hat the ancient town of Banbury, lying on the northern verge of the county of Oxford, should have been famed, from time immemorial, for its rich cakes, should not excite our special wonder, seeing that the district has some of the richest pasture land in the kingdom; a single cow being here known to produce 200 pounds of butter in a year! Butter, we need scarcely add, is the prime ingredient of the Banbury cake, giving it the richness and lightness of the finest puff-paste; and, to the paper in which the cakes are wrapped, the appearance of their having been packed up by bakers with well-buttered fingers.
The cause of this cake-fame must, however, be sought in a higher walk of history than in the annals of pastry-making. It appears that the Banbury folks went on rejoicing in the fatness of their cakes until the reign of Elizabeth; from which time to that of Charles II., the people of the town were so noted for their peculiar religious fervour, as to draw upon themselves most unsparingly the satire of contemporary playwrights, wits, and humorists. By some unlucky turn of time, cakes, which were much valued by the classical ancients, and were given away as presents, in the Middle Ages, instead of bread, became looked upon as a superstitious relic by the Puritans, who thereupon abolished the practice. They formed so predominant a party at Banbury, in the reign of Elizabeth, that they pulled down Banbury Cross, so celebrated in our nursery rhymes. In the face of this historical fact, however, the reputed "zeal" of the Banburians has been attributed to an accidental circumstance, in modern phrase, "an error of the press." In Gough's edition of Camden's Britannia, in the MS. supplement, is this note: "Put out the word zeale in Banbury, where some think it a disgrace, when a zeale with knowledge is the greater grace among good Christians; for it was first foysted in by some compositor or press-man, neither is it in my Latin copie, which I desire the reader to hold as authentic." It was, indeed, printed, as a proverb, "Banbury zeal, cheese, and cakes," instead of "Banbury veal, cheese, and cakes." Gibson, in his edition of Camden, however, gives another version, relating: "There is a credible story—that while Philemon Holland was carrying on his English edition of the Britannia, Mr. Camden came accidentally to the press, when this sheet was working off; and looking on, he found, that to his own observation of Banbury being famous for cheese, the translator had added cakes and ale. But Mr. Camden thinking it too light an expression, changed the word ale into zeal; and so it passed, to the great indignation of the Puritans, who abounded in this town." Barnaby Googe, in his Strappado for the Divell, refers to Banbury as
"Famous for twanging ale, zeal, cakes, and cheese."
Better remembered are the lines in his Journey through England:
"To Banbury came I, O profane one!
Where I saw a puritane one
Hanging of his cat on Monday
For killing of a mouse on Sunday."
Early in the seventeenth century, the Puritans were very strong in Banbury. In Ben Jonson's Bartholomew Fair, Zeal-of-the-Land Busy, the Puritanical Rabbi, is called a Banbury man, and described as one who was a baker—"but he does dream now, and sees visions; he has given over his trade out of a scruple that he took, that it spiced conscience, those cakes he made were served to bridales, May-poles, morrises, and such profane feasts and meetings:" in other words, he had been a baker, but left off that trade to set up for a prophet; and one of the characters in Bartholomew Fair says: "I have known divers of these Banburians when I was at Oxford." And Sir William D'Avenant, in his play of The Wits, illustrates this Puritanical character, in
"A weaver of Banbury, that hopes
To entice heaven by singing, to make him lord of twenty looms."
Old Thomas Fuller personifies the zeal in the Rev. William Whately, who was Vicar of Banbury in the reign of James I., and was called "The Roaring Boy." Fuller adds: "Only let them (the Banbury folks) adde knowledge to their zeal, and then the more zeal the better their condition." The Vicar was a zealous and popular preacher, according to his monument:
"It's William Whately that here lies,
Who swam to's tomb in's people's eyes."
In the Tatler, No. 220, in describing his "Ecclesiastical Thermometer," to indicate the changes and revolutions in the Church, the Essayist writes, "That facetious divine, Dr. Fuller, speaking of the town of Banbury, near a hundred years ago, tells us, 'it was a place famous for cakes and zeal,' which I find by my glass is true to this day, as to the latter part of this description, though I must confess it is not in the same reputation for cakes that it was in the time of that learned author."
The Banburians, however, maintained their character for zeal in a grand demonstration made by them in favour of Dr. Sacheverell, whose trial had just terminated in his acquittal; and in the same year, this High Church champion made a triumphal passage through Banbury, on his journey to take possession of the living of Salatin, in Shropshire, which was ridiculed in a pamphlet, with a woodcut illustrative of the procession; and there appeared another pamphlet on the same lively subject.
Thus far the association of cakes with zeal in the case of Banbury. It is worthy of remark that cakes had formerly not unfrequently a religious significance, from their being more used at religious seasons than at other times. The triangular cakes made at Congleton, in Cheshire, have a raisin in each corner, thought to be emblematic of the Trinity; the cakes at Shrewsbury may have had something to do with its old religious shows. Coventry, on New Year's day, has its God-cakes. Then we have the Twelfth-cake with its bean; the Good Friday bun with its cross; the Pancake, with its shroving or confessing; and the Passover cake of the Jews. The minced pie was treated by the Puritans as a superstitious observance; and, after the Restoration, it almost served as a test for religious opinions. According to the old rule, the case or crust of a minced pie should be oblong, in imitation of the cradle or manger wherein the Saviour was laid; the ingredients of the mince being said to refer to the offerings of the Wise Men.
