Chapter 5

Environs.—It would be difficult to name a locality that, within so small a compass, contains so many richly-varied landscapes, as the Vale of Tinterne. In whatever direction we move, the eye is arrested by new features, new combinations of the graceful and picturesque. A saunter along the river, where it forms a crescent between the abbey and the village, will gratify every lover of the picturesque, and bring before him the beauty and freshness of nature, in striking contrast with the sublime but faded monuments of art. The best hour for enjoying this scene is about sunset; and, on returning, the tourist may ascend the Chapel Hill, and thence, in a more extended panorama, look down upon what would have furnished a rich subject for the pencil of Claude. The river, with its fantastic windings, here clamorous among shallows—there gliding away with the rapid but inaudible march of time—masses of brown rock overhanging the pass, gleaming in confused blocks through the trees that clamber up their

The Vale of Tintern.From the Devil’s Pulpit.

The Vale of Tintern.

From the Devil’s Pulpit.

steep sides, or crown their pinnacles with masses of verdure; while here and there a cottage, with its whitewashed walls, gives new life and interest to the scene.

How oft the pilgrim, lingering here,Beneath that yew’s sepulchral shade,Hath dropt the penitential tear,And, sighing to himself, hath said—There’s solace here for all my woe,St. Mary’saltar gleams below;And blessèd be the hand divine,That leads the pilgrim to hershrine.

But the point from which the Abbey of Tinterne is seen to most advantage, is that chosen by Mr. Bartlett in the illustration opposite. The way to the ‘Devil’s Pulpit,’ as it is called, runs along the left bank of the Wye, and, in its winding course, presents many little glimpses of the vale and river, that, like small cabinet-pictures, serve as a gradual introduction to the splendid panorama of nature—the features of which are here so faithfully illustrated by the pencil, as to render description superfluous.

The river, rolling far below—Here swift as time, there still and slow;O’ershadowed here with arching bowers,There sweetly fringed with summer flowers;The Vale—where, through its orchard trees,The curling vapour meets the breeze,And, vast and venerably grand,TheAbbey’smouldering arches stand,—All these a wondrous scene impart,To charm the eye and melt the heart;The scroll of ages to unfold,And paint the wondrous men of old.

Of this lofty and romantic scene Mr. Thomas writes:—“Who shall describe the glories of this splendid view? Who cannot but involuntarily think of the second scene in the Temptation, when the prince of the power of the air took the Prince of peace into an exceeding high mountain, and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and the glory of them, in a moment of time? But let no satanic thought break in upon the holy influence which the soul delights to cherish in this lovely spot! It seems as though imagination, that potent enchantress of the mind, had transmitted us to some pinnacled mountain to show us the peace, the beauty, and permanence of the works of God, in vivid contrast with the feeble, the transitory, the desolated works of man—the ruined abbey encircled by the everlasting hills. This comprehensive panorama contains the most pleasing combination of nature and art, mountain and meadow, water and wood. There flows the glassy Wye, coiled like a serpent, and either buried in woods, or gliding peacefully through meadows spangled with fleecyflocks. Its buoyant bosom bears a little bark freighted with the gay partizans of pleasure, whose scarlet banner is playing with the summer’s breeze. The distant sounds of a solitary flute harmonize with the busy hum of bees, and the song of some half-secluded bird. Again, we hear the hoarser cry of the mariner, and the metallic voice of an industrious anvil. The unpretending church of Tinterne, in its unspotted whiteness, contrasts with its aged companion—a sombre yew, which, like an ample pall, is overshadowing the clustered monuments of death.”

Lancautcliffs, which contribute a striking feature to this part of the scenery, are rendered still more interesting by the following tradition:—During the calamitous war, so often referred to in these pages, Sir John Winter was eminently distinguished by his devotion to the royal cause. The personal risks and pecuniary sacrifices to which he was daily exposed, only served to give more warmth to his loyalty. When the Parliament sent their first troops to the banks of the Wye, Winter converted his house at Sidney into a fortress; and so promptly and skilfully was this accomplished, that it was rendered not merely inaccessible, but so well provisioned and fortified as to be able to stand a siege. In this, perhaps, there was some little exaggeration; for the garrison, then at Gloucester, and acting under the direction of skilful and determined leaders, were not likely to have been foiled, had they made any such attempt. Their grand object was Chepstow Castle; and if that fortress was ultimately found to be untenable, the defence of a private fortalice must have been a rash and hopeless attempt. It proves, nevertheless, that his loyalty admitted of no fear, and was prepared for every extremity. Acting under the command of Lord Herbert—whose operations will be detailed in our account of Raglan—Winter, by his rapid movements, frequently alarmed the troops under General Massey. But after the siege of Gloucester was raised by the Earl of Essex, the king’s interest in that part of the country was much impaired; and the Parliamentary forces continuing to advance, Sir John Winter was compelled by urgent duties to abandon his own residence, and retire across the frontier. In his retreat, however, through the forest of Tudenham, Cromwell’s dragoons were immediately on his traces; escape was seemingly impossible—he was completely hemmed in by the enemy on one hand, and the Wye on the other; and though well mounted, he soon perceived that his pursuers were sensibly gaining upon him. Determined that they should never boast of having taken him prisoner, he turned his horse’s head suddenly towards the rocks, which now bear his name, and by means, he knew not how, quickly disappeared and descended the cliffs in safety. At the base of these rolled the Wye, then in flood tide; but plunging into the river, his gallant steed carried him safely to the opposite bank, where he was soon joined by a party of royalists, and congratulated upon his miraculous escape. The point at which he descended the rocks is still calledWinter’s leap. Of his escape, by scrambling down the cliff, there is no doubt; but to represent it as the result of aleap[98]on horseback, would be to assume the peculiar privilege of “Geoffrey of Monmouth.”

After this perilous feat, the hardy royalist returned to his house at Sidney; but finding it, on closer inspection, to be quite untenable, he had it demolished, and then, joining the king’s forces, took part in the battle of Naseby, which gave a finishing blow to the king’s affairs.

Awalk from theAbbeyto the village of Tinterne Parva, will never fail to interest the stranger; in this short distance, many new features and new combinations of scenery crowd upon the view, and carry the mind back to remote times, when the cloister bell was the only sound that broke in upon the stillness of the scene. Sweeping round the outer ring of the crescent, within which the river flows in a deep smooth channel, the road is overhung by masses of rock, shaded by trees, and skirted by cottages, which, from the situations they occupy, rather than any taste or merit in their construction, present a picturesque appearance. As we advance, the scene is continually changing: the old abbey walls, beautiful from whatever point they are contemplated, assume a comparatively new aspect from the western approach, particularly about sunset, when the whole building appears as if bathed in a flood of yellow light. To enjoy the scenery of the place under such circumstances, is worth a long day’s pilgrimage. The river, which here doubles upon itself, so as to take the form of a horse shoe, is of a depth navigable for small craft; and though here and there fretted by rocks, the surface, as we passed, was smooth and limpid; through which, as in a mirror, the picturesque scenery on its banks appeared in distinct and beautiful reflexion.

