“In 775 the first Cathedral was built by King Offa.In 973 King Edgar was crowned therein.About 1010 the church was destroyed by Sweyne the Dane,And rebuilt by John de Villula, 1018-1122.In 1137 partly destroyed by fire, it was subsequently restored by Bishop Robert, 1136-1166.In 1499, then in a ruinous state, was taken down, and Bishop King and Prior Bird began to build the present structure, which was not completed for public worship until 1616.In 1834 the Corporation of Bath carried out extensive repairs and removed adjoining buildings which for many years disfigured the church.In 1864 the Reverend Charles Venable, aided by public subscriptions, began the work of restoration under the direction of Sir Gilbert Scott, R.A.”
“In 775 the first Cathedral was built by King Offa.
In 973 King Edgar was crowned therein.
About 1010 the church was destroyed by Sweyne the Dane,
And rebuilt by John de Villula, 1018-1122.
In 1137 partly destroyed by fire, it was subsequently restored by Bishop Robert, 1136-1166.
In 1499, then in a ruinous state, was taken down, and Bishop King and Prior Bird began to build the present structure, which was not completed for public worship until 1616.
In 1834 the Corporation of Bath carried out extensive repairs and removed adjoining buildings which for many years disfigured the church.
In 1864 the Reverend Charles Venable, aided by public subscriptions, began the work of restoration under the direction of Sir Gilbert Scott, R.A.”
No English county is richer in Roman remains than Somersetshire, and with only a few exceptions they are all to be found in Bath. In the early days of their occupation the Romans discovered the value of the hot springs and cleared the rough and primitive British dwellings to erect in their place a splendid city. The Roman baths, which have been unearthed quite recently, bear distinct witness to the early celebrity of the city. These remains cover but a small part of the original site, because it has been calculated the baths alone must have covered an area of seven acres, and in addition there would be the lounges, pleasure grounds, and the villas of the Roman residents. The earliest name of the city of which there is any record is Aquæ Solis—“the waters of the sun.” A temple to a British deity, Sul (thought by the Romans to be the same as their own Sol) has been found near the hot springs. When, therefore, the conquerors built their temple at Aquæ Solis they linked thename of their Goddess Minerva with the British Sul, and on the site of this temple to Sul-Minerva was erected the church of St Peter and St Paul. The nave is the only portion left of the original abbey church.
The present church is a very striking example of the late Perpendicular period—a period of straight lines and huge windows. The building, as it stands, dates from as near as possible 1500, when it was commenced by Bishop Oliver King. It was completed by Bishop Montague in 1616, and a restoration was effected by Sir Gilbert Scott in 1864. The west front, which pictures in sculpture the dream of Bishop Oliver King, is not only one of the grandest, but one of the most singular pieces of architecture in existence. The vision commemorated was one of the Holy Trinity with angels going up and down a ladder, a crown and an olive tree—interpreted by the bishop as a message to him to rebuild the church.
In the churchyard is a pump room, a classical building upwards of a century old, and bearing on its pediment a Greek inscription, the translation of which is “Best on the one hand is water.” The room was built at the suggestion of Beau Nash, the famous organiser of pleasure and the character most intimately associated with the “renaissance” of Bath. He became the uncrowned king of the city and his plans were accepted as law. When it was proposed to place a full length portrait of this “Bathoniæ elegantiæ arbiter,” as he is styled, on his monument, between small busts of Sir Isaac Newton and the poet Pope, Lord Chesterfield made fun of Nash in the oft-repeated epigram:
“Immortal Newton never spokeMore truth than here you’ll find:Nor Pope himself ere penned a jokeSeverer on mankind.This picture placed these busts betweenGives satire all its strength;Wisdom and wit are little seenBut Folly at full length.”
“Immortal Newton never spokeMore truth than here you’ll find:Nor Pope himself ere penned a jokeSeverer on mankind.This picture placed these busts betweenGives satire all its strength;Wisdom and wit are little seenBut Folly at full length.”
“Immortal Newton never spokeMore truth than here you’ll find:Nor Pope himself ere penned a jokeSeverer on mankind.This picture placed these busts betweenGives satire all its strength;Wisdom and wit are little seenBut Folly at full length.”
Among the many pithy epitaphs to be seen on the tablets and slabs inside the abbey church, one, almost hidden in the north aisle of the chancel, and written by Garrick on Quin the actor, is characteristic of the punning tendency of the time:
“That tongue which set the table in a roarAnd charmed the public ear is heard no more;Closed are those eyes, the harbingers of wit,Which spake before the tongue what Shakespeare writ;Cold is that hand which living was stretched forthAt friendship’s call to succour modest worth.Here lies James Quin: deign reader to be taughtWhate’er thy strength of body, force of thought,In nature’s happiest mould however cast,To this complexion thou must come at last.”Ob. MDCCLXVI Etates LXXV.
“That tongue which set the table in a roarAnd charmed the public ear is heard no more;Closed are those eyes, the harbingers of wit,Which spake before the tongue what Shakespeare writ;Cold is that hand which living was stretched forthAt friendship’s call to succour modest worth.Here lies James Quin: deign reader to be taughtWhate’er thy strength of body, force of thought,In nature’s happiest mould however cast,To this complexion thou must come at last.”Ob. MDCCLXVI Etates LXXV.
“That tongue which set the table in a roarAnd charmed the public ear is heard no more;Closed are those eyes, the harbingers of wit,Which spake before the tongue what Shakespeare writ;Cold is that hand which living was stretched forthAt friendship’s call to succour modest worth.Here lies James Quin: deign reader to be taughtWhate’er thy strength of body, force of thought,In nature’s happiest mould however cast,To this complexion thou must come at last.”Ob. MDCCLXVI Etates LXXV.
715, Monastery founded by two brothers, Oddo and Doddo, Dukes of Mercia, on the site of the cell inhabited by Theocus, a hermit—1102, Refounded and endowed by Robert Fitz-Hamon as a Benedictine abbey—Church and monastery built—1123, Church consecrated—1539, Dissolved. Annual revenue, £1598 1s. 3d.—Conventual buildings destroyed but church purchased by the parishioners—John Wakeman, last abbot, retires on a pension and becomes first Bishop of Gloucester—1875, Church restored by Sir Gilbert Scott.
