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Bell's Cathedrals: The Cathedral Church of Exeter A Description of Its Fabric and a Brief History of the Episcopal See

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THE CATHE­DRAL CHURCH OF EX­ETER

A De­scrip­tion of Its Fab­ric and a Brief His­to­ry of the Epis­co­pal See

by

PER­CY AD­DLE­SHAW, B.A. (Ox­on.)

With XXXVII [Il­lus­tra­tion] Il­lus­tra­tions

[Il­lus­tra­tion: EX­ETER CATHE­DRAL--FROM THE SOUTH-​WEST. The Pho­tochrom. Co. Ld. Pho­to.]

Lon­don G. Bell and Sons, Ltd. 1921 First Pub­lished, Jan­uary 1898 Sec­ond Edi­tion, Re­vised, 1899 Third Im­pres­sion, 1907 Fourth Im­pres­sion, 1912 New and Re­vised Edi­tion, 1921.

AU­THOR'S PREF­ACE

Among var­ious books con­sult­ed the au­thor spe­cial­ly owes his ac­knowl­edg­ments to “The Fab­ric Rolls”; Le­land's “Itinerary”; Holler's “His­to­ry”; Iza­cke's “An­tiq­ui­ties of Ex­eter”; Brit­ton's “His­to­ry and An­tiq­ui­ties of Ex­eter”; “Trans­ac­tions of Ex­eter Ar­chi­tec­tural So­ci­ety”; Oliv­er's “Lives of the Bish­ops of Ex­eter”; Mur­ray's “Hand­book of Ex­eter”; Archdea­con Free­man's “Ar­chi­tec­tural His­to­ry of Ex­eter Cathe­dral”; Pro­fes­sor Free­man's “Ex­eter” (His­toric Towns Se­ries); Prince's “Wor­thies of De­von”; Worth's “His­to­ry of De­von­shire”; Fuller's “Wor­thies of De­von”; Macaulay's “His­to­ry of Eng­land”; and Green's “Short His­to­ry of the En­glish Peo­ple.” The au­thor would al­so ex­press his spe­cial thanks to the late Canon Hinge­ston-​Ran­dolph, the learned ed­itor of the Epis­co­pal Reg­is­ters of the Dio­cese, for in­for­ma­tion which con­tribut­ed large­ly to the im­prove­ment of the sec­ond edi­tion of this book.

PREF­ACE TO THE THIRD EDI­TION

In reis­su­ing this hand­book, which dur­ing the lapse of twen­ty-​three years had be­come out of date in many ways, the ed­itor has in­tro­duced con­sid­er­able al­ter­ations in the ar­range­ment of the mat­ter, with a view to fa­cil­itat­ing its use as a guide to the var­ious parts of the Cathe­dral. For sug­ges­tions as to this, and for nu­mer­ous im­prove­ments and cor­rec­tions in de­tail he is par­tic­ular­ly in­debt­ed to Miss Beat­rix F. Cress­well, whose pub­lished works “Ex­eter Church­es,” “Notes on the Church­es of the Dean­ery of Ken,” and “Ed­war­dian In­ven­to­ries for the City and Coun­ty of Ex­eter” have made her an au­thor­ity on the ec­cle­si­ol­ogy of the Dio­cese.

E.B.

_June_, 1921.

CON­TENTS

PAGE HIS­TO­RY OF THE CHURCH OF ST. MARY AND ST. PE­TER IN EX­ETER 1

THE FAB­RIC OF THE CATHE­DRAL. EX­TE­RI­OR 19 The Tow­ers 23 The Roof 24 The North Porch 24 The West Front 27

THE FAB­RIC OF THE CATHE­DRAL. IN­TE­RI­OR 31 The Nave 31 The Min­strels' Gallery 36 St. Rade­gunde's Chapel 36 St. Ed­mund's Chapel 39 Mon­uments in the Nave 39 The North Transept 43 Sylke Chantry 44 St. Paul's Chapel 44 The South Transept 44 Mon­uments in the South Transept 47 The Choir Screen 48 The Or­gan 52 The Choir 52 The Choir Stalls 55 The Rere­dos 56 The Bish­op's Throne 56 The Sedil­ia 56 St. James' Chapel 59 St. An­drew's Chapel 61 The Am­bu­la­to­ry 61 Speke's Chantry 63 Bish­op Old­ham's Chantry 63 The La­dy Chapel 65 Bron­scombe's Tomb 66 Stafford's Tomb 66 Tomb of Sir John and La­dy Dod­dridge 67 St. Gabriel's Chapel 69 Quiv­il's Tomb 69 St. Mary Mag­dalen Chapel 69

TOMBS IN THE CHOIR AND CHOIR AISLES 71

THE CHAP­TER HOUSE AND CLOIS­TER 73

THE CLOSE AND CATHE­DRAL LI­BRARY 78

THE BISH­OP'S PALACE 79

THE DIO­CESE OF EX­ETER 83

ROUGE­MONT CAS­TLE AND THE GUILD­HALL 91

DI­MEN­SIONS 96

IN­DEX 97

IL­LUS­TRA­TIONS

PAGE Ex­eter Cathe­dral--from the South-​west _Fron­tispiece_ Arms of the Dio­cese _Ti­tle_ View of the Cathe­dral from the South xii In­te­ri­or--Chap­ter House 13 Ex­eter Cathe­dral, from an old print 21 The Cathe­dral--from the South-​east 22 The North­ern Tow­er 25 The West Front 26 Por­tals of the West Front 29 The Nave--from the South Transept 30 The Nave--look­ing West 33 Cor­bels and Boss­es 34 The Min­strels' Gallery 35 Bays of Nave 37 The “Pat­te­son” Pul­pit 38 The Nave--look­ing East 41 The Transept--look­ing North 45 In­te­ri­or in the last cen­tu­ry 49 The Choir Screen 51 The Choir--look­ing West 53 The Choir be­fore Restora­tion 54 The Choir--look­ing East 57 The Sedil­ia 58 Pul­pit in the Choir 60 St. James' Chapel 61 St. George's Chapel 62 The La­dy Chapel 64 Bish­op Bron­scombe's Mon­ument 66 Screen of St. Gabriel's Chapel 68 Tomb of Bish­op Sta­ple­don 72 Mon­ument of Bish­op Mar­shall 73 The East Gate (pulled down in 1784) 77 The Bish­op's Palace 81 Old Hous­es in Fore Street 90 Rouge­mont Cas­tle 93 The Guild­hall, Ex­eter 94

PLAN OF THE CATHE­DRAL _at end_

[Il­lus­tra­tion: EX­ETER CATHE­DRAL, FROM THE SOUTH.]

EX­ETER CATHE­DRAL.

HIS­TO­RY OF THE CHURCH OF ST. MARY AND ST. PE­TER IN EX­ETER.

The his­to­ry of any an­cient cathe­dral must al­ways be in­ter­est­ing, and that of Ex­eter is no ex­cep­tion, though “it sup­plies less of ar­chi­tec­tural his­to­ry than those church­es whose whole char­ac­ter has been al­tered over and over again.” A cathe­dral rep­re­sents not on­ly the spir­itu­al, but the ac­tive, la­bo­ri­ous, and artis­tic life of past gen­er­ations. The bish­op, too, was in many ways the head man of the province, and com­bined, not sel­dom, the var­ied qual­ities of priest, war­rior, and states­man. The acts of such ec­cle­si­as­tics were full of im­por­tance, not for their own city on­ly, but of­ten al­so for the whole na­tion. As men who had fre­quent­ly trav­elled much and stud­ied deeply, they sum­moned to their aid in the build­ing and beau­ti­fy­ing of their church­es the most skilled artists end ar­ti­fi­cers of their time; so, with the sto­ry of the lives of the bish­ops of a dio­cese, the his­to­ry of a cathe­dral's build­ing is in­ex­tri­ca­bly wo­ven. To be el­evat­ed to a bish­opric gen­er­al­ly meant to be put in­to pos­ses­sion of great wealth--when Vey­sey be­came bish­op the rev­enues of the see of Ex­eter have, by some au­thors, been com­put­ed at £100,000; Canon Hinge­ston-​Ran­dolph puts them, with more rea­son and au­thor­ity, at the sum of £30,000--and a large por­tion of this mon­ey was spent on works con­nect­ed with the chief church of the dio­cese. It is not won­der­ful, there­fore, this gen­eros­ity be­ing joined to mar­vel­lous skill and taste, that our old cathe­drals are at once the de­spair and en­vy of the mod­ern ar­chi­tect. And it is with a feel­ing of rev­er­ence that one re­calls the his­to­ry of those who built in the heart of each pop­ulous city “grey cliffs of lone­ly stone in­to the midst of sail­ing birds and silent air.”