Near to the Cross, the ancient market-place of the village, the stranger is shown a ruined edifice, partly covered with ivy, and bearing the evidence of having suffered less from time than violence. This is supposed to have been the villa, or extra-cloister residence of the abbots of Tinterne, to which at certain seasons they could retire from the exercise of their public functions, and enjoy the privileges of social life—the society and conversation of friends and strangers, without the forms and austerities of the cloister. Of this building, nothing but a few shapeless walls is left; but from the size and structure of the windows, square-headed and divided by transoms, it seems probable that thehouse is not earlier than the reign of Elizabeth. Mr. Thomas thinks, that from its Tudor-Gothic style, it was probably built by the abbot and some of the brotherhood, as a retreat about the period when the original foundation was dissolved. During the war which devastated the frontier in 1645-6, it was taken and ransacked by the soldiers of the Commonwealth. Since that period it has often changed its owners; and at one time, we are told, though on rather uncertain ground, it was the residence of the family of Fielding the novelist—

Whose nameStill draws the pilgrim to its shattered frame,And bids him linger ’neath its shadow.

The parish church of Tinterne Parva is a small but very ancient building, irregularly divided into porch, nave, and chancel. Its erection, according to the historian of the abbey, was anterior to the foundation of the monastery itself; and by some writers it is even considered to have been the parent church. The evidences of its great antiquity may be found in the building itself; and a practised eye will detect indications of a British origin, in certain niches or circular arched windows in the massive walls of the western side. The porch, which is chaste and in good preservation, is a subsequent erection, and yet of a remote age. The chancel, which “most uncouthly joins the nave,” is the latest portion of the fabric. There are fragments of some antique monuments scattered about the floor—memorials of ecclesiastics—which, the writer sarcastically observes, “have been judiciously cut up, and squared, to mend the pavement!” By this sage arrangement, the parochial economy has been brought into the sharpest practice; and although it has evinced no special veneration for the sainted dead, or the hallowed relics of antiquity, yet “the ruinous expense of hauling fresh slabs from the quarry, on the opposite side of the way, has been most considerately spared.” Moreover, he adds, “the pipe of the stove within, is picturesquely thrust through the only Gothic window remaining in the nave!”[99]

As if its smoke, though dark and somewhat denser,Were meant to represent the ancient Censer,That once, with daily sacrifice, perfumedThe ground where saints and heroes lay inhumed.

By the churchyard stile, as Mr. Thomas happily describes it, “and beneath the dark mantling boughs of the yew-tree, a scene of exquisite sweetness steals upon the eye. The beautiful meadows beyond are skirted by a ridge of lofty woods, with the gentle Wye flowing like a liquid mirror below. Beneath the

The Ferry at Tintern.

renewed limbs of an aged elm-tree, hollowed and blasted by the storms of many winters, a flock of unmolested sheep repose in grateful shade; these are, indeed, made “to lie down in green pastures,” and are “led beside the still waters.”

It would be difficult to picture to the mind’s eye a scene of more enchanting repose; in such a place as this, with such objects before him, the verdant pastures, the pendent groves, the winding river, the tranquil sky,—where the very clouds, with their fleecy wings stretched forth in vain to catch the subtile current, seem like a fleet becalmed on the wide ocean, waiting for the breeze;—with these before him, ambition forgets the world; sorrow looks up with more cheerful resignation; cares and disappointments lose both their weight and their sting: with so little of sordid earth, so much of the sublimity of nature to contemplate, his thoughts become chastened, soothed, and elevated; and the heart expands under a new sense of happiness, and a feeling of brotherly kindness and benevolence towards everything that breathes. He feels the poet’s exhortation in all its force—

When thoughtsOf the last bitter hour come, like a blight,Over thy spirit, and sad imagesOf the stern agony, the shroud, and pall,And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart,Go forth into the open sky, and listTo Nature’s teaching!

And then turning to Wordsworth:—

For I have learntTo look on Nature, not as in the hourOf thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimesThe still, sad music of humanity,Nor harsh, nor grating, though of ample powerTo chasten and subdue. And I have feltA presence that disturbs me with the joyOf elevated thoughts: a sense sublimeOf something far more deeply interfused,Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,And the roused ocean, and the living air,And the blue sky, and in the mind of man;A motion and a spirit that impelsAll thinking things, all objects of all thought,And rolls through all things. Therefore am I stillA lover of the meadows, and the woods,And mountains, and of all that we beholdFrom this green earth; of all the mighty worldOf eye and ear, both what they half create,And what perceive.

Striguil.—The whole frontier of this interesting country—the land of Gwent—is sprinkled over with picturesque ruins,—the crumbling remains of those warlike strongholds raised by the Norman barons, as a defence to their newly-acquired possessions, which were brought into frequent jeopardy by the martial and reluctant subjects of the new dynasty. To these we can only advert in passing—for the plan on which this work is conducted, does not admit of their being noticed in detail. In the second century after the Conquest, six of these strongholds were erected near the British forest of Wentwood[100]—a still venerable chase of between two and three thousand acres in extent, and associated with many events in the history and traditions of the Welsh frontiers. The grand object of these castles was to form a chain of garrisoned forts for the protection of Norman interests against the incursions of a people who, although compelled to pass under a foreign yoke, still gloried in their independence, and embraced every occasion to prove that their martial spirit, though bowed, was not broken.

One of the strongest of these embattled fastnesses wasCastell-glyn-y-Striguil,[101]erected, according to Doomsday-book, by the Norman warrior so often named in this work, William Fitzosborne. In Hammer’s Irish Chronicle,[102]however, its erection is ascribed to Gilbert Strongbow, whose life and family we have already noticed in the account of Tinterne Abbey. The remains of this castle, though inadequate to convey any just notion of its original strength, are still sufficiently marked with regard to its size and proportions. Its outworks have mouldered down into shapeless masses, over which nature has thrown so dense a matting of underwood, that the traces of art have been almost obliterated. The form “was that of an oblong square, the angles of which, as usual in such cases, were defended by octagonal towers;”[103]at one extremity was the donjon, or keep, the situation of which is indicated by the shapeless mound of vegetation, which draws nutriment from its débris. The walls were encircled by a deep moat, supplied by two mountain rivulets, which unite at this point to form theTroggy, one of the silver tributaries of the river Usk.

