? It is for the memorial of one of those half-courtier, half-soldier chieftains, so many of whom threw their fortune in with his, and afterward found distinguished place and occupation at the Court and government of the first Tudor king. Where shall we find it? With a sort of shudder we take a survey of the assemblage of monuments lying so regularly and suspiciously disposed, in lines under the arches of the nave. In the long array we note effigies of templars, bishops, and knights--interposed here and there with brassless stones--reclining for the most part on nondescript-looking tombs, composed of heterogeneous and patchwork materials, having little or no relationship apparently to the figures they support. Instantly we apprehend in its fullest sense, the sacrilegious barbarism of Wyatt, who removed almost the whole of them from their original places in other parts of the edifice, to their present incongruous positions, making up the tombs piecemeal from such fragments out of the general destruction, as happened to fit, or be available,--probably the most deplorable desecration of its kind to be found in the annals of archæological record, and which we wish we could not further think of.

Singularly, almost uniquely rich was this cathedral in tombs of every age, before this ruthless resurrectionist and invader of sepulchres was let loose therein, toward the close of the last century to wreak his fury. Dowsing was almost a hero in desecration, compared with the callous and equally destructive energies of Wyatt, for while the fanatic iconoclast had that fiercest of all flames, ignorant bigotry, to urge him on, it was left to the 'cultivated' imagination of one, who aspired to be thought an architect and man of taste, to set himself up as a rival in the detestable business of spoliation, and scarce any escaped him from the Founder downward, for Bishop Poore was meted out the same fate, impartially as others.

Emerging from under the modern brass screen that separates the choir from the nave, slowly we pass down the south aisle. There, is the beautiful effigy of William Longspée, the first Earl of Sarum, son of Henry II. and fair Rosamond, reclining on his glorious tomb, once covered with exquisite mosaic work, the embossed lions on his enamelled shield, chafing at the indignity of their master having been ousted from his olden station of honour in the Lady Chapel,--Bishop de la Wyle the founder of St. Edmund's Collegiate Church in this city at the close of the thirteenth century,--the tomb of the unfortunate Lord Stourton of murderer's fame and silken halter,--the martial proportions of the second Lord Hungerford, brought hither from the demolished Chantry erected by his wife the last Bottreaux, on the north side of the retro-choir,--next, the tomb of Bishop Beauchamp, the "Wykeham of his age" (for he superintended the building of St. George's Chapel at Windsor Castle), taken from his beautiful Chantry, that once had place opposite to Lady Hungerford's; and following him, the interesting effigies of two other early and distinguished Bishops, Roger, and Joceline, A.D. 1184, and brought from old Sarum! The face of Bishop Joceline, although so old and denuded, still exhibits the marvellous placidity of sleep, all the more so from the partial effacement of the features, but displaying an effect no modern sculpture could imitate.

But he whom we seek is not found among this long succession of departed greatness, and we carefully proceed with our investigation up the north aisle.

Here the first we meet with, is the unique and mysterious "Boy Bishop,"--lying at length and much denuded beneath his protective iron grating. Then we pass two "unappropriated" tombs, and next a mail-clad effigy said to be William Longspée, second Earl of Salisbury, son of the William on the other side,--then a fine figure of a knight in bascinet and surcoat, John de Montacute, with fortunately a considerable portion of the original tomb below him. Whom does this desolate-looking pair of brassless stones, side by side record, with indent of man and wife still apparent on them? Ah! the emblem powdered on the stone,--the _harvest sickle_,--unravels their story, and a feeling of sadness pervades us, as we recognize in them the memorials that once covered the dust of Walter, the first Lord Hungerford--father of Robert on the opposite side--and Katharine Peverel his wife, shifted here about a century since, as an inscription on them informs us, "by Jacob C. Radnor," when he removed the beautiful iron-work Chantry in which they originally had appropriate place, and carried it away to the east end of the choir to do duty as a 'family pew.'

There is but one more effigy, you say,--as we turn from this last memorial of the long sequence of departed and 'translated' worthies--and that must be him whom we seek. A glance at the tall armoured figure immediately assures us that he is found, Sir John Cheney, Baron of that name; and a stout adherent of the first Tudor sovereign, Henry VII.

The family of Cheney, as we have previously noted,[26] was a wide spreading one in the south of England, and, according to Burke, derived their descent from a common ancestor, Ralph de Caineto, who came to England with the Conqueror.

[26] See page 4.