The sto­ry of Ex­eter has an unique in­ter­est, and its church, as we shall see, is in many re­spects with­out a ri­val. The fact that a build­ing of such great beau­ty should adorn a city so sit­uat­ed is re­mark­able; for long af­ter--as we read in Macaulay--week­ly posts left Lon­don for var­ious parts of Eng­land, Ex­eter was still, as it were, on the bor­ders of ter­ri­to­ries scarce­ly ex­plored, and was the fur­thest west­ern point to which let­ters were con­veyed from the metropo­lis. Fuller thus de­scribes the coun­ty of De­von­shire in his day (1646): “De­von­shire hath the nar­row seas on the South, the Sev­ern on the North, Corn­wall on the West, Dorset and Som­er­set­shire on the East. A good­ly province, the sec­ond in Eng­land for great­ness, clear in view with­out mea­sur­ing, as bear­ing a square of fifty miles. Some part there­of, as the South Hams, is so fruit­ful it needs no art; but gen­er­al­ly (though not run­ning of it­self) it an­swers to the spur of in­dus­try. No shire showes more in­dus­tri­ous, or so many Hus­band­men, who by Mar­le (blew and white), Chalk, Lime, Seasand, Com­post, So­peash­es, Rags and what not, make the ground both to take and keep a mod­er­ate fruit­ful­ness; so that Vir­gil, if now alive, might make ad­di­tions to his Geor­gicks, from the Plough-​prac­tice in this coun­ty. As for the na­tives there­of, gen­er­al­ly they are dex­ter­ous in any em­ploy­ment, and Queen Eliz­abeth was wont to say of the gen­try: _They were all born courtiers with a becom­ming con­fi­dence_.”

The city of Ex­eter is of great age. “Is­ca Damnon­io­rum, Caer Wise, Ex­anceast­er, Ex­eter, keep­ing es­sen­tial­ly the same name un­der all changes, stands dis­tin­guished as the one great city which has, in a more marked way than any oth­er, kept its un­bro­ken be­ing and its un­bro­ken po­si­tion through­out all ages.” But though Whitak­er as­serts that in the mid­dle of the fifth cen­tu­ry it was the seat of a bish­op, Pro­fes­sor Free­man, with more au­thor­ity, de­clares that the city did not be­come a bish­op's see till the lat­ter half of the eleventh cen­tu­ry, at which pe­ri­od the bish­op­stools were re­moved from the small to the great towns. Un­til 703 A.D. De­von­shire formed part of the vast dio­cese of Wes­sex. About the year 900 A.D. the dio­cese of De­von and Corn­wall was di­vid­ed in­to two--the for­mer with its bish­op's seat at Cred­iton--on­ly to be re­unit­ed again a hun­dred and fifty years lat­er when Le­ofric was ap­point­ed bish­op.

The first record of a church ded­icat­ed to SS. Mary and Pe­ter in Ex­eter, is that of an abbey church found­ed by Athel­stan. But Sweyn de­stroyed it sev­en­ty years lat­er, and it seems fre­quent­ly to have been at­tacked by in­vaders pre­vi­ous to its de­struc­tion. But in 1019 Canute en­dowed a new church and con­firmed by char­ter their lands and priv­ileges to the monks. This build­ing must have been of some pre­ten­sions, for it was giv­en to Le­ofric for his cathe­dral church in 1050. It oc­cu­pied the site of the present La­dy Chapel. When Warel­wast and Mar­shall built their Nor­man church they placed it on the east of the old church, leav­ing an in­ter­ven­ing space. Their nave oc­cu­pied the site of the present nave, the transep­tal tow­ers were the same, but the choir was short­er and prob­ably ter­mi­nat­ed in an apse flanked by small­er aps­es at the ends of the choir aisles. Traces of one of these have been found at the end of the third bay of the north choir aisle. Bron­scombe and Quiv­il (see p. 5) be­gan their re­con­struc­tion at this end, and by adding the am­bu­la­to­ry and La­dy Chapel linked to­geth­er the sites of the old and new church­es.

With the epis­co­pate of Le­ofric, Ex­eter first as­sumes the rank of a cathe­dral city. The sees of De­von and Corn­wall had been held to­geth­er by Lyf­ing, the last bish­op of Cred­iton. But Cred­iton, an un­for­ti­fied “vill,” was an easy prey to the Irish, Danes, and oth­er pi­rates, who dev­as­tat­ed the dio­cese from time to time. Le­ofric felt the ur­gent ne­ces­si­ty for a change, and fixed on the walled town of Ex­eter to be his cathe­dral city. He sent a clerk to the pope ask­ing him to write to the king rec­om­mend­ing the change. The king read­ily con­sent­ed, and the church of St. Mary and St. Pe­ter was giv­en to the bish­op as his cathe­dral church. The event was clear­ly re­gard­ed as of con­sid­er­able im­por­tance, for at his in­stal­la­tion Ed­ward the Con­fes­sor “sup­port­ed his right arm and Queen Eadgytha his left.” Arch­bish­ops, bish­ops, and no­bles al­so as­sist­ed at the cer­emo­ny. Le­ofric proved a hard-​work­ing and wise prelate, and gave gen­er­ous­ly of lands and mon­eys to his church. He had found it but poor­ly fur­nished, the wardrobe on­ly con­tain­ing “one worth­less priest's dress.” He al­so re­mem­bered it in his will, and the great “Liber Ex­onien­sis” was his gift.

But if the his­to­ry of the see has its birth with Le­ofric, the sto­ry of the cathe­dral be­gins with the ap­point­ment in 1107 of Warel­wast as bish­op. This note­wor­thy man was a nephew of the Con­queror and chap­lain to both William II and Hen­ry I. In­her­it­ing to the full the Nor­man pas­sion for build­ing, he pulled down the Sax­on ed­ifice and be­gan to erect a great Nor­man cathe­dral in its stead. The transep­tal tow­ers at­test the mag­nif­icence of his scheme. There is noth­ing quite like them any­where else, though at Barcelona and Chalons-​sur-​Marne may be seen some­thing sim­ilar. But they suf­fice to stamp him as an ar­chi­tect of ex­cep­tion­al ge­nius. He laboured zeal­ous­ly in oth­er mat­ters, found­ing at Plymp­ton a wealthy Au­gus­tini­an pri­ory; he al­so rep­re­sent­ed the king at Rome in his fa­mous quar­rel with Anselm. It is said that he be­came blind and died, an old man, at his pri­ory of Plymp­ton.

The next im­por­tant date to no­tice is 1194, when Hen­ry Mar­shall, broth­er of Wal­ter Earl Mar­shall, was made bish­op. For two years the epis­co­pal throne had re­mained emp­ty, the king be­ing ab­sent from Eng­land in the Holy Land. But with the ap­point­ment of Mar­shall a most im­por­tant stage is reached. King John gave to the see the tithes of the tin in De­von­shire and Corn­wall. This must have large­ly in­creased the epis­co­pal in­come, for Mar­shall quick­ly set about com­plet­ing the work Warel­wast had be­gun a hun­dred years be­fore. To this end he grant­ed the emol­uments of St. Erth's Church, near Hayle, Corn­wall, to be used to­wards de­fray­ing the cost of re­pairs. He al­so called up­on each house­hold­er to show his in­ter­est in the work by sub­scrib­ing, at Pen­te­cost, an alms of “unum obolum ad min­im.” For the suf­fi­cient re­mu­ner­ation of the choral vi­cars he made over to them the church of St. Swith­un in Wood­bury, “with all its ap­pur­te­nances.”

To Mar­shall we owe ex­ten­sive ad­di­tions to the nave, the north porch, and the clois­ter door­way. He com­plet­ed the Nor­man church be­gun by Warel­wast, but there is no ev­idence that he ex­tend­ed to the east­ward, as is some­times stat­ed. The po­si­tion of the tomb in the “founder's place” on the north side of the choir in­di­cates that it ter­mi­nat­ed on­ly a few yards far­ther to the east. Be­yond there must have been an open space be­tween the Nor­man and the old Sax­on cathe­drals.

For near­ly fifty years there are but scant records of work done to the build­ing. Though Pro­fes­sor Free­man[1] speaks of its “not long-​lived per­fec­tion,” it is quite pos­si­ble that Mar­shall's work was con­sid­ered, by his own and the suc­ceed­ing gen­er­ation, to be fi­nal. Any in­ter­est there may be in the lives of two of the suc­ceed­ing bish­ops, un­til the elec­tion of Bron­scombe in 1257, is for the most part due to their labours in oth­er mat­ters. For ex­am­ple, un­der Si­mon de Apu­lia, the city of Ex­eter was di­vid­ed in­to parish­es; and by William Bruere the chap­ter house and stalls of the old choir were com­plet­ed. He was one of the lead­ers of the En­glish army at Acre in 1228. He al­so cre­at­ed the dean­ery of Ex­eter.

[1] “Ex­eter” (His­toric Towns Se­ries), by Prof. E.A. Free­man (Long­mans).

