Dean Stanley tells us that in the days of our Saxon forefathers and for some time after, “all disputes throughout the whole kingdom that could not be legally referred to the king’s court or to the hundreds of counties” were heard and judged on in the south porch of Canterbury Cathedral. This was always the principal entrance, and was known in early days as the “Suthdure” by which name it is often mentioned in “the law books of the ancient kings.” Through this door we enter the nave of the cathedral; this part of the building was erected towards the end of the fourteenth century; Lanfranc’s nave seems to have fallen into an unsafe and ruinous state, so much so that in December, 1378, Sudbury, who was then archbishop, “issued a mandate addressed to all ecclesiastical persons in his diocese enjoining them to solicit subscriptions for rebuilding the nave of the church, ‘propter ipsius notoriam et evidentem ruinam’ and granting forty days’ indulgence to all contributors.” Archbishop Courtenay gave a thousand marks and more for the building fund, and Archbishop Arundell gave a similar contribution, as well as the five bells which were known as the “Arundell ryng.” We are told also that “King Henry the 4th helped to build up a good part of the Body of the Chirch.” The immediate direction of the work was in the hands of Prior Chillenden, already frequently mentioned; his epitaph, quoted by Professor Willis, states that “Here lieth Thomas Chyllindene formerly Prior of this Church, Decretorum Doctor egregius, who caused the nave of this Church and divers other buildings to be made anew. Who after nobly ruling as prior of this Church for twenty years twenty five weeks and five days, at length on the day of the assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary closed his last day. In the year of the Lord 1411.” It is not certain that Chillenden actually designed the buildings which were erected under his care, with which his name is connected. For we know that work which was conceived and executed by humble monks was ascribed as a matter of course to the head of the monastery, under whose auspices and sanction it was carried out. Matthew Paris records that a new oaken roof, well covered with lead, was built for the aisles and tower of St. Alban’s by Michael of Thydenhanger, monk and camerarius; but he adds that “these works must be ascribed to the abbot, out of respect for his office, for he who sanctions the performance of a thing by his authority, is really the person who does the thing.” Prior Chillenden became prior in 1390, and seems at any rate to have devoted a considerable amount of zeal to the work of renovating the ruined portions of the church.

The new Nave replaced the original building of Lanfranc. Professor Willis says: “The whole of Lanfranc’s piers, and all that rested on them, appear to have been utterly demolished, nothing remaining but the plinth of the side-aisle walls.... The style [of Chillenden’s new work] is a light Perpendicular, and the arrangement of the parts has a considerable resemblance to that of the nave of Winchester, although the latter is of a much bolder character. Winchester nave was going on at the same time with Canterbury nave, and a similar uncertainty exists about the exact commencement. In both, a Norman nave was to be transformed; but at Winchester the original piers were either clothed with new ashlaring, or the old ashlaring was wrought into new forms and mouldings where possible; while in Canterbury the piers were altogether rebuilt. Hence the piers of Winchester are much more massive. The side-aisles of Canterbury are higher in proportion, the tracery of the side windows different, but those of the clerestory are almost identical in pattern, although they differ in the management of the mouldings. Both have ‘lierne’ vaults [i.e., vaults in which short transverse ribs or ‘liernes’ are mixed with the ribs that branch from the vaulting capitals], and in both the triforium is obtained by prolonging the clerestory windows downward, and making panels of the lower lights, which panels have a plain opening cut through them, by which the triforium space communicates with the passage over the roof of the side-aisles.” Chillenden, then, setting to work with the thoroughness that marks his handiwork throughout, rebuilt the nave from top to bottom, leaving nothing of Lanfranc’s original structure save the “plinth of the side-aisle walls,” which still remains. The resemblance between the naves of Canterbury and Winchester, pointed out by Professor Willis, will at once strike a close observer, though the greater boldness of character shown in the Winchester architecture is by no means the only point of difference. The most obvious feature in the Canterbury nave a point which renders its arrangement unique among the cathedrals both of England and the Continent is the curious manner in which the choir is raised aloft above the level of the floor; this is owing to the fact that it stands immediately above the crypt; the flight of steps which is therefore necessarily placed between the choir and the nave adds considerably to the general effect of our first view of the interior. On the other hand, the raising of the choir is probably to some extent responsible for the great height of the nave in comparison with its length, a point which spoils its effectiveness when we view it from end to end. Stanley, in describing the entrance of the pilgrims into the cathedral, points out how different a scene must have met their eyes. “The external aspect of the cathedral itself,” he says, “with the exception of the numerous statues which then filled its now vacant niches, must have been much what it is now. Not so its interior. Bright colours on the roof, on the windows, on the monuments; hangings suspended from the rods which may still be seen running from pillar to pillar; chapels, and altars, and chantries intercepting the view, where now all is clear, must have rendered it so different, that at first we should hardly recognize it to be the same building.” The pilgrims on entering were met by a monk, who sprinkled their heads with holy water from a “sprengel,” and, owing to the crowd of devout visitors, they generally had to wait some time before they could proceed towards a view of the shrine. Chaucer relates that the “pardoner, and the miller, and other lewd sots,” whiled away the time with staring at the painted windows which then adorned the nave, and wondering what they were supposed to represent:

“‘He beareth a ball-staff,’ quoth the one, ‘and also a rake’s end;’
‘Thou failest,’ quoth the miller, ’thou hast not well thy mind;
It is a spear, if thou canst see, with a prick set before,
To push adown his enemy, and through the shoulder bore.’”

None of these windows now remain entire, though the west window has been put together out of fragments of the ancient glass. The latter-day pilgrims will do well to look as little as possible at the hideous glass which the Philistinism of modern piety has inserted, during the last half-century, in the windows of the clerestory and the nave. Its obtrusive unpleasantness make one wish that “Blue Dick” and his Puritan troopers might once more be let loose, under judicious direction, for half an hour on the cathedral. When Erasmus visited Canterbury, the nave contained nothing but some books chained to the pillars, among them the “Gospel of Nicodemus” printed by Wynkyn de Worde in 1509 and the “tomb of some person unknown.” The last words must refer either to the chapel in the south wall, which was built by Lady Joan Brenchley in 1447, and removed in 1787, or to the monument of Archbishop William Wittlesey, who died in 1374, and was interred in the south side of the nave in a marble tomb with a brass, now destroyed. At present the south aisle contains a monument, in alabaster, to Dr. Broughton, sometime Bishop of Sydney, who was educated in the King’s School, under the shadow of the cathedral. The figure is recumbent, and the base of the monument, which is by Lough, is decorated with the arms of the six Australian sees. In the north aisle we find monuments to Orlando Gibbons, Charles I.’s organist; Adrian Saravia, prebendary of Canterbury, and the friend of Hooker, the author of the “Ecclesiastical Polity;” Sir John Boys, who founded a hospital for the poor outside the north gate of the town, and died in 1614; Dean Lyall, who died in 1857; and Archbishop Sumner, who died in 1862. These last two monuments are by Phillips and H. Weekes, R.A., respectively.

The Central Tower. In the nave the whole of Lanfranc’s work was destroyed, but in the central tower, which we will next examine, the original supporting piers were left standing, though they were covered over by Prior Chillenden with work more in keeping with the style in which he had renewed the nave. “Of the tower piers,” says Willis, “the western are probably mere casings of the original, and the eastern certainly appendages to the original.... Of course I have no evidence to show how much of Lanfranc’s piers was allowed to remain in the heart of the work. The interior faces of the tower walls appear to have been brought forward by a lining so as to increase their thickness and the strength of the piers, with a view to the erection of a lofty tower, which however was not carried above the roof until another century had nearly elapsed.” It was Prior Goldstone the second who, about 1500, carried upward the central tower, which Chillenden seems to have left level with the roof of the cathedral. “With the countenance and help of Cardinal John Morton and Prior William Sellyng he magnificently completed that lofty tower commonly called Angyll Stepyll in the middle of the church. The vaulting of the tower is his work testudine pulcherrima concameratam consummavit and he also added the buttressing arches with great care and industry he annexed to the columns which support the same tower two arches or vaults of stonework, curiously carved, and four smaller ones, to assist in sustaining the said tower.” The addition of these buttressing arches, not altogether happy in its artistic effect, was probably rendered necessary by some signs of weakness shown by the piers of the tower, for the north-west pier, which was not so substantially reinforced as the others, now shows a considerable bend in an eastward direction. The “two arches or vaults of stonework” were inserted under the western and southern tower arches. “The eastern arch having stronger piers did not require this precaution, and the northern, which opened upon the ‘Martyrium,’ seems to have been left free, out of reverence to the altar of the martyrdom, and accordingly to have suffered the dislocation just mentioned.” The four smaller arches connected the two western tower-piers with the nearest nave-pier and the wall of the transept. The buttressing arches are strongly built, and are adorned with curious bands of reticulated work. The central western arch occupies the place of the rood-loft, and it is probable that until the Reformation the great rood was placed over it. The rebus of Prior Thomas Goldstone a shield with three gold stones is carved upon these arches.

The Western Screen, which separates the nave from the choir, is now more commonly known as the organ-screen: it is a highly elaborate and beautiful piece of work, and the carvings which decorate it are well worthy of examination. In the lower niches there are six crowned figures: one holding a church is believed to be Ethelbert, while it has been assumed that the figure on the extreme right represents Richard II.: probably Henry IV., who, as has been already mentioned, “helped to build a good part of the body of the Church” has a place of honour here, but no certainty on this matter is possible. The thirteen mitred niches which encircle the arch once contained figures of Christ and the twelve Apostles, but these were destroyed by the Puritans. The exact date of this outward screen is uncertain, but it was set up at some time during the fifteenth century. “A little examination,” says Willis, “of its central archway will detect the junction of this new work with the stone enclosure of the choir.” In fact, this archway is considerably higher than that of De Estría which still remains behind it. The apex of this arch reaches but a little above the capitals of the new arch, and the flat space, or tympanum, thus left between the two, is filled with Perpendicular tracery.

