Royal Winchester: Wanderings in and about the Ancient Capital of England

by A. G. K. L'Estrange

Cathedral Treasures.

When the Danes obtained the sovereignty the butter-boat of the monks was still safe. Cnut enriched the Cathedral with a mass of gold and silver and of jewels, the brilliance of which “frightened strangers.” His own crown, either in his lifetime, or more probably after his body had lain in State before the high altar, was placed on the head of the Saviour, on the Cross which stood here. He gave a splendid shrine for Birinus, and a silver candelabrum with six branches. A magnificent golden cross, two large images of gold and silver, and shrines for relics were also bestowed.[65] Much of this munificence was suggested by his queen, Emma, who was a devotee.[66] She had Alwyn, a relation of her own, made Bishop of Winchester. Perhaps her partiality for this monastery caused some jealousy, for after her son, Edward the Confessor, had been crowned here in 1042, she was accused of being improperly familiar with the bishop, of consenting to the death of her son, Alfred and of opposing Edward’s accession. The King himself came down here in disguise to watch her, and soon her treasury in Winchester was seized, and she was compelled to retire to the convent of Wherwell. We are told that she felt greatly her reduced circumstances, “because the worst part of poverty was that it made people contemptible.” A memorable, if not legendary, scene is now recorded by Rudborne. “Emma the Lady,” once the “Flower of Normandy,” demands to have her innocence tried by walking over red-hot ploughshares. The day draws near. She spends the night in prayers and tears, and in visiting the tomb of St. Swithun: the saint bids her be of good courage. Next morning a crowd of clergy and laity collect in the Cathedral; the King is in his State robes. Nine dreadful red-hot ploughshares are brought forth. The Queen advances and addresses the King. “My lord and son, I, Emma, that bore you, accused before you of crimes against you and Alfred, my son, and of base conduct with Alwyn the bishop, call God to witness in my person whether I have had in my mind any of these things attributed to me.” She then throws off her outer robe and takes off her shoes. A tremor of terror passes through the vast multitude, and the cry rends the air, “St. Swithun, save her!” Rudborne does not minimize it; he says that it was so loud that the saint must have come then or never. “Heaven suffers violence, and St. Swithun is dragged down by force”—such are his words. Thus encouraged, the Queen advances between two bishops, and walks over the ploughshares, with her eyes turned towards heaven, exclaiming, “God, who delivered Susannah from the wicked old men, and the boys from the furnace, deliver me, for the sake of St. Swithun.” She seemed to be walking “on roses,” and so little did she feel the fire that when all was over she asked when the trial was to begin!

Ordeal by Fire.

We cannot spoil the prettiest picture in Winchester’s history by a suggestion of falsehood or over-colouring. One of the ploughshares is said to have been afterwards found; and, as to the feat, there was no difficulty, for was she not treading on ground radiant with miracles?

Under the Conqueror and Rufus the Cathedral was rebuilt, with the exception of the tower, by his kinsman, Walkelin. This bishop was an estimable man, and possessed such an unusual disposition that, although ascetic himself, he was tolerant to others. Never was he known to speak a harsh word, and, it is said, that he loved the monks “as if they were divinities.” The man who built this great edifice, and much of whose work still remains, neither ate fish nor flesh.

“The vegetarians ought to be proud of him,” observed Mr. Hertford.

“And the teetotalers,” I continued, “will be glad to hear that he very seldom touched wine or beer. His end was sad. Rufus demanded £200 from him, and he knowing that he could not obtain that sum without oppressing the poor or despoiling the Church, prayed that he might die; and we are told that ten days afterwards his prayer was granted, but we hear no details about it. His brother Simeon, at one time prior here, was of an equally genial disposition. Being shocked at the sight of the monks devouring meat on the fast days, he ordered some fish to be exquisitely cooked and set before them. The brethren relished the dish so much that they said they never wished to eat meat any more, and by this savoury device the worthy prior enabled them to indulge their appetites without endangering their souls.”

How it must have grieved the soul of Walkelin to be associated with such a creature as Ralph Flambard, who was a contrast to him in everything! When the King went abroad the entire government of the country was committed to these two opposing spirits. Flambard was unscrupulous and ingenious, and but for the injury done to religion there would seem to have been something almost comic in his career. Rufus, whose chaplain he was, never tired of heaping promotion upon one as unprincipled as himself. He was made Abbot of Hyde at Winchester, Bishop of Chichester, and Bishop of Lincoln. Many of the churches under his supervision were without priests or ministrations, and such were his exactions from rich and poor that they “did not care whether they were dead or alive.” This genius was thrown into prison by Henry I. when he came to the throne, but was too slippery for him: soon made his escape, and was over in Normandy abetting Duke Robert, who had a right to the English crown, and managing affairs so skilfully that upon a temporary reconciliation between the brothers, Flambard was received back and made Bishop of Durham.

Scandals.

A few years later the bishop’s misdoings became so notorious that reports of them reached Rome, and the Pope’s legate, John de Crema, was directed to visit the diocese and make inquiries. Flambard was equal to the occasion. He received the legate with great ceremony, and entertained him at a sumptuous banquet. While the bowl was flowing, he introduced him to his niece, whom he instructed to do her best to captivate him. John, who it seems had not the gifts of St. Anthony, was soon “with love and wine at once oppressed,” fell into the trap, and finally arranged with the fair deceiver to come to his room. She kept her promise only too faithfully. But scarcely had she entered when in rushed the bishop with a crowd of priests and acolytes carrying lamps and goblets, and calling out “Benedicite, benedicite! we congratulate you on your marriage—drink—we drink your health!” The legate was overwhelmed with confusion. Before daybreak he was up and off on his way to Rome leaving the gay bishop and his peccadilloes to take care of themselves.[67]