But with the ar­rival of Wal­ter Bron­scombe a new ca­reer of ar­chi­tec­tural en­er­gy be­gins. Now dawns that won­der­ful trans­for­ma­tion pe­ri­od, at the close of which the church stood pret­ty much as we now know it. Con­cern­ing Bron­scombe's char­ac­ter there has been some­what bit­ter dis­pute. It is cer­tain that he was ac­cused of crafti­ness and mean­ness. But William of Worces­ter, whose tes­ti­mo­ny is valu­able, called him Wal­ter le Good. What­ev­er may be the re­al truth of the mat­ter, he seems to have made an ad­mirable bish­op, his elec­tion re­flect­ing con­sid­er­able cred­it on the acu­men of those con­cerned in it. For he had not, sure­ly, much to rec­om­mend him, at first sight, for so im­por­tant a po­si­tion. Though he was Archdea­con of Sur­rey at the time of his ap­point­ment, he was not a priest, and he was quite a young man. He was a vig­or­ous sup­port­er of learn­ing through­out the dio­cese, prob­ably be­cause of his anx­iety to give oth­er men of hum­ble ori­gin a fair chance of mak­ing their way in the world. He re­stored the Col­lege of Cred­iton, and built one at Glaseney. Bron­scombe may be cred­it­ed with giv­ing the first im­pe­tus to the re­con­struc­tion of the cathe­dral by his work in the La­dy Chapel and the chapels on ei­ther side of it, viz., that of St. Mary Mag­dalen on the north, and St. Gabriel on the south, the lat­ter be­ing des­tined for his own tomb. To his Dean and Chap­ter he ap­pro­pri­at­ed the church of St. Bru­ared in Corn­wall, that the feast of his pa­tron saint, Gabriel, might be worthi­ly main­tained.

Pe­ter Quiv­il, his suc­ces­sor in the see, was prob­ably work­ing with him, as he was a canon of the cathe­dral be­fore be­ing raised to the bish­opric. He in­vent­ed and de­signed the Dec­orat­ed cathe­dral, and trans­formed the transepts. He must be classed with Warel­wast as the chief of the build­ing bish­ops. Ad­mirably and sym­pa­thet­ical­ly as his work was con­tin­ued by those who fol­lowed him, their claim on our recog­ni­tion and grat­itude is less. His skill, too, seems to have been al­most equalled by his gen­eros­ity, for out of grat­itude the Chap­ter promised to main­tain his year­ly obit. In the of­fice of the mass, in the me­men­to for the dead, his name was or­dered to be spo­ken _pri­mum et prae­cip­ium._ He seems to have giv­en the Fran­cis­cans some cause for anger; it is sug­gest­ed that his Do­mini­can con­fes­sor urged him to treat the fol­low­ers of St. Fran­cis with sever­ity. Any­how, the ag­grieved ones had their re­venge, for the bish­op's death, which hap­pened on the eve of St. Fran­cis, “af­ter drink­ing of a cer­tain sir­rop,” was pop­ular­ly at­tribut­ed to the di­rect in­ter­ven­tion of the saint him­self. He is buried in the La­dy Chapel, which he had trans­formed and dec­orat­ed with such ten­der care, and a slab in the cen­tre of the pave­ment, bear­ing the leg­end “Pe­tra te­git Petrum ni­hil of­fi­ci­at sibi tetrum,” is ded­icat­ed to his mem­ory.

It has been as­cer­tained by Canon Hinge­ston-​Ran­dolph that Bish­op Quiv­il was the first to en­dow the of­fice of chaunter with an ad­equate salary, and that the first to en­joy the ben­efit of it was Wal­ter de Lec­chelade or Lech­lade, though he was by no means the first chaunter or pre­cen­tor. A dis­pute that long ag­itat­ed an­ti­quar­ies has thus been set­tled. For it was con­tend­ed by some that John the chaunter was the first to hold the of­fice, by oth­ers that Quiv­il found­ed the of­fice and that the bish­op's name was re­al­ly John Caun­tor. But the ex­pla­na­tion that the stipend was on­ly in­creased by Quiv­il, and that it ex­ist­ed be­fore his day, was en­tire­ly sat­is­fac­to­ry, we may hope, to the sup­port­ers of the ri­val the­ories. The above-​men­tioned Wal­ter Lech­lade was mur­dered “about two in the morn­ing” on his re­turn from matins in the cathe­dral clois­ters. The mur­der­ers es­caped through the south gate of the city, which was left open. An ex­traor­di­nary sen­sa­tion was cre­at­ed, not in Ex­eter on­ly but through­out Eng­land. The bish­op in­vit­ed Ed­ward I. and his queen to keep their Christ­mas at the Palace. We are told “they were very in­dus­tri­ous in find­ing out the mur­ther­ers.” At last Al­fred Dupont, an ex-​may­or and porter of the south gate, was found guilty and ex­ecut­ed ac­cord­ing­ly. Per­haps, had the of­fice of chaunter not been en­dowed, Wal­ter Lech­lade might have con­tin­ued for many long years to chaunt in sonorous voice “matins, ves­pers, obits, and the like.” At any rate the sto­ry is worth telling, be­ing an in­ter­est­ing pic­ture of man­ners in the mid­dle ages. It will be found giv­en, with many in­ter­est­ing de­tails, in an ap­pendix by Canon Hinge­ston-​Ran­dolph to his edi­tion of the Reg­is­ter of Bish­op Quiv­il (p. 438).

