Chapter 15

Non sua sunt summa leviter perstricta sagittaPectora, descendit vulnus ad ossa suum.”

Yet, after the lapse of centuries, the Abbey of Old Llanthony presents an imposing aspect. In that solitude, over which it was erected for the diffusion of spiritual life and light, it is still an object of venerable grandeur; while of the luxurious temple of “her Daughter,” built on one of the most fertile spots in the kingdom, elaborately ornamented and munificently endowed, the remains are few and insignificant. Thus, if the old monastic fathers could burst their cerements and look around them, they would perceive that Time, the avenger, has drawn a line of as marked distinction between the two monasteries, as between a greater and a lesser criminal; and, by a just and discriminating sentence, consigned one to the plough, and the other to pilgrims and archæologists.[336]

Llanthony Abbey.N.W. View.

Llanthony Abbey.

N.W. View.

The wrongs, of which the older monks of Llanthony so justly complained, are thus told by their own pious chronicler:—When the storm subsided, and peace was restored, then did the sons of Llanthony tear up the bounds of their Mother-Church, and refuse to serve God, as their duty required, in the old Sanctuary. For great is the difference, said they, between the rich city of Gloucester, and the wild rocks of the Hatterill—between the fertile vale of Severn, and the craggy banks of the Honddy; between the wealth and civilization of England, and the barren hills and beggarly natives of Wales; between a land of smiling meadows and fertile orchards, and a region of trackless mountains and roaring cataracts; in fine—to justify their desertion—between a home amongst smiling gardens, and a grave in the howling wilderness!

Some of the renegade brethren declared that they wished every stone of the old foundation were a fleet hare and the hounds after it, that not a vestige might be left. Alas, says the ‘Jeremiad,’ they of Gloucester have usurped and lavished all the revenues of the Mother-Church: for their new abode, they have built stately offices; and the old they have left to moulder into ruins. But to avoid the open scandal of deserting their Mother, they send hither, as to a dependent cell, their old and decrepit members to be cherished in that very bosom—fostered in those very arms—which they have insulted by ingratitude, and weakened by wrong and robbery. So great was the poverty to which the few inmates were reduced, that they were actually without surplices, and at times so destitute of raiment that they could not with proper decency appear at divine service. Sometimes the allowance of bread for one day had to serve for two; whilst in the offshoot at Gloucester there was not only enough, but abundance and superfluity. When entreated to return to their Mother, these heartless brethren, who had tasted the sweets of a new residence, and been corrupted by unwonted luxury, only derided their appeal. “What!” they replied, “would you have us return to singMiserereto the wolves? Do the whelps of wolves delight in choral harmony?” And when any one was sent to Old Llanthony, whether for health or discipline, they would exclaim—“Why, what has he done? what fault has he committed? what law has he broken, that he should be sent into banishment, shut up in such a prison?”—for it was thus that they spoke of the Mother-abbey—calling it a dungeon, a prison-house, fit only for the punishment of great criminals.

In like manner, says the monk, the library was despoiled of its books and MSS.; the record-room of its deeds and charters; the silk vestments and relics,embroidered with gold and silver, were carried away from the vestiary; the treasury was stripped of everything valuable. Whatever was precious or ornamental—even the bells, notwithstanding their great weight, were carried off to the rival abbey without the slightest resistance or redress. It was under these distressing circumstances that King Edward set about effecting the union to which we have adverted.

But there were other causes at work. It is very apparent that the religious peace and contemplation to which it was consecrated, were but rare guests in the old Abbey of Llanthony. Situated on the very border of countries that were mutually engaged in making or repelling aggressions, the sanctity of the place was often invaded by those who returned across the marches from some lawless foray, or by others who entered the Welsh frontiers to make reprisals. The calm serenity which, for a brief season, reigned within and around the sanctuary, was disturbed by continual apprehensions of violence or extortion. The ministering priest was often interrupted in his sacred office by the shouts of armed men. The stranger who had come in pilgrim weeds, confessed, and done penance, was too often found on departure to be a traitor, ready to conduct the next troop of marauders to the gate, and extort fresh contributions from the already impoverished brotherhood.

It is also alleged, with plausibility, that from the Cambrian people—who hated the place because its founders, benefactors, priors, and brotherhood, were aliens by birth, nation, and language—the abbey had no very cordial protection or support. During the long border struggles that preceded and followed its “foundation in the wilderness,” it was the mark of every invading or retreating foe. Instead of Matins and Vespers, and the meditations of holy men, the Vale of Ewias was often the retreat or the rallying point of adventurers, whose Parthian-like movements rendered them equally dangerous in the charge and the retreat. The sanctity and seclusion of the place once disturbed, the spell was broken; outrages were repeated and multiplied with impunity by those who, having no law, were a law unto themselves; and to such extremes were these carried, that the Prior and Canons—habituated as they were, by the rule of their Order, to fasting, and at best to a coarse and scanty fare—were often reduced to the verge of famine.

In one of the numerous expeditions by which the spirit of retaliation was kept up, and by which the religious houses were harassed and plundered, a soldier of the English army writes—“We lie here watching, praying, fasting, and freezing! Wewatchin dread of the Welsh, who beat up our quarters every night; weprayfor a safe passage homeward; wefast, for hardly havewe any food, the halfpenny loaf being raised to fivepence; and wefreezefor want of clothing, having only a linen tent to keep out the cold!”

If such was the penance done by an officer of the “victorious army,” great must have been the sufferings endured by those who had to supply the “loaf,” as the monks of Llanthony had to do, either in substance or in coin.

While the Abbey was yet faintly struggling to recover a healthy activity in its affairs, its temporal revenues, and spiritual offices, so great a dearth occurred all over Wales, that the Bishop of St. David’s is said to have died of grief; the Bishop of Llandaff to have been stricken blind; while the Bishops of Bangor and St. Asaph, on their sees being rendered utterly destitute, were reduced to the necessity of supplicating alms. The bondage and destitution of the Welsh at this period—the evils of want and war—are thus expressed by an old writer:—“The harp of the churchman is changed into sorrow and lamentation; the glory of our proud and ancient nobility is faded away.”

It was about this time that the Bishop of Hereford, then Prior of Llanthony, the better to rescue them from a gross insult and trespass by a powerful neighbour, and accommodate their numbers to the scanty means of subsistence within the Welsh border, drew off the major part of the canons from Llanthony, and gave them an asylum in his own palace.