Returning to the Banbury cake: in a Treatise of Melancholy, by T. Bright, 1586, we find the following:—"Sodden wheat is a grosse and melancholicke nourishment, and bread especially of the fine flour unleavened. Of this sort are bag puddings made with flour; fritters, pancakes, such as we call Banberrie Cakes; and those great ones confected with butter, eggs, &c., used at weddings; and however it be prepared, rye, and bread made thereof, carrieth with it plentie of melancholie."
At Banbury, the cakes are served to the authorities upon state occasions. Thus, in the Corporation accounts of this town, we find a charge of "Cakes for the Judges at the Oxford Assizes, 2l. 3s. 6d." The present form of the cake resembles that of the early bun before it was made circular. The zeal has died away, but not so the cakes; for in Beesley's History of Banbury, 1841, we find that Mr. Samuel Beesley sold, in 1840, no fewer than 139,500 twopenny cakes; and in 1841, the sale increased by at least a fourth. In August, 1841, 5,000 cakes were sold weekly; large quantities being shipped to America, India, and even Australia.
The cakes are now more widely sold than formerly, when the roadside inns were the chief depôts. We remember the old galleried Three Cranes inn at Edgware, noted for its fresh supplies of Banbury cakes; as were also the Green Man and Still, and other taverns of Oxford Road, now Oxford Street.
Banbury Cheese, which Shakspeare mentions, is no longer made, but it was formerly so well known as to be referred to as a comparison. Bishop Williams, in 1664, describes the clipped and pared lands and glebes of the Church "as thin as Banbury cheese." Bardolf, in the Merry Wives of Windsor, compares Slender to Banbury cheese, which seems to have been remarkably thin, and all rind, as noticed by Heywood, in his Collection of Epigrams:—
"I never saw Banbury cheese thick enough,
But I have often seen Essex cheese quick enough."
The same thought occurs in Jack Drum's Entertainment, 1601:—
"Put off your cloathes, and you are like a Banbury cheese—nothing but paring."
In the Birch and Sloane MSS., No. 1201, is a curious receipt for making Banbury cheese, from a MS. cookery book of the sixteenth century. A rich kind of cheese, about one inch in thickness, is still made in the neighbourhood of Banbury.
We have already traced the destruction of the Cross at Banbury to the leaven of fanaticism. The nursery rhyme,
"Ride a cock-horse
To Banbury-cross,"
is by some referred to this act; and to signify being over-proud and imperious. Taylor, the Water-poet, has,—
"A knave that for his wealth doth worship get,
Is like the divell that's a-cock-horse set."
The Banburians have rebuilt the Cross to commemorate the marriage of the Princess Royal with the Crown Prince of Prussia. They also exhibit, periodically, a pageant, in which a fine lady on a white horse, preceded by Robin Hood and Little John, Friar Tuck, a company of archers, bands of music, flags and banners, passes through the principal street to the Cross, where the lady (Maid Marian) scatters Banbury cakes among the people. How far this pageant may be associated with local tradition, time and the curious have hitherto failed to explain.[59]
Other towns, in addition to Banbury, have been celebrated for their cakes, from remote times. The ancient borough of Congleton, upon the Staffordshire border of Cheshire, have already been incidentally mentioned. The streets have an air of antiquity, many of the houses being constructed entirely of timber framework and plaster. The place has long been famed for its silk-mills, and tagged leather laces, called Congleton points. These, however, have been outlived by the sack and cakes, which have, for ages, figured in the festivities of Congleton; eclipsed for a while during the gloomy mayoralty of President Bradshaw, but happily retained to our time.
The Congleton cakes are of triangular form, with a raisin inserted at each corner. These have been used at the Grammar School breaking-up for three-quarters of a century. They have been the orthodox cakes at the quarterly account meetings of the Corporation for more than a century, and are hence called "count cakes." It is conjectured that the three raisins represent the mayor and two justices, who were the governing body under the charter of James I. The trio of raisins have also been deemed symbolical of the Trinity. Be this as it may, Congleton has been noted from time immemorial for these cakes, as well as for its gingerbread; and in the Corporation records we find such convivial items as the following:—"1618. Bestowed upon the Earl of Essex, being money paid for figs and sugar, 1l." "1614. Bestowed upon Sir John Byron, one gallon of sack and one gallon of claret, 5s. 8d." "1619. A banquet bestowed upon Sir John Savage, being a gallon of sack and a sugar-loaf, 5s." "1627. Bestowed upon my Lord Brereton, in wine and beer, 5s." "1633. Bestowed on the Earl of Bridgewater, in wine, sack, and sugar, 8s." "1632. Paid Randle Rode, of the Swan, for wine, cake, and beer, for a banquet which was bestowed upon the Lord Chief Baron of the Exchequer, 1l. 4s. 2d." "Paid Mr. Drakeford for a pottle of wine, bestowed on Sir B. Wilbraham, 2s." "1662. Paid for sweetmeats bestowed upon Lord and Lady Brandon, 9s. 3d., because," as the book says, "he was our great friend." This must have been in reference to the influence exerted by that nobleman, in obtaining a re-grant of the borough charter, which Charles II., on his accession, had thought fit to call in, along with several others, that of London among the rest.