The Choir. “In the year of grace one thousand one hundred and seventy-four, by the just but occult judgment of God, the Church of Christ at Canterbury was consumed by fire, in the forty-fourth year from its dedication, that glorious choir, to wit, which had been so magnificently completed by the care and industry of Prior Conrad” ("Gervase,” translated by Willis). The work of rebuilding was immediately begun by William, the architect of Sens. At the beginning of the fifth year of his work, he was, by a fall from the height of the capitals of the upper vault, “rendered helpless alike to himself and for the work, but no other person than himself was in the least injured. Against the master only was the vengeance of God or spite of the devil directed.” He was succeeded in his charge by one “William by name, English by nation, small in body, but in workmanship of many kinds acute and honest.” Now in the sixth year from the fire, we read that the monks were “seized with a violent longing to prepare the choir, so that they might enter it at the coming Easter. And the master, perceiving their desires, set himself manfully to work, to satisfy the wishes of the convent. He constructed, with all diligence, the wall which encloses the choir and presbytery. He carefully prepared a resting-place for St. Dunstan and St. Elfege. The choir thus hardly completed even with the greatest labour and diligence, the monks were resolved to enter on Easter Eve with the ‘new fire,’” that is, the paschal candle which was lit on Easter Eve and burnt until Ascension Day. The kindling of this light was carried out in a very ceremonious manner as enjoined in Lanfranc’s statutes. A fire was made in the cloister and duly consecrated, and the monks, having lit a taper at this fire carried it on the end of a staff in solemn procession, singing psalms and hymns and burning incense, and lit the paschal candle in the choir with it.

Thus was the new choir completed, in the sixth year after the burning of Conrad’s. This part of the cathedral will be peculiarly interesting to the architectural student, owing to the curious mixture of styles, which enables him to compare the Norman and Early English characteristics side by side. A striking feature in the aspect of the building, as seen from the choir, is the remarkable inward bend with which the walls turn towards one another at the end of the cathedral. The choir itself is peculiar in the matter of length (180 feet the longest in any English church), and the lowness of the vaulting. The pillars, with their pier-arches and the clerestory wall above are said by Willis to be without doubt the work of William of Sens: but the whole question as to where the French William left off and his English namesake began is extremely uncertain, as there can be no doubt that William of Sens had fully planned out the work which he was destined never to complete, and it is more than probable that his successor worked largely upon his plans. We are on safer ground when we assert that the new choir was altogether different from the building which it replaced. The style was much more ornate and considerably lighter: the characteristics of the work of the Williams are rich mouldings, varied and elaborately carved capitals on the pillars, and the introduction of gracefully slender shafts of Purbeck marble. Gervase, in pointing out the differences between the works before and after the fire, mentions that “the old capitals were plain, the new ones most artistically sculptured. The old arches and everything else either plain or sculptured with an axe and not with a chisel, but in the new work first rate sculpture abounded everywhere. In the old work no marble shafts, in the new innumerable ones. Plain vaults instead of ribbed behind the choir.” “Sculptured with an axe,” reads rather curiously, but Professor Willis points out that “the axe is not quite so rude a weapon in the hands of a mason as it might appear at first sight. The French masons use it to the present day with great dexterity in carving.” The mouldings used by Ernulf were extremely simple, and were decorated with a “peculiar and shallow class of notched ornament”, of which many examples exist in other buildings of the period; while the mouldings of William of Sens “exhibit much variety, but are most remarkable for the profusion of billet-work, zigzag and dogtooth, that are lavished upon them.” The first two methods of ornamentation are Norman, the last an Early English characteristic. This mixture is not confined to the details of decoration but may be observed also in the indiscriminate employment of round and pointed arches. This feature, as Willis remarks, “may have arisen either from the indifference of the artist as to the mixture of forms or else from deliberate contrivance, for as he was compelled, from the nature of his work, to retain round-headed arcades, windows, and arches, in the side-aisles, and yet was accustomed to and desirous of employing pointed arches in his new building, he might discreetly mix some round-headed arches with them, in order to make the contrast less offensive by causing the mixture of forms to pervade the whole composition, as if an intentional principle.”

Whatever the motive, this daring mixture renders the study of the architectural features of our cathedral peculiarly interesting. In the triforium we find a semicircular outer arch circumscribing two inner pointed ones. The clerestory arch is pointed, while some of the transverse ribs of the great vault are pointed and some round.

The inward bend of the walls at the end of the choir was necessitated by the fact that the towers of St. Anselm and St. Andrew had survived the great fire of 1174. Naturally the pious builders did not wish to pull down these relics of the former church, so that a certain amount of contraction had to be effected in order that these towers should form part of the new plan. This arrangement also fitted in with the determination to build a chapel of the martyred St. Thomas at the end of the church, on the site of the former Trinity Chapel. For the Trinity Chapel had been much narrower than the new choir, but this contraction enabled the rebuilders to preserve its dimensions.

The Altar, when the choir was at first completed by William, stood entirely alone, and without a reredos; behind it the archbishop’s chair was originally placed, but this was afterwards transferred to the corona. The remarkable height at which the altar was set up is due to the fact that it is placed over the new crypt, which is a good deal higher than the older, or western crypt. Before the Reformation the high altar was richly embellished with all kinds of precious and sacred ornaments and vessels: while beneath it, in a vault, were stored a priceless collection of gold and silver vessels: such of these as escaped the rapacity of Henry VIII. were destroyed by the bigotry of the Puritan zealots: the latter made havoc of the reredos which had been erected behind the high altar, probably during the fourteenth century, and also a “most idolatrous costly glory cloth,” the gift of Archbishop Laud. The reredos was replaced by a Corinthian screen, which was of elaborate design, but must have been strangely out of keeping with its surroundings; it was removed about 1870, to make way for the present reredos which was designed in the style of the screen work in the Lady Chapel in the crypt, but which cannot be commended as an object of beauty. The altar coverings which are now in use were presented to the cathedral by Queen Mary, the wife of William III., when she visited Canterbury. A chalice, given by the Earl of Arundel in 1636, is among the communion-plate. In his account of the building of the new choir, Gervase tells us that “the Master carefully prepared a resting-place for St. Dunstan and St. Elfege the co-exiles of the monks.” When the choir was ready, “Prior Alan, taking with him nine of the brethren of the Church in whom he could trust, went by night to the tombs of the saints, so that he might not be incommoded by a crowd, and having locked the doors of the church, he commanded the stone-work that inclosed them to be taken down. The monks and the servants of the Church, in obedience to the Prior’s commands, took the structure to pieces, opened the stone coffins of the saints, and bore their relics to the vestiarium. Then, having removed the cloths in which they had been wrapped, and which were half-consumed from age and rottenness, they covered them with other and more handsome palls, and bound them with linen bands. They bore the saints, thus prepared, to their altars, and deposited them in wooden chests, covered within and without with lead: which chests, thus lead-covered, and strongly bound with iron, were inclosed in stone-work that was consolidated with melted lead.” This translation was thus carried out by Prior Alan on the night before the formal re-entry into the choir: the rest of the monks, who had not assisted at the ceremony, were highly incensed by the prior’s action, for they had intended that the translation of the fathers should have been performed with great and devout solemnity. They even went so far as to cite the prior and the trusty monks who had assisted him before the Archbishop, and it was only by the intervention of the latter, and other men of authority, and “after due apology and repentance,” that harmony was restored in the convent.

The bones of St. Dunstan were long a cause of contention between the churches of Canterbury and Glastonbury. The monks of Glastonbury considered that they had a prior claim on the relics of the sainted archbishop, and stoutly contended that his body had been conveyed to their own sanctuary after the sack of Canterbury by the Danes; and they used to exhibit a coffin as containing Dunstan’s remains. But early in the fourteenth century they went so far as to set up a gorgeous shrine in which they placed, with much pomp and circumstance, the supposed relics. Archbishop Warham, who then ruled at Canterbury, accordingly replied by causing the shrine in our cathedral to be opened, and was able to declare triumphantly that he had found therein the remains of a human body, in the costume of an archbishop, with a plate of lead on his breast, inscribed with the words “SANCTUS DUNSTANUS.” In the course of the subsequent correspondence which passed between the two monasteries, the Abbot of Glastonbury, after trying to argue that perhaps part only of the saint’s relics had been conveyed to his church, at last frankly confesses “the people had believed in the genuineness of their saint for so long, that he is afraid to tell them the truth.” This shrine of St. Dunstan stood on the south of the high altar, and was erected after the manner of a tomb: though the shrine itself perished at the time of the Reformation, there still remains, on the south wall of the choir, between the monuments of Archbishops Stratford and Sudbury, some very fine open diaper-work, in what is known as the Decorated style, which once formed part of the ornamentation of St. Dunstan’s altar. The shrine of St. Elfege, or Alphege, who was archbishop at the time of the sacking of Canterbury by the Danes, and was murdered by them, has been altogether destroyed.

The Choir Screen, a solid structure of stone we know to be the work of Prior de Estría, i.e., of Eastry in Kent, who was elected in 1285, and died in 1331. According to the Obituary record, he “fairly decorated the choir of the church with most beautiful stone-work cunningly carved.” In his Register there is an entry which evidently refers to the same work: “Anno 1304-5. Reparation of the whole choir with three new doors and a new screen (pulpito).” The three doors referred to are the north and south entrances and the western one. It has already been pointed out that the present western screen is a later addition. Professor Willis, whose great work on the Architectural History of Canterbury Cathedral should be studied by all who wish to examine the details of the building more closely than is allowed by the scope of this work, describes De Estria’s screen as follows: “The lateral portions of this wall of enclosure are in excellent order. In the western part of the choir, namely, between the eastern transepts and the organ-screen, this wall is built so that its inner face nearly ranges with the inner faces of the pillars; but eastward of the transepts it is built between the pillars. The north doorway remains perfect. The present south doorway, which is in a much later style, is manifestly a subsequent insertion. This enclosure consists of a solid wall, seven feet nine inches in height from the pavement of the side-aisles. It has a stone-bench towards the side-aisles, and above that a base, of the age of William of Sens; so that it is clear that the work of De Estría belongs to the upper part only of the enclosure, which consists of delicate and elaborately worked tracery, surmounted by an embattled crest.... The entire work is particularly valuable on account of its well-established date, combined with its great beauty and singularity.”