[After describing, in graphic language, the distractions of the country, the robbery, violence, murder, and rapine, that were daily perpetrated in their immediate vicinity, and which threatened the very existence of the brotherhood, the flagrant desecration that immediately led to their removal to Hereford is thus recorded:—Est præterea et aliud quod animos innocentium plus omnibus hiis in fixorio angustiarum acerbiùs terrebat. Unus namque ex vicinis Wallensibus inimicorum minis et jaculis undignè impeditus, cùm nullus ei tutus ad latendum vel evadendum locus superesset, c̄ omni domo sua, adLanthoniamconvolavit; hanc sibi constituens domum Refugii ut salvus fieret, quem inimici odio inexorabili persequentes non longè ab atrio in insidiis sedentes vigilantiùs opportunitatem observabant, quando in eum casu aliquo tandem oblatum irarum virus evomere prævalerent. Ipse verò in interiores officinas, quò securior redderetur, cum suis et ancillis, se ingessit; ità ut ubiFratresreficere consueverant, ibimuliereschoros ducere, et cætera muliebria, ignominiosè tractare non erubescerent!

Quid facient militesChristitot hostium cuneis tarn atrociter vallati! Ecce foris pugnæ, et intus timores! Non enim possunt ab intus fratres divinis officiis, præ ingratorum hostium insolentia, consueta veneratione interesse: LugetMarthaquia pascere non permittitur: doletMariaquia sanctæ refectionis epulis privatur; et præterea nimis timet ne in infirmioribus membris suis alicujus culpæ dehonestetur.]

The result of this, after two years’ residence at Hereford, was the foundation of the new monastery at Gloucester; but which it was at first intended should be only acell, dependent on the Mother-Church on the Honddy. But inured to this species of daily warfare—familiar with the dangers of their position, and strong in the belief that they were objects of regard in the eyes of Him who would assuredly carry them, as he did the faithful of old, through all their troubles—they are said to have left the scene of their trials and privations with reluctance; and to have declared that the gardens of Hereford, and the vineyards of Gloucester, had no attractions for them like the barren rocks of “Ewias and the Honddy:”—

And when at last these holy men,With lingering step and slow,Had wound their way along the glenWhereHonddy’s[337]waters flow,They halted—gazed—and heaved a sigh,And dropt a parting tear—“Oh, never till this hour,” they cry,“WasEwias’vale so dear!Through richer lands our feet may roam—But long our hearts will pine,And feel they have no earthly homeBut Honddy’s hallowed shrine!Oh, BlessedMary, shield us well!And, when the storm is past,Grant we beside that hallowedcellMay lay our bones at last.”The prayer was heard—their labours o’er,Behold their nameless bier,Beneath theChancel’sgrassy floor,Where pilgrims drop the tear!The simple daisy loves the spot,And there, the leafy JuneStrews many a sweetForget-me-notBeneath the dewy moon.And hallowed—hallowed be the groundWhere sleep the good and brave,Decked by the firstlings of the Spring,And soothed by Honddy’s wave! &c.

And when at last these holy men,With lingering step and slow,Had wound their way along the glenWhereHonddy’s[337]waters flow,

They halted—gazed—and heaved a sigh,And dropt a parting tear—“Oh, never till this hour,” they cry,“WasEwias’vale so dear!

Through richer lands our feet may roam—But long our hearts will pine,And feel they have no earthly homeBut Honddy’s hallowed shrine!

Oh, BlessedMary, shield us well!And, when the storm is past,Grant we beside that hallowedcellMay lay our bones at last.”

The prayer was heard—their labours o’er,Behold their nameless bier,Beneath theChancel’sgrassy floor,Where pilgrims drop the tear!

The simple daisy loves the spot,And there, the leafy JuneStrews many a sweetForget-me-notBeneath the dewy moon.

And hallowed—hallowed be the groundWhere sleep the good and brave,Decked by the firstlings of the Spring,And soothed by Honddy’s wave! &c.

It has been already observed, that monastic establishments were not generally popular among the Cambrians. They reminded them too sensibly of the haughty domination of those Norman lords, who had parcelled out the country amongst them, and hoped to extenuate their crimes by the building and endowment ofreligious houses. But the memory of what was gained by force or fraud, was not to be effaced by multiplying shrines and priories—great crimes were not to be buried under abbey walls. To every free-born Cambrian, the sight of an abbey appeared like a monument of his country’s degradation and bondage, for it was difficult to separate in his mind the blessings of religion from the galling yoke of oppression; he saw that what was at first gained by force of arms, was to be retained by the yet stronger hand of spiritual despotism. The ecclesiastical power was at times more efficient in subjugating a chief, than all that a feudal baron could carry with him into the field; and when both united for the purpose of conquest, their strength was irresistible, the result certain; and the hatred of the oppressed was naturally roused against the grinding sense of a twofold oppression.

Superstition was a mighty engine. An austere old writer gives us the following instance of its working in this golden age of the Church:—“The yeare after this, Gruffyth, son to Conan ap Owen Gwyneth, a nobleman, died, and was buried in a monke’s cowle at the Abbey of Conway; and so were all the nobles, for the most part, of that time buried. For they were made to believe by the old monkes and friers, that that strange weed was a sure defence betwixt their soulis and hell, howsoever they died. And all this baggage and superstition received they with monkes and friers, a few yeares before that,out of England. For thefirstabbey or frier-house that we read of in Wales, sith the destruction of the noble house ofBangor, which savered not of Romish dregges, was the Twy Gwyn, built the yeare 1146; and after that they swarmed like bees through all the countrie; for then the Cleargie had forgotten the lesson that they had receaved from the noble clerk, Ambrosius Telesinus, who, writing in the yeare 540, when the right Christian faith, whichJoseph of Arimatheataught at the isle of Avalon, reigned in this land, before the proud and bloodthirsty monkeAugustineinfested it with the Romish doctrine, in a certaine ode hath these verses inWelsh, which may be thus Englished, almost word for word:—

“Wo be to that priest yborne,That will not cleanlie weed his corne,And preach his charge among!Wo be to thatSheepherd, I saie,That will not watch his flocke alwaie,As to his office doth belong!Wo be to him, that doth not keepeFrom Romish Wolves his simple sheepe,With Staffe and weapon stronge!