Sir John, of the monument before us, was of Kentish extraction. William, the son of Sir Alexander Cheney, married Margaret, daughter and heir of Sir Robert de Shurland, of Shurland in the parish of Eastchurch, in the Isle of Sheppey. He died 8 Edward III., 1333, leaving issue Robert, who left issue Sir Richard of Shurland, who married Elizabeth, daughter of Robert Cralle, of Cralle, Sussex, by whom he left two sons, William of Shurland, and Richard of Cralle.

Sir William Cheney of Shurland, Sheriff of Kent, 13 Henry IV., 1412,--1 Henry V., 1414,--2 Henry VI., 1424, Knight of the Shire for Kent, 3 Henry V., 1418, died 21 Henry VI., 1443, and was buried with Margaret his wife in St. Benet's church, Paul's Wharf, London.

He was succeeded by his son Sir John, Knight of the Shire for Kent, 27 Henry VI., 1449, and Sheriff 33 Henry VI., 1455. He married Eleanor, daughter and coheiress of Sir Robert de Shottisbroke, knt., and sister to Margaret, Duchess of Somerset. There were two sons, John and William.

Sir William, second son, was Sheriff of Kent 7 Edward IV., 1467, and I Henry VII., 1486, was appointed Constable of Queenborough Castle, the same year. He was twice married; by his first wife had one son, Sir Francis Cheney, who succeeded his father as Constable of Queenborough Castle, and died without issue; and by his second wife one son, Thomas, who became his uncle John's heir. (Hasted.)

Sir John Cheney, the eldest son, of Shurland, is the subject of our narrative. He appears to be the first of this numerous and influential race that reached the honour of the peerage.[27]

[27] Sir William Cheney, Chief Justice of England, had summons to Parliament among the barons of the realm,--4, 5 and 6 Henry VI., 1426-8. (Hasted.) Query if the Sir William who died 1443. His name does not appear among the extinct peerages. In the church of "Saint Michaels Pater-noster in the old Royall," Weever notes the following inscription:--"_Prey of yowr cherete for the souls of Agnes Cheyney, wydow, late wyff vnto William Cheney, somtym Esquyr for the Body vnto King Harry the seuenth. Whyche Agnes dyed the fyfteenth day of July in the yere of our Lord God on thowsand four hundred eyghty and seven. And for the souls of William Cheyney, Robert Molyneux, and Robert Sheryngton her husbands, and all Cristen souls._"

We first hear of him in 1465, when he was one of the Commissioners sent to treat with the King of Denmark, accompanied by Dr. Goldwell, Dean of Salisbury. He is here called "_strenuus miles_," probably from his great stature and strength.

In 1475, where he is termed Esquire of the King's body, with a retinue of seven men at arms, including himself, he accompanied the English army to Calais, in the expedition to France by Edward IV., when that king was first deceived and then out-manoeuvred by the Dukes of Brittany and Burgundy, and afterward bought off from all his martial intentions by the French king Louis XI., promising to pay him seventy-two thousand crowns down, and a yearly pension of fifty thousand crowns for life,--marry his son the Dauphin to Edward's daughter Elizabeth (afterward wife to Henry VII.), and a further sum of fifty thousand crowns as a ransom for the release of the widowed Queen Margaret. Louis, remembering Crecy and Agincourt, was exceedingly anxious to see the backs of the English turned on France, and besides all this money, or the promise of it, sent to Edward "three hundred waggon loads of wine," and further cartloads for the use of his army; and "at length the French king's fears vanished with the departure of the English, who went away extremely pleased with the French gold and wine, while the pensions assigned to Edward's principal courtiers amounted to sixteen thousand crowns a year."

Among the "principal courtiers" who were recipients of this inglorious spoil, Sir John Cheney's name is given as one, and associated with him were Thomas Grey, Marquis of Dorset, William, Lord Hastings, his wife's father-in-law, the King's Chamberlain, and Dr. Thomas Morton, born at Bere-Regis, in Dorset,--then Master of the Rolls, and afterward Cardinal and Archbishop of Canterbury; all west-country names of great interest connected with our little annals. It was however stipulated by his French majesty, after seeing Edward, and swearing the treaty, that John, Lord Howard, and Sir John Cheney, Master of the Horse, should be left as hostages, until the King of England (after receiving the seventy-two thousand crowns) had passed the seas with his army. Edward, after receiving the money, embarked his forces with all expedition, and Howard and Cheney remained until his arrival in England, during which interval they were entertained "very nobly" by the French king.