A portion of the choir-pavement, lying between the two transepts, is interesting as being undoubtedly part of the original flooring of Conrad’s choir, and probably the only fragment of it that was left undisturbed after the great fire which destroyed “that glorious choir which had been so magnificently completed by the care and industry of Prior Conrad.” This part of the pavement consists of large slabs of a peculiar “stone, or veined marble of a delicate brown colour. When parts of this are taken up for repair or alteration, it is usual to find lead which has run between the joints of the slabs and spread on each side below, and which is with great reason supposed to be the effect of the fire of 1174, which melted the lead of the roof, and caused it to run down between the paving stones in this manner.” It is said that when the choir was filled with pews in 1706, and it was necessary to remove part of the pavement, the men engaged on the work picked up enough of this lead to make two large gluepots.

The original wooden stalls of the choir were described by the writer of a book published in 1640. He relates that there were two rows on each side, an upper and a lower, and that above the stalls on the south side stood the archbishop’s wooden chair, “sometime richly guilt, and otherwise richly set forth, but now nothing specious through age and late neglect.” Perhaps the battered and shabby condition of this part of the cathedral furniture accounts for its having survived the Puritan period; it is at least certain that it remained untouched until 1704, when the refurnishing of the choir was begun by Archbishop Tenison; he himself presented a wainscoted throne with lofty Corinthian canopy adorned with carving by Gibbons, while the altar, the pulpit, and the stalls for the dean and vice-dean were provided with rich fittings by Queen Mary II. The tracery of the screen was hidden by a lining of wainscoting, which was put before it. This arrangement lasted little more than a century. In the time of Archbishop Howley, who held office from 1828 to 1848, the wainscoting which concealed the screen was taken away, and Archbishop Tenison’s throne has made way for a lofty canopy of tabernacle work. Some carved work, which has been ascribed to Gibbons, still remains before the eastern front of the screen, between the choir and the nave.

The position of the organ has been frequently shifted. In Conrad’s choir it was placed upon the vault of the south transept; afterwards it was set up upon a large corbel of stone, over the arch of St. Michael in the same transept. This corbel has now been removed; subsequently it was placed between two pillars on the north side of the choir, and, later on, it was again transferred to a position over the west door of the choir, the usual place for the organ in cathedral churches; finally it has been “ingeniously deposited out of sight in the triforium of the south aisle of the choir; a low pedestal with its keys stands in the choir itself, so as to place the organist close to the singers, as he ought to be, and the communication between the keys and the organ is effected by trackers passing under the pavement of the side aisles, and conducted up to the triforium, through a trunk let into the south wall.” This arrangement not only secures the retirement from view of the organ, which, with its tedious rows of straight and unsightly pipes, is generally more or less an eyesore in cathedrals, but is said to have caused a great improvement in the effect of its music. The present organ, which was built by Samuel Green, is believed to have been used at the Handel Festival in Westminster Abbey in 1784. It was enlarged by Hill in 1842, and entirely reconstructed in 1886. In this connection we may mention that Archbishop Theodore first introduced the ecclesiastical chant in Canterbury Cathedral.

The tombs in the choir are all occupied by famous archbishops and cardinals. On the south side, hard by the site of the shrine of St. Dunstan, is the tomb of Simon of Sudbury, who was archbishop from 1375 to 1381. He built the west gate of the city, and a great part of the town walls; in consideration of these benefits the mayor and aldermen used at one time to make an annual procession to his resting-place and offer prayers for his soul. Outside Canterbury his acts were not regarded with so much gratitude, for he was the inventor, or reviver, of the poll tax, and was in consequence beheaded on Tower Hill by Wat Tyler and his followers. Stanley relates that “not many years ago, when this tomb was accidentally opened, the body was seen within, wrapped in cere-cloth, a leaden ball occupying the vacant place of the head.” Sudbury is also famous as having spoken against the “superstitious” pilgrimages to St. Thomas’ shrine, and his violent death was accordingly attributed to the avenging power of the incensed saint. Westward of his monument stands that of Archbishop Stratford (1333-1348), who was Grand Justiciary to Edward III. during his absence in Flanders, and won fame by his struggle with the king. Between this tomb and the archbishop’s throne lies Cardinal Kemp (1452-1454), who was present at Agincourt in the camp of Henry V.; his tomb is surmounted by a remarkable wooden canopy. Opposite, on the north side, is the very interesting monument of Archbishop Henry Chichele (1414-1443). Shakespeare tells us that he was the instigator of Henry V.’s war with France, and it is supposed that out of remorse for this act he built, during his lifetime, the curious tomb which now conceals his bones; it is kept in repair by All Souls’ College, which was founded by the penitent archbishop that its fellows might pray for the souls of all who had perished during the war; the effigy, in full canonicals, with its head supported by angels, and with two monks holding open books, kneeling at its feet, lies on the upper slab; and underneath is a ghastly figure in a winding-sheet, supposed to represent the archbishop after death; the diminutive figures which originally filled the niches were destroyed by the Puritans, but have been to some extent replaced. The gaudy colours of the tomb enable one to form some idea of the appearance of the churches in the Middle Ages, when they were bedizened with painted images, hangings, and frescoes: to judge from this specimen the effect must have been distinctly tawdry. Further east we find the monument of Archbishop Howley; he was chiefly remarkable as having crowned Queen Victoria and married her to the Prince Consort, and his monument is noticeable as being the first erected to an archbishop, in the cathedral, since the Reformation; he himself lies at Addington. Beyond is a fine tomb well worthy of examination, crowned by an elaborate canopy which shows traces of rough usage at the hands of the restoring enthusiasts, who surrounded the choir with classical wainscoting after the Restoration. It is the monument of Archbishop Bourchier, a staunch supporter of the House of York; he was primate for thirty-two years, from 1454 to 1486, and crowned Edward IV., Richard III., and Henry VII. The “Bourchier knot” is among the decorations which enrich the canopy of his tomb.

The South-East Transept. According to the present custom of the Canterbury vergers, the visitor is led from the choir to the south-east transept. “In the choir of Ernulf,” says Willis, “the transepts were cut off from the body by the continuity of the pier-arches and the wall above, and each transept was therefore a separate room with a flat ceiling.... But in the new design of William the transepts were opened to the central portion, and the triforium and clerestory of the choir were turned at right angles to their courses, and thus formed the side walls of the transepts.... The entire interior of the eastern transept has been most skilfully converted from Ernulfian architecture to Willelmian (if I may be allowed the phrase for the nonce). It was necessary that the triforium and clerestory of the new design should be carried along the walls of these transepts, which were before the fire probably ornamented by a continuation of those of Ernulf. But the respective level of these essential members were so different in the old and new works that the only parts of them that could be retained were the windows of the old clerestory, which falls just above the new triforium tablet, and accordingly these old windows may still be seen in the triforia of the transepts, surmounted by the new pointed clerestory windows. But the whole of the arcade work and mouldings in the interior of these transepts belongs to William of Sens, with the sole exception of the lower windows. Even the arches which open from the east wall of these transepts to the apses have been changed for pointed arches, the piers of which have a singularly elegant base.”

In the two apses of this transept altars to St. Gregory and St. John once stood, and here were shrines of four Saxon primates. There is a window in the south wall erected to the memory of Dean Alford; below it is the spot on which the tomb of Archbishop Winchelsea (1294-1313) was placed. He was famous for his contest with Edward I. concerning clerical subsidies, and for having secured from the king the confirmation of the charter. He was more practically endeared to the people by the generosity of his almsgiving it is said that he distributed two thousand loaves among the poor every Sunday and Thursday when corn was dear, and three thousand when it was cheap. His tomb was heaped with offerings like the shrine of a saint, but the Pope refused to confirm the popular enthusiasm by canonizing the archbishop; the fact, however, that it had been so reverenced was enough to qualify it for destruction in the days of Henry VIII. This transept is used at present as a chapel for the King’s School, a direct continuation of the monastery school, at which Archbishops Winchelsea and Kemp were both educated. It contains the Corinthian throne which was set up in the choir early in the last century.

The South-West Choir Aisle. At the corner of this aisle we may notice the arcade which shows the combination of the Norman rounded arch and double zigzag ornamentation with the pointed arch and dogtooth tracery of William. Here also are two tombs, which have given rise to a good deal of speculation. The more easterly one used to be regarded as the monument of Hubert Walter, who was chancellor to Richard Coeur de Lion and followed him and Archbishop Baldwin to Palestine, and, on the death of the latter, was made primate in the camp at Acre: it is thought more probable, however, in the light of recent research, that he is buried in the Trinity Chapel. The other tomb used to be the resting place of Archbishop Reynolds, the favourite of Edward II., but it also affords food for discussion, as there is no trace of the “pall” a Y-shaped strip of lamb’s wool marked with crosses, a special mark of metropolitan dignity which was sent to each primate by the Pope on the vestments of the effigy. Hence conjecture doubts whether these tombs are tenanted by archbishops at all, and inclines to the theory that they contain the bones of two of the Priors, perhaps of d’Estria. From this point we can notice the ingenious apparatus connected with the organ.

St. Anselm’s Tower and Chapel. Proceeding eastward, towards the Trinity Chapel, we pause to examine the chapel or tower of St. Anselm, which corresponds to that of St. Andrew on the north side of the cathedral. Both these chapels probably at one time were much more lofty, as they are described as “lofty towers” by Gervase; it was in order to bring them into the church, when it was reconstructed after the fire, that the eastward contraction, which presents such a curious effect as seen from the choir, was found necessary. They are now, as Willis points out, “only of the same height as the clerestory of the Norman Church, to which they formed appendages, and consequently they rose above the side-aisles of that church as much as the clerestory did. The external faces of the inward walls of these towers are now inclosed under the roof of William’s triforium, and it may be seen that they were once exposed to the weather.” The arches in St. Anselm’s tower were originally set up by Ernulf, but there is reason to believe that they were rebuilt after the great conflagration. “The arch of communication,” says Willis, “is a round arch, at first sight plainly of the Ernulfian period, having plaited-work capitals and mouldings with shallow hollows. A similar arch opens on the eastern side of the tower into its apse. But a close examination will shew that both these arches have undergone alteration.... I am inclined to believe that both these arches were reset and reduced in space after the fire, probably to increase their strength and that of their piers, on account of the loss of abutment, when the circular wall of the choir-apse was removed.” The alterations that were made in these arches were probably not important, and did not extend beyond the re-modelling of the mouldings on the side of the arch towards the choir-aisle; for we may notice that above both the arches we can still trace the notched decoration which is peculiar to Ernulf’s work. This chapel was originally dedicated to St. Peter and St. Paul, and a very interesting relic of this saintly patronage has lately been discovered. Apparently, in order to strengthen the building, two of the three windows in the chapel were blocked up, and a buttress was built across a chord of the apse, in the early part of the thirteenth century. In the course of the restoration of the tower which was recently carried out, this buttress was taken away, and its removal laid bare a fresco painting, representing St. Paul and the viper at Melita. This piece of decoration, as need hardly be said, must have been put in before the construction of the buttress which has concealed and preserved it for nearly seven centuries; it is conjectured, with a good deal of reason, that a similar presentment of St. Paul was painted at the same time on the opposite wall, but as it had no buttress to protect it, it has been altogether effaced. A copy of the fresco of St. Paul has been placed in the cathedral library. The altar of SS. Peter and Paul stood at the east end, and behind it was the tomb of the celebrated Archbishop Anselm, by whose name the chapel is now commonly called. A very interesting feature of this tower is a large and elaborate five-light window of the Decorated period. It replaced the original south window of the chapel, and was inserted by Prior d’Estria in 1336; it is remarkable as being one of the few instances of Decorated architecture in the cathedral, and also because of the detailed account that has been preserved of its erection and cost. The passage in the archives runs as follows: “Memorandum, that in the year 1336, there was made a new window in Christ Church, Canterbury, that is to say, in the chapel of the Apostles St. Peter and St. Paul, upon which there were expended the following sums:

L s. d.
“Imprimis, for the workmanship, or labour of the
masons 21 17
Item, for the breaking down of the wall, where the
window now is 0 16
for lime and gravel 1 0 0 for 20 cwt. of iron bought for said window 4 4 0 for the labour of the smiths 3 5 4 for Caen stone bought for same 5 0 0 for glass and the labour of the glaziers 6 13
--
Total 42 17 2.”

On the heads of the lights of this window were pendent bosses, like those of the door in the choir-screen, which, as has been said, was also the work of Prior de Estría. These bosses and the stones from which they were suspended, have altogether disappeared, otherwise the internal tracery of the window is in good preservation. “The outside, however, is in a very bad condition for the purpose of the antiquarian; for, apparently on account of the decayed state of its surface, the tracery has undergone the process of splitting, namely, the whole of the outer part has been faced down to the glass, and fresh worked in Portland stone; Portland stone mullions, or monials as they are more properly called, have also been supplied. And as this repair was executed at a period when this class of architecture was ill understood, the mouldings were very badly wrought, which, with the unfortunate colour and surface of the Portland stone, has given the window a most ungenuine air. However, the interior is as good as ever it was, and it is on account of its date, as well as for its beauty, a most valuable example” (Willis).

The insertion of the window in question probably had the effect of weakening the walls of the chapel; at any rate they show signs of a tendency to settle. Beneath it is the tomb of Archbishop Bradwardine, a great scholar and divine, whose primacy only lasted three months. Opposite to him lies Simon de Mepeham archbishop from 1328 to 1333 whose tomb forms the screen of the chapel. It is a black marble monument well worthy of examination, with a double arcade and a richly decorated canopy; the ornamentation has been greatly damaged, but the shattered remains show traces of beautiful work. Mepeham’s short primacy was brought to an untimely end by the contumacy of Grandisson, Bishop of Exeter, who refused to allow him to enter Exeter Cathedral, actually guarding the west door with an armed force. The pope sided with the recalcitrant bishop, and Mepeham died, according to Fuller, of a broken heart in consequence of this humiliation.

The Watching Chamber. Above the Chapel of St. Anselm is a small room, which is reached by a staircase from the north-west corner. A window in it commands a view into the cathedral, and from this circumstance it has been inferred that a watcher was stationed here at night to protect the priceless treasures of St. Thomas’s shrine from pillage by marauders. Some doubt has been thrown on this assumption, since the site of the shrine is not fully seen from the window, but the room is still generally known as the Watching Chamber. Probably the shrine was much more efficiently guarded than by the presence of a solitary monk in a chamber, from which even if he could see thieves he certainly could not arrest them; for we know that “on the occasion of fires the shrine was additionally guarded by a troop of fierce ban-dogs” (Stanley). It is also said that King John of France was imprisoned in this chamber during his stay at Canterbury, but this is most unlikely, seeing that he was treated by the Black Prince more as a sovereign than as a captive.

Trinity Chapel. Passing further east, we ascend the flight of steps, deeply worn by innumerable pilgrims, and enter the precincts of the Trinity Chapel. All this part of the cathedral, from the choir-screen to the corona, was rebuilt from the ground, specially with a view to its receiving the shrine of St. Thomas. It is still, however, called by the name of the Trinity Chapel, which previously occupied this site, and was burnt down by the fire which destroyed Conrad’s choir. In this chapel Thomas a Becket celebrated his first mass after his installation as archbishop, and his remains were laid for some time in the crypt below it. This portion of the building was all carried out under the direction of English William. Gervase relates that when William of Sens, after his accident, “perceiving that he derived no benefit from the physicians, returned to his home in France,” his successor, English William “laid the foundation for the enlargement of the church at the eastern part, because a chapel of St. Thomas was to be built there; for this was the place assigned to him; namely the Chapel of the Holy Trinity, where he celebrated his first mass where he was wont to prostrate himself with tears and prayers, under whose crypt for so many years he was buried, where God for his merits had performed so many miracles, where poor and rich, kings and princes, had worshipped him, and whence the sound of his praises had gone out into all lands.” As to the extent to which the second William was guided by the plans of his predecessor we have no means of judging accurately. Certainly the general outline of this part of the building must have been arranged by William of Sens, for the contraction of the choir, in order to preserve the width of the ancient Trinity Chapel had been carried out up to the clerestory before his retirement. Willis deals with the subject at some length: “Whether,” he says, “we are to attribute to the French artist the lofty elevation of the pavement of the new chapel, by which also so handsome a crypt is obtained below, must remain doubtful. The bases of his columns, as well as those of the shafts against the wall are hidden and smothered by the platform at the top of these steps and by the side steps that lead to Becket’s chapel. This looks like an evidence of a change of plan, and induces me to believe that the lofty crypt below may be considered as the unfettered composition of the English architect.... The Trinity Chapel of the Englishman is under the influence of the French work of which it is a continuation, and accordingly the same mouldings are employed throughout, and the triforium and clerestory are continued at the same level; but the greater level of the pavement wholly alters the proportion of the piers to their arches, and gives a new and original, and at the same time a very elegant character to this part of the church compared with the work of the Frenchman, of which, at first sight, it seems to be a mere continuation. The triforium also of this Trinity Chapel differs from that of the choir, in that its four pointed arches instead of being, like them, included under two circular ones, are set in the form of an arcade of four arches, of two orders of mouldings each. The mouldings are the same as in the choir, but the effect of their arrangement is richer. Also in the clerestory two windows are placed over each pier-arch, instead of the single window of the choir. The mixture of the two forms of arches is still carried on, for although the semicircular arch is banished from the triforium, it is adopted for the pier-arches.

“However, in the side-aisles of the Trinity chapel, and in the corona, our English William appears to have freed himself almost as completely from the shackles of imitation, as was possible. In the side-aisles the mouldings of the ribs still remain the same, but their management in connection with the side walls, and the combination of their slender shafts with those of the twin lancet windows, here for the first time introduced into the building, is very happy. Slender shafts of marble are employed in profusion by William of Sens, and Gervase expressly includes them in his list of characteristic novelties. But here we find them either detached from the piers, or combined with them in such a manner as to give a much greater lightness and elegance of effect than in the work of the previous architect. This lightness of style is carried still farther in the corona, where the slender shafts are carried round the walls, and made principal supports to the pier-arches, over which is placed a light triforium and a clerestory; and it must be remarked that all the arches in this part of the building are of a single order of mouldings, instead of two orders as in the pier-arches and triforium of the choir.”

So much for the architectural details of the Trinity Chapel. To the ordinary visitor its interest lies rather in the fact that it contained Becket’s shrine, and that we here see the curious old windows portraying the sainted Archbishop’s miracles, and what is, perhaps, most important of all to many, the tomb of Edward the Black Prince. This monument is the first feature that we notice as we enter by the south-west gate of the chapel; it stands between the two first pillars, and by the side of the site of the shrine. By the Prince’s will he had left directions that he should be buried in the crypt, where he had already founded a chantry, at the time of his marriage with the “Fair Maid of Kent” in 1363. But for some unknown reason, probably in order that the dead hero’s bones might be placed in the most sacred spot possible he was laid to rest by the side of the martyr, then in the zenith of his sanctity. One of the most romantic figures in English history is that of Edward the Black Prince, who “fought the French” as no Briton, except perhaps Nelson, has fought them since; he was sixteen years old when he commanded the English army in person at the battle of Cressy, and was wounded in the thickest of that most sanguinary fray: ten years later, facing an army of 60,000 men with a mere 8,000 behind him, he inflicted a still more severe defeat on the French at Poitiers, and captured their king, whom he took with him to Canterbury on his triumphant return to London. In all our list of national heroes there is not one who upheld the prowess of the English arms more gallantly than this mighty warrior who was cut off while still in the flower of his years, leaving England to the miseries of sedition and civil war. His tomb is one of the most impressive of such monuments. The gilding and bright colours have almost entirely disappeared, but the striking effect of the effigy is probably only enhanced by the solemn sombreness of its present appearance. It is a figure clad in full armour, spurred and helmeted, as the Prince had ordained by his will. The head rests on the helmet and the hands are joined in the attitude of prayer. The face, which is undoubtedly a portrait, is stern and masterful. “There you can see his fine face with the Plantagenet features, the flat cheeks, and the well-chiselled nose, to be traced, perhaps, in the effigy of his father in Westminster Abbey, and his grandfather in Gloucester Cathedral.” The tomb itself is worthy to support the figure and guard the ashes of the Black Prince. Carved on its side clearly, that all might read it, is the inscription which he had himself chosen; it is in Norman French, which was still the language spoken by the English Court, and in the same spirit which moved the designer of Archbishop Chichele’s tomb to portray the living man and the mouldering skeleton, this epitaph contrasts the glories of the Prince’s life his wealth, beauty, and power with the decay and corruption of the grave. It is distinctly pagan in thought, and reminds one strongly of the laments of the dead Homeric heroes as they wail for the joys of life and strength and lordship. Stanley states that it is “borrowed, with a few variations, from the anonymous French translation of the ‘Clericalis Disciplina’ of Petrus Alphonsus composed between the years 1106 and 1110.” But it is strangely un-Christian in sentiment as a few lines will show

“Tiel come tu es, je autiel fu, tu serás tiel come je su,
De la mort ne pensay je mie, tant come j’avoy la vie.
En terre avoy grand richesse, dont je y fys grand noblesse,
Terre, mésons, et grand trésor, draps, chivalx, argent et or.
Mesore su je povres et cheitifs, perfond en la terre gys,
Ma grand beauté est tout alee, ma char est tout gastee
Moult est estroite ma meson, en moy ne si vérité non,
Et si ore me veissez, je ne quide pas que vous deeisez
Que j’eusse onges hom este, si su je ore de tout changee.”