Quiv­il's suc­ces­sor was Thomas De Byt­ton, Dean of Wells. Un­der his guid­ance the work of trans­for­ma­tion planned by his pre­de­ces­sor was loy­al­ly con­tin­ued, for he faith­ful­ly ad­hered to the orig­inal de­sign. Though Byt­ton ap­pears to have been less ac­tive out­side his dio­cese than many of the Ex­eter bish­ops, his mode of life must have com­mend­ed it­self to a large cir­cle. A grant of forty days' in­dul­gence was the re­ward of all those who availed them­selves of his spir­itu­al min­is­tra­tions, or of­fered prayers for his pros­per­ity dur­ing his life and af­ter death. Among the sig­na­tures ap­pend­ed to the doc­ument no­ti­fy­ing this sin­gu­lar priv­ilege are those of nu­mer­ous arch­bish­ops and bish­ops, among them be­ing those of the arch­bish­ops of Cosen­sa and Jerusalem, and Man­fred, Bish­op of St. Mark's, Venice. “The seal of Man­fred,” Dr. Oliv­er says, “is per­fect; he stands robed, with a piece of em­broi­dery on his alb. The crozi­er is sim­ply curved. His leg­end is S. MAN­FRE­DI. DEI. GRA. EPIS­COP. SCI. MARCHI.” It was dat­ed at Rome in the year 1300. Pos­si­bly Byt­ton's great learn­ing, by which he had risen to be Pro­fes­sor of Canon Law at Ox­ford and Pope's Chap­lain, was part­ly the rea­son of so no­table a com­pli­ment. But the no­ble work he was do­ing in the cathe­dral church of his dio­cese, we may hope, had not a lit­tle to do with the hon­our. For to him we owe the en­tire trans­for­ma­tion of the choir with its aisles. Byt­ton's labours were, in­deed, very great. We hear of large quan­ti­ties of stone pro­cured from Bar­ley, and of sand­stone from Sal­combe and Branscombe. He al­so put a good deal of stained glass in­to the win­dows; so that in the eleventh year of his epis­co­pate the fol­low­ing item is record­ed: “Mas­ter Wal­ter le Ver­rouer for set­ting the glass of the up­per gable and of eight up­per win­dows, and of six win­dows in the aisles of the new work, in gross, £4 l0s.” Byt­ton was suc­ceed­ed, in 1308, by Wal­ter de Sta­ple­don, the most fa­mous of all the bish­ops of Ex­eter. A younger son of Sir Richard Sta­ple­don of An­nery, his ap­point­ment was the first of a suc­ces­sion of aris­to­crat­ic nom­ina­tions. He, too, had been a pro­fes­sor of canon law at Ox­ford, was a chap­lain to the Pope and pre­cen­tor of the cathe­dral church of Ex­eter. The feast giv­en af­ter his en­throne­ment was un­usu­al­ly splen­did, the rev­enues for a whole year be­ing spent on the fes­tiv­ities. It seems as though, con­scious of his great tal­ents, he de­ter­mined to sig­nal­ize his ac­ces­sion to the epis­co­pal of­fice by some event of un­usu­al mag­nif­icence. It must be re­mem­bered that Ex­eter was at this time one of the largest and rich­est sees in Eng­land. As Pro­fes­sor Free­man has point­ed out, “The Bish­op of Ex­eter, like the Arch­bish­op of York, was the spir­itu­al head of a sep­arate peo­ple.” Sta­ple­don set about ex­pe­dit­ing the work of trans­form­ing the cathe­dral in­to the Dec­orat­ed style in vig­or­ous fash­ion. The Fab­ric Rolls record that he him­self gave the (then) enor­mous sum of £1,800 to­wards de­fray­ing the cost. His gen­eros­ity en­cour­aged oth­ers to sub­scribe lib­er­al­ly to­wards the build­ing fund. One of his first du­ties was to com­plete the choir, a pay­ment be­ing made to William Canon of £35 2s. 8d. for “mar­ble from Corfe for the columns.” But the choir was re­al­ly Byt­ton's, the new bish­op had on­ly to give to it “a few fi­nal, though not unim­por­tant, touch­es.” Still he found plen­ty of work to hand that might re­ceive the im­press of his sole ini­tia­tive. He de­signed and com­plet­ed the tri­fo­ri­um ar­cade above the choir arch­es, and di­rect­ed the colour­ing of the choir vault, the to­tal ex­pens­es for oil and colour be­ing es­ti­mat­ed at £1 9s. 7¾d. By these “fi­nal touch­es” the trans­for­ma­tion of the choir in­to the Dec­orat­ed style was com­plet­ed. But Sta­ple­don de­ter­mined to fur­ther en­rich his al­ready beau­ti­ful church with ac­ces­sories of sur­pass­ing splen­dour. He erect­ed a high al­tar of sil­ver, al­so the beau­ti­ful sedil­ia, and though there has been a good deal of dis­pute about the mat­ter, the more trust­wor­thy au­thor­ities at­tribute to him the bish­op's throne of carved wood. At any rate, in 1312, there is a charge of £6 12s. 8½d. for “tim­ber for the bish­op's seat.” The al­tar, un­for­tu­nate­ly, has dis­ap­peared, but it is re­put­ed to have cost a sum equiv­alent to £7,000 of our mon­ey. Canon Free­man thus de­scribes it: “Above, as it should seem (for the en­tries are very ob­scure), was a canopy of con­sid­er­able ex­tent, wrought with boss­es in­ter­nal­ly. The whole seems to have been sur­mount­ed by a fig­ure of our Lord.” With Sta­ple­don build­ing seems to have been a favourite recre­ation; for though he gave most large­ly both of time and mon­ey to the cathe­dral work, he found op­por­tu­ni­ty to build and en­dow Harts Hall, Sta­ple­don Inn--now Ex­eter Col­lege--Ox­ford, and the “very fair” Es­sex House in Lon­don. In 1320 he was cre­at­ed Lord High Trea­sur­er by Ed­ward II., and lat­er in the same year re­ceived from his sovereign the pow­er of hold­ing pleas of “hue and cry” in the lands, ten­ements, and fees of the bish­opric in the coun­ty of Corn­wall. The ne­glect­ed con­di­tion of many of the parish church­es in his dio­cese dis­tressed him, and al­most his last pub­lic ap­pear­ance in the west of Eng­land was at Lawhit­ton, where he spoke severe­ly on this mat­ter to his Dean and Chap­ter, and bade them see to it that in fu­ture there should be no good cause of com­plaint. In the au­tumn of 1324 he set out for France, ac­com­pa­ny­ing the young Prince Ed­ward, who was about to do homage to the French king for the duchies of Aquitaine and Poitou. But his “ir­re­proach­able in­tegri­ty” made him un­pop­ular, and his life was threat­ened. On his re­turn to Eng­land he saw that a cri­sis was at hand, and al­most im­me­di­ate­ly af­ter his ar­rival Queen Eleanor land­ed on the coast of Suf­folk. Ed­ward II., in a brief mo­ment of wis­dom, as­signed to the faith­ful bish­op the gov­ern­ment of Lon­don and re­treat­ed to Bris­tol. But it was too late to ef­fect a rec­on­cil­ia­tion or pre­vent a catas­tro­phe. With a firm hand Sta­ple­don en­deav­oured to re­store or­der and qui­et, and pro­mul­gat­ed a de­cree by which all rebels were ex­com­mu­ni­cat­ed. But the cit­izens, wise­ly per­haps, sid­ed with the con­querors, and the bish­op died a mar­tyr to du­ty. The sto­ry is well told in the French chron­icles quot­ed by Dr. Oliv­er. “The Bish­op of Ex­eter, rid­ing to­wards his inn or ho­tel, in El­deanes-​lane for din­ner, en­coun­tered the mob, and, hear­ing them shout Traitor, he rode rapid­ly to St. Paul's for sanc­tu­ary, but was un­horsed, tak­en to Cheap­side, stripped and be­head­ed. About the hour of ves­pers, the same day, Oc­to­ber 15th, the choir of St. Paul's took up the head­less body of the prelate and con­veyed it to St. Paul's, but, on be­ing in­formed that he died un­der sen­tence, the body was brought to St. Clement's be­yond the Tem­ple, but was eject­ed; so that the naked corpse, with a rag giv­en by the char­ity of a wom­an, was laid on the spot called 'Le Lawles Cherche,' and with­out any grave, lay there with those of his two es­quires, with­out of­fice of priest or clerk. His house was at­tacked, the gates burned, quan­ti­ties of jew­els and plate plun­dered.”

In an­oth­er ac­count of his death it is stat­ed that his head was “fixed on a long pole by way of tro­phy, that it might be to all be­hold­ers a last­ing memo­ri­al of his at­tempt­ed crime.” There was a per­son­al rea­son why the bish­op was un­pop­ular among the cit­izens, for “he pro­cured that the jus­tices in eyre should sit in Lon­don; on which oc­ca­sion, be­cause the cit­izens had com­mit­ted var­ious of­fences, they were heav­ily pun­ished by the loss of their lib­er­ties, by pe­cu­niary mulcts, and by bod­ily chastis­ment, as they de­served.” But the queen caused his body to be res­cued from the “hepe of ru­bis­che,” and it was re­moved to Ex­eter, where it lies on the north side of the choir. He left be­hind him large sums of mon­ey and plate, a valu­able li­brary and, unique item, nine­ty-​one rings. He was cer­tain­ly one of the great­est prelates in En­glish his­to­ry, and though he may have been, as his de­trac­tors as­sert­ed, “fu­mis­che and with­out pite,” he was revered in his dio­cese, and left an ex­am­ple of courage and hon­esty to suc­ceed­ing gen­er­ations. His ex­ecu­tors, an­imat­ed by a wish to do what he would have de­sired, dis­tribut­ed £210 8s. 8d. in char­ities, and gave con­sid­er­able sums to oth­er wor­thy ob­jects. And the Ab­bot of Hart­land caused the 15th of Oc­to­ber to be solemn­ly ob­served, out of grat­itude for the late bish­op's boun­ty, and de­creed that on that day “for all fu­ture times 'XI­II. pau­peres in aulâ ab­batis, pro ip­sius an­ima, pas­cant­ur.'”

To fol­low so re­doubtable a prelate as Sta­ple­don must have been an ex­treme­ly dif­fi­cult task. But Gran­dis­son, who was ap­point­ed af­ter Berke­ley's short epis­co­pate end­ed, has some­times been called the most mag­nif­icent prelate who ev­er filled the see. He was nom­inat­ed di­rect­ly by the pope, and con­se­crat­ed by his ho­li­ness at Avi­gnon. His chief glo­ry is that he al­lowed the splen­dour of the see in no wise to di­min­ish, and he kept up the Sta­ple­don tra­di­tions of prince­ly hos­pi­tal­ity and well-​do­ing. His rep­uta­tion of “grave, wise, and pol­itick” seems to have been fair­ly earned. As a de­scen­dant of the great ducal house of Bur­gundy, he had lived much with princes and held the po­si­tion of nun­cio “at the courts of all the might­iest princes of Chris­ten­dom.” His elec­tion was car­ried out in di­rect op­po­si­tion to the wish­es of the canons of Ex­eter, but a wise choice had been made, and by his long epis­co­pate of forty years he gained hon­our for him­self and good for­tune for his peo­ple. He had to face many dif­fi­cul­ties at first that might well have ap­palled a weak­er man. The trag­ic death of Sta­ple­don had ter­ri­fied all men, the great work of that gi­ant in­tel­lect re­mained un­fin­ished, and re­quired some one of ex­cep­tion­al en­er­gy to com­plete it fit­ly. Added to these dif­fi­cul­ties, the epis­co­pal manors had been plun­dered and the ac­counts were ter­ri­bly mud­dled. Gran­dis­son, luck­ily, was a man who looked up­on dif­fi­cul­ties as things to be over­come. He ap­plied to the mem­bers of his fam­ily for funds, and the ne­go­ti­ations are to his fam­ily and sub­se­quent­ly to the dio­cese at large for funds. The ne­go­ti­ations are in­ter­est­ing, for the bor­row­er is the on­ly per­son who main­tained his dig­ni­ty unim­paired. With cour­te­ous per­ti­nac­ity and a fit­ting show of anger, he got the sup­plies he need­ed. With in­domitable en­er­gy he man­aged to ar­range in per­fect or­der the con­fused af­fairs of his dio­cese. Turn­ing ea­ger­ly to the task of com­plet­ing the build­ing of his church, he trans­formed the six west bays of the nave, vault­ing, aisles, west win­dow, and north clois­ter. In spir­itu­al and tem­po­ral af­fairs he was equal­ly busy. Twice at least he was the host of roy­al­ty, once the Black Prince vis­it­ed his dio­cese with the cap­tive king of France. The same il­lus­tri­ous war­rior, short­ly be­fore his death, again en­joyed the bish­op's hos­pi­tal­ity.