“And because that no man should doubt of them, I have set them down here as they were written by him that made them; whereby it may be produced thatthe Britaynes, the first inhabitants of this realme, did abhorre the Romish doctrine taught at that time.”[338]

Architecture.—The Abbey of Llanthony was built, like those already described, in the cathedral form—with a nave, lateral aisles, transepts, and chancel. It measures in length, from the western door to the great eastern window, two hundred and twelve feet; and the breadth of the nave, including the side aisles, is fifty feet. The style is a compound of Norman and Early English, or Gothic, of which the lancet-pointed windows in the nave are illustrations; while the Norman character is preserved in the arch between the choir and south transept, and again in the outer wall of the same transept by a double window. Of the roof, which was was of stone, nothing remains except a fragment in the north aisle; the transepts have also crumbled down; but the central tower, which connected the whole fabric, still presents a massive, though mutilated, feature of the ancient pile.

TheNave, with its six noble arches, which separates the body of the church from the north aisle, is the grand and imposing feature of the scene. To the spectator, who takes his stand at the west door, the objects present a picture of wild and melancholy grandeur. Before him rise the monuments of a religious Order, who exercised no small influence over the destinies of mankind; and, when their own were fulfilled, left behind them, in the ruins that still adorn the land, the strongest evidence—with the highest homage that art and science can offer to religion.

We do not pretend to say that the remains of Llanthony are equal in architectural beauty to those of many other religious houses in the kingdom; but as every object of this description depends—for theeffectit may exert over the spectator’s mind—upon the character of the scenery, and the circumstances under which it is viewed, we may safely claim for these ruins an effect much beyond what others, though more lofty, elaborate, and extensive, could ever inspire. The monastic ruins that, in more favoured districts, attract and command attention, do not, and cannot, take such hold of the imagination as the contemplation of this temple of the Desert, where everything seems in harmony with the thoughts suggested; and where the combined features of Nature and Art invest the scene with peculiar solemnity.

The nave was separated from the two aisles, north and south, by eight noble arches, supported by massive pillars on each side. But of these several have disappeared on the south, and left only their grass-covered bases to indicate their size and position. Of the great tower, only two sides remain; and on that facing the nave, may be seen the angular lines where it was joined by the stone roof to the nave. On a line with the tower on the right are seen part of the south transept, with its double Norman window opening into the interior; and at the base, externally, a lancet-shaped doorway, opening into a side chapel. On the centre of each pillar, and on a line with the upper tier of windows, orclerestory, are seen the remains of the springing columns, which supported the groined roof—showing, by the triple-moulded shaft, the base or impost from which the ribbed arch threw its delicate ramifications along the stone vault, and connected the walls under a magnificent canopy, adorned at every intersection of the ribs with carved bosses and rosettes; but of which scarcely a fragment is left.

The ornamented arch in the eastern window, so long the admiration of travellers, has mouldered away. But the Norman arch, already noticed, between the choir and the south aisle, is a bold and characteristic feature that points very distinctly to the twelfth century. The walls of the north aisle are wholly dilapidated; but the outside wall of the south aisle, as observed, is the most entire. Of this the windows are Norman, lofty and finely proportioned. “The western side is considered by all connoisseurs to be the most elegant; the northern, the most entire; the southern, the most picturesque; and the eastern, the most magnificent.” Taken altogether, the remains of this Abbey present acoup d’œilthat will bear comparison with many of far higher name. It unites the sublime and the picturesque in a more than ordinary measure, while the general effect is greatly enhanced by the natural solitude of the place.

On the south of the remaining transept is a neat Gothic chapel, with an engroined roof, in tolerable preservation. It measures twenty-two feet in length, by ten and a half in breadth; and on the south of this chapel are the remains of an oblong room, supposed to have been the Chapter-house, or more probably the Vestiary. The other offices—the Refectory, Hospitium, Dormitory, and Cloisters—may be easily traced by an experienced antiquary; but, to a common observer, their respective boundaries are indistinct. In a barn, westward of the ruins, is a fine arch, supposed to have formed the grand entrance to the Abbey. But now—

Stone after stone the hallowed temple falls,Fierce lightnings scathe, and torrents sap the walls;No mantling ivy round the ruin weavesIts verdant panoply of glittering leaves;No pious hand, with patriotic care,Props in its fall the ancient house ofPrayer;But still yon Arch, that braves the winter blast,Stands the proud chronicler of ages past.

On thearchitecture of this period, we may here introduce a few desultory remarks, without entering into any disquisition on the subject.

The most remarkable works of architecture,[339]as opposed to that of the feudal strongholds, are the religious edifices erected about this period, and improved during the three following centuries. These structures uniting, as in the present instance, sublimity in general composition with the beauties of variety and form—intricacy of parts—skilful, or at least fortunate, effects of light and shade—and, in some instances, with extraordinary mechanical science, are naturally apt to lead those antiquaries, who are most conversant with them, into too partial estimates of the times wherein they were founded. They certainly are accustomed to behold the fairest side of the picture. It was the favourite and most honourable employment of ecclesiastical wealth, to erect, to enlarge, to repair cathedral and conventual churches; and upon these buildings in England, between the Norman Conquest and the Reformation, an immense capital must have been expended. And it is pleasing to observe how the seeds of genius, hidden, as it were, under the frost of that dreary winter, began to bud to the first sunshine of encouragement.

In the darkest period of the middle ages, especially after the Scandinavian incursions into France and England, ecclesiastical architecture, though always far more advanced than any other art, bespoke the rudeness and poverty of the times. It began towards the latter end of the eleventh century, when tranquillity, at least as to former enemies, was restored, and some degree of learning reappeared to assume a more noble appearance.

The Anglo-Norman cathedrals were, perhaps, as much distinguished above other works of man in their own age, as the more splendid edifices of a later period. The science manifested in them, according to the authority here quoted, is not very great; and their style, though by no means destitute of lesser beauties, is, upon the whole, an awkward imitation of Roman architecture, or, perhaps, more immediately of the Saracenic buildings of Spain, and those of the lower Greek Empire.[340]But about the middle of the twelfth century, when Llanthony, Tinterne, and so many remarkable edifices sprang up, this manner began to give place to what is improperly denominated the Gothic architecture. We are not concerned at present to inquire whether this style originated in France or Germany, Italy or England, since it was almost simultaneous in all these countries; nor from what source it was derived—a question of no small difficulty. I would only venture to remark, that whatever may be thought of the pointed arch, for which there is more than one mode of accounting, we must perceive a very oriental character in the vast profusion of ornament, especially on the exterior surface, which is as distinguishing a mark of Gothic buildings as their arches; and contributes, in an eminent degree, both to their beauties and their defects. This, indeed, is rather applicable to the later than the earlier stage of architecture; and rather to Continental than English churches. The Cathedral at Amiens is in a far more florid style than its contemporary at Salisbury. The Gothic species of architecture is thought by some to have reached its perfection—considered as an object of taste—by the middle of the fourteenth century; or at least to have lost something of its excellence by the corresponding part of the next age—an effect of its early and rapid cultivation; since arts appear to have, like individuals, their natural progress and decay. Yet this seems, if true at all, only applicable to England; since the Cathedrals of Cologne and Milan—perhaps the most distinguished monuments of this architecture—are both of the fifteenth century. The mechanical execution, at least, continued to improve; and is so far beyond the apparent intellectual powers of those times, that some have ascribed the principal ecclesiastical structures to the fraternity of Freemasons—depositaries of a concealed and traditionary science. There is probably some ground for this opinion; and the earlier archives of that mysterious association, if they existed, might illustrate the progress of Gothic architecture, and perhaps reveal its origin. The remarkable change in this new style, that was almost contemporaneous in every part of Europe, cannot be explained by any local circumstances, or the capricious taste of a single nation.[341]