Below this inscription are ranged coats-of-arms, bearing the ostrich feathers and the motto Ich Diene ("I serve"), which, according to time-honoured but unauthenticated tradition, the prince won from the blind King of Bohemia, who was led into the thick of the fighting at Cressy, and died on the field. Welsh archaeologists, however, maintain that these words are Celtic, and mean “behold the man;” their theory suggests that this was the phrase used by Edward I. when he presented his firstborn son to the Welsh people as their prince, and that the words thus became the motto of the princes of Wales. This is a rather far-fetched piece of reasoning, and one would certainly prefer to accept the more picturesque tradition which connects the phrase with the glories of Cressy. The other word found on these escutcheons Houmont is still more puzzling. We know that the Black Prince was wont to sign himself Houmont, Ich Diene. Stanley explains the combination gracefully, but not very convincingly. “If, as seems most likely, they are German words, they exactly express what we have seen so often in his life, the union of ‘Hoch muth,’ that is high spirit, with ‘Ich Dien,’ I serve. They bring before us the very scene itself after the battle of Poitiers, where, after having vanquished the whole French nation, he stood behind the captive king, and served him like an attendant.”

The tomb is surmounted by a canopy on which is painted an interesting representation of the Trinity. The work is a good deal faded, but still worthy of notice; the absence of the figure of the dove is curious, but is not unparalleled in such designs. At the corners are symbols of the four evangelists. The Holy Trinity on whose feast-day he died was held in peculiar veneration by the Black Prince. The ordinance of the chantry founded by him in the crypt contains the phrase, Ad honorem Sancte Trinitatis quam peculiari devocione semper colimus. A curious metal badge, preserved in the British Museum, is stamped with the figure of the prince kneeling before the Almighty and our Saviour, whose representation is almost identical with the design on the canopy over the tomb; here also the figure of the dove is absent. Round the canopy and in the pillars we can still see the hooks which upheld the black tapestry, bordered with crimson and embroidered with cygnes avec têtes de dames, which was hung, as ordained by his will, round the prince’s tomb and Becket’s shrine.

Lastly, above the canopy, on a cross-beam between two pillars, are suspended the brazen gauntlets, the helmet, the wooden shield with its moulded leather covering, the velvet coat emblazoned with the arms of England and France, and the empty sheath. The gauntlets were once embellished with little figures of lions on the knuckles; these have been detached by “collectors,” vandals almost as ruthless as Blue Dick and his troopers, and without their excuse of mistaken religious zeal. The helmet still has its original lining of leather, showing that it was actually worn. The sword which fitted the now empty sheath is said to have been taken away by Oliver Cromwell; it appeared in Manchester at the beginning of this century under circumstances so curious, that we may be excused for quoting the following letter from Canon Wray, given in Stanley’s Appendix on the Black Prince’s will. “The sword, or supposed sword, of the Black Prince, which Oliver Cromwell is said to have carried away, I have seen and many times have had in my hands. There lived in Manchester, when I first came here, a Mr. Thomas Barritt, a saddler by trade; he was a great antiquarian, and had collected together helmets, coats of mail, horns, etc., and many coins. But what he valued most of all was a sword: the blade about two feet long, and on the blade was let in, in letters of gold, ’EDWARDUS WALLIE PRINCEPS’.... He was in possession of this sword A.D. 1794. He told me he purchased many of the ancient relics of a pedlar, who travelled through the country selling earthenware, and I think he said he got this sword from this pedlar. When Barritt died, in 1820, his curiosities were sold by his widow at a raffle, but I believe this sword was not amongst the articles so disposed of. It had probably been disposed of beforehand, but to whom I never knew; yet I think it not unlikely that it is still in the neighbourhood. The sword was a little curved, scimitar-like, rather thick, broad blade, and had every appearance of being the Black Prince’s sword.” Truly a most remarkable story. This historic blade, which may have hewn down the French ranks at Poitiers, is disposed of by an itinerant crockery vender to an antiquarian saddler; on his death is, or is not, “sold at a raffle” and vanishes!

These arms that hang over the prince’s tomb are all that are left of two distinct suits, one for war, and one for use in the joust and the cérémonials of peace, which were, according to directions given in the will, carried in the funeral procession through the West Gate and along the High Street to the cathedral. The pieces which remain all belong to the suit worn in actual warfare.

The centre of the chapel looks curiously blank, being left so by the thoroughness with which all trace of Becket’s shrine was removed by the reforming zeal and insatiable rapacity of Henry VIII. and his minions. The effect of the bare stone pavement presents an impressive contrast to the vanished glories of the shrine blazing with gold and jewels, as we read of it. (For a description of the shrine and its history, see Chapter I.) The exact place on which it stood is plainly shown by the marks worn in the stones by the knees of generations of pilgrims as they knelt before it, while the prior, with his white wand, pointed out the choicest of its treasures. To the west, between the altar-screen the unhappy effect of which is painfully conspicuous from this point and the site of the shrine, there is some very interesting mosaic pavement, containing the signs of the zodiac, and emblems of virtue and vice, an example of the Opus Alexandrinum, which appears in the floors of most of the Roman basílicas. A similar piece of mosaic work may be seen round the shrine of Edward the Confessor at Westminster. Above the eastern end of the shrine a gilded crescent was fixed in the roof, which still remains; the origin and meaning of this emblem have been disputed with considerable heat, and many ingenious conjectures have been framed to account for its presence here. One theory regards it as an allusion to the tradition according to which Becket’s mother was a Saracen. But this legend is believed to be comparatively modern, and, as Mr. George Austin points out, “even if the legend of Becket’s mother had obtained credence at that early period, it may be observed that in the painted windows around no reference is made to the subject, though evidently capable of so much pictorial effect.” Another solution would connect the crescent with the worship of the Virgin Mary, who is often pictured as standing on the moon (comp. Rev. xi. Supporters of this theory lay stress on the fact that the Trinity Chapel at Canterbury occupies the extreme east end of the church, which is generally the site of the Lady Chapel, and that therefore the presence of this emblem if it can be connected with the Virgin would be peculiarly appropriate here. Mr. Austin propounded the explanation which is now most generally accepted. “When the groined roof,” he says, “was relieved of the long-accumulated coats of whitewash and repaired, the crescent was taken down and regilt. It was found to be made of a foreign wood, somewhat like in grain to the eastern wood known by the name of iron-wood. It had been fastened to the groining by a large nail of very singular shape, with a large square head, apparently of foreign manufacture.” He comes to the conclusion that the crescent is one of a number of trophies which he supposes to have once decorated this part of the cathedral, and he is led to his conclusion by the fact that “more than one fresco painting of encounters with the Eastern infidels formerly ornamented the walls (the last traces of which were removed during the restoration of the cathedral under Dean Percy, afterwards Bishop of Carlisle), and in one of which the green crescent flag of the enemy seems borne away by the English archers. Might not these frescoes have depicted the fights in which these trophies were won?” Also, in the hollows of the groining which radiate from the crescent, there were a number of slight iron staples, which Mr. Austin, having shown that they cannot have supported either hanging lamps or the covering of the shrine, believes to have upheld flags, horsetails, etc., which formed the trophy of which the gilded crescent was the centre. We know that Becket received the title of St. Thomas Acrensis owing to his close connection with the knights of the Hospital of St. John at Acre. But none of these explanations seem very convincing, and the history and significance of the crescent in the roof seem likely to remain a mystery.

Before we turn from Becket and his shrine to the other monuments in the Trinity Chapel, we must call the attention of our readers to the stained windows which depict the miracles of the sainted martyr. The chapel was at one time entirely surrounded with glass of this sort, but only a portion has survived the ravages of the Puritans. “Of these windows,” says Austin, “unfortunately but three remain, but they are sufficient to attest their rare beauty; and for excellence of drawing, harmony of colouring, and purity of design, are justly considered unequalled. The skill with which the minute figures are represented cannot even at this day be surpassed; it is extraordinary to see how every feeling of joy or sorrow, pain and enjoyment, is expressed both in feature and position. But in nothing is the superiority of these windows shown more than the beautiful scrolls and borders which surmount the windows, and gracefully connect the groups of medallions.” Most of these windows probably contained representations of Becket, and so were doomed to destruction by the decree of Henry VIII., in which “his Grace straitly chargeth and commandeth, that henceforth the said Thomas Becket shall not be esteemed, named, reputed, nor called a saint, but Bishop Becket, and that his images and pictures throughout the whole realm shall be put down and avoided out of all churches and chapels, and other places; and that from henceforth the days used to be festivals in his name shall not be observed, nor the service, office, antiphonies, collects and prayers in his name read, but rased and put out of all books.” This proclamation was rigorously carried out though the stained windows which come within its terms have, in some cases, escaped destruction. For instance there remains a window in the south transept of Christ Church Cathedral, Oxford, representing the martyrdom of Becket, but it is interesting to note that even here the archbishop’s head was removed from the glass. Three of the windows of the Trinity Chapel have survived, and fragments of others are scattered over the glass of the building. They are entirely devoted to depicting the miracles of the martyr, which began immediately after his death and reception according to a vision of Benedict in a place between the apostles and the martyrs, above even St. Stephen.