Among the recent celebrations, was the hospitable reception given by the Corporation of Congleton to the Lord Mayor of London, Sir Francis Graham Moon, Bart., in the year 1855, when the entertainment well represented the ancient festivity. On the chairman's table lay the gold and silver maces of the borough, and capacious china Corporation bowls full of sack, and flanked by large old two-handled silver flagons, by which the sack was gradually drawn off, and circulated amongst the company. On every plate was placed a count cake, and the centres of the tables were covered with delicate cakes and confectionery, among which was pre-eminent the famous Congleton gingerbread, and a profusion of choice fruit. The brewage of the sack was entrusted to Joseph Speratti, who boasts that he alone possesses the true receipt.
The famous old city of Shrewsbury has also long been celebrated for its brawn and cakes; the latter are made of much larger size than we are accustomed to see them in the metropolis, and are packed in round boxes made for the purpose.
Around London some of the villages boast of this celebrity. Islington was once as famous for its cheesecakes as Chelsea for its buns; and among its other notabilities were custards and stewed "pruans:" old Wither, in 1628, told us that Islington
"For cakes and cream had then no small resort;"
and to this day the place is noted for its cakes and confectionery. Lower Holloway was once noted for its cheesecakes, which, almost within memory, were regularly cried through the streets of London by a man on horseback.
orselydown is situate near the bank of the river Thames, about half a mile eastward of London Bridge. "It is difficult," says Mr. Corner, the Southwark antiquary, "to imagine that a neighbourhood now so crowded with wharves and warehouses, granaries and factories, mills, breweries, and places of business of all kinds, and where the busy hum of men at work, like bees in a hive, is incessant, can have been, not many centuries since, a region of pleasant fields and meadows, pastures for sheep and cattle; with gardens, houses, shady lanes, clear streams with stately swans, and cool walks by the river-side. Yet such was the case, and the way from London Bridge to Horselydown was occupied by the mansions of men of mark and consequence, dignitaries of the Church, men of military renown, and wealthy citizens."
Horselydown was part of the possessions of the Abbey of Bermondsey, and was, probably, the common of the manor. After the surrender to Henry VIII. it became the property of private individuals, and, in 1581, was conveyed to the Governors of St. Olave's Grammar School, to whom it still belongs; and it is one of the remarkable instances of the enormous increase in the value of property in the metropolis, that this piece of land, which was then let as pasturage for 6l. per annum, now produces to the governors for the use of the school an annual income exceeding 3,000l. Hereon were erected the parish butts for the exercise of archery, pursuant to the statute of 33 Henry VIII.
The Marquis of Salisbury possesses, at Hatfield, a very remarkable picture, which has been supposed to have been painted by the celebrated Holbein, but is really the work of George Hofnagle, a Flemish artist in Queen Elizabeth's time, as is shown by the costume of the figures: it bears the date of 1590, whereas Holbein died in 1554. The picture represents a Fair or Festival, which, from the position of the Tower of London in the background, appears to have been held at Horselydown. In the catalogue of the pictures at Hatfield, in the Beauties of England and Wales, the painting is said to represent King Henry VIII. and his Queen, Anne Boleyn, at a country wake or fair, at some place in Surrey, within sight of the Tower of London; but several circumstances, in addition to its situation with respect to the river Thames and the Tower of London, concur to show that the locality is Horselydown, or, as it was then called, Horseydown or Horsedown. This is proved by a curious picture-map, dated 1544. Its centre shows a large open space, now occupied by the diverging Queen Elizabeth Free School, and Fair Street. It is not known whether Southwark Fair was ever held on Horselydown; but it is worthy of observation, that when the down came to be built on, about the middle of the seventeenth century, the principal street across it from east to west, and in the line of foreground represented in the picture, was, and is to the present day, called Fair Street; and a street or lane of houses running from north to south is called Three Oak Lane, traditionally from three oaks formerly standing there. The tree-o'ershadowed hostelry, where the feast is being prepared, may indicate the spot. In Evelyn's time, however (Diary, 13th Sept. 1666), the fair appears to have been held at St. Margaret's Hill, in the Borough, for he calls it St. Margaret's Fair; and it continued to be held between St. Margaret's Hill and St. George's Church, until the fair was suppressed in 1762.
The portly figure in the centre foreground, with a red beard and a Spanish hat, must have occasioned the idea of its being a representation of King Henry VIII.; but the general costume of the figure is later than his reign, and the date on the picture shows the period of the scene to have been towards the end of Queen Elizabeth's reign.
The principal figures seem rather to represent some of the grave burgesses and young gallants of Southwark, with their wives and families, assembled on Horseydown on some festive occasion, on a bright day in summer. The principal figure is evidently a man of worship, for whom and his company a feast is preparing in the kitchen of the hostelry; while the table is laid in the adjoining apartment, which is decorated with boughs and gaily-coloured ribbons. The principal figure may be one of the Flemish brewers, who settled in the parish in great numbers; one of whom Vassal Webling, dwelt hard by Horseydown, having become possessed of the house of Sir John Fastolfe, called Fastolfe Place. Or, it may be Richard Hutton, armourer, and an alderman of London, an inhabitant of St. Olave's. Whoever it is, he is accompanied by a comely dame, probably his wife, and by two elderly women, and followed by a boy and girl with a greyhound, a servant carrying an infant, and a serving-man with sword and buckler. Near them is a yeoman of her Majesty's guard, with the Queen's arms on his breast. The citizen, in his long furred gown, accompanied by a smartly-dressed female, crossing behind the principal party, is worthy of notice. The gay trio behind them are also remarkable objects in the picture.