“The Normans,” says “William of Malmesbury, “live in large edifices with economy. Theyrevivedby their arrival the observances of religion, which were everywhere grown lifeless in England. You might now see churches rise up in every village, and monasteries in the towns and cities—all built after a style previouslyunknownin this country.” It was soon after the renovation and introduction here mentioned, that the Abbey ofLlanthony—though one of the smallest and least known of its class—sprang up in the desert, as a signal to many others, on a more extended and noble scale that quickly followed, and stamped their architectural character upon the age. It was most probably finished before the middle of the twelfth century—so prolific in ecclesiastical edifices. The style is of that period—designated as the transition from late Norman to early English, where the predominant features are Gothic—characterized by the pointed arch; by pillars which are so extended as to lose all trace of classical proportions; by shafts which are placed side by side, often with different thicknesses, and are variously clustered and combined.[342]

This style is divided into three distinct periods—besides that of transitionbetween the circular and pointed styles—which lasted through the greater part of the twelfth century, when the circular and pointed arches are frequently—as in the nave and south transept before us—used indiscriminately in the same building. The ornaments, although generally partaking of the earlier style, begin to be better executed, and more elaborate; and the general appearance of the building assumes a lighter character. The first style of Gothic in this country,The Early English, prevailed through the greater part of the twelfth century; and of this style the subject in question is one of the numerous examples that followed its introduction in every part of the kingdom. Among these the variations, in all save dimensions, are so slight and unimportant, that the description of almost any one monastic structure of that century applies to every other of the same style and period. We possess in the ruins of Llanthony a pure example of this style, unchanged by any subsequent additions or alterations; for as the Abbey became reduced both in numbers and revenues, immediately after the establishment of the Abbey at Gloucester, it shared in none of the changes introduced by the decorated style; but has continued to the present day what it was in the middle of the twelfth century. To account for the splendour of conventual churches in general, we have only to remember that personal expense or secular indulgence were highly culpable in a monk; and that whatever was expended in ornamenting the Church was glorifyingGod.

Williamof Llanthony—the warrior monk already noticed—appears to have had followers in his penance; for Peter Damian mentions a man who wore anironcorslet next his skin, had iron rings around his limbs, so that he performed with pain and difficulty hisMetaneas, or penitential inclinations, and very often dashed his hands upon the pavement. In “Strutt’s Dresses” is a female pilgrim lying on the ground, apparently to perform this penance of slapping the ground. The lady of Sir Thomas More, in reply to her husband, who counselled her to desist from scolding her servants during Lent, replied that she wore a “Monk’s girdle,” and therefore had nothing to fear.[343]The virtues of the monk’s girdle, it appears, were equivalent to those of thecowl, already alluded to in our notice of Tinterne.

The revenuespossessed by Llanthony appear to have been very considerable at the outset; but through negligence or mismanagement—or rather by the prejudicial influence of a rival abbey—they fell off gradually, and at thedissolution were valued at a sum[344]considerably less than those of Tinterne Abbey.

When we read, in the Monastic Annals, of entire districts, towns, and villages being conveyed to monasteries, we are surprised at the boundless liberality of the founders. But when we reflect that, at the time of these princely endowments, the land, in many instances, was neither cultivated nor peopled, the question of prodigal generosity is materially altered. At the period of transition, as it may be termed, when it passed from the hands of the feudal Baron to the Abbot or Prior, the products of the consecrated territory were often nothing more than wood and pasture; nor, until it had been long subjected to the system of agriculture, so generally practised and taught by the monks, was it brought into a state fit for the sustenance of man. If we compare—so far as written documents enable us—the state of agriculture and its population, when these lands were transferred to the Abbot, with the condition they were in when taken from him, we shall see very clearly to what a vast amount they had improved under monastic management; and how much cause there was to applaud the stewardship of the venerable monks, in whose hands the physical aspect of the country underwent an entire change. Theirs were truly the arts of peace. Obliged, by the rule of their order, to plant their convents in sterile and uncultivated wilds, where intercourse with more favoured districts was neither easy nor expedient, circumstances required that they should, like the apostles and fathers of old, depend for daily bread on the labour of their hands. While some went to prayer, others went to work; and thus the blessing of heaven and the bounty of earth were believed to descend upon them, and abide with them, in those sacred habitations which had sprung up under their hands, and exercised on everything around them a mild and harmonizing influence.

This spirit of improvement, however, varied according to the differentOrdersof which the great monastic brotherhood was composed. To those who—in imitation of theBaptist—desired to limit their physical wants to a diet of “locusts and wild honey,” or to whatever the unaided hand of Nature might place within their reach, were content to consume their days in fasting and prayer. And observing—as he probably did—that whenever wealth and luxury had increased in religious houses, strict discipline had as certainly relaxed, the Monk ofLlanthonyappears to have preferred the desert to any of those “seductive landscapes” into which it might have been, in some degree, converted by means of industry and manual labour. He had also before hiseyes the baneful effects produced by the luxurious indulgences of New Llanthony upon the minds of the absent brothers, whose piety, that had preserved its fervour amongst rocks and glens, became vapid and lukewarm when transplanted to the rich landscapes of the Severn. Where riches abounded, “pride and license did much more abound.” It was better to continue a poor but pious friar on the banks of the Honddy, than become a luxurious wine-bibbing canon in the Vale of Gloucester.