In 1343 Gran­dis­son was sent as am­bas­sador to Rome, and the sound sense he had shown at Ex­eter was equal­ly ap­par­ent in the con­duct of his mis­sion, so that it was writ­ten of him that “he did his mes­sage with much wis­dom and hon­our.” Cer­tain­ly, few bish­ops have had so ex­alt­ed a view of the dig­ni­ty and im­por­tance of the epis­co­pal of­fice, and none ev­er dared to fight more bold­ly for his imag­ined rights. When the Arch­bish­op Mepham de­ter­mined to make a per­son­al vis­ita­tion, Gran­dis­son's anger was kin­dled. Gath­er­ing round him a body of armed re­tain­ers, he met the arch­bish­op at the north-​west gate of the close. There might have been a bloody con­flict, for nei­ther prelate was like­ly to give way. For­tu­nate­ly, sober coun­sels pre­vailed, and the quar­rel was re­ferred to the pope. His ho­li­ness de­cid­ed in Gran­dis­son's favour, and “the dis­pute did half break Mepham's heart, and the Pope, sid­ing with the Bish­op of Ex­eter, did break the oth­er half.” So writes Fuller, and the quaint sen­tence does not lack au­thor­ity, for the arch­bish­op died short­ly af­ter the ter­mi­na­tion of the quar­rel.

Gran­dis­son re­mem­bered his cathe­dral in his will. He be­queathed to his suc­ces­sors his crozi­er and mitre, and to the dio­cese 2,000 marks. At his fu­ner­al, in ac­cor­dance with his in­struc­tions, a hun­dred poor per­sons were clothed and mon­ey was dis­tribut­ed among the pris­on­ers and the sick. He re­mem­bered, too, the needs of the poor­er cler­gy and the hos­pi­tals, while to Pope Ur­ban and Ed­ward III. he left splen­did lega­cies. His fu­ner­al, as his life, was sim­ple and eco­nom­ical. For his mag­nif­icent presents, his gor­geous works on the struc­ture of his church, were made pos­si­ble by his own sim­ple, al­most par­si­mo­nious man­ner of liv­ing. He was buried in the chapel of St. Rade­gunde, but the tomb was de­stroyed in Eliz­abeth's time, and his ash­es lie “no man knows where.”

Bran­tyn­gham, the next bish­op, com­plet­ed the clois­ters, the east win­dow and west front. But, as Canon Free­man has said, “the rest of the works of this and the fol­low­ing cen­tu­ry are lit­tle else than pet­ty restora­tions; of course in a lat­er and in­fe­ri­or style, and gen­er­al­ly to the detri­ment of the build­ing.” But there is still much in the his­to­ry of the church and the see that de­serves a pass­ing no­tice. Un­der Bran­tyn­gham, the old feud that Gran­dis­son had fin­ished so sat­is­fac­to­ri­ly to him­self, be­gan again. But the vic­to­ry this time was with the arch­bish­op. At Top­sham, a vil­lage not far from the city, the bish­op's ser­vants at­tacked sav­age­ly the arch­bish­op's manda­to­ry. Full of zeal for the hon­our, as they con­ceived it, of their own prelate, they made the wretched crea­ture eat the arch­bish­op's writ and seal. But the meal of parch­ment and wax did not by any means set­tle the dis­pute. The bish­op's cause, in­deed, was ir­re­triev­ably dam­aged, the king was fu­ri­ous, an ap­peal to the pope was un­suc­cess­ful, and Bran­tyn­gham had to make full sub­mis­sion to the of­fend­ed pri­mate. Hence­forth the arch­bish­op's right of vis­ita­tion was not op­posed. Had an­oth­er than Gran­dis­son been bish­op in Mepham's day the dis­pute would nev­er, prob­ably, have arisen; for the arch­bish­op was un­doubt­ed­ly on­ly ex­er­cis­ing his rights, such vis­ita­tions be­ing ac­cord­ing to canon, and of an­cient us­age.

The next bish­op whose epis­co­pate is im­por­tant is Lacy, who glazed the nave win­dows and raised the chap­ter house. He has, too, an unique claim on our re­gard be­cause of his saint­ly char­ac­ter. As yet no saint had made the cathe­dral ven­er­able, and the sen­ti­men­tal af­fec­tion and prof­it which saint­ly relics were wont to cause was still lack­ing. It is said that Is­canus had con­trived to get some relics of Beck­et for his cathe­dral, but there was no lo­cal saint, and this want Lacy sup­plied. Yet the days of his epis­co­pa­cy were by no means ab­so­lute­ly calm. At the very mo­ment of his ac­ces­sion he in­volved him­self in a dis­pute with the city cor­po­ra­tion as to the lib­er­ties of his cathe­dral. Nor was he, though meek and holy, at all in­clined to sub­mit to any in­fringe­ment of his pre­rog­atives, even when the trans­gres­sor hap­pened to wear a crown. In­deed, he most suc­cess­ful­ly protest­ed against the con­duct of Hen­ry VI., who held a jail de­liv­ery in the bish­op's hall. Two men were con­demned to death, but the bish­op re­mon­strat­ed so forcibly against this ex­er­cise of tem­po­ral au­thor­ity with­in the precincts of the sanc­tu­ary, that they were re­leased. As an au­thor Lacy gained a con­sid­er­able rep­uta­tion. His “Liber Pon­tif­icalis” is still pre­served, his of­fice in hon­our of Raphael the Archangel was ad­mired and used in many cathe­drals and church­es. When he died mir­acles were per­formed at his tomb, and pil­grim­ages were con­stant­ly made to it by the com­mon peo­ple.

[Il­lus­tra­tion: THE CHAP­TER HOUSE (FROM BRIT­TON'S 'EX­ETER', 1826).]

From this time on­ward the ar­chi­tec­tural his­to­ry of the cathe­dral be­comes less im­por­tant. Its great pe­ri­ods may thus be summed up, 1107 to 1206 Warel­wast and Mar­shall built the Nor­man church; 1257 to 1280 Bron­scombe and Quiv­il be­gan the Dec­orat­ed work; 1292 to 1308 Byt­ton and Sta­ple­don com­plet­ed the east­ern part; 1327 to 1369 Gran­dis­son and Bran­tyn­gham com­plet­ed the nave, west front, and clois­ter. The fifth and last change is the in­tro­duc­tion of Per­pen­dic­ular work, chiefly no­tice­able in the chap­ter house, the west screen, and the great east win­dow. The day of the great builders was wan­ing fast. The old faith that in­spired them was dwin­dling, the at­trac­tion of na­tion­al con­cerns was too great for lo­cal ef­fort. More­over, the de­sire to make in­tri­cate­ly beau­ti­ful, right enough in it­self, had vi­ti­at­ed, as it was bound to do, the taste of ar­chi­tect and builder. The old Nor­man cathe­drals, how­ev­er rugged, were im­pos­ing in their stern and sim­ple strength. The de­sire for dec­ora­tion af­fect­ed var­ious trans­for­ma­tions, which at first left the build­ing more beau­ti­ful and not less strong. But grad­ual­ly the sim­plic­ity and strength dis­ap­pear al­to­geth­er. Luck­ily, as we shall see, the great church of St. Mary and St. Pe­ter has suf­fered less than most build­ings that have un­der­gone so many changes. “As it is, the church of Ex­eter is a re­mark­able case of one gen­er­al de­sign be­ing car­ried out through more than a hun­dred years.” The church is Quiv­il's de­sign, and the vari­ations, though im­por­tant, do not se­ri­ous­ly de­tract from it.