715, Monastery founded by two brothers, Oddo and Doddo, Dukes of Mercia, on the site of the cell inhabited by Theocus, a hermit—1102, Refounded and endowed by Robert Fitz-Hamon as a Benedictine abbey—Church and monastery built—1123, Church consecrated—1539, Dissolved. Annual revenue, £1598 1s. 3d.—Conventual buildings destroyed but church purchased by the parishioners—John Wakeman, last abbot, retires on a pension and becomes first Bishop of Gloucester—1875, Church restored by Sir Gilbert Scott.
The ruins of this abbey church of a former Benedictine monastery stand overshadowed by the glorious Malvern hills in a beautiful valley in Gloucestershire, through which flow the Avon and Severn with two tributaries. The rich colouring of the country side and the ever varying tints of the surrounding hills make the environment of Tewkesburyone of singular beauty—a perfect setting for the abbey with its imposing Norman tower, one of the most perfect of the kind in England.
The whole building is essentially Norman in spite of the addition of Early English, Decorated, and Perpendicular work. The nave of eight bays is of exceptional length, being divided from its aisles by seven massive columns and having both triforium and clerestory. The groined vaulting dates from the 14th century. There are also north and south transepts, the latter having an eastern apsidal chapel; a choir of two bays, while the ambulatory is surrounded by four polygonal chapels. The massive and lofty tower was erected in 1130. Immediately beneath it is inserted a brass to Edward, son of Henry VI., who was foully murdered after the battle of Tewkesbury in 1471. This battle, so fatal to the cause of the Red Rose, was fought in a field within half a mile of Tewkesbury, long after known as the Bloody Meadow. Many of the wounded sought refuge in the abbey, only to be dragged forth, after a few days, to their execution in the market place.
Among the many structural beauties which abound in Tewkesbury, none reflect more credit on the design and workmanship of mediæval times than the seven beautiful pointed windows of the choir. The ancient stained glass which fills in these windows is of priceless value—the purity of its colouring excelling the very best modern work. Much of the original glazing has disappeared—that which remains has occupied its place for over four and a half centuries and is a highly prized possession. The window on the north exhibits Fitz-Hamon, the Norman knight who liberally endowed the abbey at the time of its rebuilding in 1102 and was mortally wounded at the siege of Falaise.
Probably the most interesting part of the abbey church to ordinary visitors are the chapels and monuments, which suffered serious injury in the 16th and17th centuries, but were repaired in the later centuries. Many lords of Tewkesbury, including members of the family of Clare, Despenser, and Beauchamp, are interred in the church, while on the south side of the choir are the remains of what were at one time probably the memorials of every abbot of Tewkesbury from Giraldus to John Wakeman. The Clarence vault is supposed to contain the remains of George, Duke of Clarence, who was mysteriously put to death in the Tower of London by his brother Edward IV. It is said that having been allowed to choose the manner of his death, the Duke elected to be drowned in a butt of Malmsey wine. Adjoining the church is the abbey house—formerly the infirmary of the monastery; and west of this again is the embattled gate-house, built in the 14th and 15th centuries by Abbot Parker. Tewkesbury was the last of the religious houses of Gloucestershire to surrender to the commissioners of Henry VIII. Its annual revenue at the time amounted to a sum equivalent to about £40,000 of the present day—a third of which was allotted as pensions to the abbot and monks. The present beautiful church, deemed to be superfluous and consequently ordered to be destroyed, was bought from the king by the people of Tewkesbury. It has undergone frequent restorations, no less than £25,000 having been expended on it between the years 1875 and 1892, while at the present time an effort is being made to restore the grand west front—one of the most beautiful examples of ancient church architecture in England.
TINTERN.TINTERN.
1131, Founded by Richard de Bienfaite—Colonised by monks from L’Anmone—In the reign of Henry III., William, Marshal of England and Earl of Pembroke, “Confirmed to God and the Blessed Mary of Tyntern and to the abbot and monks there all the lands and revenues given to them by his ancestors” (Dugdale’sMonasticon)—1287, The building of the abbey church begun—153—, Dissolved. Annual revenue, £193, 1s. 4d. Site given to present owners, the Earls of Worcester.
1131, Founded by Richard de Bienfaite—Colonised by monks from L’Anmone—In the reign of Henry III., William, Marshal of England and Earl of Pembroke, “Confirmed to God and the Blessed Mary of Tyntern and to the abbot and monks there all the lands and revenues given to them by his ancestors” (Dugdale’sMonasticon)—1287, The building of the abbey church begun—153—, Dissolved. Annual revenue, £193, 1s. 4d. Site given to present owners, the Earls of Worcester.
More than one great artist has immortalised the secluded vale, where, on a bend of the Wye and surrounded by wooded hills, the ruins of Tintern Abbey stand. The sombre-looking heights, which close in to the east and west, create the atmosphere of loneliness and separation from the world so sought after by the Cistercian monks, who doubtless found inspiration in the grandeur of the surrounding mountains and in the peacefulness of the sweet valley below. Though the church of the Early English abbey is roofless and the central tower gone, the noble structure, with its many graceful arches, seems to attest to the spirit of religious fervour and devotion so intimately associated with the history of its grey and lichen-covered walls.
The finest part of the ruins is undoubtedly the church, which, with the exception of the roof and the north piers of the nave, still stands complete. It has a nave of six bays with aisles, a choir of four bays with aisles, the transepts with eastern aisles having two chapels. A transverse Galilee stood formerly beyond the western entrance. In the north transept are remains of the dormitory stairs, and on this side the cloisters too were situated. The aumbry, parlour, sacristy, chapter-house, slype to the infirmary, day-stairs to dormitory and undercroft were on the east side of the cloisters; the postern and river gate, over which was the abbot’s lodge on the north side, and also the buttery, refectory and kitchen. The delicacy of design and execution to be seen in the ruins is unrivalled in the kingdom—the tracery of the windowsbeing particularly fine. The ruined church possesses the grace and lightness of architecture peculiar to the 12th century, and is, even in its decay, of truly sublime and grand proportions. Time has been unable to obliterate the skilful work of our forefathers, for the Early English transition arches, the delicate moulding, and the exquisite stone tracery in the windows still delight the eye.
The history of Tintern is almost a hidden page in the chronicles of time. On the surrender of Raglan Castle to the Cromwellian troops by the Marquis of Worcester, the Castle was razed to the ground, and with it were lost the abbey records, which had been taken from Tintern when the abbey was granted to the Marquis’ ancestor by Henry VIII. It is known, however, that the first foundation on the site was in the hands of a cousin of William the Conqueror, Richard de Bienfaite by name. He founded the abbey in 1131, and was succeeded by his nephew, Gilbert “Strongbow.” His granddaughter Isabel married the then Earl of Pembroke, and her daughter, marrying Hugh Bigod, brought the estates to the ducal house of Norfolk.