The space, therefore, in which the most distant resemblance to ancient cultivation can be traced is comparatively small. It was, perhaps, under a strong conviction of great piety and great property being in their very nature antagonistic, that the “Province of Berkeley,” which the King had offered to the Canons of Llanthony, was so firmly declined. The vineyards, which it is understood were then common on the banks of the Severn, were not likely to fortify the mind against temptation, or reconcile the brotherhood to the abstinence and austerities of conventual life. But when he speaks of the tract as a “province,” we can easily imagine that, fertile as the native soil undoubtedly was, only a small portion of it was under cultivation; so that the annual revenue bore an exceedingly small proportion to its extent in acres. And so it was with the almost innumerable tracts of Church lands in every part of the kingdom; for until they were brought into cultivation and crop, their value was merely nominal. And how much is due to the skill and perseverance of the monks in the encouragement of agriculture? There is scarcely a hill or valley in the kingdom, from which their judicious exercise of plough, and spade, and mattock, did not produce its annual return in the necessaries of life. And hence the revenues, that in the course of years and centuries flowed in upon them, were the legitimate result of a liberal and vigilant economy. We are too apt to forget, whilst reckoning up the vast territories bequeathed from age to age to the church by penitent benefactors, that these same tracts were, in many instances, of little or no current value to their original owners; and that it was only by passing them into more skilful and industrious hands, that they became actually appreciable, as corn lands, orchards, and vineyards.

The Canonsof Llanthony, in their local position, had neither the advantages of a fertile soil, nor the acquired habits, nor obligations of Rule, which rendered its cultivation imperative. Their revenues were drawn from a distance—some from remote parts in Ireland. But in their immediate neighbourhood, the monks had a brook and enclosed ponds that produced fish; forests that bred herds of deer, hares, and wild fowl; while patches of garden, orchard, and rye-field, supplied their table with that allowance of fruits and vegetables, herbs and roots, and coarse bread, which formed the daily items of their scanty fare. But when a stranger of note or a noble pilgrim arrived at the gate, the Prior’s table assumed the appearance of more than frugal hospitality; and all that forest or river could furnish for the entertainment of the honoured guest was liberally supplied.[345]As an established

Sanctuary—from which even the greatest offenders were not excluded—we have already noticed the shame and desecration inflicted upon Llanthony by a powerful native, who in the hour of despair had fled to its gate for shelter. To this disastrous visit no opposition could be offered. The sanctuary ofSt. Johnwas alike available to all—to the guilty as well as to the innocent. And if it was too frequently a refuge for those who had set all laws at defiance, it was happily still more so to the sick and the friendless; to the helpless victim of oppression, who from the horns of the altar appealed to heaven for redress; and to the penitent, who could find no escape from the snares of evil associates, but in the confessional and the cloister. It had been a difficult task, in such circumstances, to discriminate between the claims of those who, in their distress, flew to the sanctuary—between great criminals and true penitents; and therefore it was better the gate should be open alike to all, than that one sincere penitent should be driven back into a world which, in the bitter hours of remorse, he had resolved to abandon. In such institutions there was a gentle union of wisdom and mercy, which the refinement of later times has done much to loosen, and little to perpetuate.

The Abbey Church from the East.

Of Llanthony, as itnowappears, the following sketch is from the pen of a recent visitor; and the contrast is picturesque and striking:—

“At the western end of the Nave rise two towers—one of them, withmodernized doors and windows, is inhabited. An open arcade extends in front of part of the adjoining cloister, and advancing through the open door it shaded, we found ourselves in a long vaulted half-parlour half-kitchen, with old arms suspended above the fire-place; sides of bacon nobly flanking the whitewashed walls; old chairs and cabinets, and various minor articles of furniture, all arranged with a neatness which betokened that the presiding genius of the place was feminine. Just as we had come to this conclusion, forth stepped from an inner recess the gentle tenant of the abode of the ancient monks, with a quiet simplicity of manner which went to the heart of a weary pilgrim, and made him feel instantly as if at home, and welcome. A little repose, and a cup of tea beside a blazing hearth—for even in summer the air is shrewd among these hills at evening—entirely refreshed us; and just as the sun was going down in the west, we sallied forth to see the ruins. Albeit the hospitality in early times was here dispensed by shaven monks, and now by maidens fair, there is a singular charm felt by all who visit Llanthony, in this quiet living within the precincts of the Abbey, which interests the imagination, and helps to blend agreeably the past and present.

“With this half-dreamy feeling I went forth, and ascended a slight eminence to the westward, whence the whole pile extended at length its ruined towers and arches, half-buried in trees, and overhung with the lofty hills which shut in the vale, and opened no view to the distant world beyond. These hills were cultivated half-way up their sides; a few farms, each sending up its column of smoke, appeared at intervals, with paths leading up into the wild heath that clothed the summits. The evening sun cast a broad red light upon the west front and towers of the pile, and half gilded the remaining portion. I thought I had never beheld, even among the secluded abbeys of the Yorkshire dales, anything more romantically serene. It was getting dusk ere I could tear myself from the spot. The moon was that evening at the full; and it gave me the opportunity of rambling among the ruins, before I repaired to my dormitory in the abbey tower, which I ascended by a narrow flight of stone steps. One might, in idea, have gone back to the olden time, and fancied oneself a pilgrim in very earnest, receiving hospitality from the ancient tenants of the place, had it not been for the dainty whiteness of the bed, which occupied a story of the old tower—far different, I trow, from the rude pallets of these romantic but uncomfortable ages.”[346]

Llanthony Abbey.

Sir R. Colt Hoare says, that when his friend Mr. Wyndham made the tour of Wales, in the year 1777, the Eastern front of the abbey was standing, but has since fallen; and its design is now only preserved by the view engraven of it in his book. When he accompanied Mr. Coxe, in the year 1800, to make drawings for his historical tour through Monmouthshire, the western front still retained its superior elegance: in the year 1801, one of the fine windows gave way; and two years later he was a mournful eye-witness, not only to the total downfall of the three windows which composed the principal ornament of the front, but of some modern architectural innovations, highly injurious to the picturesque appearance of this venerable structure. It is a melancholy reflection to the traveller, who repeats, at certain intervals, his visits to the many interesting spots selected by our ancestors, either for military or religious establishments, that at each visit he will, most probably, find them progressively verging to decay. But Llanthony, even amidst its ruins, still supplies the artist with many fine subjects for his pencil, and furnishes ample matter of inquiry and investigation to the architect and antiquarian. From certain data we have of its first construction, about the year 1108, and subsequent desertion in 1136, we are enabled to ascertain the style of architecture then adopted in monastic buildings, as there can be little doubt but that the ruins we now see are those of the original abbey.[347]