The events of the next five hun­dred years be­long more to the his­to­ry of the see, and even of Eng­land, than to the church. In the elec­tion of George Neville (1458) we no­tice the im­mense val­ue put on no­ble birth. On­ly one oth­er rea­son can be al­leged as weigh­ing with those re­spon­si­ble for the choice. And this rea­son is so ridicu­lous as to be al­most in­cred­ible. None the less it had, doubt­less, a good deal to do with Neville's elec­tion to the bish­opric. He was not on­ly a broth­er to the great Earl of War­wick, but he ear­ly showed his in­ten­tion of keep­ing up the al­most king­ly tra­di­tions of his fam­ily. Here is an ac­count of the fes­tiv­ities that took place at Ox­ford af­ter he had per­formed “his ex­er­cis­es in the nave of St. Mary's Church, as the cus­tom now is, and be­fore was, for no­ble­man's sons.” “Such en­ter­tain­ment was giv­en for two days space that the mem­ory of man be­ing not now able to pro­duce, I have thought it worth my pains to re­mem­ber. On the first day there­fore were 600 mess­es of meat, and on the sec­ond 300 for the en­ter­tain­ment on­ly of schol­ars and cer­tain of the Pro­ceed­ers, re­la­tions and ac­quain­tances.” A lat­er Ox­ford his­to­ri­an as­serts that Neville was elect­ed chan­cel­lor the very next year “by an ap­pre­cia­tive uni­ver­si­ty!” It is not at all un­like­ly, there­fore, that this dis­play of hos­pi­tal­ity had some­thing to do with his be­ing cho­sen bish­op, as a fit­ting suc­ces­sor to the of­fice once filled by Gran­dis­son. For four years af­ter his elec­tion he was un­able, ow­ing to his youth, to be con­se­crat­ed. But by one of those ec­cle­si­as­ti­cal scan­dals, which seem not to have an­noyed or as­ton­ished his con­tem­po­raries, he was per­mit­ted to en­joy the tem­po­ral­ities of the see. At the age of twen­ty-​sev­en he was ful­ly or­dained bish­op, and a few years lat­er was trans­ferred to York. Dur­ing the epis­co­pate of his suc­ces­sor, Bothe, the city was be­sieged by Perkin War­beck. In 1495 Oliv­er King, who was elect­ed in 1492, was trans­lat­ed to the see of Bath and Wells, and to him is due the re­build­ing of the abbey church of Bath which was then ru­inous.

From 1504 to 1519 Old­ham, a Lan­cashire man, was bish­op. He built the Old­ham and Speke chapels.

Vey­sey, who suc­ceed­ed him, lived dur­ing the reign of Hen­ry VI­II. His court­ly man­ners made him pop­ular. In ad­di­tion to his rich ec­cle­si­as­ti­cal of­fice, he be­came Lord Pres­ident of Wales and tu­tor to the Princess Mary. He found­ed the town of Sut­ton Coleshill, now Sut­ton Cold­field, and in­tro­duced there the mak­ing of ker­sies. On this en­ter­prise he spent the larg­er part of his for­tune. At the ac­ces­sion of Ed­ward VI. he was left undis­turbed, though sus­pect­ed of favour­ing the old re­li­gion. But when a ris­ing in favour of the un­re­formed church dis­turbed the west­ern coun­ties, he was ac­cused of par­tic­ipa­tion in the move­ment, and re­signed his charge. But he re­tained the tem­po­ral­ities, and on Mary's ac­ces­sion was re­in­stat­ed. But he was near­ly 103 years old, and soon af­ter died at his town of Sut­ton Coleshill in 1555.

Miles Coverdale, the trans­la­tor, with Tyn­dale, of the Bible, his suc­ces­sor, was bish­op for on­ly two years. He was un­pop­ular, al­though his life was “most god­ly” and vir­tu­ous. But “the com­mon peo­ple,” says Hok­er, “whose bot­tles would re­ceive no new wine, could not brook or di­gest him, for no oth­er cause but be­cause he was a preach­er of the Gospel, an en­emy to Pa­pistry, and a mar­ried man.” This dis­like is eas­ily ac­count­ed for. Ex­eter was very far from Lon­don, the new ideas trav­elled slow­ly, and the west was staunch­ly con­ser­va­tive. As with many re­form­ers, too, his zeal was spoilt by in­dis­cre­tion; the stern­ness of the Pu­ri­tan mil­itat­ed against his suc­cess, and peo­ple pre­ferred the old er­rors more be­com­ing­ly sup­port­ed. His suc­ces­sor, Turberville, was a man quite af­ter the heart of the peo­ple, and he won praise from Protes­tant and Catholic alike.

He was suc­ceed­ed by William Al­leyn, and as a re­sult of Vey­sey's ex­trav­agance and Hen­ry's greed it may be no­ticed that, by roy­al char­ter, the num­ber of canons was lim­it­ed to nine.

In 1627 the see was held by Joseph Hall, a man of great dis­tinc­tion. Though too con­cil­ia­to­ry to care great­ly for Laud's pol­icy, he wrote a just­ly fa­mous “De­fence of the Church of Eng­land and her doc­trines.” Af­ter his trans­la­tion to Nor­wich he un­der­went a good deal of per­se­cu­tion, which he him­self has record­ed, and was for six months a pris­on­er in the Tow­er. He is buried in High­am parish church, his mon­ument a skele­ton hold­ing “in the right hand a bond to death sealed and signed, 'Debe­mus mor­ti nos nos­trique,' and in his left the same bond torn and can­celled, with the en­dorse­ment 'Per­solvit et qui­etus est.'” Fuller says of the fa­mous satirist that he was “not un­hap­py at con­tro­ver­sies, more hap­py at com­ments, very good in his char­ac­ters, bet­ter in his ser­mons, best of all in his med­ita­tions.”

John Gau­den, who be­came bish­op in 1660, was far more for­tu­nate, though prob­ably not more hap­py. He does not seem to have been over scrupu­lous, and his de­sire for “a good manger” is un­pleas­ant­ly ob­vi­ous. But as the au­thor of the [Greek: EIKÔN BASI­LIKÊ] he is re­mem­bered. The au­thor­ship has been dis­put­ed, but Charles II. cer­tain­ly rec­og­nized his claim, and Claren­don be­lieved his as­ser­tions about it. He was clever enough to have writ­ten even a bet­ter book, and there is no suf­fi­cient ground for de­priv­ing him of this hon­our. It is cer­tain that he owed his prefer­ment to his re­put­ed mer­it as its au­thor; though, odd­ly enough, he had tak­en the covenant and preached a no­to­ri­ous ser­mon against “pic­tures, im­ages, and oth­er su­per­sti­tions of pop­ery.” But he pub­licly re­cant­ed, lat­er, and protest­ed against the mur­der of the king, whose sup­posed last prayers and med­ita­tions he was skil­ful­ly in­vent­ing. Af­ter be­ing in Ex­eter two years he was re­moved to Worces­ter. But he had looked to be­come bish­op of Winch­ester, and it is said that his death was has­tened by dis­ap­point­ment.

Seth Ward, who fol­lowed him, had, as dean of Ex­eter, dis­tin­guished him­self by his zeal and courage. He drove from the cathe­dral precincts the buy­ers and sell­ers who had en­croached there­on, and the par­ti­tion wall that di­vid­ed the cathe­dral was tak­en down at his re­quest. Dur­ing the Com­mon­wealth “the build­ing which was now for­mal­ly called 'the late cathe­dral church' was di­vid­ed by a brick wall in­to two places of wor­ship, known as East Pe­ter's and West Pe­ter's.” The east por­tion was used by the In­de­pen­dents and the west by Pres­by­te­ri­ans. Ward spent £20,000 on re­deem­ing the cathe­dral from the degra­da­tion it had suf­fered, and bought an or­gan, “es­teemed the best in Eng­land,” which cost him £2,000. He was trans­lat­ed to Sal­is­bury in 1667. He was a man of con­sid­er­able abil­ity and was a founder of the Roy­al So­ci­ety.

Spar­row suc­ceed­ed to the see in 1667. Dur­ing his epis­co­pate the Grand Duke Cos­mo vis­it­ed Ex­eter and won­dered at the wor­thy bish­op, his wife, and his nine chil­dren. The Duke of Tus­cany was spo­ken of in the lo­cal re­ports as the Duke of Tuskey, and he re­ceived from the cor­po­ra­tion a gift of “£20, or there­abouts.” Spar­row, on his trans­la­tion to Nor­wich, was suc­ceed­ed by Lam­plugh, whose po­lit­ical acu­men, at any rate, com­pels ad­mi­ra­tion, if not re­spect. He fer­vent­ly bade his flock ral­ly round the un­for­tu­nate James II, and then, post­ing to Lon­don, was re­ward­ed by the grate­ful king with the arch­bish­opric of York. He then with­out any com­punc­tion crowned William of Or­ange, King of Eng­land. But his smart­ness availed lit­tle, “for with­in three years con­tin­uance of that high throne of York he was sum­moned be­fore an high­er.” Macaulay has fine­ly de­scribed the en­trance of the prince in­to the cathe­dral. “As he passed un­der the gor­geous screen, that renowned or­gan, scarce­ly sur­passed by any of those which are the boast of his na­tive Hol­land, gave out a peal of tri­umph. He mount­ed the bish­op's seat, a state­ly throne, rich with the carv­ing of the fif­teenth cen­tu­ry. Bur­net stood be­low, and a crowd of war­riors and no­bles ap­peared on the right hand and on the left. The singers robed in white sang the 'Te Deum.' When the chaunt was over Bur­net read the Prince's dec­la­ra­tion; but as soon as the first words were ut­tered, preben­daries and singers crowd­ed in all haste out of the choir. At the close, Bur­net, in a loud voice, cried, 'God save the Prince of Or­ange,' and many fer­vent voic­es an­swered 'Amen.'” This is cer­tain­ly the most re­mark­able, as it is al­so the last, of the great his­tor­ical events that have hap­pened un­der the shad­ow of the cathe­dral walls. There had been noth­ing to com­pare with it since the day when Gran­dis­son with his armed re­tain­ers met Mepham at the close gate three hun­dred years be­fore. Off­spring Black­all is the last bish­op we need men­tion. He was a fa­mous preach­er, and worked hard for the com­fort and ed­uca­tion of the in­di­gent class­es. To him Ex­eter owes her char­ity schools.

