On the Lady Chapel in Chester Cathedral

by George Becher Blomfield

The next observable feature of the Chapel is the groined roof, marked especially by its singular and beautiful bosses at the three principal points of intersection of the ribs. These bosses are of unusually large size for so low a building, being of three feet diameter, and descending below the ceiling more than 18 inches. The weight of each boss is nearly two tons. They exhibit great care and skill in design and execution, and are finished with that attention to details which marks the works of that age, though it appears to be almost a waste of labour when employed on objects so far above the eye of the spectator.

The central boss bears a figure of the Virgin and Child,—the eastern one, a symbol of the Trinity,—and the western one a representation of the murder of Thomas a Becket.

It is not improbable that these three subjects, placed in this order from east to west, were designed to embody the three great features of the Christian Church of that age. We have in the first a figure of the Father, seated on His throne, holding between His knees a small crucifix, and the dove rests on the cross, in the attitude of whispering into the Saviour’s ear. This was not an uncommon form of representing the Trinity in early times, and forcibly, though rudely, shadows out the elements of Christian truth,—the Father, who is in heaven, holding forth the Son, crucified for us; and the Holy Spirit concurring in the scheme of redemption, and ministering comfort to the Saviour to support Him in His last agony. [9]

We have in the second boss the representation of the worship of the Virgin Mary,—the prominent characteristic of the Romish Church. The Virgin is represented, according to invariable custom, as seated, and with the infant Saviour in her arms; she, and not the Saviour, being the main subject of the work. The Saviour was always thus represented, as an infant in His mother’s arms, not only to mark her identity, but to embody the idea of her influence and authority over Him and His Church.

We then have in the third boss an indication both of the worship of the Saints and of the supremacy of the Pope, in the martyrdom of Thomas a Becket. And thus we have a complete series of symbolic representations of the doctrine of the Church of Rome.

This third boss deserves some special attention. It had long perplexed the judgment of curious observers, and defied the skill of archæological critics. Being beyond the reach of minute examination, and the arrangement of the figures being somewhat involved, it was not easy to interpret it. It passed with some for the Assumption of the Virgin; with others for the Resurrection of our Lord, because the figures of armed men were apparent in it; but no one guessed at the true subject, until a cast was taken of it and it could be examined upon the ground. There is no question now as to what it represents,—the murder of Thomas a Becket,—and that it gives a somewhat unusual version of that event. There are many representations of the murder—some almost contemporary with it—both in painted glass and in sculptured stone, especially in France and Italy. Not only was Becket himself one of the most distinguished and courageous defenders of the rights and authority of the Romish Church against regal aggression, but his death formed a great crisis in the history of the Papal power, and opened the way to a vast extension of it throughout Europe. On this account the memory of his martyrdom was perpetuated in every possible form. But singularly enough, for an event so notorious, and of which the details were recorded by nearly thirty contemporary writers, the actual representations of it differ very much from one another, and from the real facts of the story. In Mr. Stanley’s Memorials of Canterbury Cathedral, a careful comparison of all the narratives of the martyrdom is instituted, and an accurate analysis given of the facts which may be deemed authentic. With these facts our boss agrees more closely than most other delineations of the same subject. We have in it, of course, the figures of the four memorable Knights who were the perpetrators of the deed: Reginald Fitzurse, Hugh de Morville, William de Tracy, and Richard de Brez. These are all represented as wearing chain armour, with the usual steel caps of the Crusaders, and bearing swords and shields. The figures are curiously interwoven, and turned backwards upon the stone, in order to bring them all into the limited space. The shields which they carry have all their several heraldic devices. This is exactly according to fact. The figure of Becket is represented, as usual, kneeling at an altar, with his head bent forward. Beside him stands the monk Grim, bearing the crozier or cross. Fitzurse, whose identity is marked by the bears on his shield, holds his sword with both hands, prepared to strike; but it seems to be Richard de Brez, who bears a boar’s head on his shield, who strikes the blow, and the blow is represented as falling on the crown of Beckett head, so as to cut off the scalp. This is precisely in accordance with the best authenticated narratives. For though the first blow which was struck was from Tracy, the fatal one was given by Brez or Breton. “The stroke was aimed with such violence,” says the narrative of the monk Grim, “that the scalp or crown of the head—which it was remarked was of unusual size—was severed from the skull, and the sword snapped in two on the marble pavement.” This is the final act which is represented upon the boss,—the act which completed the martyrdom and set free the soul of Becket, as it was said, from its earthly prison, that it might go to receive its glory in heaven, as one of the chiefest Saints of Christ’s Catholic Church.

It is not uninteresting to trace out a reason for the accurate delineation of the facts of this murder upon this boss. In the celebrated translation of the body of the canonized Saint from the crypt of Canterbury Cathedral, where it had been at first buried, to the newly-erected Shrine at the east end of the choir of the same church,—which translation was made by Stephen Langton, Archbishop of Canterbury, in the presence of King Henry III. and all the Prelates of the realm, and cost, in pomp and ceremony, more than a coronation,—the Bishop of Chester of that day [11a] was a principal actor. He was joined with Langton in the Royal Commission, which bears date A.D. 1220. The Bishop would most likely bring back with him from Canterbury to Chester a vivid impression of the solemnity of the scenes, and of the virtues of the martyr. He did bring back with him a very precious relic of the Saint, no less than the girdle which he wore at the time of his martyrdom. And this girdle he presented to the Abbey of St. Werburgh, where it was preserved with religious care until the time when all such relics acquired perhaps something less than their intrinsic value, and were destroyed at the Dissolution. With the relic, the Bishop would be likely to bring with him an accurate version of the details of the murder, and this version would be embodied on the sculptured stone of this boss.

I will venture, on taking leave of this subject, to add to my remarks the more valuable commentary of Mr. Stanley, [11b] which will point the moral of my tale:—“We must all remember, that the wretched superstitions which gathered round the Shrine (and name) of Thomas of Canterbury, ended by completely alienating the affections of thinking men from his memory, and rendering the name of Becket a bye-word of reproach, as little proportioned to his real deserts as had been the reckless veneration paid to it by his worshippers in the middle ages.”

I pass now from the architectural character of this Lady Chapel to its history. Would that I could say that any materials exist from which I might construct a narrative of the events which have occurred within its walls during the six centuries of its existence. If we were able to look back into the dark period of its early history, and discover the secrets of monastic life which have been transacted here, we might tell some tales which would interest and astonish hearers of these more enlightened times. But it is as well, perhaps, that curiosity cannot be satisfied with the discovery of facts which we should be very likely to misunderstand and misjudge. And we must be content to pass the whole period from the building of the Chapel in or about 1280 to the dissolution of the Monastery, in 1541, as a blank on which no light of history or of records, or even of tradition, has been thrown. The only fact of that period which bears the slightest interest, is the burial of John de Salghall, one of the later Abbots, who died in the year 1452, temp. Henry VI. His burial place is described as being “between two pillars on the south side of the Chapel, under an alabaster stone;” on which we may observe that, as the spot so marked out is in the opening made by the cutting away the wall under the south window to gain an opening into the south aisle, that aisle must have been built previously; and yet it is commonly said to have been built in the reign of Henry VII. [12]