The other castles Avhich deserve a cursory notice, are, Llanvair, Llanvaches,Pencoed, Dinham, and Penhow.[104]The latter, an ancient seat of theSeymours, occupies a bold and romantic situation. The acclivity which forms the direct approach to it, is nearly perpendicular. The view which it commands consists of a valley, or rather wooded ravines, in the foreground; and in the distance, a range of barren hills that bound the horizon—

Hills that, giving birthTo circling fountains, glad the parent earth;And from their bosom, framed for martial toil,Sent forth the guardian heroes of the soil.

By the marriage of the Lady Jane, daughter of Sir John Seymour, with Henry the Eighth, and the birth of their son, afterwards Edward the Sixth, the house of Penhow was placed in a situation to compete with that of Raglan; and by the fortuitous influence thus acquired, the Seymours took a leading authority in the management and direction of county affairs.

This castle, or rather fortalice, appears to have derived its strength, more from its isolated and once inaccessible position, than from the extent of its walls or outworks. A portion of the interior has been repaired and rendered habitable, or rather a house has been erected on the site of the oldberçeau, and thus future patriots and statesmen may yet “come forth of Penhow.”

Llanvair, about six miles west from Chepstow, was the ancient residence of the Kemeys family, from whom sprang Sir Nicholas Kemeys, the last governor of Chepstow Castle, whose heroic but tragical fate has been already noticed in these pages. The ruins of this ancient homestead are too inconsiderable to challenge more than a passing glance from the tourist. The same may be said of Dinham, a hamlet in the parish of Llanvair-Discoed.

Goldcliffe, “so called,” says Camden, “because the stones there, of a golden colour, by reverberation of the sunne shining full upon them, glitter with a wonderful brightnesse. Neither can I be easilie perswaded that nature hath given this brightnesse in vaine unto the stones, and that there should be a flowre here without fruit; were there any man that would serch into the veines there, and using the direction of Art, enter into the inmost and secretestbowels of the earth.”[105]But what was a mystery in the days of Giraldus, and even of Camden, admits of a very simple solution. The Gold Cliff, so called, consists of a rock nearly perpendicular, which rises abruptly to the height of a hundred feet in an extensive moor.[106]It consists of limestone strata, nearly horizontal and parallel, supported by a base of brown sandstone, abounding with yellow mica. The brilliant effect of the sun upon this micaceous surface, was a reason for the old belief in the neighbourhood, that the rock contained gold, and was therefore considered as a situation of peculiar value and sanctity.[107]Thechurchof Goldcliffe belonged to a priory founded and endowed in 1113, by Robert deChandos, eighteen years earlier than that of Tinterne Abbey, who, by the persuasion of Henry the First, annexed it to the Abbey ofBec, in Normandy, whence a prior and twelve Black, or Benedictine, friars were conveyed to it. On the suppression of alien priories, Henry Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, obtained of King Henry the Sixth the patronage of the priory, with permission to annex it to the Abbey of St. Mary, at Tewkesbury, to which it was made a cell in 1442. The Cambro-Britons, however, being offended at this measure, obliged the prior and monks of Tewkesbury to quit Goldcliffe in 1445; but in the following year they were permitted to return. In the twenty-ninth of the reign of Henry the Sixth, Goldcliffe Priory was granted to the college at Eton, and to Tewkesbury again. At the accession of Edward the Fourth, but seven years later, it was restored to Eton college, in whose possession it has since remained.[108]

Caldicot.—The castle of this name is said to have been erected by one of the ancient Bohuns, earls of Hereford, hereditary lords-high-constables of England,[109]for nearly two hundred years. From them the castle descended toHenry, Duke of Lancaster, and upon his accession to the throne as Henry the Fourth, it was invested in the crown. The ivy-mantled walls enclose a large court, with three entrances. The principal gateway is flanked by lofty square towers; and on the east side are the remains of the hall, comprising a range of windows, of large size and elegant workmanship. The style of masonry, as shown in the construction of the walls, is excellent; the courses of large and equal sized stones, are accurately squared and jointed; but the whole construction has more the appearance of an ancient domestic residence, than of a British stronghold—well suited for the accommodation of a feudal baron and his retinue in times of peace, but ill prepared to resist an enemy, or sustain a siege.

Yet there Tradition tells her taleOf warrior-knights in glittering mail—Of martial feat, and festive hall,And banners waving from the wall;When Cambria’s rival spears were bentFor martial joust and tournament;While Beauty, from her lattice high,Surveyed the scene with radiant eye—And Cambria’s Chivalry in armsDid faithful homage to her charms.ButCaldicot, how lonely now!The wreath has withered from thy brow;The scene of song and martial deedsIs now a wilderness of weeds!Ah, such at last the homes shall beOf England’s proudest Chivalry!

ButCaldicot, how lonely now!The wreath has withered from thy brow;The scene of song and martial deedsIs now a wilderness of weeds!Ah, such at last the homes shall beOf England’s proudest Chivalry!

Mathernis remarkable as the burial-place of Theodoric or Teudrick, the hermit king of Glamorgan, already mentioned.[110]His hermitage “among the rocks of Tinterne,” to which he had retired for repose and meditation in the evening of life, is supposed to have stood on the site of the present abbey, which had thus, in the traditional records of the people, a spot already consecrated by royal example, as a foundation for those gorgeous altars by which it was subsequently distinguished.

When dragged from his retreat by the supplications of his family and subjects, and armed once more against the Saxons, he solemnly enjoined his son that, in the event of his falling in battle, they should erect a Christian church over his remains, as a monument of his faith and patriotism. The battle that speedily ensued, as tradition reports, was a great victory, but a victory purchased with the blood of Teudrick; for during the fierce conflict that had covered the Vale of Tinterne with the slain, he received a blow from a Saxon battle-axewhich proved fatal. From the field he was conveyed homeward as far as Mathern, where he died; and there his son, who succeeded him in the chieftainship, erected a church to his memory, the name of which has perpetuated his martyrdom.[111]

The foundation of this church in its primitive state, consisted, like other British structures, of a nave only—a side aisle and chancel appear to have been added at a very early date; and, subsequently to these, a tower was erected which completed the sacred edifice, and rendered it more conspicuous as a historical landmark, and place of pilgrimage. It is distinguished by handsome Gothic windows, portions of which are adorned with stained glass; and the roof is supported by Saxon arches, resting on massive octagon piers.