Of the re­main­ing bish­ops there is noth­ing of mo­ment to record.

It has seemed wis­er in this brief sketch to de­vote a para­graph to each of those bish­ops who ei­ther ar­chi­tec­tural­ly or his­tor­ical­ly made their epis­co­pates events of na­tion­al im­por­tance. The ear­ly bish­ops, es­pe­cial­ly, bus­ied them­selves ex­ceed­ing­ly in mak­ing beau­ti­ful their prin­ci­pal church. It is by know­ing some­thing of their lives and times that one can best ap­pre­ci­ate their labours, and trace with in­tel­li­gent in­ter­est the caus­es of the splen­did re­sult to be stud­ied minute­ly in the re­main­ing chap­ters of this book.

More­over, all lovers of the great in art, all who love what is beau­ti­ful, as all may with a lit­tle trou­ble, will not be sor­ry to have even a pass­ing ac­quain­tance with those who have wrought so nobly. And this short no­tice of the most fa­mous of the bish­ops of Ex­eter proves that they were for the most part cho­sen, not for their lin­eage, how­ev­er splen­did, nor the favour they had gained as gra­cious courtiers, but for their ex­cel­lent lives, their plain liv­ing and high think­ing, their taste and learn­ing, and for qual­ities which, if rar­er now, were not com­mon even hun­dreds of years ago.

THE FAB­RIC OF THE CATHE­DRAL.

THE EX­TE­RI­OR.

Be­fore ex­am­in­ing the var­ious de­tails, it may be well to re­call the fol­low­ing facts, which have al­ready been re­ferred to. First, the cathe­dral was Sax­on and re­mained so for near­ly sev­en­ty years; then came a Nor­man bish­op who pulled down the ex­ist­ing build­ing and re­placed it by the foun­da­tions and tow­ers of a fin­er one. For nine­ty-​nine years, some­times lan­guish­ing­ly, some­times vig­or­ous­ly, the work con­tin­ued: so that by the end of Mar­shall's epis­co­pate (1206) Warel­wast's no­ble am­bi­tion was re­al­ized. Be­tween this date and 1280 the church was scarce­ly touched, but a chap­ter house was built by Bish­op Bruere “to God and the Church of St. Mary and St. Pe­ter, a suf­fi­cient area to make a Chap­ter House in our gar­den near the Tow­er of St. John.” A third style, Ear­ly En­glish, was then in­tro­duced, to be fol­lowed by the al­most com­plete trans­for­ma­tion of the en­tire build­ing in­to the Dec­orat­ed style. Fol­low­ing on this we get some ex­am­ples of Per­pen­dic­ular work. Now, this se­ries of changes is no­tice­able in it­self, and re­mark­able be­cause it has not af­fect­ed the build­ing in a way that might have been ex­pect­ed. The first im­pres­sion, in­deed, that a view of the ex­te­ri­or gives one, is that it is the re­sult of one de­sign, which is large­ly the case. It is on­ly on clos­er in­spec­tion that the rem­nants of the pre-​dec­orat­ed pe­ri­ods are vis­ible. “The Church,” as Pro­fes­sor Free­man neat­ly puts it, “grew up af­ter one gen­er­al pat­tern, but with a cer­tain ad­vance in de­tail as the work went west­ward.”

The sec­ond thing that strikes the vis­itor is that he has nev­er seen a church quite like it. “It forms a class by it­self, and can be com­pared with noth­ing save its own minia­ture at Ot­tery.”

Putting aside the Sax­on cathe­dral of Le­ofric it is pos­si­ble to trace four dis­tinct styles in what has been wise­ly called “the no­blest mon­ument of re­li­gious zeal of our fore­fa­thers in the west of Eng­land.” But in dis­cov­er­ing these the feel­ing of won­der in­creas­es as the build­ing is found to be not a mere jum­ble but a com­plete whole. Though it is pos­si­ble to date the sep­arate parts of the ed­ifice, and rec­og­nize the vary­ing forms of work­man­ship, the ar­chi­tects laboured with so clear an un­der­stand­ing of a beau­ti­ful re­sult to be at­tained, that there is no ap­pear­ance of patch­work.

The best views of the build­ing are those to be got from a dis­tance. In some ways this is not with­out com­pen­sa­tion; for the cathe­dral church was, and is, not on­ly splen­did as a build­ing, but the cen­tre of the spir­itu­al life of the dio­cese. It is, there­fore, ap­pro­pri­ate that it should seem most beau­ti­ful to the dwellers in the vil­lages and ham­lets be­yond the city, giv­ing them, as it were, a kind of prop­er­ty in the build­ing, which they might not have felt had it been less vis­ible. Near­ing Ex­eter by train, from the Ply­mouth side, the no­ble roof and tow­ers are seen above the red hous­es of the city. The site, in­deed, was well cho­sen. Be­low the hill on which the city stands are gar­dens gay with flow­ers and fair ap­ple or­chards. Above, there is a blue sky rich­er and deep­er than is usu­al in Eng­land. On all sides but one stretch­es the beau­ti­ful De­von­shire coun­try, mead­ow, hedgerow, and wood­ed hill. On that side the Exe flows rapid­ly, broad­en­ing as it goes, to­wards the sea. South­ward but a few miles, the blue chan­nel wa­ters creep up against the yel­low sand dunes. No cathe­dral, not even Lin­coln, boasts a more love­ly and ap­pro­pri­ate po­si­tion. “In the minds of all ear­ly Chris­tians,” says Mr. Ruskin, “the church it­self was most fre­quent­ly sym­bol­ized un­der the im­age of a ship,” There is no coun­try so sat­urat­ed with tra­di­tions of the sea as Corn­wall and De­von. “Exe ter­ra”--out of the earth--is some­times de­clared to be the deriva­tion of the name Ex­eter. Maybe this was on­ly the grate­ful jest of some sea­man who found him­self, af­ter the win­ter storms, glid­ing up the qui­et riv­er with the city walls ris­ing up be­fore him. Yet the re­mem­brance of such west­ern heroes as Raleigh and Drake, who bade their fol­low­ers sit well in or­der, and strike--

“The sound­ing fur­rows, for my pur­pose holds To sail be­yond the sun­set and the baths Of all the West­ern stars un­til I die,”[2]

makes one re­al­ize how fit it is that the tow­ers of the cathe­dral should look across the coun­try to the “deep wa­ters,” and be to the mariner as the masts of a ves­sel where­on was safe­ty, how­ev­er fierce the storm.

[2] Ten­nyson's “Ulysses.”

[Il­lus­tra­tion: EX­ETER CATHE­DRAL, FROM AN EN­GRAV­ING BY DANIEL KING, c. 1650.]

[Il­lus­tra­tion: THE CATHE­DRAL--FROM THE SOUTH-​EAST. The Pho­tochrom. Co. Pho­to.]

From many parts of the sur­round­ing coun­try fine views may be ob­tained, from Wad­dles­down, Al­ph­ing­ton Cause­way, and many a canal and riv­er bank.

A clos­er view may seem at first dis­ap­point­ing. Ev­ery writ­er has echoed Dr. Oliv­er's re­gret that it should be sur­round­ed “by dwelling-​hous­es of such dis­parate char­ac­ter.” But even a near­er sur­vey is, with pa­tience, re­ward­ed. The tow­ers, exquisite­ly trac­eried win­dows, sculp­tured door­ways, and mag­nif­icent roof, eas­ily per­suade us to for­get its mean sur­round­ings.