The minister accompanying a lady, is probably Thomas Marten, M.A., parson of the parish. The hawking party behind shows that the neighbourhood of Southwark was at that period sufficiently open for the enjoyment of the sport. The flag-staff, or May-pole, in the left background, is also noticeable, as well as the unfinished vessel at the river side, and the unfortunate transgressor in the stocks.
Two young women and two serving-men are bearing large brass dishes for the coming feast; while in the right foreground a party of five are dancing to the minstrelsy of three musicians seated under a tree. A party are approaching from the right, headed by another minister, who may be the celebrated Robert Browne, a Puritan minister, and founder of the sect of Brownists, who was schoolmaster of St. Olave's Grammar School, from 1586 till 1591. He was connected by family ties with Lord Burghley, which circumstance may account for this picture being preserved at Hatfield, which was built by Robert Cecil, Earl of Salisbury, second son of Lord Burghley.
Behind the musicians are two figures which deserve some attention. It has been suggested that the appearance of the foremost is much that of the portraits of Shakspeare, and the head behind him is not unlike that of Ben Jonson. Nor would there be any improbability in the idea of Shakspeare and Jonson being present at such a fête, as Shakspeare lived in St. Saviour's, and is very likely to have been invited to a festival in the adjoining parish; but the date of the picture is somewhat too early to be consistent with that notion.
The church-like building with a tower, at the right of the picture, may be "The Hermitage," marked on the plan: it was no uncommon thing for hermitages to have chapels attached to them, as at Highgate, where the hermit was authorized by a royal grant of Edward III. to take toll for repairing the road. The hermitage at Highgate, which had a tower, became a chapel for the devotions of the inhabitants.
Hermitages were generally founded by an individual upon the ground of some religious house, who, after the death of the first hermit, collated a successor; and as those persons devoted themselves to some act of charity, it does not appear so extraordinary that we find hermits living upon bridges, and by the sides of roads, and being toll-gatherers, as numerous records indubitably prove. (Tomlin's Yseldon.)
The Hermit of Horselydown, or Dock-head, perhaps, received a toll for keeping in repair the road across the Bermondsey Marshes from Southwark towards Rotherhithe and Deptford.[60]
akes were originally established to commemorate the erection of the church in the parish where they were held. They were then celebrated on the Sunday, and the parson did not deem it "unworthy his high vocation" to enjoy a gambol on the village-green after the morning service. In the larger towns, most of the churches had weekly fairs or markets attached to them, these also being held on the Sabbath. As late as the commencement of the fourteenth century, Wolverhampton had a market every Sunday morning, the shingles being arranged round the old Collegiate Church; and when the voice of worship ceased, the Babel of the Fair began. During the fourteenth century, however, the custom of holding Sunday markets was abolished, but the village Wake continued to be celebrated on the sacred day, until the commencement of the present century. The leading diversions of Wake-time in this district were, as is pretty generally known, bull and badger baiting, cock-fighting, pigeon-flying, boxing, running, and wrestling. There is, we think, a very fair standard of comparison between past and present, presented to us in the subject of Wake festivals; and for this reason we have thought it worth while briefly to compare Wake-time in the Black Country half a century ago with the corresponding season now. We think it will be allowed that, after taking into consideration all educational and other advantages, there has been a progress towards social and moral excellence among our working men and women which is deserving of all praise.
The traditions of Bull-baiting, Cock-fighting, and other exhibitions of brutality which characterised Wakes in this district forty or fifty years ago, have in many cases been so distorted and magnified by frequent repetition that they can no longer be accepted as truthful pictures of the festivals which it was the humour of our ancestors to establish and be pleased with.
During the past half-century, there have been some brutal exhibitions of this class. In the Staffordshire Advertiser, November 23, 1833, we read of bulls being shockingly tortured in the neighbourhood of Dudley. At Rowley Regis, a two-year-old bull was worried most brutally, his horns being torn off, and his head and face mangled in the most appalling manner.
In the following year the Wolverhampton Chronicle publishes this intelligence:—"At Wilhenhall Wakes, two bulls were baited in the streets of that town, and more than usual cruelty was displayed on the occasion, as one of the bulls died on the night after being baited." At Darlaston Wakes, about the same period, three bulls, three bears, and two badgers underwent baiting simultaneously; to say nothing of dog and cock fights.
These instances might, of course, be multiplied by records of each town in the district, but they will suffice to show the extent of the barbarity which distinguished the Wakes of our forefathers. The ludicrous was sometimes associated with the cruelties in these scenes. At Tipton on one occasion, the bull broke loose, and, dashing madly through the crowd, entered the open door of a house, at whose fire a huge piece of Wake beef was roasting. From the force of habit, the bull tossed the smoking joint to the ceiling, and disappeared, to the great joy of the affrighted inmate. On another occasion, at Bloxwich, some wag stole the bull at midnight, and when the excited crowd assembled on the morrow, from all parts of the district, they were doomed to disappointment. The circumstance gave rise to a local proverb still in use. When great expectations are baffled, the circumstance is instinctively likened to "the Bloxwich bull." The remembrance of this barbarous pastime is perpetuated in the topographical nomenclature of the district, where, following the example of Birmingham, almost every town and village has its Bull King.