On a plain mural tablet in theChancelof this ancient church, is the following inscription, supposed to have been written by Bishop Godwin. The fact of its being the sepulchre of the British Prince Teudrick, was finally ascertained by the discovery of his stone coffin, in which the skeleton was found almost entire. On the skull, also, in accordance with local tradition, a fracture was observed, which clearly indicated the manner of his death, and confirmed the testimony of local history.

The following is the inscription:—“Here lyeth entombed the body ofTheodoric, King of Morganuch, or Glamorgan, commonly calledSt. Theodoric, and accounted a martyr, because he was slain in battle against the Saxons, being then pagans, and in defence of the Christian Religion. The battle was fought atTynterne, where he obtained a great victory. He died here, being on his way homeward, three days after the battle, having taken order with Maurice, his son, who succeeded him in the kingdom, that in the same place where he should happen to decease, a church should be built, and his body buried in the same, which was accordingly performed in the year 600.”

“On ascending the tower of this church,” says Mr. Thomas, “a scene of great extent and surpassing beauty is spread before the eye; on one side you have a long reach of water, strewn with vessels and rocks; on the other a wide undulating tract of land, overspread with villas and smiling meadows, crowded with many a gentle herd; while beneath, and not the least interesting objects of this scene, are those melancholy wrecks of bygone splendour—Mathern Palace and Moinscourt.” The first of these two objects, the old episcopal residence, is now “the ruinous retreat of some humble followers of the plough.” The north and north-east portions, comprising the porch and tower, were erected by Bishop De la Zouch, who was consecrated in the year 1408, and the chapel hall, and someother compartments, were added by Miles Sulley, who came to the see in 1504. Moinscourt, now reduced to the humble uses of a farmhouse, was another of the palaces, belonging to the see of Llandaff, and supposed to have been erected by Bishop Godwin, who made it his favourite residence. Passing beneath a Gothic porch, crowned with two lofty turrets, we enter a spacious quadrangular court, at the extremity of which stands the palace. Over the entrance is an escutcheon, on which are sculptured the arms of Godwin, impaled with those of the see, and bearing the date of 1603. The court was formerly adorned with two monuments of Roman antiquity found in the vicinity—one a votive altar, the other an inscription, recording the rebuilding of the Temple of Diana, by T. F. Posthumius Varus. It was from the ancient Roman slabs, built into the garden walls of this residence, that Bishop Godwin supplied the drawings and inscriptions for Camden’s Britannia.[112]

Before adverting to the final suppression of TinterneAbbey, and the confiscation of its revenues to the king’s treasury, we shall now take a brief view of the circumstances which led to this grand revolution in our ecclesiastical government—quoting for our authority those writers of unquestionable veracity, who have treated of that momentous epoch. First, with regard to the

Dissolution.—“Never,” says an historian of this epoch,[113]“never was there any exploit, seemingly so full of hazard and danger, more easily achieved than the subversion of our English monasteries.” The church commissioners presented a startling report of the vices[114]and deceptions of the monks and nuns; and, what was of equal weight in the condemnation, they sent in the title-deeds of their estates, with the inventory of their plate, jewels, and ready money. Upon this a bill was introduced, giving unto the king and his heirs all monastic establishments, the revenues of which did not exceed two hundred poundssterling a year, with every kind of property attached to them, whether real or personal. Three hundred and eighty of the lesser houses fell within this category, and were suppressed; whereby the king was enriched by thirty-two thousand pounds per annum—an enormous sum in that day—in addition to a hundred thousand pounds in ready money, plate, and jewels. The bill, according to one writer, was not passed through the House of Commons without some difficulty; butHenry, sending for the ministers, and telling them that he would have either the bill or their heads, they passed it immediately.

The parliament, which, by successive prorogations, had sat for the unprecedented term of six years, was now dissolved; and Henry, after all their passive obedience, appears to have been disgusted at this their last and feeble effort at opposition. He now named other commissioners to take possession of the suppressed monasteries, and to prepare measures for the seizure of others. If these men, mostly the friends of Cromwell or of Cranmer, had a better religion before their eyes, they certainly were not blind to the charms of lucre, and the temptations of fair houses and fat glebes; as many of them made a harvest for themselves, out of the spoils of the monks and nuns.[115]

The superiors of the suppressed houses were promised small pensions for life, which were very irregularly paid. All the monks not twenty-four years of age were absolved from their vows, and turned loose upon the world without any kind of provision; the rest, if they wished to continue in the profession, were divided among the greater houses that were still left standing. The poor nuns were turned adrift to beg or starve; having nothing given to them, save one common gown for each.[116]“These things,” says Godwin, “were of themselves distasteful to the vulgar sort, of whom each one did, as it were, claim a share in the goods of the church; for many being neither monks, nor allied to monks, did, notwithstanding, conceive that it might hereafter come to pass that either their children, friends, or kindred, might obtain their share; whereas, when all their property was once confiscated, they could never hope for any such advantages. But the popular commiseration for the thousands of monks and nuns who were, almost without warning given, thrust out of doors, and committed to the mercy of the world, became a more forcible cause of discontent. There were not wanting desperate men to take advantage of this state of public feeling; and it was diligently rumoured in all parts, that this was but the beginning of greater evils and more general spoliations—only a trial of their patience; that, as yet, the shrubs and underwood were but touched; but unless a speedy remedy were applied, the end would be with the fall of the lofty oaks.” At the same time, the crowds of poor, who, by an ancient but defective system,had derived their support from the monastic establishments, became furious at finding their resources cut off, and at seeing the monks who had fed them now begging like themselves by the roadsides.

In the midst of these general discontents, Cranmer and Cromwell issued certain doctrinal injunctions to the clergy, which were too novel to find immediate favour with the multitude; and certain Protestant reformers, who had more courage than they, ventured to print books about Iconolatria, image-worship, auricular confession, transubstantiation, and other fundamental tenets and practices of the Roman Catholic Church. The king, who assumed all the authority in matters of dogmas that had ever been claimed by the popes, and much more than they had ever put in practice in England, pronounced rewards and sentences which irritated both parties alike, and all these questions were referred to him—thus occupying a good deal of his time, and keeping in dangerous activity his old political bile.[117]We find the Lord Chancellor Audley writing in great perturbation to Cromwell, telling him that “there is a book come forth in print, touching the taking away of images, and begging to know whether he was privy to the publishing thereof,” which Cranmer probably was,[118]though, had such a fact been known to his master at that moment, his neck would have been in jeopardy. The chancellor says, “I assure you, in the parts where I have been, some discord there is, and diversity of opinion among the people, touching the worshipping of saints and images; and for creeping, kneeling at cross, and such like ceremonies heretofore used in the church, which discord it were good should be put to silence; and this book will make much business in the same, if it should go forth. Wherefore,” he continues, “I pray you, I may be advised whether you know it or no, for I intend to send for the printers and stop them; but there may be many abroad. It were good that the preachers and people abstained from opinions of such things, till such time as by the report of such as the king’s highness hath appointed for the searching and ordering of laws of the church, his grace may put a final order on such things, how his people and subjects shall use themselves without contention. And if the people were thus commanded by proclamation to abstain till that time, such proclamation, drawn in honest terms, would do much good to avoid contention.”[119]