Summary—[For the following details—slightly altered and abridged—we are indebted to a recent and popular Description of Llanthony Priory,[348]by the Rev. George Roberts, M.A., in which the ruins are traced with archæological taste and accuracy:]—

The west end is flanked by two low square massiveTowers. The one on the south was fitted up by Colonel Wood, a former proprietor, with apartments for the grousing season, and is covered in with a sloping roof. The Abbot’s lodging, which joins on to the south side, is also turned into a dwelling-house for the steward of the estate, where visitors are obligingly accommodated. The stone staircase is perfect in the south tower, but broken in the north. The staircases were lighted by five chinks. Each tower on the outward face is divided into five stages by bold string-courses; the base is beveled off, and the ground story is broad and plain. The second and third stages are ornamented, arcade-fashion, on the side next to the west window, and the archesare pointed. The central compartment in each successive stage recedes. In the lowest story, two pointed windows have been disfigured by modern innovation. In the centre of the second story, a beautiful example of the round-headed Norman window remains perfect to the depth of the wall; the dripstone over it is plain in the north tower, but in the south is terminated by two corbel-heads. The third story is ornamented with a double long lancet-shaped blank window, of great elegance in design; the pointed heads spring from triple shafts with plain Norman capitals. Between these towers, thus ornamented so as to correspond, stood the great

West Windowover the principal entrance, already noticed. Joining on to the south tower, there is a round-headed deep window, with a broad trefoiled head, belonging to a plain vaulted chamber called thePrior’s Lodging. This chamber abuts upon the church, and commences the conventual buildings. Entering by the west you see the interior of the whole church. TheNavewas separated from the twoAisleson each side by eight obtusely-pointed arches, supported on massive pillars square without capitals; the bases ornamented withogeemouldings. A round moulding, deeply let in, runs from the base entirely round the arch, to the base on the opposite side.

The Archeson the north side still stand perfect. On the south four only remain, and these imperfect—two at each end of the Nave. The central arches fell in thirteen years ago (1837), on Ash-Wednesday, without any external notice, and whilst the family were at dinner. Had they fallen a few minutes sooner, some person must have been killed. The pressure of the clerestory windows, which on this side were destroyed, as upon the other,overweightedthe arches beneath, and forced them in. The four others remaining are in a very tottering condition—and would have fallen, if Mr. Webb, the steward, to whom the building is much indebted for its preservation, had not built up some rude but well-intentioned buttresses; which, however much they may disfigure, are essential to the strengthening of the remains. He also ingeniously hooped with iron two of the pillars, and by the application of the screw, has managed to bring them back into their former position.

The Side Aislesare completely down; but the termination of the North Aisle, with the only specimen of the roof remaining, is to be seen in the North Tower of the west front. Here there is also a long, deep, round-headed Norman window, looking to the north. The arch at the end of the Nave, next to the Tower, springs from a corbel, consisting of three truncated pillars with capitals. The bit of theroofof the Aisle which remains is heavily groined, and formed by the intersection of round arches. The flat wall buttress, on either side of the Tower, has at the top a square moulding, fluted, from which springs an arch spanning the Aisle—the only one of the series in existence. This is themost acutely pointed in the whole building, and gives an idea of the character of the rest belonging to theAisles.

The Archesare divided from what seems to have been a triforium [Coxe, who saw it when perfect, calls it an upper tier of Norman arches], by a straight plain band. Between each arch is a corbel, formed ofthreeclustered pillars, as before, with plain Norman capitals, and worked off to a point, where the base should have been, six in number, and from these, evidently, sprung the vaulted and groined roof.

In the interior, above, nothing remains but a double window, pointed and elegant, which seems to have formed the lower portion of the deep Norman recessed arch, through which the passage ran along to the Bell-tower. This may be clearly traced from the exterior of the building. A low round-headed plain door connected each aisle with its contiguous transept. The square

Bell-towerwas supported upon four large and noble pointed arches, of which the west and the south, together with the sides above them, are standing; although there is reason to fear for the latter, from the pressure of the superincumbent building, which has shattered and bowed it out. Only sixty years ago the Bell-tower was thirty-seven feet higher than at present, viz., sixty-three feet, as taken by an instrument—whence the entire height was at first exactly a hundred feet. The ruin now reaches but a short way above the dripstone of the roof. The west arch springs from a corbel of three stunted pillars, clustered, and terminating in a flower—the corbel on the opposite terminating in a square moulding of the ogee description. The gable in the western arch is pierced by two small plain Norman windows, and has a third narrow-pointed window in the apex.

The Staircasecommunicating with the belfry is lighted by a round-headed window. We may conjecture there were severalbellsin the tower—carried off to Gloucester by Prior Roger.[349]

Transepts.—Nothing remains of the North Transept but one side of the window.—[See the woodcut.]—The South Transept is lighted upon the south by a double Norman window, the moulding and shaft plain, the window eighteen feet by three; and above them, in the gable, is a plainRosewindow, of which nothing but the circular rim remains. The effect of this composition, from its simplicity, is exceedingly imposing. A bold Norman arch, supported by a plain Norman corbel pillar, with a cushion capital, communicates on the east, from the transept, with the Lady Chapel; and one step from the Tower leads into the Choir.

The Roofwas supported upon pillars—lofty with Norman capitals. One on the south is perfect, and the base of the corresponding pillar is to be seen. The string-course runs over this pillar, and along the wall to the extremity of the Choir. At the distance of eighteen feet are traces of steps to the HighAltar, flanked on either side by triple pillars, clustered; the distance from these steps to the east window is also eighteen feet. A long and exquisitely-proportioned round-headed window lighted the choir on the north side, and is quite perfect, except that the masonry above it is gone, leaving the naked rim of the head standing alone, with an effect at once graceful and melancholy. The space on the south side points out where the corresponding window stood. A gap shows the space occupied by the great east window, which was standing in Wyndham’s time. From his drawing, it appears to have been a fine pointed window, with tracery in the head, and having two small Norman lights in the gable above. A few mouldings are still extant, with slender shafts and Norman capitals in the wall where it was inserted.

