RELIQUARY.
In 1327 Abbot Thokey made the fortune of Gloucester abbey. On September 21st Edward II. had been murdered at Berkeley castle. Bristol, Kingswood, and Malmesbury monasteries were appealed to, but none dared receive his body for interment, fearing the anger of the Queen and her party. Abbot Thokey brought the body to Gloucester in his own carriage, and caused it to be solemnly buried in the presbytery. Soon miracles were wrought at the tomb, pilgrimages set in, immense sums were contributed in offerings; Gloucester, like Hereford, had got a saint, and, like Hereford, used the vast income that accrued—enough, it is said, to have erected a brand-new cathedral—in improvements in their abbey-church. The tomb of the murdered king, erected by his son, Edward III., still exists, and the leaden coffin below, in which, when opened in 1855, the body was found “in a wonderful state of preservation.” (We wonder what would be said if our antiquaries exhumed the bodies of George III. and Archbishop Benson, and stole their rings and vestments to put them in a show-case in the vestry.) On one side of the monument, facing the aisle, is the bracket on which offerings were laid; above is one of the loveliest Curvilinear canopies in existence, but much restored. To the same period belong various windows inserted in the aisles and chapels and triforium of the presbytery.
The monks, no doubt, with the rich revenues now at their disposal, would have liked to rebuild the presbytery de novo. But it was crowded every day and all day with the pilgrims from whom the money came. They had therefore to confine themselves to such improvements as could be effected without interfering with the flow of pilgrims and of cash. The first thing needful was to provide more light: above all, in the presbytery, where the centre of attraction was; and in the crossing, where their daily services were held. Secondly, the church had suffered severely from fire in 1088, 1102, 1122, 1179, and 1190. The nave had already been safeguarded against fire by vaulting; it was desirable to extend the same protection to the transepts and presbytery by covering these also with stone vaults. Thirdly, if the money held out, it might be spent in prettinesses.
TRANSEPT.
First, there was the lighting problem. Abbot Thokey had done a good deal in improving the lighting of the south aisle of the nave, and the aisles and chapels and triforium of the presbytery. Abbot Wygmore commenced operations in the south transept. The north transept was in daily use, as the cloister was on the north side of the nave, and the monks passed through the north transept to their daily services in the crossing. The improvements in the presbytery were postponed for a time, so as not to interfere with the pilgrims. In six years, before 1337, Wygmore is recorded by Froucester (who was himself Abbot from 1381 to 1412) to have cased, lighted and vaulted the south transept.
If Froucester is correct—and his evidence is almost that of a contemporary—we have in the south transept of Gloucester one of the greatest puzzles in the history of mediæval architecture. The whole of this work in the south transept is in the Perpendicular style—early Perpendicular, but still Perpendicular in principle. Yet we have to believe that it is contemporaneous with the utterly different Curvilinear work that was being done everywhere else in England; that it was contemporaneous with the Curvilinear monument of Edward II. in Gloucester itself; with the Percy shrine at Beverley, with the Lady chapel, octagon, and choir of Ely. It seems incredible. But Gloucester presbytery was not taken in hand till after the south transept, and it was finished not later than 1350, if that be the true date of the glass of the great east window. No other Perpendicular work occurs in the kingdom till that of Edingdon church (1352-1361), and the work done by Bishop Edingdon in the western part of Winchester nave. So that, if we accept Froucester’s statement, we have to believe that while the rest of the world was executing Curvilinear designs, the Gloucester masons, not later than 1330, had worked out the Perpendicular style.
We have to believe, also, that though this style ultimately became universally popular in England, overspread the whole country, and maintained its hold on English architecture for three centuries, at the outset it smouldered at Gloucester, unnoticed, unappreciated by anybody, till Edingdon took it up twenty years later in rebuilding the church of his native village. All the other improvements in mediæval building were caught up instantaneously—passing from one end of the kingdom to the other with the rapidity of the fashion of a Paris bonnet or mantle. England hesitated long before it could consent to exchange the richness of Curvilinear for the baldness of Perpendicular design. However, the new design of Gloucester, blazoned abroad everywhere as it was by admiring pilgrims, showed the capacities of the new style. It was seen to be sound and strong from a building point of view—and cheap. That turned the scale. Perpendicular came in with a rush. So,
“Si parva licet componere magnis,”
the Royal and Ancient game of golf smouldered on for centuries at Blackheath, till the psychological moment came, and it passed on to Westward Ho, and then swept like wildfire over all England.