The king was by no means backward in issuing his final orders and decrees spiritual; and the reformers herein concealing their ulterior views, he was led to reduce the number of sacraments from seven to three—Baptism, the Lord’s Supper, and Penance; to forbid the direct adoration of images; to abrogate anumber of saints’ days or holidays, especially such as fell in harvest time; to declare the Scriptures, with the Apostolic, Nicene, and Athanasian creeds, the sole standards of faith; to order every parish priest to expound these to his parishioners in plain English; and to direct the printing and distribution of an English translation of the Bible, one copy of which was to be kept in every parish church. The king, in his wisdom, insisted on the necessity of auricular confession, and denounced any questioning of the ‘real presence’ in the eucharist as a damnable heresy, to be punished with fire and faggot. Purgatory, he confessed, puzzled him; steering a middle course, he declared himself to be uncertain on this head; and kindly permitted his subjects to pray for the souls of their departed friends, provided only that they fell into none of the old abuses of enriching religious houses and shrines for this object.[120]

“Meanwhile,” says the historian, “the king continued much prone to reformation, especially if anything might be gotten by it.” Nothing was more easy than to prove that all the monastic orders had been engaged in the late insurrection;[121]and as many of the richest abbeys and priories remained as yet untouched, there was no want of wise counsellors, all anxious to share in the spoil, who recommended their total suppression. In some cases, out of a dread of martial law, or, what was equally bad, a prosecution for high treason, theAbbotssurrendered, gave, and granted their abbeys unto the king, his heirs and assigns for ever; but still many replied, like the prior of Henton, “that they would not be light and hasty in giving up those things which were not theirs to give, being dedicated to theAlmightyfor service to be done to his honour continually, with other many good deeds of charity which be daily done in their houses to their Christian neighbours.”[122]“These recusants were treated with great severity; the prisons were crowded with priors and monks, who died so rapidly in their places of confinement, as to excite a dreadful suspicion.”

Without waiting for a “needless act of parliament, the king suppressed many other houses; and soon after, with the full consent of Lords and Commons, finished the business, by seizing all theabbeyswithout exception, with all the other religious houses, except a very few, which, at the earnest petition of the people, were spared or given up to the representatives of their original founders.” Before proceeding to the “final suppression, under the pretence of checking the superstitious worshipping of images, he had laid bare their altars, and stripped their shrines of everything that was valuable; nor did he spare the rich coffins and the crumbling bones of the dead.” At the distance of four hundred years—exasperated at that extraordinary man’s opposition to the royal prerogative—he determined to execute vengeance on the bones and relics of

Thomas a Becket.—The Martyr’s tomb was broken open; and by an insane process, worthy of a Nero or a Caligula, a criminal information was filed against him as “Thomas Becket, some time Archbishop of Canterbury;” and he was formally cited to appear in court, and answer to the charges. Thirty days were allowed the saint; but we need hardly inform our readers that his dishonoured relics rested quietly at Canterbury, and did not appear to plead in Westminster Hall. With due solemnity the court opened its proceedings.[123]The attorney-general eloquently exposed the case for the prosecution, and the advocates of the saint—who no doubt spoke less boldly—were heard in defence; and that being over, sentence was pronounced, that “Becket” had been guilty of rebellion, treason, and contumacy; that his bones should be burnt as a lesson to the living not to oppose the royal will; and that the rich offerings with which many generations of men, native and foreign, had enriched his shrine, should be forfeited to the crown as the personal property of the traitor. “In the month of August,” continues the historian, “Cromwell, who must have smiled at the course pursued, sent down some of his commissioners to Canterbury, who executed their task so well, that they filled two immense coffers with gold and jewels, each of them so heavy that it required eight strong men to lift it.” “Among the rest,” says Godwin, “was a stone of especial lustre, called theRoyalof France, offered by King Louis VII., in the year 1179; together with a great massive cup of gold, at what time he also bestowed an annuity on the monks of that church of an hundred tuns of wine. This stone was afterwards highly prized by the king, who did continually wear it on his thumb.” A few months after, the king, by proclamation, stated to his people, that forasmuch as it now clearly appears Thomas Becket had been killed in a riot provoked by his own obstinacy and insolence, and had been canonized by the Bishop of Rome merely because he was champion of that usurped authority, he now deemed it proper to declare that he was no saint whatever, but a rebel and traitor to his prince: and that, therefore, he, the king, strictly commanded that he should not be any longer esteemed or called a saint; that all images and pictures of him should be destroyed; and that his name and remembrance should be erased out of all books, under pain of his majesty’s indignation, and imprisonment at his grace’s pleasure.[124]

The revenuesof Tinterne Abbey, though far inferior to others of the same order, particularly those in Yorkshire, were still sufficient for the maintenance of the brotherhood, the repairs and decoration of the buildings, and the exerciseof hospitality, which formed so important a feature in the monastic code. The estimate recorded by Dugdale is probably under the mark; while that of Speed may possibly exceed, by a few pounds, the actual rental of the abbey lands. The former has computed it at £192. 1s. 3d., the latter at £252. 11s. 6d., sums which, taking into account the value of money in those times, give no mean idea of its annual resources. This sum, however, is exclusive of the daily tribute received from the pious hands of pilgrims, and the donations of many distinguished guests, who, from time to time, sat at theAbbot’stable, or found refuge in its sanctuary.

The details of the first endowments[125]of Tinterne Abbey, as well as variouslater benefactions, down to the seventh year of Henry the Third, are contained in a charter of confirmation from William Marshall, grandson of Walter de Clare, the founder.

“Herein,” says Tanner, “were thirteen religious about the time of the dissolution, when the estates belonging to this monastery were rated at £256. 11s. 6d. in the gross, and £192. 1s. 4-1/2d. per annum, clear income.”

The site of Tinterne Abbey, with all the monastic buildings, was granted 28th Henry VIII. to Henry, Earl of Worcester. It is still the property of his descendant, the Duke of Beaufort. Leland, mentioning Tinterne Abbey in his Collectanea, says, “There was a sanctuary granted to Tinterne, but it hath not been used many a day.”

