“This was the work of Bishop Edington,” I observed, “begun about 1345. He did not like the ‘dim religious light’ of the Middle Ages.”
What a different front did the Norman knights here behold; something as stern and cold as their own iron armour. A vast blank face of masonry rose before them, broken only by a few plain, round-headed windows, without even a pane of glass to reflect the setting sun.[71] There is proof from excavations, and some remains in the wall of the garden on the south, that some kind of portico was commenced in front of the present façade, with a tower forty feet square at either end, but that the work was abandoned a few feet above ground. The interior was also severe. The pillars indeed were about the same size and height as those we now see—their Norman terminations still remain under the roof—and the eight westernmost on the south side have not been even re-cased, but only slightly chiselled into rounder form. But they did not originally break into graceful fans upon the vaulting, nor were there between them lofty arches crowned with ornamental windows. No; the spaces were occupied by three tiers of low, round arches, producing a monotonous effect, such as we still see in the transepts. The vaulting of the side aisles was also low and heavy, supporting the deep triforium gallery. The whole structure had a Spartan simplicity and strength characteristic of a rude age. It terminated eastward in an apse under the place where now glows the stained-glass window of Bishop Fox.[72]
In the North Transept.
Such was the building to which the body of Rufus “dropping blood” was brought by night in a peasant’s cart, and where it was buried with little lamentation. Seven years afterwards the great tower fell, because, as the monks thought, it could not bear to have such a wicked man buried under it.
The Nave.
On entering, the full effect of the great length and height is felt.[73] We seem to be looking down a lofty avenue in some primeval forest. This is the most beautiful nave in England or in the world, 250 feet long and 77 feet high. Truly this pile was not raised by the
“lore
Of nicely calculated less or more;”
but by men—