The window towards the east on the north side of the shrine is divided into geometrical figures, each figure composed of a group of fine medallions; every group tells the story of a miracle, or series of miracles, performed by the influence of the saint. The lower group portrays the story of a child who was drowned in the Medway, and afterwards restored to life by the efficacy of the saint’s blood mixed with water. The first medallion shows the boy falling into the stream, while his companions pelt the frogs in the reeds by the river side; the next shows the companions relating the story of the accident to the boy’s parents, and in the third we see the grief-stricken parents watching their son’s corpse being drawn out of the river. “The landscape in these medallions is exceedingly well rendered; the trees are depicted with great grace” (Austin). Unfortunately the medallions which complete this story have been destroyed. The next group depicts the quaint story of a succession of miracles which were wrought in the family of a knight called Jordan, son of Eisult. His ten year old boy died, and the knight, who had been an intimate friend of Becket in his lifetime, resolved to try to restore his son with water mixed with the saint’s blood. At the third draught, as Benedict tells the story, the dead boy “opened one eye, and said, ’Why are you weeping, father? Why are you crying, lady? The blessed martyr, Thomas, has restored me to you!’ At evening he sat up, ate, talked, and was restored.” But the father forgot the vow which he made in the first moment of joy at his son’s recovery, namely, that he would offer four silver pieces at the martyr’s shrine before Mid Lent. And once more all the household was stricken with sickness, and the eldest son died. Then the parents, though sore smitten themselves, dragged themselves to Canterbury and performed their vow. The whole of this story with other details for which we have no space may be accurately traced on this unique window. The most striking is the central medallion of the group in which the vengeance of the saint is shown forth. In the middle of a large room we see a bier on which lies the dead son; the father and mother, overcome with despair, stand at the head and feet of the body. Behind the bier are several figures, which, from their “unusually violent attitudes expressive of grief,” Mr. Austin considered to be professional mourners. Above, unseen by the group below, the figure of St. Thomas, clad in full episcopal robes, holding a sword in his right hand, and pointing to the corpse with his left, is seen appearing through the ceiling. “The expression,” says Austin, “of the various figures in the above compartments, both in gesture and feature, is rendered with great skill. In the execution of this story, the points which, doubtless, the artists of the monastery were chiefly anxious to impress upon the minds of the devotees who thronged to the shrine are prominently brought out: the extreme danger of delaying the performance of a vow, under whatever circumstances made, the expiation sternly required by the saint, and the satisfaction with which the martyr viewed money offerings made at the shrine.”

One of the other groups is noteworthy as proving that severe penances were sometimes performed before the shrine. One medallion shows a woman prostrating herself before a priest at the altar, while two men stand near, holding formidable-looking rods. The next picture represents the two men vigorously flagellating the woman with the rods; while, in the third, one of the men is still beating the woman, who now lies fainting on the ground, while the other is addressing the priest, who sits hard by composedly reading his book. The other two windows contain representations of the healings effected by the saint, which seem to have been of a very varied character, to judge from the catalogue with which Benedict sums them up. “What position,” he asks, “in the Church, what sex or age, what rank or order is there, which could not find something beneficial to itself [aliquid sibi utile] in this treasure-house of ours? Here the light of truth is furnished to schismatics, confidence to timid pastors, health to the sick, and pardon to the deserving penitent [paenitentibus venia ejus meritis, the last two words probably implying an offering]. The blind see, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead rise again, the dumb speak, the poor have the gospel preached to them, the paralytic recover, the dropsical lose their swellings [detumescunt hydropici], the mad are restored to sense, the epileptic are cured, the fever-stricken escape, and, to sum up, omnimoda curatur infirmitas.”

The last of these windows to which we must call the special attention of our readers is one on the north side, representing a vision which Benedict tells us that he saw himself. The martyr is seen coming forth from his shrine in full pontifical robes, and making his way towards the altar as if to celebrate mass. This window is noticeable as containing the only representation that now exists of the shrine itself for the picture in the Cottonian MSS. evidently shows us, not the shrine, but its outer shell, or covering. “The medallion,” says Austin, “is the more interesting, from being an undoubted work of the thirteenth century; and having been designed for a position immediately opposite to and within a few yards of the shrine itself, and occupying the place of honour in the largest and most important window, without doubt represents the main features of the shrine faithfully.”

On the north side of the Trinity Chapel, immediately opposite the tomb of the Black Prince, is that of King Henry IV., who died in 1413, and his second consort, Joan of Navarre, who followed him in 1437. This king had made liberal offerings towards the rebuilding of the nave of the cathedral, and it has been conjectured that one of the figures on the organ-screen represents him: his will ordered that he should be laid to rest in the church at Canterbury, and here accordingly he was buried on the Trinity Sunday after his death. The tomb, with its rich canopy, is a beautiful piece of work, and the figures of the king and queen are probably faithful representations. A curious story was circulated by the Yorkists, to the effect that Henry was never buried here, but that his body was thrown into the water between Gravesend and Barking, during the voyage of the funeral cortege to Faversham, and that only an empty coffin was laid in the Trinity Chapel. That this point might be cleared up, the tomb was opened in 1832 in the presence of the Dean, and there the king was found in perfect preservation, and bearing a close resemblance to the effigy on the monument “the nose elevated, the beard thick and matted, and of a deep russet colour, and the jaws perfect, with all the teeth in them, except one foretooth.”

In the wall of the north aisle, just opposite the king’s tomb, is a small chapel, built according to the directions contained in his will “that ther be a chauntre perpetuall with twey prestis for to sing and prey for my soul.” The roof shows the first piece of fan-vaulting admitted into the cathedral. On the eastern wall an account is scratched of the cost of a reredos which once stood here, but has been entirely destroyed: it tells us that the cost of “ye middil image was xix^s 11^d.” This chapel was doubtless used at one time as a storehouse of sacred relics. Two recesses in the west wall have lately been chosen to receive certain archiepiscopal vestments which were discovered in a tomb on the south side of Trinity Chapel, which was long believed to be that of Archbishop Theobald.

To the east of Henry IV.’s monument is the tomb of Dean Wotton, adorned with his kneeling figure. He was the first Dean of Canterbury after the reorganization by Henry VIII. Opposite to him is an unsightly brick erection which was once intended as a temporary covering for the remains of Odo Coligny, Cardinal of Chatillon and brother of Admiral Coligny, who was one of the victims of the massacre of St. Bartholomew. The Cardinal fled from France in 1568, on account of his leanings towards the tenets of the Huguenots, and was welcomed by Queen Elizabeth. It is believed that he died from the effects of a poisoned apple given to him by a servant. It seems curious that the French Huguenots who settled in Canterbury never provided him with a more fitting monument.

Between this tomb and that of the Black Prince is the monument of Archbishop Courtenay, who was primate from 1381 to 1396, and was celebrated for his severity towards Wycliffe and his followers. He was a large contributor to the fund for the re-building of the nave, which perhaps accounts for the distinguished position of his tomb; the fact also that he was executor to the Black Prince may be responsible for his being buried at his feet. It is not, however, certain that his body actually lies here, though the ledger book of the cathedral states that he was buried within the walls of the church. It is known, however, that he died at Maidstone, and that he ordered in his will that his remains should rest there, and a slab in the pavement of All Saints’, Maidstone, shows traces of a brass representing the figure of an archbishop, whence it has been concluded that Courtenay was in fact buried there, and that his monument in Canterbury is only a cenotaph.

Becket’s Crown. The circular apse at the extreme east end of the church is known as Becket’s Crown. The name has caused a good deal of discussion. The theory once generally received was to the effect that the portion of Becket’s skull which was cut away by Richard lé Breton was preserved here as a relic of special sanctity. We know that the Black Prince bequeathed, by his will, tapestry hangings for the High Altar and for three others, viz., “l’autier la où Mons’r Saint Thomas gist l’autier la où la teste est l’autier la où la poynte de l’espie est.” The first and last are evidently the altars at the shrine and in the Chapel of the Martyrdom, and it has been contended that the altar “where the head is” was the altar of which traces may still be seen in the pavement of the corona, or Becket’s Crown. Against this notion we must place the authority of Erasmus, whose words plainly show that the martyr’s head was displayed in the crypt: “hinc digressi subimus cryptoporticum: illic primum exhibetur calvaria martyris perforata (the martyr’s pierced tonsure): reliqua tecta sunt argento, summa cranii pars nuda patet ósculo.” While Willis considers that the term corona was a common one for an apse at the end of a church, citing “Ducange’s Glossary,” which defines “Corona Ecclesiae” as Pars templi choro postica, quod ea pars fere desinat in circulum; “at all events,” he concludes, “it was a general term and not peculiar to Christ Church, Canterbury. The notion that this round chapel was called Becket’s Crown, because part of his skull was preserved here as a relic, appears wholly untenable. There is at least no doubt that a relic of some sort was preserved here, because we know from a record of the offerings Oblaciones S. Thomae during ten years in the first half of the thirteenth century, that the richest gifts were made at the shrine and in the corona. And we know that the spot was one of peculiar sanctity from the fact that the shrines of St. Odo and St. Wilfrid were finally transferred thither. Corpus S. Odonis in feretro, ad coronam versus austrum. Corpus S. Wilfridi in feretro ad coronam versus aquilonem.”

On the north side of the corona is the tomb of Cardinal Pole, the last Archbishop of Canterbury who acknowledged the supremacy of the Pope. He held office from 1556 to 1558, and died the day after Queen Mary. Here stands also the patriarchal chair, made out of three pieces of Purbeck marble. It is called St. Augustine’s chair, and is said to be the throne on which the old kings of Kent were crowned; according to the tradition, Ethelbert, on being converted, gave the chair to Augustine, from whom it has descended to the Archbishops of Canterbury. It is needless to say that this eminently attractive legend has been attacked and overthrown by modern criticism. It is pointed out that the original archiepiscopal throne was of one piece only, and that Purbeck marble did not come into use until some time after Augustine’s death. From its shape it is conjectured that the chair dates from the end of the twelfth century or the beginning of the thirteenth, and that it may have been constructed for the ceremony of the translation of St. Thomas’ relics. It is in this chair, and not in the archiepiscopal throne in the choir, that the archbishops are still enthroned. From the corona we have a view of the full length of the cathedral, which measures 514 feet, and is one of the longest of English cathedrals. Of the windows in Becket’s Crown, the centre one is ancient, while the rest are modern and afford a most instructive contrast.

