Another way of raising money was to exact a contribution from church dignitaries, as a kind of “entrance fee,” on their accepting preferment. William Heyworth, bishop of Coventry, (a see now owning Chester as its mother city), decreed in 1428 that “every canon on commencing his first residence should pay a hundred marks towards the structure of the cathedral, the purchase of ornaments,” and other similar expenses.
In 1247, Bishop Ralph Neville, of Chichester, having died indebted to some of the canons of the cathedral, left by will a sufficient sum to discharge his obligations. But these ecclesiastical creditors decided that it should be devoted to “the completion of a certain stone tower, [p 51] which had remained for a long time unfinished.” The same canons bitterly complained because the Pope had ordained that all vacant prebends throughout the country should remain unoccupied for a year, in order that their revenues might be devoted to the erection of the minster at Canterbury; whereas they not unnaturally felt that the needs of their own cathedral had the first claim upon them.
Those churches which contained the shrines of popular saints drew, for the repair or enlargement of the fabric, no small revenue from the offerings of pilgrims. The eastern part of Rochester Cathedral was paid for by the moneys deposited at the tomb of S. William of Perth; and the large sums given by visitors to the shrine of S. Thomas of Canterbury materially assisted in keeping the building in repair.
Unquestionably the sums needed for rearing these massive piles were in most cases given, either in money or in kind, by the faithful; sometimes the princely offerings of a few wealthy men, sometimes the countless small gifts of the multitude, have become transmuted into tapering spire, or ponderous tower, “long-drawn aisle and fretted vault.” The poor, in some instances, [p 52] as we have seen, voluntarily gave their labour; in others the hands of the monks themselves raised and cut the sculptured stones.
In most cases the cathedrals which we now possess are not the first that have occupied their sites. Some humble building, often reared by one of the pioneers of the faith, was in the majority of instances the shrine that first consecrated the spot to the service of God.
It was in 401, during the visit of Germanus and Lupus, bishops of Auxerre and of Troyes, to aid in exterminating the Pelagian heresy, that the earliest shrine of S. Alban, a simple wooden oratory, was erected at Verulam; S. Deiniol built a little stave-kirk, or timber church, at Bangor about 550; and Kentigern, some ten years later, raised the first religious establishment at Llanelwy, or S. Asaph; while where now the ruined Cathedral of Man rears its weather-beaten gables and sightless windows at Peel, tradition says S. Patrick consecrated S. Germain first bishop of the Southern Isles in 447.
Many causes, however, combined to sweep away not only all traces of these earliest churches, but also in many instances more than one more solidly constructed successor. The [p 53] growth of architectural taste and skill made men impatient of the rudeness of their forefathers’ simple fanes; in a surprising number of instances the lightning-flash or the raging fire destroyed the buildings wholly or in part. The cathedrals of the north felt more than once the shock of the Border wars; and civil strife, or religious fanaticism, wrought mischief in many others. Thus it has come to pass that the centuries have seen four cathedrals in succession at Hereford, at Gloucester, and at Bangor; and three at a multitude of places, Canterbury, London, Winchester, Peterborough, Lichfield, Oxford, and half-a-dozen more.
The incursions of the Danes were answerable for the destruction of several of the earlier foundations. Canterbury had a cathedral, the most ancient part of which had been erected, according to tradition, by Lucius, the first Christian King of the Britons, and afterwards restored by S. Augustine. To this, about the year 740, Cuthbert, the archbishop, added a chapel for the interment of the occupants of the see; and Odo, in the tenth century, enlarged and re-roofed it. But in the days of saintly Alphege, in 1005, the Danish invaders fell upon the city, [p 54] making of the church a ruin, and of its bishop a martyr. A similar fate befell the metropolitan church of the north. On the site where Paulinus baptized King Edwin and his two sons into the Christian faith a little wooden oratory was raised, over which ere long Edwin commenced to build a stone church, which S. Oswald, his successor, completed. This, after having been beautified by S. Wilfred, was burnt about 741, but re-built shortly afterwards by Archbishop Egbert. It was this latter building which fell before the Danes.
At Ely the religious house founded by S. Etheldreda, which was the precursor of the modern cathedral, was burnt by the same marauders about 870. Rochester suffered in the same way; and no trace of the church built, so says the Venerable Bede, by King Ethelbert himself now remains. Peterborough has been particularly unfortunate in this respect. The first building here was begun by Peada, King of Mercia, in the seventh century. In the year 870 the Danes, on one of their forays, burnt church and monastery to the ground, and massacred the abbot and all his monks. In 971 King Edgar raised the place once more from its desolation, [p 55] but again it was seriously damaged, though not absolutely destroyed, by the sea-kings shortly before the Norman Conquest. Oxford was partially burnt in 1002 owing to the same people, but in a different way. A number of Danes took refuge in the tower of S. Frideswide to escape the senseless and brutal massacre organised on S. Brice’s day in that year, and the English fired the structure rather than suffer their prey to escape them.
It will be convenient here, although it may take us in some cases away from those primitive foundations which so far we have considered, to glance at the other instances in which war has left its mark upon our cathedrals. Hereford, lying near the Welsh border, felt the storm and stress of warfare in 1056. Originally founded at some unknown date in very early English times, the church at Hereford was rebuilt about 830 by a noble Mercian, named Milfrid, and was repaired, if not actually renewed, by Athelstan the bishop, who came to the see in 1012. Ten years before the Norman Conquest, however, Griffith, prince of Wales, at the head of a combined host of Welsh and Irish, crossed the marches and plundered and burnt the church [p 56] and city. In the reign of Hardicanute (1039–1041) the citizens of Worcester, having risen against the payment of the ship-tax, were severely punished, a military force being sent to occupy their city. So thoroughly did it carry out the work of inflicting discipline on the malcontents, that the church, amongst other buildings, was left in ruins. The original church at Gloucester was built in 681, as part of a conventual establishment; this was destroyed, and, after an interval, rebuilt by Beornulph, King of Mercia, sometime previous to 825. This church was looted by the Danes, but restored by S. Edward the Confessor. In the year after the Conquest, Gloucester was occupied by the Normans, whose entrance was not, however, accepted quite peaceably by the citizens; and in the tumult the Cathedral was seriously injured by the one or the other party. Exeter provides us with another case. Here was a cathedral in early English days, which lasted until the time of Bishop William Warelwast, who began the erection of a new one in 1112. During the stormy reign of Stephen, the city was held for Matilda and had to stand a siege by the King, to the great damage of the still [p 57] unfinished church. To quote one further illustration only: Bangor, whose wooden church was replaced by a stone one somewhere about 1102, suffered grievously in the wars waged between Henry III. of England, and David, Prince of Wales, an episode in which was the destruction of the Cathedral.