1103, William, a retainer and kinsman of Hugh de Lacy, retires to the small chapel once inhabited by St David on this spot; leads the life of a hermit, and is joined by Ernisius, Chaplain to Queen Maud—1108, A small church erected and dedicated to St John the Baptist by the Bishop of the Diocese, the Bishop of Hereford—After some time a brotherhood formed of black Augustine Canons brought from the monasteries at Mereton, Trinity Priory in London and Colchester—Ernisius is made prior—1136, The monks driven from the monastery owing to the hostility of the Welsh and given new ground near Gloucester by Milo, Earl of Hereford, on which they erect a new church—1150, The present edifice at Llanthony built by Prior William of Wycombe—1482-83, Edward IV. gives the priory of Llanthony and all the lands appertaining to it to the prior of the house at Gloucester—1539, Both houses dissolved. Annual revenue £648, 19s. 11d.—1807, The priory at Llanthony purchased by Walter Landon, the eminent writer—1870, Father Ignatius builds a monastery for monks and nuns near Llanthony Abbey.
1103, William, a retainer and kinsman of Hugh de Lacy, retires to the small chapel once inhabited by St David on this spot; leads the life of a hermit, and is joined by Ernisius, Chaplain to Queen Maud—1108, A small church erected and dedicated to St John the Baptist by the Bishop of the Diocese, the Bishop of Hereford—After some time a brotherhood formed of black Augustine Canons brought from the monasteries at Mereton, Trinity Priory in London and Colchester—Ernisius is made prior—1136, The monks driven from the monastery owing to the hostility of the Welsh and given new ground near Gloucester by Milo, Earl of Hereford, on which they erect a new church—1150, The present edifice at Llanthony built by Prior William of Wycombe—1482-83, Edward IV. gives the priory of Llanthony and all the lands appertaining to it to the prior of the house at Gloucester—1539, Both houses dissolved. Annual revenue £648, 19s. 11d.—1807, The priory at Llanthony purchased by Walter Landon, the eminent writer—1870, Father Ignatius builds a monastery for monks and nuns near Llanthony Abbey.
“’Mongst Hatterill’s lofty hills that with the clouds are crownedThe valley Ewias lies immersed so deep and roundAs they below that see the mountains rise so highMight think the straggling herds were grazing in the sky.Where in an aged cell with moss and ivy grown,In which not to this day the sun hath ever shone,The reverend British saint, in zealous ages pastTo contemplation lived and did so truly fastAs he did drink what crystal Hodney yieldsAnd fed upon the leeks he gathered in the fields,In memory of whom, in the revolving yearThe Welchman on his day that sacred herb do wear.”Drayton’sPolyolbion.
“’Mongst Hatterill’s lofty hills that with the clouds are crownedThe valley Ewias lies immersed so deep and roundAs they below that see the mountains rise so highMight think the straggling herds were grazing in the sky.Where in an aged cell with moss and ivy grown,In which not to this day the sun hath ever shone,The reverend British saint, in zealous ages pastTo contemplation lived and did so truly fastAs he did drink what crystal Hodney yieldsAnd fed upon the leeks he gathered in the fields,In memory of whom, in the revolving yearThe Welchman on his day that sacred herb do wear.”Drayton’sPolyolbion.
“’Mongst Hatterill’s lofty hills that with the clouds are crownedThe valley Ewias lies immersed so deep and roundAs they below that see the mountains rise so highMight think the straggling herds were grazing in the sky.Where in an aged cell with moss and ivy grown,In which not to this day the sun hath ever shone,The reverend British saint, in zealous ages pastTo contemplation lived and did so truly fastAs he did drink what crystal Hodney yieldsAnd fed upon the leeks he gathered in the fields,In memory of whom, in the revolving yearThe Welchman on his day that sacred herb do wear.”Drayton’sPolyolbion.
St David, patron saint of Wales, the British saint alluded to in these lines, is supposed to have been an uncle of the renowned King Arthur. With the consent of his royal nephew, St David removed the bishop’s seat from Cærlon to Menevia, founded many monasteries, and helped to further the rebuilding of Glastonbury Abbey. Although it cannot be claimed that he actually founded Llanthony Abbeystill the site of his ruined cell there may have helped to influence the young Norman knight, who, passing through the lovely valley of Ewyas, was so deeply impressed and inspired by the beauty of the district that he resolved to lay aside his arms, to retire to this already consecrated spot and to devote the remainder of his days to prayer and meditation. The stillness of the ancient battlefield, the awful grandeur of the surrounding hills, and all the religious and historical associations of the place must have had at least the attraction of novelty to William de Lacy—a man of the world, accustomed to the gaiety and excitement of the court of Henry I. Not long elapsed before another courtier, Ernisius, chaplain to Queen Maud, became wearied of his many social duties, and journeying to William’s retreat, implored the hermit-knight to allow him to join in his monastic life. William and Ernisius erected a small church and enjoyed the patronage of Hugh de Lacy.
A pretty story is told in connection with the early days of the monastery. Roger, Bishop of Sarum, so vividly described to Henry I. the picturesque situation of the abbey, the devoted work performed by its inmates and the grand proportions of its church, that, shortly after, the King and Queen visited the new foundation. Pretending to finger William’s coarse robe, the kindly Queen placed some money within its folds, but shrank back hastily when coming into contact with the rough hair cloth and iron belt worn by the holy recluse round his body. In course of time the number of monks increased considerably, the rules of St Augustine were observed, and Ernisius made prior. Robert de Betun, successor to Ernisius, and later Bishop of Hereford, entered the monastery under the following romantic conditions:—Caught in a severe snowstorm on the perilous mountains, he, a young Fleming, had given up any hope of his life and was just about to succumb to the resistless longing to lie down and sleep, when, hearing the bells of Llanthony,he felt encouraged to rouse himself, and, after a terrible struggle, succeeded in reaching the abbey gate. The honour of promotion was lost sight of by Prior Robert in his heartbreaking grief at leaving his beloved monastery. Looking back on its sacred walls from the Hatterill Hills, he burst into tears at the thought of leaving all he loved best on earth. The brotherhood at Llanthony included amongst others Walter de Gloucester, Earl of Hereford and Constable of England, who laid aside all worldly honours and assuming the cowl, spent the rest of his life in the monastery. His son Milo, hearing that the monks were being attacked by the Welsh, gave them a tract of land near Gloucester in the 12th century, where the monastery was re-established and a new church built, still known however by the name of Llanthony. The monks speedily transferred their affection to their new habitation, and, according to Dugdale, despoiled their original house in Monmouthshire. “They also became very licentious in their way of living. During this, William, the prior, falling into troubles and vexation as well with the canons of his house as Roger, Earl of Hereford, the patron, was forced to resign his office, to whom succeeded Clement, the sub-prior. This man reformed the abuses that were in the monastery, especially as to the church service.” King John and Edward II. confirmed to the Canons of Llanthony the several lands and revenues given them by their benefactors, and Edward IV. merged the two foundations into one and enforced certain conditions.