St. Andrew’s Tower, or Chapel. Leaving the Trinity Chapel, and descending the steps, we find on our right the door of St. Andrew’s Chapel which is now used as a vestry. Formerly, it was the sacristy, a place from which the pilgrims of humble rank were excluded, but where those of wealth and high station were allowed to gaze at a great array of silken vestments and golden candlesticks, and also the Martyr’s pearwood pastoral staff with its black horn crook, and his cloak and bloodstained kerchief. Here also was a chest “cased with black leather, and opened with the utmost reverence on bended knees, containing scraps and rags of linen with which (the story must be told throughout) the saint wiped his forehead and blew his nose” (Stanley). Erasmus describes this exhibition with a touch of scorn. “Fragmenta linteorum lacera plerumque macci vestigium servantia. His, ut aiebant, vir pius extergebat sudorem e facie,” etc. The walls of this chapel show many traces of fresco decoration: the pattern seems to have consisted of a clustering vine tree spread over the roof. In the north wall is a Norman chamber which originally served as the Treasury; the door is still secured by three locks, the keys of which were held by different officials. St. Andrew’s Chapel is part of Ernulf’s work, and the peculiar ornamentation which marks his hand may be noticed over the arch of the apse which terminates it.

The North-East Transept. Passing along the choir aisle, we see the old Bible desk, holding the Bible which was originally placed there, and was restored to this position by the late Bishop Parry. Next we enter the north-east transept, which in its architectural features is practically a repetition of the south-east transept, with which we have already dealt. The monument to Archbishop Tait, designed by Boehm, is well worthy of its surroundings. Above it, in the north wall, about ten feet from the ground, we may notice three slits in the wall. These are what are called hagioscopes. On the other side of the wall was a recess connected with the Prior’s Chapel. Through these hagioscopes or “holy spy-holes” the prior could see mass being celebrated at the high altar and at the altars below in the transept, without entering the cathedral. These transeptal altars are in the Chapels of St. Martin and St. Stephen which occupy two apses in the eastern wall. St. Martin is represented in a medallion of ancient glass preserved in the modern window, as dividing his coat with a beggar. Scratched on the walls are the names “Lanfrancus” and “Ediva Regina;” the bodies of Lanfranc and Queen Ediva were removed to this transept after the fire. Lanfranc originally lay in the old Trinity Chapel, and when this building was levelled to the ground, he was “carried to the vestiarium in his leaden covering, and there deposited until the community should decide what should be done with so great a Father.” Apparently the heavy sheet of lead was removed, for Gervase goes on to say that “Lanfranc having remained untouched for sixty-nine years, his very bones were consumed with rottenness, and nearly all reduced to powder. The length of time, the damp vestments, the natural frigidity of lead, and above all the frailty of the human structure, had conspired to produce this corruption. But the larger bones, with the remaining dust, were collected in a leaden coffer, and deposited at the altar of St. Martin.” Queen Ediva, as we learn from the same authority, “who before the fire reposed under a gilted feretrum in nearly the middle of the south cross, was now deposited at the altar of St. Martin, under the feretrum of Living,” an archbishop who died in 1020. Ediva, the wife of Edward the Elder, and a generous benefactress to the cathedral, died about 960.

From an early list of the subjects represented in the windows of the cathedral, it appears that the north windows of the north-east transept depicted the Parable of the Sower. The ancient glass, however, has been displaced, and a good deal of it has been moved to the windows of the north choir aisle, between the transept and the Chapel of the Martyrdom, which are of great beauty, and should be examined carefully. In the transept itself are windows in memory of Dean Stanley, Dr. Spry, and Canon Cheshyre.

On the wall of the choir aisle, close to the transept, we can trace the remains of a fresco representing the conversion of St. Hubert. Further on, there hangs a picture, by Cross, which is intended to represent the murder of Becket. As a work of art it is not without merit, but its details are entirely inaccurate.

The North-West Transept, or Chapel of the Martyrdom. The actual site of the tragedy which rendered Becket and his cathedral famous throughout Christendom was the North-West Transept, or as it was more commonly called the Chapel of the Martyrdom. Hardly any portion, however, of this structure as it stands actually witnessed the murder. In the time of Becket the transept was of two storeys, divided by a vault, which was upheld by a single pillar. The upper partition was dedicated to St. Blaise, and the lower to St. Benedict. In the west wall, as now, was a door which opened into the cloister.

The story of Becket and his quarrel with Henry II. will be dealt with in the next chapter. But before examining the spot on which he was assassinated it is perhaps fitting to recall the events which immediately preceded his death. Henry’s wrathful exclamation, which stirred the four knights to set out on their bloodthirsty mission, is well known. Whatever we may think of the methods employed by these warriors Fitzurse, de Moreville, de Tracy, and lé Bret were their names we must at least concede that they were gifted with undaunted courage. To slay an anointed archbishop in his own cathedral was to do a deed from which the boldest might well shrink, in the days when excommunication was held to be a living reality, and the Church was believed to hold the power of eternal blessing or damnation in her hand. These men who were all closely attached to the king’s person, and were sometimes described as his “cubicularii,” or Grooms of the Bedchamber arrived at the gate of the archbishop’s palace in the afternoon of Tuesday, December 29th, 1170. With a curious want of directness they seem to have left their swords outside, and entered, and had a stormy interview with Becket; enraged by his unyielding firmness, they went back for their weapons, and in the meantime the archbishop was hurried by the terrified monks through the cloister and into the cathedral, where the vesper service was being held. The knights quickly forced their way after him, and the monks locked and barricaded the cloister door. But Becket, who bore himself heroically through the whole scene, insisted that the door should be thrown open, exclaiming that “the church must not be turned into a castle.” Then all the monks but three fled in terror. Those who stayed urged Becket to hide himself in the crypt or in the Chapel of St. Blaise above. But he would not hear of concealment, but preferred to make his way to the choir that he might die at his post by the high altar. As he went up the steps towards the choir the knights rushed into the transept, calling for “the archbishop, the traitor to the king,” and Becket turned and came down, and confronted them by the pillar of the chapel. Clad in his white rochet, with a cloak and hood over his shoulders, he faced his murderers, who were now girt in mail from head to foot. They tried to seize him and drag him out of the sacred precinct, but he put his back against the pillar and hurled Tracy full-length on the pavement. Then commending his cause and the cause of the Church “to God, to St. Denys, the martyr of France, to St. Alfege, and to the saints of the Church,” he fell under the blows of the knights’ swords. The last stroke was from the hand of lé Bret, it severed the crown of the archbishop’s head, and the murderer’s sword was shivered into two pieces. Then the assassins left the church, ransacked the palace, and plundered its treasures, and, lastly, rode off on horses from the stables, in which Becket had to the last taken especial pride.

Such is the brief outline of the events of this remarkable tragedy, for a fuller account of which we must refer our readers to the excellent description in Stanley’s “Memorials of Canterbury.” As we have already said, the present transept has been entirely rebuilt; although not damaged by the fire, it was reconstructed by Prior Chillenden at the time when he erected the present nave. It is even doubtful whether the present pavement is the same as that which was trodden by Becket and his murderers. A small square stone is still shown in the floor of the transept, as marking the exact spot on which the archbishop fell; it is said to have been inserted in place of the original piece which was taken out and sent to Rome, but there is little or no authority for this statement. On the other hand, we read that Benedict, when he became Abbot of Peterborough, in order to supply his new cathedral with relics, in which it was sadly deficient, came back to Canterbury and carried off the stones which had been sprinkled with St. Thomas’s blood, and made therewith two altars for Peterborough.

In this transept an altar was erected, called the Altar of the Martyrdom, or the Altar of the Sword’s Point (altare ad punctum ensis), from the fact that upon it was laid the broken fragment of lé Bret’s sword, which had been left on the pavement. Also, a portion of the martyr’s brains were kept under a piece of rock crystal, and a special official, called the Custos Martyrii, was appointed to guard these relics.

The chief window in this chapel was presented by Edward IV.; in it we can still see the figures of himself and his queen and his two daughters, and the two young princes who were murdered in the Tower. It originally contained representations of “seven glorious appearances” of the Virgin, and Becket himself in the centre, but all this portion was destroyed by Blue Dick, the Puritan zealot. The west window was the gift of the Rev. Robert Moore, sometime Canon of Canterbury; it is an elaborate piece of work depicting Becket’s martyrdom and scenes in his life.

Here also we see the very beautiful and interesting monument to Archbishop Peckham (1279-1292), the oldest Canterbury monument which survives in its entirety; even it has been encroached upon by the commonplace erection adjoining it, which commemorates Warham who was archbishop from 1503 to 1532, and was the friend of Erasmus.

The Dean’s Chapel. Eastward of the north-west transept is the chapel which was formerly known as the Lady Chapel, but has latterly been named the Dean’s Chapel from the number of deans whose monuments have been placed here. It stands on the site of the Chapel of St. Benedict, and was built by Prior Goldstone, who dedicated it to the Blessed Virgin in 1460. The usual place for the Lady Chapel in cathedrals is, of course, at the extreme east end; but at Canterbury the situation was occupied by the shrine of St. Thomas. The principal altar to the Virgin in our cathedral was that in the crypt, in the “Chapel of Our Lady Undercroft.” The vault of the Dean’s Chapel is noticeable. It is a fan vault, of the style developed to so great perfection in the Tudor period, as shown in Henry VII.’s Chapel at Westminster, and in the roof of the staircase leading to the dining-hall of Christ Church, Oxford. The architecture of this chapel is Perpendicular in style, and its delicate decoration should be carefully noticed; the screen which separates it from the Martyrdom Transept is also worthy of close attention. The monuments here are interesting rather than beautiful. Dean Fotherby is commemorated by a hideous erection bristling with skulls. Dean Boys is represented as he died, sitting among his books in his library; it is curious that the books are all apparently turned with the backs of the covers towards the wall, and the edges of the leaves outwards. Here also is the monument of Dean Turner, the faithful follower of Charles I.

The South-West Transept. Crossing the cathedral through the passage under the choir steps, we find ourselves in the south-west transept, which, together with the nave and the north-west transept, was rebuilt by Prior Chillenden. In the pavement we see memorial stones to canons and other departed worthies. Among them is the tombstone of Meric Casaubon, Archbishop Laud’s prebendary, and son of Isaac Casaubon, the famous scholar.