As you return from the east, continues the historian of the Abbey, you are struck with two windows in the Bell-tower on the south side, in the second story. They consist of a round-headed arch, divided into two lights by a sturdybalustre, standing in the middle of the wall, and extending from its plinth to its capital, right through the centre to the top of the arch. Beyond this, in the thickness of the wall, vestiges of a passage are discovered, which seems to have formed a gallery round the tower. A round-headed plain Norman door, the jambs being low pillars with cushion capitals, at the west end of the choir, on the south side, leads into

The Lady Chapel.The slight remains of the corbels, from which the roof sprung, are here more elaborate in their work than in any other part of the building. We had some difficulty in tracing out the foundation.

The Chapter-house[350]was built in contiguity to the south side of the south transept. On the north side of it a stable is inserted, which prevents accurate observation. In a calf-pen or shed, however, we discovered the corresponding base of the columns to the other unencumbered side. It seems to have been a spacious and elegant room, of an oblong form, lighted at the east and at the south, where there is a deep recess, and traces sufficient to warrant the surmise that there were three Norman windows on that side. The south wall is ornamented and divided into four compartments by clusters of triple pillars, upon which the roof rested. The east end narrows in, and the entrance is from the west. On the south of the church, between the transept and the Chapter-house, is an

Oratory—the chapel already named—with an engroined roof in complete preservation. The central arch springs from a Norman corbel on each side, and two other arches form the angles of the building in the same manner. By their intersection the roof is formed. A deep Norman window is fixed in the east wall. The sides of the door consist of two pillars, capitals with flowers, and bases, ogee-shaped. South again of the chapter, a large space for a doorway—the side pillars of which are partly standing—opens into

The Refectory, of which the slight traces still in existence, defy anything like accuracy of detail. A rude window, chimney, and vaults, broken in and filled with rubbish, show where the offices and kitchen lay. Beyond these is a splendidSewer, which has been mistaken by the common people to be the commencement of a subterraneous passage leading to “Oldham Castle,” under the mountains.

The Vivarium, or Fish-pond, is east of the church, and a mountain rill still runs through it. The whole of the conventual buildings, together with a close, amounting to seven acres, were surrounded by a wall. At some little distance south-west from the church, and divided from it by what is now a long meadow, stand

The Hospitiumand Porter’s Lodge—the first of which is a barn, and has been enlarged for that purpose. A fine pointed arch, already alluded to, under which was the entrance gateway, still remains. The pillars upon which it rests are immensely strong—the capitals Norman and rudely carved. Above this were apartments lighted by two round-headed windows in the north gable; and in the south gable, by two windows with trefoil cusps, and one round-headed. An old fireplace above is also visible. The arches on the other side are blocked up with solid masonry. The Porter’s window is pointed, and looks to the west. In the “bay” of the barn, and on a level with the ground, on the west side, is a window deeply set in the wall, pointed; and in a line with it, a square open space, like the top of a buttery-hatch, with a large flat stone below, whence probably thedole[351]was distributed.

RULES of St. Augustin.—Of these, the rules of Llanthony—which the reader will find printed at full in the history of theOrder[352]—a few extracts may here suffice.

A.By the first rule, or condition, every candidate for admission into the Order was called upon to relinquish all property. He was to enter on a term of probation by thePrior. No Canon, on taking leave of the Order from necessity, was permitted to take any property away with him. If anything were offered him as a present, he was not at liberty to accept it, until he had obtained leave from the Prior. This rule was to apply equally to all, from the Superior downwards. Punishment was to be denounced for contumacy, and offences to be declared to thePræpositus, before whom all disagreements were to be laid for consideration and adjustment. All property detained as above-mentioned, through necessity, was to be handed over to theSuperior.

B.They were carefully to remember what psalms were appointed to be sung at the stated hours, and nightly readings afterVespers. Manual labour was to continue from morning untilSext; and from Sext tillNoneswas to be employed in reading. After refection, work was to be resumed till Vespers. In all matters of business connected with the convent, two monks were to act in concert; but none were permitted to eat or drink out of the house. Brothers sent to dispose of goods in public, for the benefit of the convent, were to be cautious of doing anything against the Rule. Idle talk, or gossiping, was strictly forbidden; and they were enjoined to proceed with their work in silence.

C.The union, or brotherhood, was to subsist in one house. Food and raiment were to be distributed by the Superior, and everything was to be held and enjoyed in common. Due consideration was to be observed towards infirmity; but no allowance to be made for pride on account of difference of birth. Concord was indispensable; and in attending divine service at the appointed hours, they were to observe the strictest punctuality. They were not to make use of the church for any other service than that to which it was consecrated, unless when, out of the proper hours, they found leisure and inclination for private prayer. While chanting the psalmody, they were to revolve and write the sentiment in their hearts. Nothing was to be sung but what was duly appointed. They were bound to mortify the flesh by frequent abstinence and fasting; and those who did not fast, were to take nothing after the usual time of dining, unless when sick. The scriptures were to be read during meals in theRefectory. To the sick a better kind of food was allowed; but not to make the others discontented. Brothers of delicate habit, or infirm health, were to have diet and clothes suitable to their condition; and such indulgence was not to excite envy or disgust in others. The sick were to be treated with all the care which their cases required; and as soon as they recovered their wonted health, they were to return to the fixed rule and habit of the house.

D.TheHabitof the Order was to be sober, not conspicuous. When they went abroad, they were to walk two together, and so remain at the journey’s end. In gait, look, habit, or gesture, everything that could be termed indecent or offensive, was to be regarded as criminal. They were not to fix their eyesupon women; and when two were in church in the presence of women, they were mutually to support each other, in observing a serious and modest decorum—“invicem vestram pudicitiam custodite. Deus enim qui habitat in vobis, etiam isto modo custodiet vos a vobis....” All such offences or misdemeanours were to be punished by the Superior. The clandestine receipt of letters or presents was a punishable offence. Their clothes were to be taken from one commonVestiary, and their food from one Larder. All vestments presented by relatives were to be stored in the common Vestiary. All labour was to be considered as done for the common good. He who stole, and he who concealed his knowledge of a theft, were to be punished with equal severity.

E.Their clothes, and the linen of the house, according to the order of the Superior, were to be washed either by themselves or by fullers. In cases of illness, ablutions were to be used according to the physician’s advice; or, on refusal, by order of the Superior. They were to go to the baths only by two or three, and were then to be accompanied by a person duly appointed by the Superior. The sick were to have anInfirmarer; and cellarers, chamberlains, or librarians, were to serve the brethren with cheerfulness and good-will.Bookscould not be obtained for perusal but at the stated hours. Clothes and shoes were to be given out when needed. No litigations or quarrels were permitted. If a difference arose, it was to be instantly adjusted or put to silence by the authorities. For all offences, satisfaction—for all wrongs, retribution—was to be given; and the offended were commanded to practise, in all cases, the sacred duty of forgiveness towards the offender.