Of the original abbey church only the Early English west front (flanked by two massive towers), the north side of nave, detached portions of the north transept, the complete south transept, and parts of central tower, remain. Eight pointed arches span the north side of the nave, but only two remain at the extreme ends of the opposite side. Both aisles have disappeared. The proportions of the entire foundation arenoble in the extreme, especially those of the church. Here the monks adjusted the roofs so that an echo might be obtained of the singing, and throughout the building, with its spacious design and perfection of detail, every care and the greatest skill is manifested. Adjoining the south transept is the Early English chapter-house; the ruins of the refectory and guest house are now used as a garden.
635, St Birinus, sent to Britain by Pope Honorius, converts Cynegils, King of the west Saxons; is consecrated Bishop of Dorchester, and builds many churches in the district—After the Conquest, William the Conqueror gives the Bishopric of Dorchester to Remigus, a monk of Feschamp in Normandy—1140, Monastery founded by Alexander, third Bishop of Lincoln, for Augustine Canons—1205, King John visits the abbey-1300, South choir aisle added—The monks extend the chancel—1330, South aisle of nave added and used as the parish church—c.1400, East end added—15—, Dissolved—East end of the church purchased by a relation of the last abbot for £140, to prevent its being pulled down and used for building purposes. Annual revenue, £677, 1s. 2d.
635, St Birinus, sent to Britain by Pope Honorius, converts Cynegils, King of the west Saxons; is consecrated Bishop of Dorchester, and builds many churches in the district—After the Conquest, William the Conqueror gives the Bishopric of Dorchester to Remigus, a monk of Feschamp in Normandy—1140, Monastery founded by Alexander, third Bishop of Lincoln, for Augustine Canons—1205, King John visits the abbey-1300, South choir aisle added—The monks extend the chancel—1330, South aisle of nave added and used as the parish church—c.1400, East end added—15—, Dissolved—East end of the church purchased by a relation of the last abbot for £140, to prevent its being pulled down and used for building purposes. Annual revenue, £677, 1s. 2d.
THEillustrious pile of Dorchester Church stands on the northern bank of the gently flowing river Frome. From the east end of the building the land slants rapidly down to the river side, whilst on either side of the body of the church is pleasant meadow land—the former site, probably, of the conventual buildings. All that remains of these is the guest house to the west of the church. The old Saxon cathedral, used now as the parish church of a country town, is an irregular building, and consists of a nave (Norman) with a south aisle—once used by the monks as their parish church, and containing an altar raised upon three deep steps above which is a blocked-up window—choir (Decorated), having a perfect east windowwith a protruding central shaft, and also a “Jesse” window on the north side; south choir aisle, in which are two chapels, recently repaired by Sir Gilbert Scott; north choir aisle (part of which is probably Norman work, having a walled-up door to the west—formerly the entrance to the cloisters); a western tower, low and massive in structure and partly Norman work; and lastly, a Perpendicular porch on the south-west angle of the building. Undoubtedly the east end of the church is the most strikingly beautiful part of the edifice.
Exquisite stained glass, and perfect carving of the stone-work in the windows, graceful daintiness of the architecture, costly embroideries and delicate laces on the altars, are among the many beauties of this old abbey church. The “Jesse” window mentioned above is unique. It is of four lights and has intersecting tracery above.
“The centre mullion represents a trunk of a tree with branches ornamented with foliage crossing over the other mullions to the outside jambs. At the foot of the tree is the recumbent figure of Jesse, and at each intersection is a sculptured figure, while others are painted on the glass between; the whole forming a complete genealogical tree of the House of David. The effigy of the King is at the bottom right hand corner, but those representing our Lord and the Virgin Mary have both disappeared. The figures are very quaint and of various sizes; some of those painted in the window still have their names beneath, while most of the others in stone-work have scrolls on which the name was once painted.”—Henry W. Taunt, Esq.
“The centre mullion represents a trunk of a tree with branches ornamented with foliage crossing over the other mullions to the outside jambs. At the foot of the tree is the recumbent figure of Jesse, and at each intersection is a sculptured figure, while others are painted on the glass between; the whole forming a complete genealogical tree of the House of David. The effigy of the King is at the bottom right hand corner, but those representing our Lord and the Virgin Mary have both disappeared. The figures are very quaint and of various sizes; some of those painted in the window still have their names beneath, while most of the others in stone-work have scrolls on which the name was once painted.”—Henry W. Taunt, Esq.
The canopied sedilia and double piscina on the south wall of the chancel are both beautiful specimens of early work—the stained glass in the former being the oldest in the building. Many interesting monuments remain, including several stone effigies of knights; a judge of great note; and of Æschwine, Bishop of Dorchester, 979-1002. Monumental brassestoo were formerly very plentiful, but, with a few exceptions, have been either ruthlessly destroyed or stolen for money-making purposes at various times. That of Sir Richard Bewfforest, Abbot of Dorchester (1510), dressed as an Augustine canon, lies near the chancel rails on the north side. He was one of the last abbots of the monastery. There is also part of a once magnificent brass to Sir John Drayton, 1417, a portion of another to “William Tanner, Richard Bewfforest and their wife Margaret” (1513), and one of a female figure belonging to “Robert Bedford and Alice his wife” (1491). Only a few shields of other brasses remain, but to the antiquarian the casements of these beautiful memorials contain much that is interesting, showing as they do the diverse and unique character these lost monuments once possessed. Six of the Dorchester bells bear many signs of great antiquity and two more have recently been added. The tradition connected with the former is, that
“Within the sound of the great bellNo snake nor adder e’er shall dwell,”
“Within the sound of the great bellNo snake nor adder e’er shall dwell,”
“Within the sound of the great bellNo snake nor adder e’er shall dwell,”
and is attributed to the belief that Birinus was “stung to death with snakes.”
