“Well,” I replied, “that story has been questioned, but, at any rate, he only wanted his own, and that for a good purpose. His pet college was in danger of suffering, and though the building was not commenced he had appointed a warden and scholars. When the college was finished, he began the transformation of the Cathedral and had done good work upon it before he closed his eyes. He left 2,500 marks to carry it on. Until the last few years of his life he planned everything himself, and employed no architect. He is considered to be the father of the Perpendicular style, and was national as opposed to Papal in his architecture and his politics. Altogether he laid out upon building what would now be equal to half a million. For such brilliant success, learning and integrity were indispensably requisite, and he summed up his estimate of them in his famous motto ‘Manners makyth man.’”
Beneath the great and good deeds of Wykeham, we may here mention a little kindly act, not less indicative of a noble character. When he had purchased Dummers Mead from St. Swithun’s Monastery for the site of his College, a tailor claimed a part of it and took legal proceedings. The man failed to establish his right, and was condemned to pay the heavy costs, which would have ruined him. Wykeham generously defrayed them.
Relics of Wykeham.
There are preserved in a curious vaulted strongroom over the College sacristy, among other manuscripts, a modest pedigree, tracing Henry VII.’s descent from Adam, a Life of St. Thomas à Becket deposited here by Wykeham,[52] and a roll of the household expenses of the founder in 1394.[53] But if we wish to see his most interesting relics we must go to New College, Oxford. Judging from what remains there, we might almost conclude that Wykeham was a giant in stature as well as in mind.[54] There we find a pair of large crimson silk gloves, with I. H. S. amid golden rays, worked on their backs. His ring is about an inch wide, of great solidity, with the crucifixion embossed on the gold at each side. The stone, about the size of a sovereign, is in the shape of a heart and colourless, probably rock crystal. This was doubtless a thumb ring, but it is large even for that. His mitre case is an extraordinary structure, made of thick stamped leather, girded with iron bands and locked at the top. It is a foot wide and nearly two feet high, in shape resembling a beehive. From the strength of the case we should expect valuable contents. But no; the fragments of the mitre show it to have been little superior to a stage “property.” Its rods adorned with trefoil leaves are of silver gilt, but the “jewels” are plentiful and spurious. The tissue bearing the I. H. S. was worked with seed pearls. The purfling which went round the brow of the mitre was of brass, with sham gems, alternated with small squares of silver brightly enamelled with figures of men, animals, and flowers.
The most costly of these “jocalia” is the central piece of a morse or clasp for the cope. It is about two inches wide, and is called a Mary crowned, being in the form of an old-fashioned M, like a horseshoe.[55] It is surrounded with pearls, emeralds, and garnets. In the centre stand two little figures in gold, Mary and an angel, and between them is a vase of garnet, from which springs a lily with emerald leaves and flowers of pearls.
Behind a glass in New College Chapel is Wykeham’s crozier; a magnificent work of silver adorned with pinnacles and other ornaments, and especially rich in scriptural figures in enamel.
At Oxford is, also, the only letter extant, written by Wykeham—purchased at Sir Edward Dering’s sale. It is in the clerkly hand, adopted by penmen of the time, and the lines, now much faded, are a foot long, but so few that the whole writing is scarcely an inch wide. The letter, thus short and long, was written from Shene,[56] to Lord Cobham, in 1367, when he was on an embassy to the Pope, of whose whereabouts Wykeham seems doubtful. It is in French, and signed
William de Wykeham
Among these curiosities is the ivory horn of a fish called a narwhal, which seems out of place in the collection, unless it be considered emblematic of the vocation of the first preachers of Christianity. It probably belonged to Wykeham, and is sixty-five inches long, the pointed end—supposed to be an antidote for poison—having been cut off. When Lord Leicester was Chancellor of Oxford in 1569, he asked the College to give him this horn. They made a compromise, and by sending him this prized extremity were allowed to keep the rest.