The common seal of this monastery is appended to an instrument dated in the 6th of Henry VIII., whereby the abbot and convent appoint Charles, Earl of Worcester, and Henry Somerset, Lord Herbert, his son and heir apparent, chief stewards of their manor of Arle in Norfolk. The subject of this seal, of which only a mutilated impression in red wax remains, was the Virgin Mary and the infant Saviour, seated under an ornamented arch—in a niche underneath, was an abbot, with his crosier, on his knees praying. Nearly the whole of the legend is gone, the only part remaining being....RII.BEATE.

William Marshall, the “vetus Marescallus,” as he is called in black-letter chronicles—who married the daughter and heiress of Richard Strongbow—became the founder of a new Cistercian Abbey, near Wexford, in Ireland. Finding himself, once upon a time, in great peril during a voyage thither, he made a vow to the Virgin Mary, that if by her help he escaped shipwreck, and once more set foot on dry land, he would testify his gratitude by founding anabbeyto her honour. The ship having got safe into port, he lost no time in commencing the pious work, to which, in compliment to her elder sister on the Wye, he gave the name ofTynternade Voto.

Daughters of Tinterne.—In addition to what has been already mentioned of the two daughters,[126]or offshoots, of Tinterne on the Wye, we collect the following particulars:—

Tinterne Abbey, in the County of Wexford.—“This abbey was situated on the shore of Bannow Bay, in the barony of Shelburne, three miles north-east of Duncannon Fort. William, Earl of Pembroke, as already mentioned, being in great danger and peril at sea, made a vow to found an abbey in that place where he should first arrive in safety; and the place was the bay in question. He accordingly performed his vow, dedicated his abbey to the Virgin Mary,endowed it, and settled a convent of Cistercian monks in it, whom he brought fromTinternein Monmouthshire. Archdale gives the particulars of the Earl of Pembroke’s endowment of this house, from King. The whole, however, was not completed in the earl’s lifetime, for Dugdale has given King John’s charter confirming the bequest of thirty carucates of land to this abbey in the earl’s will.”[127]

Kingswood Abbey.—“Roger de Berkeleyreceived by gift of William Rufus certain lands, upon condition that he should confer them upon some monks or canons; but being prevented by death, he bequeathed them to William de Berkeley[128]his nephew, upon the same terms. And of which William, I find that he bestowed upon the monks ofTynterne, in Wales, a certainDesartnear Berkeley, calledKingswood, there to found an abbey of theCistercian Order; and that Maud the Empress, daughter to King Henry the First, confirmed that grant. The convent was built, but during the troublous reign of Stephen they removed to Haselden; but thence, on the return of peace, they were expelled by the proprietor, and again took up their abode atKingswood. Reginal D. S.Walerickrepenting, invited them back to Haselden; but, after a time, the place being found very inconvenient for lack of water, they were removed by him toTetbury, Kingswood all this time being left as a meregrangeof the monastery. Of this the heir of the founder complained, and required that the convent should return thither, according to the conditions upon which it was given by his ancestor. A general chapter of the wholeOrder, however, decided against him, and determined that Kingswood should remain as a mere farm belonging to the convent of Tetbury; but that mass should always be sung atKingswood, privately, by one monk, who was to have for his labour twenty-sevenmarksand a half. But after this, by another general chapter of that Order, it was agreed that the Abbot of Waverley, in Surrey, should rebuildKingswoodwith the consent of the founder, and confirmation of the King; which being done without the privity of theconvent at Tetbury, and Abbot ofTynterne, who opposed the same. Upon a meeting of divers other abbots atKingswood, it was concluded, that the monks placed at Kingswood should be recalled, and that place reduced unto the state of agrangeto Tettebiry, as it was before.” These transmutations, however, were not yet concluded: “for Tettebiry being found a narrow place, too little for an abbey, and having no fuel but what was brought from Kingswood, which was far distant, Bernard de S. Walerick came to accord with Roger deBerkley, the founder of Kingswood, and therefore, obtaining a grant from him of forty acres of land adjoining to Kingswood, translated those monks from Tettebiry thither, and called itKingswood, as a name of most note.”[129]Such were the vicissitudes of this abbey.

According to Pope Nicholas’ taxation, the spiritualities of this monastery amounted in 1291 to the annual sum of £6. 4s. 4d.; the temporalities to £47. 17s. 2d.; making a total of £54. 1s. 6d. There is no valuation of Kingswood in the general ecclesiastical survey of the 26th Henry VIII., though Tanner says it was valued at that time, according to Dugdale, at £244. 11s. 2d. per annum; according to Speed, at £254. 11s. 2d.; clear, £239. 19s. 7-3/4d. In a MS. record in the whole at £254. 5s. 10d. A survey of this house, taken in the 29th Henry VIII., is preserved in the appendix to the Monasticon Anglicanum. There is also a minister’s ‘accompt’ of it in the Augmentation office, 32nd Henry VIII.; but its possessions are there answered for, in gross, at the sum of £245. 8s. 8d., the whole of its estates being then on lease to Sir Nicholas Peyntz, Knt., under the seal of the Court of Augmentations, dated 10th March, 29th Henry VIII., for a term of twenty-one years at the above rent. In the second year of Queen Elizabeth, the site of this house was granted to Sir John Thynne, Knt. Theregisterof Kingswood Abbey was in the possession of John Smith, Esq. of Nibley, in the county of Gloucester. The common seal represented the Blessed Virgin crowned, holding in her arms the infant Jesus, and standing between two elegant pilasters, surmounted by a canopy; the field diapered; in base, under an arch, the half figure of a monk praying; the legend much flattened, so that no more of it can be read thanS.COF...CONVENTUS...DE KINGEWOD. An impression of this seal on red wax is appendant to a conventual lease, temp. Henry VIII., in the Augmentation office.[130]

FROMthe above cursory notice of the spiritual daughters of “Holy Tinterne,” we return to the Mother-Abbey.

