The Cathedral Towns and Intervening Places of England, Ireland and Scotland: / A Description of Cities, Cathedrals, Lakes, Mountains, Ruins, and Watering-places.

by Thomas W. Silloway; Lee L. Powers

No place is really more intimately connected with Plymouth and Massachusetts Bay than is this. The invisible telegraph of momentous events—a continuous unbroken line—exists, and is as real as the material cable that reposes on the floor of the sea; and when all of them shall have become extinct, this, forever revivified and renewed, will increase in power and be an instrument for good, "till the angel, standing with one foot on the land and the other on the sea, shall declare that time shall be no more."

Not long before the accession of Queen Victoria to the throne in 1838, a most thorough repair of the cathedral was made, and it is now one of the most perfect in England.

In our examinations of these great structures, admiring each of them, we have at times tried to decide which one of all we would, if the thing were possible, transport to America. At times the elegant interior of Winchester, with its fine long nave, is in the front rank. Then appears the great Lincoln, splendid within and without. Next, these are crowded aside by imperial York Minster. Then comes antique but sublime old Durham; how can we part companionship with that? or Salisbury, with its commanding spire, 404 feet high, and its rich transept end? Next, rich gem-bedecked Ely comes well up in front. Finally we make one herculean move, and, as the waking giant shakes his locks and spreads his arms, we make an effort to be unsympathetic; and ignoring these grand old friends, all of whom with charms peculiar to themselves have wooed and captivated us,—leaving them, a noble army of martyrs,—we say Canterbury. The effort has cost us much sacrifice. "Not that we love Cæsar less, but that we love Rome more." The grounds about the structure are very fine and inviting, though they do not possess those charms that exist at Salisbury and Peterboro.

The cathedral was founded by Archbishop Lanfranc, and enlarged and consecrated by Archbishop Corbel in 1130, in presence of Henry I. of England, David, king of Scotland, and all the bishops of England. The roof, or exterior covering, of the stone vaulting is of wood, and was seriously troubled by fire in 1174, when the choir and other portions of the interior were greatly damaged; and as late as Sept. 3, 1872, a portion of the roof, 150 feet in length, was badly damaged by fire and water, but all is now in perfect condition of repair. The cathedral is in extreme length 514 feet, and is 159 feet wide at the transepts. It has a magnificent central tower, of elaborate decorations, which is 285 feet high; also two very beautiful western towers terminating in embattlements and lofty turrets. The stone is of a dark-gray tint, and the structure has a sublime and imposing appearance. The interior is indescribably grand, and has one especial peculiarity, which is that the choir, or head of the cross,—which is the plan of the cathedral,—is elevated some seven feet or so above the floor of the nave, and is reached by a flight of marble steps. The arrangement, if anything, adds to the grand effect.

Beneath is the crypt, or basement, which is common to but few cathedrals. Here are very ancient columns, and a solid stone, groined ceiling; all is but dimly lighted, and was once a chapel in which monks worshipped. A painful silence now reigns throughout; and all is still and solemn, save as the footfalls on its pavements, or our voice,—or it may be sounds from the great cathedral floor coming down through the stone vaulting, subdued and subduing,—break the spell. Except for these, a silence of the tomb prevails. More than half a thousand years are gone since here the fumes of incense and the sound of papal prayers and the repetition of the Mass were begun. Centuries now are passed since all ceased. Dust of many pious ones has been here laid in its last resting-place, and "after life's fitful fever they sleep well." Nations have risen since then, and kingdoms have been transformed. The great realm of thought has been enlarged and extended, and humanity has become enlightened and advanced. Then, monk and nun were the rule, but they are not now even the exception. All are forever gone, and a hard theology, one anticipating an everlasting triumph of evil over good; penance, tormenting the body for the good of the soul,—or, later advanced tenet, that of tormenting the mind for the soul's good,—are discounted. Personal accountability, divine sovereignty, the Golden Rule, progress never ending for the individual and the race, are in the ascendant; and so crypt and dark room are deserted, and only tell of human life and endeavor as they were.

This cathedral has many monuments, and well it may have. How long is her line of bishops and illustrious men! A history of 700 and more years of active work, must have made conditions of note and renown; but we leave these monuments as we must, and say a few things of two or three of the noted ones who here kept holy time. Every reader of history has anticipated the name we speak of first, Thomas à Becket. At the north cross-aisle, or transept, is a small alcove, or chapel, on the right side of which is a table-altar. On the 29th of December, 1170, but forty years after the cathedral's consecration, and more than 700 years ago, as he was kneeling at this altar, he was assassinated, killed on the spot; and now a small place, six inches square, is shown in the floor, where some of his blood fell. The stone was long ago cut out and sent to Rome.

Few mortals have had a history as eventful as his. Born in London, in the olden time of 1117, he was educated, and finally appointed Archdeacon of Canterbury; and, in turn, prebend of Lincoln, and of St. Paul's at London. Nothing short of distinguished abilities and intellect could have brought such honored conditions as these.

When at the age of forty-one, in 1158, Henry II. made him Chancellor of England. So powerful was he in influence over the King, that in 1162, on the death of Theobold the Bishop of Canterbury, the King pressed his election to this See. He was appointed, and so was the first native Englishman who held the archbishopric of Canterbury. He was first ordained a priest, and then made Primate of all England. He resigned his office of Chancellor against the desires of the king, and in retaliation was deprived of his archdeaconship which he wished to retain along with his archbishopric. He at once began to exercise great authority. He became reserved and austere, and soon acquired great renown for his sturdy defence of the prerogatives of the Church against the threatened encroachments of the crown and the nobility.

In 1164 he strongly opposed the famous constitutions presented by Clarendon, and bitter feuds arose between him and the King. The hostility of the King to him was great, and his persecutions increased. He became exceedingly unpopular with the nobility, and at length fled from England. He spent nearly two years in an abbey in Burgundy, and was encouraged by the Pope, who, refusing to accept his resignation of the See of Canterbury, reconfirmed him as Primate of all England, except the See of York.

The strife between King Henry and Becket increased, but after a long continuance of the quarrel, in 1170 a reconciliation took place, and on his return to England the people gave him an enthusiastic reception; but he soon revived his old troubles by publishing the suspension of the Archbishop of York, and the King taunted his attendants for remissness in revenging the overbearing prelate. This excited four barons of the court, Reginald Fitzurse, William de Tracy, Hugh de Moreville and Richard Brito, who undertook the work of his assassination. Dec. 28, 1170, they met at the castle of Ranulth de Broc, near Canterbury, accompanied by a body of armed men. The next day they went to the Archbishop's palace and there had a stormy interview, and on the same evening invaded the cathedral at vesper service. Becket prevented all opposition to their ingress by declining, as he said, "to convert a church into a castle," and implored the assailants to spare everybody but himself. They attempted to drag him from the church, so as not to desecrate it by bloodshed; but while manfully wrestling with De Tracy, Becket received a blow, inflicting a slight wound, which, falling obliquely, broke the arm of his cross-bearer, Edward Grimes. The Archbishop then kneeled at the altar, when the three other barons gave him the death blow, and his brains were scattered on the floor. The cathedral was then ordered by the Pope to be closed for one year.