The stronghold of Cock-fighting was at Wednesbury, where the "cookings" were resorted to by persons from all parts of the kingdom. In a Directory of Walsall, 1813, we read:—"The cockpit is situate on the left-hand side of the entrance into Park Street, from Digbeth, at the bottom of a yard belonging to Mr. Fox, known by the sign of the New Inn. It is spacious and much frequented at the Wakes, at which period only it is used."
The minor sports and pastimes were the interludes between the tragedies, and served to complete the day's programme of the Black Country Wake-time. Forty years ago it was dangerous to pass through a town during the Wakes. The inhabitants who took active part in these sports were so infuriated with drink and excitement, and their feelings were so hardened by scenes of torture, that they regarded neither the limb nor life of any who happened to offend them. There was no amusement provided either for young or old but the most vicious and degrading, and the Wakes seldom passed by without some other blood than that of bulls being spilt—the blood of comrades, and too frequently of wives and children, who dared to remonstrate with a furious husband and father in his orgies.
Happily, modern Wakes have been divested of nearly all the characteristics of the olden festivals. The only vestiges which distinguish them are the booths, clowns, and drinking bouts; and these amusements are only indulged in by children and the lowest class of the population. Among the features recently introduced in connexion with district Wakes may be enumerated out-door fêtes, flower-shows, bazaars, and excursions. Temperance Societies and Working Men's Institutes select Wake-time for their celebrations. Two of the most successful exhibitions ever held in the district were inaugurated at the Wakes of Willenhall, in 1857, and at those of Bilston a year or two later, both in connexion with the progress of popular education. The Right Hon. C. P. Villiers, M.P. who was present on both occasions, and who knew this district in its dark days, took occasion to compare the former Wake times with the present, as an evidence of the social advancement of the Black Country. The cultivation of cottage window-flowers, now happily so general throughout the same district, is another refining agency, which has helped in no small degree to root out the love for grosser sports among the people. But, perhaps, the most powerful agent in improving the character of modern Wakes is the influence of popular excursions. The district is fortunate in its situation in this respect. Within easy distance are the lawns and flowers of Enville, Hagley, Shugborough, and Teddesley, which it is the delight of their noble owners to place at the service of our working men and women; and the more recent facilities for locomotion have also placed the Malvern slopes and Southport sands within their reach. Wake-times are therefore now become seasons of excursions, when hard-working men quit the factory bench and the dark mine, to delight and refine their inner manhood with views of Nature's fairest works. This, we think, is one great step towards the development of a love for art among the artisans of our utilitarian district; and Wake-times so spent will assuredly exert an influence for good through the remainder of the year.[61]
Nevertheless, the Wakes are still disgraced by sad scenes of intoxication and other excesses: the agencies of education and religion are not working in vain in the district; let us hope that the progress, though slow, may be sure.
lexander Neckam, from whose Treatise the following curious things are derived, was a learned man of the twelfth century: his work, which is written in Latin, has been translated by Mr. Thomas Wright, and published under the direction of the Master of the Polls. Of Neckam's birth we learn the date from a chronicle formerly existing among the MSS. of the Earl of Arundel, which inform us that "in the month of September, 1157, there was born to the King at Windsor a son named Richard; and the same night was born Alexander Neckam at St. Alban's, whose mother gave suck to Richard with her right breast, and to Alexander with her left breast." Thus was Alexander the foster-brother of the future Cœur de Lion, who was celebrated for his own love of literature and learning; and the position which the circumstance here related by the chronicler gave to Neckam in regard to such a Prince goes far to explain the honourable position he gained in after-life.
Neckam was born and passed his boyhood at St. Alban's: he received his earlier education in the Abbey School there; and such a rapid advance did he make in learning, that whilst still very young, the direction of the school at Dunstable, a dependency of the Abbey of St. Alban's, was entrusted to him. But he soon, of his own accord, sought a larger field for his mental activities, and proceeded to the then celebrated University of Paris, where he was a distinguished professor as early as the year 1180, when he can have been no more than twenty-three years of age.
He did not long adhere to the scholastic learning of the University, but in 1186 returned to England, and resumed his old post at Dunstable. He subsequently became one of the Augustinian monks of Cirencester, and in 1213 was elected Abbot of Cirencester. He died at Kempsey, near Worcester, in 1217, and was buried in Worcester Cathedral.
Neckam, in these early times, displayed a taste for experimental science. The Treatise from which we quote is a sort of manual of natural science, as it was then taught; and it derives a still greater value for us from the love of its author for illustrating his theme by the introduction of contemporary anecdotes and stories relating to the objects treated of; as well as the mention of popular facts and articles of belief which had come under his observation or knowledge, many of which offer singular illustrations of the condition and manners of the age.