In England, says an eminent Catholic writer, the scheme of plundering the ecclesiastical property by men of a certain class, had never been wholly abandoned. In Henry the Fourth’s time there was “the laymen’s parliament of those who countenanced Wickliffe, and loved the lands far better than they did the religion of the Church; but their designs at that time were defeated by the stout and religious opposition of Thomas Arundel, Archbishop of Canterbury, and other Prelates.”[131]Against these evils the ancient canons of the church in Germany provided, by prohibiting the faithful from holding any communication with men who disturb priests, and the state of the church.[132]“Now,” he continues, “ifSt. Thomasand the clergy of the middle ages are to be condemned for resisting such injustice by prayers, and law, and canonical censures, what will be thought ofSt. Ambrose, and other pastors of the early church, who, by still more uncompromising firmness, believed that they were imitating the apostles?” St. Ambrose declares that he will never relinquish the churches to the Arians, as the Emperor Valentinian commands, unless by force. “If any force remove me from the church, my flesh,” he says, “may be disturbed, but not my mind; for I am prepared to suffer whatever a priest may suffer, if the emperor should exert his regal power. I will never abandon the church voluntarily; but I cannot oppose force. I can grieve, I can weep, I can groan; against arms, soldiers, and Goths, tears are my arms; for these are the weapons of a priest. Otherwise I neither ought to resist, nor can I resist. When it was proposed to me to deliver up the vessels of the church, I sent word that I would willingly give up what was mine own, whether lands or houses, gold or silver; but that I could take nothing from the temple of God, nor lightly abandon what I had received to guard—not to deliver up. Fear not, therefore, for me, dearly beloved, since I know that whatever I am about to suffer, I shall suffer forChrist; and the will of Christ must be fulfilled, and that will be for the best.Let them decree the penalty of death, I fear it not; nor will I on that account desert the martyrs; for whither could I go where all things would not be full of groans and tears, when Catholic priests are ordered to be driven from the churches, or to be struck with the sword if they resisted; and this decree to be written by a bishop, who should quote ancient examples to prove himself most learned?Auxentius, thirsting for blood, demanded my church; but I say with the prophet—‘Absit ut ego patrum meorum tradam hæreditatem!’ Naboth was prepared to defend his vineyard at the expense of his blood. If he could not give up his vineyard, neither will we give up the church ofChrist. Do I then return a contumacious answer? I have answered as a priest; let the emperor act as an emperor. Last year,” he adds, “when I was invited to the palace, and introduced before the council, when the emperor wished to take from us the church, I should have been subdued by the contemplation of the royal hall, and I should not have kept the constancy of a priest, or should have departed with loss of right. Do they not remember, then, how the people rushed to the palace, and overwhelmed every force, declaring that they would die for the faith ofChrist? Then I was desired to appease the people, which I did by engaging that the church should not be given up; but now the Arians wish to give law to the church, and accuse us of sedition in resisting the emperor. Let him take our tribute or our lands, if they ask treasure:our treasure is the poor ofChrist; our defence is in the prayers of the poor. These blind, and lame, and weak, and aged persons, are stronger than robust warriors. I am to give to Cæsar what belongs to Cæsar; to God what belongs to God: the tribute is Cæsar’s, but the church is God’s. As for the fire, or sword, or banishment, which are threatened, we fear them not.”[133]

Again, writing to his sister Marcella, he says: “Not only thebasilicawithout the walls is now demanded, but also the new and greater one within the city. When the prince summoned me to resign them, I replied, what was of course, that ‘the temple of God could not be given up by a priest.’ The emperor cannot invade the house of a private man, and will he dare to take possession of the house of God! The palace belongs to the emperor, the church to the priest. If he be a tyrant, I desire to be aware of it, that I may know how to prepare against him, for I have the power to offer my body. If he thinks himself a tyrant, why does he delay to strike? By ancient laws empires were given by priests, not taken from them; and it is a common saying, that emperors have rather desired priesthood, than priests empire. The tyranny of a priest is his infirmity; for ‘when I am weak, then am I strong.’”

With examples like this before them—and numerous others might here be cited—it is not surprising that many of the monastic priesthood preferred to endure fines, imprisonment, and even death, to the enjoyment of that life and freedom which could only be purchased by acts of apostacy. And on this portion of our subject we avail ourselves of an eloquent passage from one of the most popular works of the day:—

The conversion of the Anglo-Saxons to Christianity was the first of a long series of salutary revolutions. It is true that the church had been deeply corrupted both by that superstition, and by that philosophy, against which she had long contended, and over which she had at last triumphed. She had given a too easy admission to doctrines borrowed from the ancient schools, and to rites borrowed from the ancient temples. Roman policy and Gothic ignorance, Grecian ingenuity and Syrian asceticism, had contributed to deprave her; yet she retained enough of the sublime theology, and benevolent morality of her earlier days, to elevate many intellects, and to purify many hearts. Some things also which, at a later period, were justly regarded as among her chief blemishes, were in the seventh century, and long afterwards, among her chief merits. That the sacerdotal order should encroach on the functions of the civil magistrate, would, in our time, be a great evil. But that which in an age of good government is an evil, may, in an age of grossly bad government, be a blessing. It is better that mankind should be governed by wise laws well administered, and by an enlightened public opinion, than by priestcraft; but it is better that men should be governed by priestcraft than by brute violence,—by such a prelate as Dunstan, than by such a warrior as Penda. A society sunk in ignorance, and ruled by mere physical force, has great reason to rejoice when a class, of which the influence is intellectual, rises to ascendancy. Such a class will doubtless abuse its power; but mental power, even when abused, is still a nobler and better power than that which consists merely in corporeal strength. We read in the Anglo-Saxon chronicles of tyrants who, when at the height of greatness, were smitten with remorse; who abhorred the pleasures and dignities which they had purchased by guilt; who abdicated their crowns, and who sought to atone for their offences by cruel penances and incessant prayers. These stories have drawn forth bitter expressions of contempt from some writers who, while they boasted of liberality, were in truth as narrow-minded as any monk of the dark ages, and whose habit was to apply to all events in the history of the world the standard received in the Parisian society of the eighteenth century. Yet surely a system which, however deformed by superstition, introduced strong moral restraints into communities previously governed only by vigour of muscle, and by audacity of spirit; a system which taught even the fiercest and mightiest ruler that he was, like his meanestbondsman, a responsible being, might have seemed to deserve a more respectful mention from philosophers and philanthropists.[134]

The same observations will apply to the contempt with which, in the last century, it was fashionable to speak of the pilgrimages, the sanctuaries, the crusades, and the monastic institutions of the middle ages. In times when men were scarcely ever induced to travel by liberal curiosity, or by the pursuit of gain, it was better that the rude inhabitant of the north should visit Italy and the East as a pilgrim, than that he should never see anything but the squalid cabins, and uncleared woods, amidst which he was born.[135]