St. Michael’s, or the Warrior’s Chapel. Eastward of the south-west transept is a small chapel, generally known as that of St. Michael. In position and size it closely corresponds with the Dean’s Chapel on the north side of the church. In general style there is also some resemblance, but the vaulting of the roof is quite different; it is described by Professor Willis as “as a complex lierne vault of an unusual pattern, but resembling that of the north transept of Gloucester Cathedral, which dates from 1367 to 1372.” The exact date and the name of the builder of this chapel are alike uncertain, but it probably replaced the old Chapel of St. Michael at some time towards the end of the fourteenth century, and Willis comes to the conclusion that it is most probable that its erection may be ascribed to Prior Chillenden, and that “it formed part of the general scheme for the transformation of the western part of the church.”

A curious effect is presented by the tomb of Stephen Langton, who was archbishop from 1207 to 1228, and is famous as having compelled King John to sign the Great Charter, and also as having divided the Bible into chapters. His tomb, shaped like a stone coffin, is half in the chapel and half under the eastern wall, and Professor Willis considers that it was originally outside the wall, in the churchyard; “and thus the new wall, when the chapel was rebuilt and enlarged in the fourteenth century, was made to stride over the coffin by means of an arch.” The reverence in which Langton’s memory was held is attested by the fact that his remains must have lain under the altar of the chapel, a most unusual position except in the case of celebrated saints. In the middle of the chapel is a very beautiful and interesting monument erected by Margaret Holland, who died in 1437, to the memory of her two husbands and herself. The monument is of alabaster and marble, and represents the lady reposing with her first spouse, John Beaufort, Earl of Somerset, and son of John of Gaunt, on her left, and Thomas, Duke of Clarence, her second husband, on her right. The latter was the second son of Henry IV., and, so, nephew of John of Somerset the first husband; he was killed at the battle of Bauge in 1421. Leland thinks that this chapel was built expressly for the reception of this tomb: “This chapel be likelihood was made new for the Honor of Erle John of Somerset,” but it is probably of rather earlier date than would be allowed by this theory. The figures of Margaret and her two lords are very fine and are interesting examples of fifteenth century costume. As such they may be contrasted with the effigy of Lady Thornhurst, who exhibits all the beauty of an Elizabethan ruff. Sir Thomas Thornhurst, whose monument is hard by, was killed in the ill-fated expedition to the Isle of Rhé. In the corner of the chapel is the bust of Sir George Rooke, Vice-Admiral, who led the assault on Gibraltar by which it was first captured. And the title of “Warrior’s” Chapel is further justified by the presence here of tattered standards, memorials of dead comrades, left by the famous Kentish regiment, “the Buffs.”

The Main Crypt. Returning through the passage under the steps that lead up to the choir, we turn to the right into the crypt which originally supported Conrad’s “glorious choir.” On the wall as we enter we may notice some diaper-work ornamentation, interesting from the fact that a similar decoration may be traced on the wall of the chapter house at Rochester for Ernulf who built the westward crypt, was afterwards made Bishop of Rochester. Willis tells us that there are five crypts in England under the eastern parts of cathedrals, namely, at Canterbury, Winchester, Gloucester, Rochester, and Worcester, and that they were all founded before 1085. “After this they were discontinued except as a continuation of former ones, as in Canterbury and Rochester.” This crypt of Ernulf’s replaced the earlier one set up by Lanfranc; Willis thinks it not impossible that the whole of the pier-shafts may have been taken from the earlier crypt. “The capitals of the columns are either plain blocks or sculptured with Norman enrichments. Some of them, however, are in an unfinished state.” He describes minutely one of the capitals on the south-west side. “Of the four sides of the block two are quite plain. One has the ornament roughed out, or “bosted” as the workmen call it, that is, the pattern has been traced upon the block, and the spaces between the figures roughly sunk down with square edges preparatory to the completion. On the fourth side, the pattern is quite finished. This proves that the carving was executed after the stones were set in their places, and probably the whole of these capitals would eventually have been so ornamented had not the fire and its results brought in a new school of carving in the rich foliated capitals, which caused this merely superficial method of decoration to be neglected and abandoned. In the same way some of the shafts are roughly fluted in various fashions. The plain ones would probably have all gradually had the same ornament given to them, had not the same reasons interfered.” The crypt then stands as it was left by Ernulf except that some of the piers were afterwards strengthened and one new pillar was inserted in the aisle by William of Sens, in order to fit in with the new arrangement of the pillars in the choir which he was then rebuilding. It is therefore, of course, the oldest part of the church, and remains a most beautiful and interesting relic of Norman work in spite of the hot water pipe apparatus which now disfigures it, and its general air of unkempt untidiness. There are signs, however, that in this respect there is likely to be some improvement. The floor is being lowered to its original level by the removal of about a foot of accumulated dirt which had been heaping itself up for the last eight hundred years and had at last entirely smothered the bases of the columns, and it is even whispered that the part now cut off and used as the French church, may be opened out and restored to its original position as part of the main crypt.

According to Gervase, the whole of the crypt was dedicated to the Virgin Mary. Here stood the Chapel of Our Lady Undercroft, surrounded by Perpendicular stone-work screens, from which the altar-screen in the choir above was imitated. The shrine of the Virgin was exceedingly rich and was only shown to privileged worshippers: traces of decoration may still be seen in the vault above. It was at the back of this shrine that Becket was laid between the time of his murder and his translation to the resting-place in the Trinity Chapel.

In the main crypt we may notice the monument of Isabel, Countess of Athol, who died in 1292; she was heiress of Chilham Castle, near Canterbury, and grand-daughter of King John. She was twice married, her second husband being Alexander, brother of John Baliol, King of Scotland. The monument of Lady Mohun of Dunster is in the south screen of the Chapel of Our Lady. She was ancestress of the present Earl of Derby, and founded a perpetual chantry. Lastly, here is the tomb of Cardinal Archbishop Morton, the friend of Sir Thomas More, and the faithful servant of the House of Lancaster; it was he who brought about the union of the Red and White Roses by arranging the marriage of Henry of Richmond with Elizabeth of York. As Henry VII.’s Chancellor he made great exactions under the euphonious title of “Benevolences,” and propounded the famous dilemma known as “Morton’s Fork,” by which he argued that those who lived lavishly must obviously have something to spare for the king’s service, while those who fared soberly must be grown rich on their savings, and so were equally fair game to the royal plunderer. He lies in the south-west corner of the crypt, and his monument, which has suffered considerably at the hands of the Puritans, bears the Tudor portcullis and the archbishop’s rebus, a hawk or mort standing on a tun.

In the south-east corner, under Anselm’s Tower, is a chapel generally known as that of St. John, sometimes as that of St. Gabriel. It has been divided into two compartments by a wall. There are some very interesting paintings on the roof, representing Our Lord in the centre of the angelic host, the Adoration of the Magi, and a figure of St. John; this work is believed to be of the thirteenth century. The central pillar of this chapel, with the curved fluting in the column and the quaintly grotesque devices of the figures carved on the capital, is well worthy of close examination. The grate that we see here was erected by the French Protestants, large numbers of whom fled to England during the persecution which was instituted against their sect in 1561. They were welcomed by Queen Elizabeth, and allowed to settle in Canterbury, where the cathedral crypt was made over to them to use as a weaving factory. It is possible that the ridges in the floor of St. John’s Chapel are marks left by their looms, but more evident trace of their occupation is afforded by the inscriptions in French painted on the pillars and arches of the main crypt, and again by the custom which still survives of holding a French service in the south aisle of the crypt; this part has been walled off especially as a place of worship for the descendants of the French exiles, and here service is still held in the French tongue. Alterations have been lately made by which the French service is held in the Black Prince’s Chantry, and the part of the crypt formerly walled off has been merged with the rest of the crypt, which is thus completely thrown open. Access to the French church is now obtained from the crypt, and not from outside. This chantry was founded by the Black Prince in 1363 to commemorate his marriage with his cousin Joan, the “Fair Maid of Kent.” Here, according to the prince’s ordinance, two priests were to pray for his soul, in his lifetime and after; the situation of the two altars, at which the priests prayed, can still be traced. On the vaulting we see the arms of the prince, and of his father, and what seems to be the face of his wife. In return for the permission to institute this chantry, the prince left to the monastery of Canterbury an estate which still belongs to the Chapter, the manor of Fawkes’ Hall. This was a piece of land in South Lambeth, which had been granted by King John to a baron called Fawkes. His name still survives in the word “Vauxhall.”

The Eastern Crypt. The eastern portion of the crypt, under the Trinity Chapel and the corona, is a good deal more lofty than Ernulf’s building. We noticed the ascent from the choir and presbytery to the Trinity Chapel, and it is, of course, this greater elevation of the cathedral floor at the east end which accounts for the greater height of the eastern crypt. The effect, both above and below, is exceedingly happy. The most striking thing about the interior of the cathedral is the manner in which it rises “church piled upon church” from the nave to the corona, and this characteristic enabled William the Englishman to build a crypt below which has none of the cramped squatness which generally mars the effect of such buildings. “The lofty crypt below,” says Willis, “may be considered the unfettered composition of the English architect. Its style and its details are wholly different from those of William of Sens. The work, from its position and office, is of a massive and bold character, but its unusual loftiness prevents it from assuming the nature of a crypt.... There is one detail of this crypt which differs especially from the work above. The abacus of each of the piers, as well as that of each central shaft, is round; but in the whole of the choir the abacuses are either square, or square with the corners cut off.”

It was in the smaller eastern crypt, which formerly occupied the site of William’s building which we are now examining, that Becket was hastily buried after his assassination, when his murderers were still threatening to come and drag his body out, “hang it on a gibbet, tear it with horses, cut it into pieces, or throw it in some pond to be devoured by swine or birds of prey.” And from that time until the translation of the relics in 1220, this was the most sacred spot in the cathedral, and it was known, down to Reformation times, as “Becket’s tomb.” Hither came the earliest pilgrims in the first rush of enthusiasm for the newly-canonized martyr. And here Henry II. performed that penance, which is one of the most striking examples of the Church’s power presented by history. We are told that he placed his head and shoulder in the tomb, and there received five strokes from each bishop and abbot who was present, and three from each of the eighty monks. After this castigation he spent the night in the crypt, fasting and barefooted. His penitence and piety were rewarded by the victory gained at Richmond, on that very day, by his forces over William the Lion of Scotland, who was taken prisoner, and afterwards, recognizing the power of the saint, founded the abbey of Aberbrothwick to Saint Thomas of Canterbury.