very nearly finished him,” I returned; “but people were pretty strong in those days. However, he had, as a result, a dangerous illness.”
There is no better starting-point than the “George,” in the centre of the High Street, for exploring Winchester. This was the chief street in Roman times, and perhaps terminated in such a round arch as we see at Lincoln. In the palmy days of the city good houses probably adorned the street. There seems to have been a fashionable tailor here in the days of John and Henry III. His cut was evidently appreciated, for he was not only employed by the King, but given wood to repair his house, Limafelda, the rent of which was a grey pelise for the King. We may conclude there was also a grand harness maker: for John ordered the Mayor to give the constable of Corfe Castle a handsome (pulchra) saddle, with a scarlet saddle-cloth and gilt bridle.[3]
The scene had greatly changed by Henry VIII.’s time. The houses, mostly wooden and thatched, had gardens in front of them, of a somewhat Irish character, for the walls were dilapidated,[4] and they contained few flowers, but many sweet—pigs. A civic order was now made that householders should no longer keep “hog-sties” within the boundaries of the “hie” street. Those were times of darkness—there were no town-lights, and some apprehension was felt that even the supply of candles might run short. And so, in the fifteenth year of Henry VIII., it was ordered by the Winchester “assemble” that the chandlers “should make” good and well-burning candles, and “should see there was no lack of them.”[5] In Charles II.’s time the citizens were bidden to hang out lights while the King was in residence.
Westgate.
Now let us come to a nearer date, and imagine this street a hundred years ago. An open drain ran down it, and lines of gables and overhanging storeys nodded across at each other in grotesque infirmity. A pretty picture they made, and there was one night in the year on which they seemed to me to be sadly missing—the fifth of November—when tar barrels were lit at the Westgate and kicked down the street by an exulting mob. A grand scene it was of riot and wildfire, and only wanted the quaint, irregular buildings to complete the effect.
“When Keats was here in 1819,” said Mr. Hertford, “he found the place much modernized and ‘improved.’ He says the side streets were excessively maiden-lady-like; the doorsteps were always fresh from the flannel, and the knockers had a staid, serious, almost awful quietness about them. Never did he see such a quiet collection of lions’ and rams’ heads.”[6]
West Gate, Winchester.
The first object that attracted our attention on our walks was the Westgate, which crowns the High Street, and is beautiful with its ivy, arches, and two Decorated windows. There is a warm semi-domestic character in the fortifications of a town—a charm distinct from that of the colder grandeur of the Castle and Cathedral. As we approach the gate, we pass the Star Inn.
“That unpretentious building,” I said, “stands on holy ground.[7]
“Graves of unknown age, Roman coins and vases were found there when digging for the foundations in 1885. It is thought that a palace of Queen Emma stood on or near its site. There was a hostel named ‘La Starre’ in Winchester in the reign of Henry IV.”
Prisoners.
We now approach and stand before the gate. Had we been here in the fourteenth century—on a Sunday morning—during the fair, we should have found ourselves surrounded by a chattering crowd, buying bread at the stalls here erected; while close to us on the left (south), would have risen a grim tower in haughty grandeur. It stood just in front of where are now the stairs of the office of the Hampshire Friendly Society—a slight inequality in the road can be observed over the foundations. This was a part of the ancient castle, which some say was built by FitzOsborne at the Conqueror’s command, while others[8] observe that we have no allusion to it till the days of Henry I. In Henry II.’s reign it is often mentioned. Some say that previously the Saxon palace stood here. This palace has been well jolted about by topographers, most of whom place it in the Square behind the Butter Cross. The result is that we have here a couple of prisoners, and do not know where to put them. One of these is Stigand, Bishop of Winchester, and afterwards archbishop. His treasures were not entirely in the other world, but he kindly kept a correct account of them, and wore his key on a chain round his neck, so that on his death in 1070, William had no difficulty in turning his store into the royal coffers. The other sufferer was a young Saxon of the name of Meaw. It appears that the Conqueror’s wife, Matilda, was not so busy with her Bayeux tapestry and Abbaye aux Dames as to forget all about this aggravating person. He would care nothing for her, and she determined to be revenged. So she had him shut up somewhere in Winchester, that he might have leisure to reflect on the advantages of being “willing and free.” Prisons were not then as they are now—some of the best warmed and ventilated places—there were no good food and attentive doctors, and after a short time poor Meaw was beyond the reach both of love and hatred.
The Domesday Book.
In this Castle was the “exchequer,” that is, the depository of records and treasure. Among the valuables it contained for a considerable time was the celebrated Domesday Book, or a copy of it, which is first mentioned as the “Liber de Thesauro,” appealed to in a case argued before Queen Matilda “in the treasury of the Castle of Winchester,”[9] about the year 1108. The original rolls disappeared at an early date, perhaps in some conflagration, but the Winton book, that describing this locality, is a more full copy from them than is the larger Domesday Book for the whole of England. Authorities differ as to when this book was removed from Winchester. In the seventh year of Henry II., there appears a charge in the Pipe Rolls for conveying the “arca” from Winchester to London, and in the London Record Office there is a curious chest in which this book was kept at Westminster. It is about five feet square, formed of iron nearly an inch thick, and strengthened with heavy girders and studs. This may have been the very ark above mentioned.
“In order to see this castle we must ante-date our existence three hundred years.”
“I wish we could,” said Mr. Hertford, “then we should have no trouble about Home Rule or County Councils.”
“Suppose then,” I proceeded, “we are standing in front of the old tower I have mentioned, and admiring its handsome mouldings of cut stone. If we are allowed to enter and explore we shall find beneath it three subterranean passages radiating in different directions—one to the east, passing into the town, with a view probably of taking sanctuary in churches; another to the south, leading towards the hall; and a third to the west, ending in a sally port outside the town. Passing through this entrance tower we have on our left an embattled wall (where the paved walk now runs) meeting the end of the hall,[10] and on our right another wall (along the course of the iron railing of the Friendly Society), extending to the State apartments—the site of the present County Offices. The original Norman Castle—a tower fifty-two feet square and fourteen thick, which stood where the Jubilee Queen now sits in front of the hall—was demolished at an early date. The succeeding castle had round towers, between thirty and forty feet wide, and from eight to ten thick.[11] Beyond the hall