In times when life and female honour were exposed to daily risk from tyrants and marauders, it was better that the precinct of a shrine should be regarded with an irrational awe, than that there should be no refuge inaccessible to cruelty and licentiousness. In times when statesmen were incapable of forming extensive political combinations, it was better that the Christian nations should be roused and united for the recovery of the Holy Sepulchre, than that they should, one by one, be overwhelmed by the Mahometan power. Whatever reproach may, at a later period, have been justly thrown on the indolence and luxury of religious orders, it was surely good that, in an age of ignorance and violence, there should be quiet cloisters and gardens, in which the arts of peace could be safely cultivated; in which gentle and contemplative natures could find an asylum; in which one brother could employ himself in transcribing the Æneid of Virgil, and another in meditating the Analytics of Aristotle; in which he who had a genius for art, might illuminate a martyrology, or carve a crucifix; and in which he who had a turn for natural philosophy, might make experiments on the properties of plants and minerals. Had not such retreats been scattered here and there, among the huts of a miserable peasantry, and the castles of a ferocious aristocracy, European society would have consisted merely of beasts of burden, and beasts of prey. Thechurchhas many times been compared to the ark of which we read in the Book of Genesis; but never was the resemblance more perfect than during the evil time, when she rode alone, amidst darkness and tempest, on the deluge beneath which all the great works of ancient power and wisdom lay entombed; bearing within her that feeble germ, from which a second and more glorious civilization was to spring.[136]

UNDERthe blasting influence of an arbitrary power, that found its zealous instruments in the Commissioners appointed for that service, the suppression and confiscation of the English monasteries were quickly followed by a long train of national misery and degradation, of which lamentable evidence is found in the chronicles of that period. From these popular and authentic sources we extract the following picture:—

In the final seizure of the abbeys and monasteries of England, the richest fell first. In the spring of 1540, all the monastic establishments of the kingdom were suppressed, and the mass of their landed property was divided among courtiers and parasites. The gold and silver, and costly jewels of shrines, had partly gone in that direction, and had partly been kept for the king’s use. The troubled fountain of the Reformation, it has been said, sent forth two streams—the one of sweet, the other of bitter waters.[137]“It is the duty of an impartial historian to dwell for a time by the bitter stream. Between the ignorant zealots of the new doctrines, and the rudeness of the men employed in the suppression, who were all most anxious for spoil, and who probably cared little for any form of religion, or any decency of worship, innumerable works of art were destroyed; magnificent specimens of architecture were defaced and left roofless. Statues and pictures, many of them the productions of Italian masters,—and which had, in the eye of taste, a sort of holiness independent of Saints and Madonnas,—were broken to pieces or burnt. The mosaic pavements of the chapels were torn up; and the same brutal hands smashed the painted windows, which, almost more than anything else, gave beauty and glory to our old abbeys and cathedrals. The church-bells were gambled for, and sold into Russia and other countries. Horses were tethered to the high altar; cattle were kept in stall in the very recesses of the shrines and the chapels; and these, according to good authority, were at times the least bestial of the occupants.” “The libraries, of which all the great houses contained one, numerously if not judiciously stocked,—but wherein existed, no doubt, many a book in manuscript, which we would now willingly possess,—were treated with the greatest contempt. And here we should wonder why the enlightened men who promoted theReformationdid not interfere, were we not convinced of the danger of opposing the king’s will, and the ruffianly character of the persons to whom the task of suppression and destruction was committed.” “Some books,” says Spelman, “were reserved to scour their candlesticks, some to rub their boots, some sold to the grocers and soapboilers, and some sent over the sea to bookbinders—not in small numbers, but at timeswhole shipfuls, to the wondering of foreign nations. A single merchant purchased, at forty shillings a-piece, two noble libraries, to be used as grey paper; and such as having already sufficed for ten years, were abundant enough for many years more.” Such is the testimony of an eye-witness.[138]

All the abbeys were totally dismantled, except in those cases where they happened to be the parish churches also, or where they were rescued in part by the petitions and pecuniary contributions of the pious inhabitants, who were averse to the worshipping of God in a stable. Cranmer and Latimer in some cases petitioned the king; but, as it is proved by their letters, they were too dependent on the court, and too fearful of its wrath to do very much. Latimer was the bolder of the two; and even before the final dissolution, he ventured to condemn in public the practice, whichHenryhad already adopted, of converting some of the monasteries into stables, conceiving it a monstrous thing that abbeys, which were ordained for the comfort of the poor, should be kept for the king’s horses! “What hast thou to do with the king’s horses?” retorted a noble courtier of the right stamp—“Horses be the maintenance and part of a king’s honour, and also of his realm; wherefore, in speaking against them, ye are speaking against the king’s honour!”[139]The following were the

Results.—The men who had recommended the wholesale spoliation of the church, had represented it as a never-failingfund, which would enable the king to carry on the government with none—or but the slightest taxes; and which would furnish him with the means of creating and supporting earls, barons, and knights, and of forming excellent institutions for the promotion of industry, education, and religion. But, in the event, the property was squandered in a manner which is scarcely accountable; for the king had the conscience to demand from parliament “a compensation for the expenses he had incurred in reforming the religion of the state:” and within a year after the completion of his measures, “the obsequious parliament voted him a subsidy of two-tenths and two-fifteenths for this express purpose. It is a striking fact, that none of the objects contemplated and spoken of were promoted by the money of the religious houses—always excepting the making and supporting of certain noblemen.”[140]Pauperism increased; as the whole body of the poor, which had been supported by the monks, who had funds for that purpose, were thrown, clamorous and desperate—unprepared for, and unprovided with, employment—upon the wondering nation, which had not before been aware of the extent of the evil. Education declined most rapidly; the schools kept in themonasteries were at an end; while other schools, and even the universities, were deserted. Religion was not promoted; for nothing but miserable stipends were given to the preachers, and none but poor and unlettered men would accept the office. To preach atSt. Paul’s Crosshad been a great object of clerical ambition; but now there was a difficulty of finding a sufficient number of preachers for that duty: and about four years after the final suppression, Bonner, Bishop of London, wrote to Parker, then Master of Corpus College, importuning him to send him some help from Cambridge; and not long after—during the short reign of Edward the Sixth—Latimer said, “I think there be at this day ten thousand students less than were within these twenty years.”

In the Country, “the rural parishes were served by priests who had scarcely the rudiments of education.” Following an example set them by the king—who required Cromwell to give a benefit to a priest who was kept in the royal service, because “he had trained two hawks for his majesty’s pastime, which flew and killed their game very well”[141]—the patrons of livings gave them to their menials as wages or rewards; to their gardeners, to the keepers of their hawks and hounds; or otherwise they let in fee both glebe and parsonage; so that whoever was presented to the benefice would have neither roof to dwell under, nor land to live upon, being but too happy if his tithes afforded him a chamber at an alehouse, with the worshipful society of the dicers and drinkers who frequented it. According to Latimer, the parish priest, under these circumstances, frequently kept an alehouse himself—thus uniting the more profitable calling of a tapster with that of a preacher of the gospel.[142]

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