From Neckam we learn how great was the love for animals in the Middle Ages; how ready people, apparently of all classes, were to observe and note the peculiarities of animated nature, and especially how fond they were of tamed and domestic animals. We see that the mediæval castles and great mansions were like so many menageries of rare beasts of all kinds. It is in the stories told by Neckam, also, that we become more than ever acquainted with the attachment of our mediæval forefathers to the chase, and to all the animals connected with it. Beginning with the King of Birds, the Eagle, however, he offers no new facts; though he makes it the subject of numerous moralisings. With the lesser birds of prey he becomes communicative of his anecdotes. He recounts how a Hawk one day, by craft and accident and not by mere strength, killed an Eagle. "This occurred in Great Britain, the King of which country, with his courtiers, were witnesses of the occurrence. The courtiers applauded the ferocity of the smaller and weaker bird, which, too, had only killed its adversary in self-defence; but the King interfered, reproved his followers for expressing sentiments which justified the employment of force by vassals against their Sovereigns, and ordered the Hawk to be hanged immediately as guilty of treason."
Another anecdote places the reputation of the Hawk in a less obnoxious light. It was one of the characteristics of that bird, as Neckam tells us, in the cold of winter, to seize in its claws a Partridge, wild Chick, or some other bird, and hold it under its belly all night, in order to profit by its warmth; and when the warmth of day returned, the Hawk, however hungry it might be, spared the bird, in consideration of the service thus derived from it, and displayed the noble nature of the bird of prey, the fit representative of the Feudal Baron, by setting it at liberty. Neckam tells another story of a Falcon which revenged itself on an Eagle; and another of a Weasel which caught a Sparrowhawk and dragged it under the water. We may pass over his account of the Phœnix, which is taken from the ancients; but that which he tells us of the Parrot shows how great a favourite it was as a cage-bird even in our islands during the Middle Ages. He speaks especially of its mischievous cunning and of its skill in imitating the human voice, adding that, for exciting people's mirth, it was preferable even to the jongleurs. It must, however, be acknowledged that Neckam's wonderful anecdotes become at times rather legendary.
Passing by the Peacock, the Vulture, the Pheasant, and Partridge, the often-described Barnacle, supposed to be generated from the gluey substances produced on fir-timber when immersed in the waves of the sea, finds its place here. The qualities of the Swan, which celebrated its own death in sweet song; the Ostrich, said to be devoid of affection for its own offspring; the Nightingale, which was so capricious in its choice of habitation that Neckam tells us there was a well-known river in Wales on one side of which the song of this nightingale was often heard, but nobody ever heard it on the other; the Swallow, singular for the form of its nest and for the locality which it selected for building it; the Nuthatch; the Ibis of Egypt; the Dove; and several birds less known, as described by Neckam, are chiefly worthy of notice on account of the singular moralisings and symbolical interpretations which are given to them. The Sparrow, according to Neckam (long anticipating Sterne), is a libidinous bird, light, restless, "injurious to the fruits of man's labour," too 'cute for the birdcatcher, and subject to epilepsy. The Raven is, by its colour and by its habits, emblematical of the clergy; it is easily domesticated. A Crow foretells rain by its clamorousness.
Neckam has also something to say about the Lark and the Magpie, and something more about the Parrot, "the jongleur of the birds;" but he says of the Cuckoo that it does nothing but repeat the words "affer, affer," i.e. "give, give,"—and on that account it was the type of avarice, and "sang the old song of those who have not yet divested themselves of the old man." Surely, however, Neckam's ear was at fault in this description, or the Cuckoos of Cirencester sang a very different song, with a different moral too, from the cuckoos on the banks of Avon in the dayspring of Shakspeare. But it is a novel fact to learn that the saliva of the Cuckoo produced Grasshoppers; yet this was, no doubt, a popular explanation of the well-known cuckoo-spit of our fields. The Pelican of those days killed her own young, after which, in self-remorse, she tore her own body to shed her blood upon them, by means of which they revived. The Cock was symbolical of the Christian preacher or doctor of the Church; and Neckam gives a rather curious physical explanation of the question why it announces the hour of the day by its crowing, and why it has a comb. The Wren was remarkable for its fertility, and for another rather singular quality. When killed and put on the spit before the fire to roast, it wanted no turning, but turned itself with the utmost regularity. Though the smallest of birds, it claimed to be their king, and hence the Latin name of Regulus. Did it not, when the birds assembled to choose a king, conceal itself beneath the Eagle's wing, when it was agreed that the throne should be given to the bird which mounted highest towards heaven; and when the Eagle, having soared the highest, made its claim to the prize, did it not start from its hiding-place, jump on the Eagle's back, and claim to be highest of all, and therefore the winner?[62]
n the noble Park of Blenheim they show you two sycamore-trees on the spot where the ancient Palace of Woodstock was built; and near the Bridge is a spring called Rosamund's Well. Hard by was the celebrated Bower, erected by Henry II., and the scene of Addison's poetical opera of Rosamund, in excellent verse, which, wedded to the music of Dr. Arne, proved very successful. Several passages long retained their popularity, and were daily sung, during the latter part of George the Second's reign, at all the harpsichords in England.
Drayton, in the reign of Elizabeth, described "Rosamund's Labyrinth, whose ruins, together with her Well, being paved with square stones in the bottom, and also her Tower, from which the Labyrinth did run, are yet remaining, being vaults arched and walled with stone and brick, almost inextricably wound within one another, by which, if at any time her lodging were laid about by the Queen, she might easily avoid peril imminent, and, if need be, by secret issues, take the air abroad, many furlongs about Woodstock, in Oxfordshire."