1160, Founded by Augustine Canons—Dedicated to the Virgin Mary—Twice refounded for monks of the Præmonstratensian order—1539, Dissolved.
1160, Founded by Augustine Canons—Dedicated to the Virgin Mary—Twice refounded for monks of the Præmonstratensian order—1539, Dissolved.
As so little is standing of this religious establishment, a few words will describe its chief features. The ruins consist only of the arch of the great east window of the chapel, some foundations, bases of pillars and various other relics. The chapel, consisting of nave and chancel, is supposed to have been built, together with the house—now a farm-house peculiarly situated under the same roof as the chapel—by Ralph, the sonof Geremund, for a poor hermit whom he found living in a forest cave (the cell can still be seen) close by. Subsequently Serle de Grendon invited canons from Kalke, who came then to Deepdale and established the monastery. Many privileges and immunities were granted to them by the church authorities in Rome, and the abbey was visited at different times by persons of all ranks, some of whom became benefactors to the house.
Howitt, in hisForest Minstrel, sketches the history of Dale and the conduct of its inmates thus—
“The devil one night as he chanced to sailIn a wintry wind by the abbey of DaleSuddenly stopped and looked with surpriseThat a structure so fair in that valley should rise.When last he was there it was lonely and stillAnd the hermitage scooped in the side of a hillWith its wretched old inmate his beads a-tellingWere all he found of life, dweller, or dwelling.The hermit was seen in the rock no more;The nettle and dock had sprung up at the door;And each window the fern and the harts’ tongue hung o’er,Within ’twas dampness and nakedness all;The Virgin, as fair and holy a blockAs ever yet stood in the niche of a rock,Had fallen to the earth, and was broke in the fall.The holy cell’s ceiling, in idle hourWhen haymakers sought it to ’scape from the showerWas scored by their forks in a thousand scars—Wheels and crackers, ovals and stars.But by the brook in the valley belowSt Mary of Dale! what a lordly show!The abbey’s proud arches and windows brightGlittered and gleamed in the full moonlight.”
“The devil one night as he chanced to sailIn a wintry wind by the abbey of DaleSuddenly stopped and looked with surpriseThat a structure so fair in that valley should rise.When last he was there it was lonely and stillAnd the hermitage scooped in the side of a hillWith its wretched old inmate his beads a-tellingWere all he found of life, dweller, or dwelling.The hermit was seen in the rock no more;The nettle and dock had sprung up at the door;And each window the fern and the harts’ tongue hung o’er,Within ’twas dampness and nakedness all;The Virgin, as fair and holy a blockAs ever yet stood in the niche of a rock,Had fallen to the earth, and was broke in the fall.The holy cell’s ceiling, in idle hourWhen haymakers sought it to ’scape from the showerWas scored by their forks in a thousand scars—Wheels and crackers, ovals and stars.But by the brook in the valley belowSt Mary of Dale! what a lordly show!The abbey’s proud arches and windows brightGlittered and gleamed in the full moonlight.”
“The devil one night as he chanced to sailIn a wintry wind by the abbey of DaleSuddenly stopped and looked with surpriseThat a structure so fair in that valley should rise.When last he was there it was lonely and stillAnd the hermitage scooped in the side of a hillWith its wretched old inmate his beads a-tellingWere all he found of life, dweller, or dwelling.The hermit was seen in the rock no more;The nettle and dock had sprung up at the door;And each window the fern and the harts’ tongue hung o’er,Within ’twas dampness and nakedness all;The Virgin, as fair and holy a blockAs ever yet stood in the niche of a rock,Had fallen to the earth, and was broke in the fall.The holy cell’s ceiling, in idle hourWhen haymakers sought it to ’scape from the showerWas scored by their forks in a thousand scars—Wheels and crackers, ovals and stars.But by the brook in the valley belowSt Mary of Dale! what a lordly show!The abbey’s proud arches and windows brightGlittered and gleamed in the full moonlight.”
But that later corruption set in among these Augustine monks is evident, for Howitt continues that the monks
“Forsook missal and massTo chant o’er a bottle or shrive a lass;No matins bell called them up in the morn,But the yell of the hounds and the sound of the horn;No penance the monk in his cell could stayBut a broken leg or a rainy day.”
“Forsook missal and massTo chant o’er a bottle or shrive a lass;No matins bell called them up in the morn,But the yell of the hounds and the sound of the horn;No penance the monk in his cell could stayBut a broken leg or a rainy day.”
“Forsook missal and massTo chant o’er a bottle or shrive a lass;No matins bell called them up in the morn,But the yell of the hounds and the sound of the horn;No penance the monk in his cell could stayBut a broken leg or a rainy day.”
They were then expelled from Deepdale and Præmonstratensian monks soon filled their place. John Staunton, last abbot, with 16 monks surrendered the abbey in 1539. A full account of the history of this monastic house was written by one of the monks, and through these manuscripts more particulars can be learned of this abbey than of any other in Derby.
1170, Founded by Henry II.—1540, Dissolved. Annual revenue, £167, 16s. 11d.—Demesne granted to Sir John Byron, Lieut. of Sherwood Forest, by Henry VIII.—1818, Sold to Colonel Wildman, who enlarges and restores the abbey.—Again restored.
1170, Founded by Henry II.—1540, Dissolved. Annual revenue, £167, 16s. 11d.—Demesne granted to Sir John Byron, Lieut. of Sherwood Forest, by Henry VIII.—1818, Sold to Colonel Wildman, who enlarges and restores the abbey.—Again restored.
Just as Buckland Abbey possesses more than an ordinary interest in that it became the home of Sir Francis Drake after the Dissolution, so Newstead Abbey boasts a dual attraction. For besides being imbued with the romance and legendary lore inseparable from monastic houses, it came, after the Dissolution of the monasteries, into the possession of the Byron family, and, passing into the hands of the first Lord Byron (1643), then to the “wicked” Lord Byron (1722-98), it eventually became the home of Lord Byron the poet. Most picturesquely placed on the borders of Sherwood Forest, the Newstead Abbey of to-day takes more the form of a private residence than of a monastic ruin. Its undulating and beautifully wooded grounds, containing two sheets of water, extend over many acres. Very little is known of the early history of the abbey beyond the fact that Henry II. built and endowed it in expiation of the murder of Thomas à Becket, and that King John extended his patronageto the house. The modern attraction that Newstead possesses dates from its coming into the hands of the Byrons. The first owner, Sir John Byron, known as “Little John with the great beard,” adapted a portion of the monastic buildings to a private residence, and in the reign of Charles I. the south aisle of the church was converted into a library and reception room.