We do not find him further mentioned during the reign of Edward IV., or the short rule of his unfortunate son, but soon after the usurpation of Richard III., he was among those who gave his adhesion to the Countess of Richmond (mother of Henry VII.) being won over to the interest of her son by her trusty envoy, Sir Reginald Braye, and with him was Sir Giles Daubeney, and other influential men.

This being so, in due time, which occurred almost immediately, in 1483 he joined in the movement--so unfortunate as it turned out--of Henry Stafford, Duke of Buckingham, and was associated with the Courtenays, the Marquis of Dorset, and others forming the western contingent, being in arms against the king, near Salisbury. On the dispersion of Buckingham's followers through the Severn inundation, Sir John Cheney and his companions made their escape safely across to France, where they joined the Earl of Richmond. His name was included in the Proclamation issued against the insurgent fugitives by Richard, with rewards offered therein proportionate to their station, on apprehension.

It is probable Sir John remained with, or near Richmond, in France, until his final expedition to England, in which he doubtless accompanied him, and on landing, proceeded with the Earl's army on their march through Wales to Bosworth.[28]

This memorable engagement which took place on the 22nd of August 1484, has been ably described by many pens, and its incidents, beyond those having reference directly to our story, need not be

[28] Among the "Knightes made at the landinge of Kinge Henry the Seventh at Mylforde Haven," fourth on the list occurs Sir John Cheney. His arms are thus given,--Quarterly 1 and 4, _Azure, six lioncels rampant argent, a canton ermine; 2 and 3, Ermine, a chief per pale indented or and gules, in the dexter side a rose of the last_ (SHOTISBROOKE). Crest, _Two bull's horns argent, separated from the scalp, roots or, "fixed to the mantels without torce_." (Metcalfe's _Book of Knights_.) recapitulated here. Our hero has special traditional fame connected with the fray, if not of the most fortunate kind, as will be seen.

In addition to the stream of deserters from his own army to that of his rivals, which met Richard's eyes on that eventful day, the defection of Lord Stanley, a misfortune of the first magnitude, assured Richard that no time was to be lost, if he hoped to save his crown. So, gathering a muster of as many as remained true to him, he made a direct and magnificent charge into the centre of his foes' line, striving gallantly to recover his fortune. Leading them in person, he fought his way directly to his adversary's standard, and "in his furie he manfully overthrew Sir William Brandon, the Earle's Standard-bearer, and Sir John Cheney, both men of mightie force and knowne valiancie," and he nearly reached Richmond himself. Hollingshed thus describes it,--

"King Richard set on so sharplie at the first brunt, that he ouerthrew the Erles standard, and slue Sir William Brandon, his standard bearer, (which was father to Sir Charles Brandon by King Henrie the eight created Duke of Suffolk,) and matched hand to hand with Sir John Cheinie, a man of great force and strength, which would haue resisted him, but the said John was by him manfullie ouerthrowen. And so he making open passage by dint of sword as he went forward, the Earle of Richmond withstood his violence, and kept him at the sword's point without aduantage, longer than either his companions thought or judged, which being almost in despair of victorie, were suddenly recomforted by Sir William Stanlie, which came to his soccour with three thousand tall men. At which verie instant King Richard's men were driven back and fled, and he himself manfullie fighting in the middle of his enemies was slaine."

The old chronicler, as a matter of course, pays Richmond the compliment of his "keeping him at the sword's point without advantage," but other accounts relate that the Earl was in no hurry to cross weapons with his redoubtable and now desperate antagonist, and was doubtless greatly "recomforted" at Stanley's opportune defection, with his "soccour of three thousand tall men."

That Richmond had a narrow escape is evident, Sir William Brandon his Standard-Bearer, was killed, and Sir John Cheney, giant in stature as he was, was unhorsed--"manfully overthrown"--by the comparatively diminutive, deformed King himself. Then a swarm of assailants closed round Richard, and he was hurled to the earth, and remorselessly despatched with many wounds.

Whatever may be said of Richard as to the degrading characteristics of his previous career, one thing stands out in strong relief, his undoubted courage, which on this decisive occasion was of the highest order, and claims its full meed of admiration, especially considering the disadvantages of his person, and he closed his life with the fate of a hero.

Simultaneously with Richard's death, if it was not its actual cause, Sir William Stanley following the example of his brother, just at that juncture crossed over with his forces to Richmond's side, which virtually decided the combat, and the battle was ended. The grateful Henry requited Stanley's inestimable service, thus so opportunely given, by putting him to death a few years later, on a very questionable and frivolous charge.