Nor are these the only memorials of the frail Rosamund, whose history is one of the most interesting in our stock of legendary lore. About two miles north of Oxford, near the river Isis, there are some remains of the famous Nunnery of Godstow, from which, we are told, "there is a subterranean passage to Woodstock." It was about the end of the reign of Henry I., that this Nunnery was founded, at the instigation of Editha, a pious lady of Winchester. Assisted by benefactions, Editha finished a convent for Benedictine Nuns, in 1138; and King Stephen and his Queen were present at the consecration. Editha was Abbess here; and the lands given were confirmed by grants of Stephen and Richard I. When Prince Henry arrived in England, in 1149, to dispute his title to the crown with Stephen, he happened to visit the Nunnery of Godstow, where he saw Rosamund, the daughter of Lord Clifford; she was not a nun, but boarded in the convent.
Fair Rosamund—Rosa Mundi, the Rose of the World—was the second daughter of Walter de Clifford, the son of Richard and grandson of Ponz. Richard is mentioned in the Domesday Survey as holding lands in the counties of Oxford, Gloucester, Wilts, Worcester, and Hereford. Walter de Clifford, by his wife Margaret, had four children:—Lucy, first married to Hugh de Say, and subsequently to Bartholomew de Mortimer; Rosamund, Walter, and Richard. Of Rosamund's early life we have no particulars. Local tradition affirms that Canyngton, about three miles from Bridgewater, was the place of her birth, and that within the walls of its priory she received such education as the age afforded. That, as the daughter of a powerful lord, she was entrusted to the care of some religious sisterhood for nurture, both of mind and body, we have no doubt, though the old chroniclers are silent on the subject. The art of embroidery would appear to have been one of her accomplishments, for the venerable Abbey of Buildwas long possessed among its treasures a magnificent cope, which bore witness to the taste and skill of its fair embellisher. Of her first acquaintance with Henry II., and the mode and place of her introduction to him, no details have been preserved. Probably she was known to him from her earliest years. Nor have we any reason to suppose that, according to some modern versions of the sad story, a broken vow added its shadow to a life whose record is sufficiently gloomy without this additional darkening of woe. Not a hint of her having been a nun do the chroniclers give us; and, had such been the fact, full use would have been made of such an aggravation of her offence. Her royal lover was one of the most unscrupulous of mankind, and for his many enormities he was notorious. His affection for Rosamund, however, such as it was, was constant. In order to protect her from the vengeance of the Queen, he removed her successively to various places of greater or less security. But the most famous of all, and with which her name is more than with all others associated, was her retreat at Woodstock. It was here that Henry built a chamber, which Brompton describes as of wondrous architecture—resembling the work of Dædalus; in other words, a labyrinth or maze. A manuscript of Robert of Gloucester, in the Heralds' Office, says that—
"Att Wodestoke for hure he made a toure,
That is called Rosemounde's boure,"
the special intent of which was to conceal her from her royal rival. The internal decorations of this abode were as much attended to as its means of escaping external notice. The Abbot of Jorevall describes a cabinet of marvellous workmanship, which was one of its ornaments. It was nearly two feet in length, and on it the assault of champions, the action of cattle, the flight of birds, and the leaping of fishes were so naturally represented, that the figures appeared to move.
Rosamund did not long occupy the retreat that royal though guilty love had created for her. She died in 1177, while yet without a rival in the King's affections, and, as it would appear, of some natural disease. In after times the injured Queen Eleanor had the credit of discovering her place of concealment, by means of a clue of silk which the King had incautiously left behind him; and which enabled her to thread the intricacies of the path, and of gratifying her revenge by obliging her rival to drink from her hand a cup of poison. That the Queen discovered the abode of Rosamund is possible; and it may have been that the shock of the meeting, and the unmeasured language which her Majesty is said to have employed, were too much for the poor victim of her womanly and natural displeasure. It is only fair, however, to say that the Queen's part in the entire transaction is not alluded to in the older writers, and is probably the fiction of more modern times.
Rosamund was buried in the first instance before the high altar in the Church of Godstow Nunnery, which was probably selected from its neighbourhood to Woodstock, and which henceforward enjoyed a goodly number of benefactions in memory of her and for the health of her soul. The body was wrapped in leather, and then placed in a coffin of lead. Over the whole Henry built a magnificent tomb, which was covered with a pall of silk, and surrounded by tapers constantly burning. This occurred in the lifetime of her father, for he gave to the nuns of Godstow, in pure and perpetual alms, for the health of the souls of Margaret his wife and of Rosamund his daughter, his mill at Franton, with all appurtenances, a meadow adjacent to the same called Lechtun, and a saltpit in Wiche. Walter, his son, confirmed the gift. Osbert Fitzhugh added to this the grant of a saltpit in Wiche, called the Cow, pertaining to his manor of Wichebalt.
Indeed, Walsingham goes so far as to say, though incorrectly, that the Nunnery of Godstow was actually founded by King John for the soul of Rosamund. It is not unlikely that a chantry was founded by that king for the object stated, but the foundation of the house was beyond question the work of a much earlier period.
Rosamund's remains, however, were not allowed to occupy their sepulchre in peace. Fourteen years after their solemn commission to this sacred place of interment, Hugh, Bishop of Lincoln, in a visitation of his diocese, came to Godstow. After he had entered the church, and performed his devotions, he observed the tomb occupying its conspicuous position before the high altar, adorned as already described, and forthwith asked whose it was. On being informed that it was the grave of Rosamund, whom Henry, the late king, had so dearly loved, and for whose sake he had greatly enriched this hitherto small and indigent house, and had given lands for the sustentation of the tomb and the maintenance of the lights, he imperatively commanded the nuns to take her out of the church, and to bury her with other common people, as the connexion between her and the King had been base; and to the end that the Christian religion might not be vilified, but that other women might thus be deterred from similar evil ways.