With the exception of the exceedingly beautiful west front of Early English workmanship, the rest of the church has been allowed to fall into decay. The house itself, so greatly enriched by the poet Byron, is made up of the various monastic offices. The present grand dining-room was once the refectory of the monks, while the original guest chamber, with its grand vaulting, is now converted into the servants’ dining-hall, and the old dormitory into a drawing-room. No alteration has been made in Byron’s arrangements of the abbot’s apartments. Several rooms are still named after the English monarchs who have at various times slept in them. The chapter-house—a building of remarkable beauty to the east of the cloisters—is now used as a chapel for the convenience of the household and tenantry. Within can be seen some richly stained glass and other features of interest. Newstead passed at Byron’s death into the possession of his friend and colleague Colonel Wildman, who greatly restored it. Sir Richard Phillips, in hisPersonal Tour, relates that—
“Colonel Wildman was a schoolfellow in the same form as Lord Byron at Harrow School. In adolescence they were separated at college, and in manhood by their pursuits; but they lived in friendship. If Lord Byron was constrained by circumstances to allow Newstead to be sold, the fittest person living to become its proprietor was his friend Colonel Wildman. He was not a cold and formal possessor of Newstead, but, animated even with the feelings of Byron, he took possession of it as a place consecrated by many circumstances of times and persons, and above all, by theattachment of his friend Byron. The high spirited poet, however, ill brooked the necessity of selling an estate entailed in his family since the Reformation (but lost to him and the family by the improvidence of a predecessor), and retiring into Tuscany, there indulged in those splenetic feelings which mark his later writings.”
“Colonel Wildman was a schoolfellow in the same form as Lord Byron at Harrow School. In adolescence they were separated at college, and in manhood by their pursuits; but they lived in friendship. If Lord Byron was constrained by circumstances to allow Newstead to be sold, the fittest person living to become its proprietor was his friend Colonel Wildman. He was not a cold and formal possessor of Newstead, but, animated even with the feelings of Byron, he took possession of it as a place consecrated by many circumstances of times and persons, and above all, by theattachment of his friend Byron. The high spirited poet, however, ill brooked the necessity of selling an estate entailed in his family since the Reformation (but lost to him and the family by the improvidence of a predecessor), and retiring into Tuscany, there indulged in those splenetic feelings which mark his later writings.”
No more vivid picture of Newstead has been penned than that of Byron’s in the 13th canto ofDon Juan—
“To Norman Abbey whirl’d the noble pair,An old, old monastery once, and nowStill older mansion,—of a rich and rareMix’d Gothic, such as artists all allowFew specimens yet left us can compareWithal; it lies perhaps a little low,Because the monks preferred a hill behind,To shelter their devotion from the wind.“It stood embosom’d in a happy valley,Crown’d by high woodlands, where the Druid oakStood like Caractacus in act to rallyHis host, with broad arms ’gainst the thunder-stroke;And from beneath his boughs were seen to sallyThe dappled foresters; as day awoke,The branching stag swept down with all his herdTo quaff a brook which murmur’d like a bird.“Before the mansion lay a lucid lake,Broad as transparent, deep, and freshly fedBy a river, which its soften’d way did takeIn currents through the calmer water spreadAround: the wild fowl nestled in the brakeAnd sedges, brooding in their liquid bed;The woods sloped downwards to its brink, and stoodWith their green faces fix’d upon the flood.“Its outlet dash’d into a deep cascade,Sparkling with foam, until again subsidingIts shriller echoes—like an infant madeQuiet—sank into softer ripples, glidingInto a rivulet; and thus allay’d,Pursued its course, now gleaming, and now hidingIts windings through the woods; now clear, now blue,According as the skies their shadows threw.“A glorious remnant of the Gothic pile(While yet the church was Rome’s) stood half apartIn a grand arch, which once screen’d many an aisle;These last had disappear’d—a loss to art;The first yet frown’d superbly o’er the soil,And kindled feelings in the roughest heart,Which mourn’d the power of time’s or tempest’s march,In gazing on that venerable arch.“Within a niche, nigh to its pinnacle,Twelve saints had once stood sanctified in stone;But these had fallen, not when the friars fell,But in the war which struck Charles from his throne,When each house was a fortalice—as tellThe annals of full many a line undone—The gallant cavaliers who fought in vainFor those who knew not to resign or reign.“But in a higher niche, alone, but crown’d,The Virgin-Mother of the God-born child,With her son in her blessed arms, look’d round;Spared by some chance when all beside was spoil’d;She made the earth below seem holy ground,This may be superstition, weak or wild,But even the faintest relics of a shrineOf any worship wake some thoughts divine.“A mighty window, hollow in the centre,Shorn of its glass of thousand colourings,Through which the deepen’d glories once could enter,Streaming from off the sun like seraph’s wings,Now yawns all desolate: now loud, now fainter,The gale sweeps through its fretwork, and oft singsThe owl his anthem, where the silenced quireLie with their hallelujah quench’d like fire.“Amidst the court, a Gothic fountain play’dSymmetrical, but decked with carvings quaint—Strange faces like to men in masquerade,And here perhaps a monster, there a saint;The spring rushed through grim mouths of granite made,And sparkled into basins, where it spentIts little torrent in a thousand bubbles,Like man’s vain glory, and his vainer troubles.“The mansion’s self was vast and venerable,With more of the monastic than has beenElsewhere preserved: the cloisters still were stable,The cells too, and refectory, I ween:An exquisite small chapel had been able,Still unimpair’d to decorate the scene;The rest had been reform’d, replaced, or sunk,And spoke more of the baron than the monk.“Huge halls, long galleries, spacious chambers, join’dBy no quite lawful marriage of the arts,Might shock a connoisseur: but when combined,Form’d a whole, which, irregular in parts,Yet left a grand impression on the mind,At least of those whose eyes are in their hearts:We gaze upon a giant for his stature,Not judge at first if all be true to nature.”