F.Harsh or uncharitable expressions were to be carefully avoided; and if hastily uttered, they were to be followed by an immediate apology. Obedience to the Superior was strictly enjoined; but if, in the exercise of his duty, he spoke harshly to any one, he was not to be called upon for any apology. They were to yield cheerful obedience to the head over them; but chiefly to thePriest, or Presbyter, on whom devolved the care of the whole house. If, in any emergency, the Superior found his authority unequal to the occasion, he was to have recourse to that of the Priest, orElder. The Superior was bound to exercise his authority in the spirit of Christian charity and meekness, yet with firmness and impartiality. To be practically strict in discipline; but so to demean himself towards the brethren, as rather to win their love by kindness than excite their fear by severity; to set before their eyes an example of godly life; to excite imitation, and conciliate affection.[353]

The Rule ofSt. Augustin, it has been observed, is more courteous than that ofSt. Benedict; for among the Canons-Regular, every brother is well shod, well clothed, and well fed; they go out when they like, mix with the world, and converse at table. The Rule of St. Augustin was followed by the Dominicans; but with severe additions in food, fasts, bedding, garments, and utter dereliction of property.—See and compare the CistercianRule, as given in the foregoing article on Tinterne Abbey.

FOUNDER.—Hugh de Laci was an adventurer in the suite of William the Conqueror; and, like most of his Norman followers and compatriots, received in compensation of services, or in testimony of the royal favour, certain grants of land from which the ancient Saxon nobility had been expelled. All that we learn of his subsequent career is, that he founded the Priory ofLlanthonyin the manner already described, spent his days in strict religious seclusion, and departed this life in the odour of sanctity—but without issue. His possessions, therefore, were divided between his two surviving sisters, Ermeline and Emma—the former of whom died without heirs; and the latter, married to a gentleman, whose name has not descended to posterity, had by her husband a son namedGilbertde Laci. The latter, by his marriage with a lady unknown to the chronicler, had two sons,HughandWalterde Laci. Hugh died without issue, and Walter espoused Margery, daughter of Matilda deS. Walerick, wife of Williamde Brewes. To this family were born several sons and daughters; all of whom died without heirs, exceptGilbertde Laci, who took to wife the Lady Isabella, one of the five daughters of the great warrior William, EarlMarshall, of whose family history and exploits some account has been given in our notice of Tinterne Abbey.

Margery, daughter of the above-named Gilbert and Isabella de Laci, was married to Johnde Verdon; and at the death of her father, who left no male issue, she became joint heiress with her sister Matilda, the wife of Galfridde Genevile.

FromWalterde Laci, the right of all his inheritance descended to a certainGilbertde Laci, as his son and heir; and from the said Gilbert, in default of male issue, it descended to his two sisters Margery and Matilda aforesaid, co-heiresses; between whom the family property left by their father was equally divided. The above-named Margery, as we have said, married Johnde Verdon; and toNicholas, her son by this marriage, descended all the property she inherited from her father. From Nicholas, who died without legitimate issue, the family estates passed to his adopted brotherTheobald, ashis brother and heir. From Theobald, in like manner, they descended toJohn; from whom, having no heirs, they descended toWilliam, who also dying childless, they descended to Johanna, Elizabeth, Margery, Isabella, and Catherine, daughters and coheiresses of the above-named Theobald de Verdon. Of these, Catherine dying unmarried, her share of the property fell in equal proportions to her sisters; the eldest of whom wedded Thomasde Furnivall: Elizabeth, the second daughter, married Bartholomewde Burghersh; Margery, the third daughter, WilliamBlount; and Isabella took to husband Henryde Ferrers—names well known in history.

Baldwin, the Bishop above named, was a native of Exeter, where he received, what was considered in those days, a liberal education; and in the early part of his life discharged the functions of a grammar-school in that city. After taking holy orders he was made Archdeacon of Exeter; but soon quitting the duties of that office, he took the habit of the Cistercian Order in the Monastery of Ford, in Devonshire, of which, in a few years afterwards, he was elected Abbot. He was next promoted to the episcopal dignity, and on the 10th of August, 1180, consecrated Bishop of Worcester. On the death of Richard, Archbishop of Canterbury, four years later, he was translated to that see—though not without difficulty, from his being the first of the Cistercian Order in England who had ever been promoted to the archiepiscopal dignity. He was enthroned at Canterbury, May the 19th, 1185, and the same day received the bull from Pope Lucius III., whose successor, Urban III., appointed him to the office of Legate for the diocese of Canterbury. Soon after his installation, he began to build a church and monastery at Hackington, near Canterbury, in honour of “St. Thomas à Becket,” for the reception of secular priests; but, being violently opposed by the monks of Canterbury supported by the Pope’s authority, he was compelled to abandon his undertaking.

On the third of September, 1190, he solemnly performed the ceremony of crowningKing Richardthe First—Cœur-de-Lion—in the palace of Westminster. The same year, the King having given the see of York to his natural brother, Geoffrey, Bishop of Lincoln,Baldwintook occasion to assert the pre-eminence of the see of Canterbury, forbidding the Bishops to receive consecration from any other than the Archbishop himself.

The next year, designing to follow King Richard into the Holy Land, he made the “Itinerarium” into Wales already alluded to; visited the Abbey ofLlanthony, which he described in the words already quoted; said mass pontifically in all the cathedral churches, and persuaded many of the Welsh to quit their homes and take part in the crusade. After completing this progress, he returned to Canterbury; and then, embarking at Dover with the Bishop ofSalisbury, sailed for the Holy Land, where he joined the King’s army in Syria. Shortly after his arrival, however, he was seized with a mortal distemper, and died at the siege of Acre, or Ptolemais, where he was buried with all the solemnity due to a great luminary of the church.[354]

Descent.—At the period of the dissolution of monasteries, Llanthony Abbey was given to Richard, or Nicholas Arnold; then sold to Auditor Harley, and remained in the Oxford family, until sold again to Colonel (afterwards Sir Mark) Wood, of Persefield, near Chepstow; from whom it passed to the present owner,Walter Savage Landor, Esq.

Armsof Llanthony Abbey: “Party per pale azure and purpure on chevron argent, between three oak-branches argent, three marigolds proper.”—Dugdale.

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