In obedience to the bishop's mandate the tomb was removed from the church, and erected in the chapter-house. It bore the following epitaph, containing the obvious play upon the lady's name, and declaratory of the unhappy contrast which death had effected:—
"Hic jacet in tumba Rosa mundi, non Rosa munda;
Non redolet, sed olet, quæ redolere solet."
This tomb remained, an object of interest and respect, until the dissolution of the house. It was then destroyed, and a stone was discovered within it, bearing the simple inscription, "Tumba Rosamundæ." The bones were found undecayed, and on the opening of the leaden coffin which contained them, "there was a very swete smell came out of it." Another eye-witness described it as having "enterchangeable weavings drawn out and decked with roses red and green, and the picture of the cup out of which she drank the poyson given her by the Queen, carved in stone." A stone coffin, said to be that of Rosamund, was still to be seen at Godstow when Hearne wrote his "Account of some Antiquities in and about Oxford," but this was regarded by him as a "fiction of the vulgar."[63]
In the "French Chronicle of London," 1259-1343, one of our earliest records compiled in illustration of the History of the City of London, under 1262, we read another version of this legend: "In this year the Queen was shamefully hooted and reviled at London Bridge, as she was desiring to go from the Tower to Westminster; and this, because she had caused a gentle damsel to be put to death, the most beauteous that was known, and imputed to her that she was the King's concubine. For which reason the Queen had her stripped, and caused a bath to be prepared, and then made the beauteous damsel enter therein; and made a wicked old hag beat her upon both arms, with a staff; and when the blood gushed forth, there came another execrable sorceress, who applied two 'frightful toads' to her breasts, which they sucked until all the blood that was in her body had run out, two other old hags holding her arms stretched out. The Queen, laughing the while, mocked her, and had great joy in her heart, in being thus revenged upon Rosamonde. And when she was dead, the Queen had the body taken and buried in a filthy ditch, and with the body the toads.
"But when the King had heard the news, how the Queen had acted towards the most beauteous damsel whom he so greatly loved, and whom he held so dear in his heart, he felt great sorrow, and made great lamentation thereat:—'Alas! for my grief; what shall I do for the most beauteous Rosamonde? For never was her peer found for beauty, disposition, and courtliness.' He then desired to know what became of her body. He caused one of the wicked sorceresses to be seized, and had her put into great streights, that she might tell all the truth as to what they had done with the gentle damsel.
"Then the old hag related to the King how the Queen had wrought upon the most beauteous body of the gentle damsel, and where they would find it. In the meantime, the Queen had the body taken up, and carried to a house of religion which had 'Godstowe' for name, near Oxenforde; and had the body of Rosamond there buried, to colour her evil deeds And then King Henry began to ride towards Wodestoke, where Rosamond, whom he loved so much at heart, was so treacherously murdered by the Queen. And as the King was riding towards Wodestoke, he met the body of Rosamond, strongly enclosed within a chest, that was well and stoutly bound with iron. And the King forthwith demanded whose corpse it was, and what was the name of the person whose dead body they bore. They made answer to him, that it was the corpse of the most beauteous Rosamond. And when King Henry heard this, he instantly ordered them to open the chest, that he might behold the body that had been so vilely martyred. Immediately thereon, they did the King's command, and showed him the corpse of Rosamond, who was so hideously put to death. And when King Henry saw the whole truth thereof, through great grief, he fell fainting to the ground, and lay there in a swoon for a long time before any one could have converse with him.
"And when the King awoke from his swoon he spoke, and swore a great oath, that he would take full vengeance for the most horrid felony which, for great spite, had upon the gentle damsel been committed. Then began the King to lament and to give way to great sorrow for the most beauteous Rosamond, whom he loved so much at heart. 'Alas! for my grief,' said he, 'sweet Rosamonde, never was thy peer, never so sweet nor beauteous a creature to be found: may then the sweet God who abides in Trinity, on the soul of sweet Rosamond have mercy, and may He pardon her all her misdeeds: very God Almighty, Thou who art the end and the beginning, suffer not now that this soul shall in horrible torment come to perish, and grant unto her true remission for all her sins, for Thy great mercy's sake.'
"And when he had thus prayed he commanded them forthwith to ride straight to Godstowe with the body of the lady, and there had her burial celebrated in that religious house of nuns, and there did he appoint thirteen chaplains to sing for the soul of the said Rosamond, so long as the world shall last. In this religious house of Godstowe," says the Chronicler, "I tell you for truth, lieth fair Rosamond buried. May very God Almighty of her soul have mercy. Amen."[64]
The history of this unhappy lady, of whom the reader now possesses all that can be gathered from olden sources, and more, perhaps, than can be accepted as true, was a favourite subject of Mediæval romance; and all kinds of embellishments were imported into the story in order to impress a salutary caution against any imitation of the heroine. The story of her being poisoned by Queen Eleanor is of comparatively modern invention. A long ballad of forty-eight verses has been founded upon this piece of strange history.