“To Norman Abbey whirl’d the noble pair,An old, old monastery once, and nowStill older mansion,—of a rich and rareMix’d Gothic, such as artists all allowFew specimens yet left us can compareWithal; it lies perhaps a little low,Because the monks preferred a hill behind,To shelter their devotion from the wind.“It stood embosom’d in a happy valley,Crown’d by high woodlands, where the Druid oakStood like Caractacus in act to rallyHis host, with broad arms ’gainst the thunder-stroke;And from beneath his boughs were seen to sallyThe dappled foresters; as day awoke,The branching stag swept down with all his herdTo quaff a brook which murmur’d like a bird.“Before the mansion lay a lucid lake,Broad as transparent, deep, and freshly fedBy a river, which its soften’d way did takeIn currents through the calmer water spreadAround: the wild fowl nestled in the brakeAnd sedges, brooding in their liquid bed;The woods sloped downwards to its brink, and stoodWith their green faces fix’d upon the flood.“Its outlet dash’d into a deep cascade,Sparkling with foam, until again subsidingIts shriller echoes—like an infant madeQuiet—sank into softer ripples, glidingInto a rivulet; and thus allay’d,Pursued its course, now gleaming, and now hidingIts windings through the woods; now clear, now blue,According as the skies their shadows threw.“A glorious remnant of the Gothic pile(While yet the church was Rome’s) stood half apartIn a grand arch, which once screen’d many an aisle;These last had disappear’d—a loss to art;The first yet frown’d superbly o’er the soil,And kindled feelings in the roughest heart,Which mourn’d the power of time’s or tempest’s march,In gazing on that venerable arch.“Within a niche, nigh to its pinnacle,Twelve saints had once stood sanctified in stone;But these had fallen, not when the friars fell,But in the war which struck Charles from his throne,When each house was a fortalice—as tellThe annals of full many a line undone—The gallant cavaliers who fought in vainFor those who knew not to resign or reign.“But in a higher niche, alone, but crown’d,The Virgin-Mother of the God-born child,With her son in her blessed arms, look’d round;Spared by some chance when all beside was spoil’d;She made the earth below seem holy ground,This may be superstition, weak or wild,But even the faintest relics of a shrineOf any worship wake some thoughts divine.“A mighty window, hollow in the centre,Shorn of its glass of thousand colourings,Through which the deepen’d glories once could enter,Streaming from off the sun like seraph’s wings,Now yawns all desolate: now loud, now fainter,The gale sweeps through its fretwork, and oft singsThe owl his anthem, where the silenced quireLie with their hallelujah quench’d like fire.“Amidst the court, a Gothic fountain play’dSymmetrical, but decked with carvings quaint—Strange faces like to men in masquerade,And here perhaps a monster, there a saint;The spring rushed through grim mouths of granite made,And sparkled into basins, where it spentIts little torrent in a thousand bubbles,Like man’s vain glory, and his vainer troubles.“The mansion’s self was vast and venerable,With more of the monastic than has beenElsewhere preserved: the cloisters still were stable,The cells too, and refectory, I ween:An exquisite small chapel had been able,Still unimpair’d to decorate the scene;The rest had been reform’d, replaced, or sunk,And spoke more of the baron than the monk.“Huge halls, long galleries, spacious chambers, join’dBy no quite lawful marriage of the arts,Might shock a connoisseur: but when combined,Form’d a whole, which, irregular in parts,Yet left a grand impression on the mind,At least of those whose eyes are in their hearts:We gaze upon a giant for his stature,Not judge at first if all be true to nature.”
“To Norman Abbey whirl’d the noble pair,An old, old monastery once, and nowStill older mansion,—of a rich and rareMix’d Gothic, such as artists all allowFew specimens yet left us can compareWithal; it lies perhaps a little low,Because the monks preferred a hill behind,To shelter their devotion from the wind.
“It stood embosom’d in a happy valley,Crown’d by high woodlands, where the Druid oakStood like Caractacus in act to rallyHis host, with broad arms ’gainst the thunder-stroke;And from beneath his boughs were seen to sallyThe dappled foresters; as day awoke,The branching stag swept down with all his herdTo quaff a brook which murmur’d like a bird.
“Before the mansion lay a lucid lake,Broad as transparent, deep, and freshly fedBy a river, which its soften’d way did takeIn currents through the calmer water spreadAround: the wild fowl nestled in the brakeAnd sedges, brooding in their liquid bed;The woods sloped downwards to its brink, and stoodWith their green faces fix’d upon the flood.
“Its outlet dash’d into a deep cascade,Sparkling with foam, until again subsidingIts shriller echoes—like an infant madeQuiet—sank into softer ripples, glidingInto a rivulet; and thus allay’d,Pursued its course, now gleaming, and now hidingIts windings through the woods; now clear, now blue,According as the skies their shadows threw.
“A glorious remnant of the Gothic pile(While yet the church was Rome’s) stood half apartIn a grand arch, which once screen’d many an aisle;These last had disappear’d—a loss to art;The first yet frown’d superbly o’er the soil,And kindled feelings in the roughest heart,Which mourn’d the power of time’s or tempest’s march,In gazing on that venerable arch.
“Within a niche, nigh to its pinnacle,Twelve saints had once stood sanctified in stone;But these had fallen, not when the friars fell,But in the war which struck Charles from his throne,When each house was a fortalice—as tellThe annals of full many a line undone—The gallant cavaliers who fought in vainFor those who knew not to resign or reign.
“But in a higher niche, alone, but crown’d,The Virgin-Mother of the God-born child,With her son in her blessed arms, look’d round;Spared by some chance when all beside was spoil’d;She made the earth below seem holy ground,This may be superstition, weak or wild,But even the faintest relics of a shrineOf any worship wake some thoughts divine.
“A mighty window, hollow in the centre,Shorn of its glass of thousand colourings,Through which the deepen’d glories once could enter,Streaming from off the sun like seraph’s wings,Now yawns all desolate: now loud, now fainter,The gale sweeps through its fretwork, and oft singsThe owl his anthem, where the silenced quireLie with their hallelujah quench’d like fire.
“Amidst the court, a Gothic fountain play’dSymmetrical, but decked with carvings quaint—Strange faces like to men in masquerade,And here perhaps a monster, there a saint;The spring rushed through grim mouths of granite made,And sparkled into basins, where it spentIts little torrent in a thousand bubbles,Like man’s vain glory, and his vainer troubles.
“The mansion’s self was vast and venerable,With more of the monastic than has beenElsewhere preserved: the cloisters still were stable,The cells too, and refectory, I ween:An exquisite small chapel had been able,Still unimpair’d to decorate the scene;The rest had been reform’d, replaced, or sunk,And spoke more of the baron than the monk.
“Huge halls, long galleries, spacious chambers, join’dBy no quite lawful marriage of the arts,Might shock a connoisseur: but when combined,Form’d a whole, which, irregular in parts,Yet left a grand impression on the mind,At least of those whose eyes are in their hearts:We gaze upon a giant for his stature,Not judge at first if all be true to nature.”
692, Founded by Egwin, Bishop of the Hwicci and dedicated to the Virgin—Egwin subsequently first abbot—709, Kenredus, King of Mercia, and Offa, Governor of the East Angles, endows it with many possessions—941, Secular canons replace the monks—960, Monks again restored—977, Monks expelled once more, and estate given to Godwin—1014, King Ethelred elects Aifwardus, a former monk of Ramsey, abbot of Evesham—1066-87, Walter of Cérisy appointed abbot by William the Conqueror—He rebuilds the church—1163, The abbot receives the mitre—1265, Battle of Evesham, and interment of Earl Simon de Montfort in the Abbey—1539, Tower completed—Abbey dismantled and given to Sir Philip Hoby, who uses the buildings as a quarry. Annual revenue, £1183, 12s. 9d.
692, Founded by Egwin, Bishop of the Hwicci and dedicated to the Virgin—Egwin subsequently first abbot—709, Kenredus, King of Mercia, and Offa, Governor of the East Angles, endows it with many possessions—941, Secular canons replace the monks—960, Monks again restored—977, Monks expelled once more, and estate given to Godwin—1014, King Ethelred elects Aifwardus, a former monk of Ramsey, abbot of Evesham—1066-87, Walter of Cérisy appointed abbot by William the Conqueror—He rebuilds the church—1163, The abbot receives the mitre—1265, Battle of Evesham, and interment of Earl Simon de Montfort in the Abbey—1539, Tower completed—Abbey dismantled and given to Sir Philip Hoby, who uses the buildings as a quarry. Annual revenue, £1183, 12s. 9d.
In a certain beautiful spot in Worcestershire known as the vale of Evesham, the river Avon, by a curious bend in its course, encloses a piece of meadow land near the borders of Warwick and Gloucestershire. On this peninsula—as it might be called—three mostremarkable ancient buildings still stand erect, as if immune from the ravages of time. The tall, graceful bell-tower, with the exception of a ruined archway, is all that can be said to remain of the former abbey. Built at the entrance of the abbey cemetery by the Abbot Lichfield, it is of pure Perpendicular work. Though very massive, yet it has the grace peculiar to English Gothic towers. It is built in three storeys, all parallel, and the whole square structure is crowned by an embattled parapet and delicate pinnacles, the height, roughly speaking, being 110 feet by 20 feet square. In the cemetery, close to the tower and forming with it a most striking group, are the churches of St Lawrence and All Saints. These churches were built in the 13th century by the monks for the convenience of the inhabitants of Evesham and with the intention of reserving the abbey church for the exclusive use of the monks. The church of St Lawrence is of more ancient date than that of All Saints. Of the former, only the tower and the greatly mutilated spire of the original church remain. Both churches, however, boast some exquisite work by Abbot Clement Lichfield, the last abbot, who built a beautiful chapel or chantry in St Lawrence church, desiring that daily masses might be performed there for the repose of his soul. The chantry in All Saints he directed to be his burial place. These chantries have particularly beautiful roofs in the shape of four fans richly ornamented. St Lawrence and All Saints have both been restored and are in use at the present time, under the care of the Vicar of Evesham.
In hisSpiritual QuixoteGraves writes with great delight of the beautiful vale of Evesham bounded by the Malvern Hills. The town lies on a hill on a well-cultivated plain, and its name, derived (some say) from Eovesham, conveys the impression of its picturesque situation, “the dwelling on the level by the river side.” Another tradition derives the namefrom Eoves, a shepherd who, having seen in a vision a beautiful woman, attended by two other women, hastened to Bishop Egwin and related his marvellous tale. Egwin, accompanied by his servant, proceeded to the spot where he too was permitted to see and to hold converse with the radiant being. Fully convinced that the Blessed Virgin had personally revealed herself to him, Egwin determined to build a monastery on the spot. Ethelred, King of Mercia, granted land for the purpose, and thus the abbey was founded, Egwin becoming first abbot. According to one writer, Ethelred accused Egwin of tyranny and many bitter things. The matter was referred to the Holy Father at Rome, who commanded Egwin to appear before him and answer the charges. “So to Rome he went, but before starting, to show how lowly he accounted himself, he ordered a pair of iron horse-fetters, and having put his feet into them, caused them to be locked and the key tossed into the Avon. Thus shackled, he went forward to Dover, took ship and came to the Holy City; when, lo, a miracle! his attendants had gone down to the Tiber to catch fish for supper, and scarcely was the line cast when a fine salmon took it and leapt ashore without a struggle to escape. They hurried home with their prize, opened him, and found inside the key of the bishop’s fetters. It is needless to say that the Pope after this made short work of the charges against Egwin. He was sent back to King Ethelred loaded with honours, who lost no time in restoring him to his See and appointing him tutor to his sons.”
Eighteen abbots ruled in succession, when, as was the fate of many other abbeys, Evesham became a source of strife between the secular canons and the monks. It was alternately under control of these two bodies until finally it became a Benedictine settlement. In the reign of William I., Abbot Walter of Cérisy began to rebuild on a scale of grandeur and great magnificence. The church, built in the form ofa Latin cross, possessed cylindrical piers of immense size, similar to those of Gloucester. Everything appertaining to the service of the church was solemn and impressive. The vestments were elaborate and costly, and the sacred vessels wrought with solid silver—many of them being enriched with various gems. The tomb of St Egwin was made of gold and studded with sparkling precious stones, while Simon de Montfort’s tomb was credited with miraculous powers by many ailing and weakly pilgrims. These sacred tombs were demolished by the rapacious Henry VIII. in 1539, during his wanton desecration of one of England’s most noble abbeys—the shelter of kings, and the home of religious and God-fearing men.
Westminster (St Stephen’s Crypt)Westminster (St Stephen’s Crypt)