#The Tow­ers.#--To many these will be the most in­ter­est­ing por­tion of the build­ing. The ex­te­ri­or of no oth­er cathe­dral boasts so un­usu­al a fea­ture. Their po­si­tion is ex­traor­di­nary and has giv­en rise to end­less con­tro­ver­sies. It has been sug­gest­ed that they were meant to stand as west­ern tow­ers, and that the build­ing was to stand east of them, and that, as an af­terthought, they were con­vert­ed in­to transepts. But Canon Free­man, in his his­to­ry,[3] dis­miss­es this view as mere­ly at­trac­tive. They would cer­tain­ly be more elab­orate, he thinks, if they had been built as west­ern tow­ers, but they have nei­ther por­tal nor or­na­men­tal work. In­deed, up to more than half their height they have very much the ap­pear­ance of fortress­es. It may well be that they served as such in Stephen's time, for the north­ern one was severe­ly bat­tered. It dif­fers some­what in de­tail from that on the south side, there be­ing an in­ter­lac­ing ar­cade half-​way up, pos­si­bly be­ing so re­built when the dev­as­ta­tion caused by the siege was be­ing re­paired. There are six stages on each tow­er, but on­ly the up­per­most four are in any way or­na­ment­ed. These have blind ar­cades and win­dow open­ings of cir­cu­lar form; but the de­tails dif­fer slight­ly on each. The tur­rets at the an­gles of the sum­mits, and the bat­tle­ments were added in the fif­teenth cen­tu­ry, but the ef­fect is not in­har­mo­nious, and the orig­inal de­tails are well pre­served. Ac­cord­ing to an old sev­en­teenth-​cen­tu­ry print, the north tow­er for­mer­ly had an at­tic with a pyra­mi­dal roof. This was prob­ably an ad­di­tion when the great bell was first hung (see p. 74). The ef­fect of these transep­tal tow­ers is so fine as to make us re­gret their rar­ity. A case in which they were ob­vi­ous­ly im­itat­ed is to be seen in the fine parish church of Ot­tery S. Mary, De­von. There are al­so most prac­ti­cal rea­sons in their favour, and a con­sid­er­ation of them tends to in­crease one's won­der that they should not be found more fre­quent­ly. In the first place it is pos­si­ble to get a con­tin­uous, uni­form, stretch of vault, the roof be­ing bro­ken by no cen­tral tow­er. Al­so the plan is sim­pli­fied, and nave and choir have more ar­chi­tec­tural con­ti­nu­ity. Again, by build­ing transep­tal tow­ers and dis­card­ing the usu­al cen­tral tow­er, the in­te­ri­or es­capes a dan­ger it is of­ten hard to over­come, the dif­fi­cul­ty of hold­ing up the cen­tral tow­er. It is quite pos­si­ble that Warel­wast was far-​see­ing enough to an­tic­ipate this trou­ble. The his­to­ries of oth­er cathe­drals prove it to be a very re­al one. In 1107 the tow­er of Winch­ester fell in. At Sal­is­bury the spire is still a con­stant source of anx­iety, de­spite “a com­plex ar­range­ment of iron bands and ties,” which has been re­in­forced more than once. The tow­er of Chich­ester col­lapsed in 1861. There is a leg­end of the fall of a cen­tral tow­er at Christchurch Pri­ory, and oth­er warn­ings could be cit­ed, such as Here­ford, Sel­by, Pe­ter­bor­ough, and Wells.

[3] “Ar­chi­tec­tural His­to­ry of Ex­eter Cathe­dral,” by Philip Free­man, Archdea­con and Canon of Ex­eter (Bell), 1888.

Orig­inal­ly these two tow­ers were cut off, by two arch­es un­der­neath, from the body of the church. But Quiv­il, wish­ing to en­large the in­te­ri­or, did so by “throw­ing the Tow­er spaces in­to it.”

#The Roof# is one of the most strik­ing fea­tures of the build­ing, es­pe­cial­ly as it is seen from a dis­tance. The long line of the ridge of nave and choir, un­bro­ken by a cen­tral tow­er, give it a unique dis­tinc­tion amongst En­glish cathe­drals. The del­icate crest­ing of fleurs-​de-​lis, and the pin­na­cles which crown the sup­port­ing but­tress­es ob­vi­ate any im­pres­sion of heav­iness, and to­geth­er with the long se­ries of cleresto­ry win­dows, alike in form yet dif­fer­ing in their ad­mirable trac­ery, give a sin­gu­lar im­pres­sion of beau­ty.

#The North Porch.#--This was the north­ern en­trance of the Nor­man church, and from the out­side it is pos­si­ble to trace the line where the fif­teenth-​cen­tu­ry front was added to the old struc­ture. It is dec­orat­ed with sev­en canopied nich­es in the style of that pe­ri­od. These, how­ev­er, re­mained va­cant un­til 1920, when they were filled with stat­ues, by Mr. H. Read of Ex­eter, rep­re­sent­ing the pa­tron saints of Eng­land and the Al­lies: St. George, St. Denys, St. Joseph; SS. Cyril and Method­ius; St. Vladimir, and St. Am­brose. The roof is vault­ed, and on the cen­tral boss is a fine­ly-​carved Ag­nus Dei. With­in a re­cess of the east­ern wall are three head­less fig­ures, rep­re­sent­ing, in the cen­tre, the Cru­ci­fix­ion, St. Mary and St. John stand­ing on ei­ther side. Over the in­side door­way is a niche that prob­ably once held a fig­ure of the Vir­gin.

[Il­lus­tra­tion: THE NORTH­ERN TOW­ER. The Pho­tochrom Co. Pho­to.]

[Il­lus­tra­tion: EX­ETER CATHE­DRAL--THE WEST FRONT. The Pho­tochrom Co. Pho­to.]

#The West Front# is one of the fea­tures which gives a pe­cu­liar char­ac­ter to this cathe­dral. In the wealth of im­agery on the pro­ject­ing screen which forms the low­est stage of the front it is sec­ond on­ly to Wells amongst En­glish cathe­drals. The ac­tu­al west wall of the church is the work of Bish­op Gran­dis­son, who formed on the south side of the cen­tral door­way the small chapel of St. Rade­gunde as a buri­al place for him­self. The greater part of the end wall of the nave is filled by a large win­dow with re­mark­ably beau­ti­ful trac­ery in its head. The date must be about 1350. Above this is a bat­tle­ment­ed para­pet sloped at each end to fol­low the lines of the aisle-​roofs. Above this para­pet ap­pears the gable of the main roof in which is in­sert­ed a tri­an­gu­lar win­dow, with el­egant trac­ery, light­ing the space be­tween the vault and out­er roof. At the apex of the gable is a niche con­tain­ing a small stat­ue of St. Pe­ter.

The screen, which forms the low­est stage of this front, must have been fin­ished in Bran­tyn­gham's time, though it seems prob­able that it was de­signed if not be­gun by Gran­dis­son. It con­tains eighty-​eight fig­ures, in three rows, rep­re­sent­ing an­gels, war­riors, kings, and saints. Their cos­tume and ar­mour are char­ac­ter­is­tic of the fash­ions of Richard II.'s reign. The low­est row con­sists of an­gel­ic fig­ures each sus­tain­ing a triple pi­laster with cap­itals. On these cap­itals stand the stat­ues of the sec­ond row, a long line of knights and kings, above which are the an­gels and apos­tles of the third row. Above the third row stand two fig­ures, said to rep­re­sent Athel­stan and Ed­ward the Con­fes­sor. The for­mer once drove out the Britons from the city; the lat­ter, as we know, found­ed the bish­opric.

This group of stat­ues has been the sub­ject of a mono­graph by Miss E.K. Prideaux, who shows that the in­ten­tion was to sym­bol­ize the Heav­en­ly Jerusalem, where an­gels, saints, and monar­chs unite to hon­our the en­throned Saviour and His Blessed Moth­er, who, as rep­re­sen­ta­tive of the Church Tri­umphant, is be­ing crowned by her Son. The Coro­na­tion of the Vir­gin was de­pict­ed in the cen­tral group im­me­di­ate­ly over the great door­way, the fig­ures be­ing those of St. Pe­ter, Our La­dy, Our Lord, and St. Paul. At some un­known date the stat­ue of the Vir­gin was de­stroyed, and a fig­ure in­tend­ed to rep­re­sent Richard II was sub­sti­tut­ed in 1818. Two oth­er fig­ures, as­signed to James the Less and King William I, are mod­ern re­pro­duc­tions by Al­fred Stevens; some new heads were al­so added. Many cir­cum­stances have com­bined with the ac­tion of time to in­jure these sculp­tures: but the gen­er­al ef­fect is rich if some­what heavy. Above the screen is a plat­form, from which the bish­op prob­ably blessed the peo­ple, and the min­strels wel­comed with song the ap­proach of roy­al or il­lus­tri­ous vis­itors.

The three door­ways in the screen are wor­thy of no­tice, be­ing rich­ly dec­orat­ed. That on the south side is the most beau­ti­ful, and con­tains two fine pieces of sculp­ture, one gen­er­al­ly de­clared to be an an­gel ap­pear­ing to Joseph in a dream, the oth­er cer­tain­ly record­ing the Ado­ra­tion of the Shep­herds. The cen­tral porch is dec­orat­ed with sculp­tured fo­liage, and the Cru­ci­fix­ion is ex­hib­it­ed on the cen­tral boss of the groined roof trac­ery.

[Il­lus­tra­tion: POR­TALS OF WEST FRONT. The Pho­tochrom Co. Pho­to.]

[Il­lus­tra­tion: THE NAVE, FROM THE SOUTH TRANSEPT (FROM BRIT­TON'S 'EX­ETER,' 1826).]

THE FAB­RIC OF THE CATHE­DRAL.

THE IN­TE­RI­OR.

Fine as is the ex­te­ri­or, the in­te­ri­or of the build­ing is quite as beau­ti­ful. Restora­tion of an un­usu­al­ly care­ful and dis­creet style has done much to re­vive the de­te­ri­orat­ed splen­dours of the place. Six­ty years ago the nave was filled with hideous and cum­ber­some pews, and such work as had been done to­wards keep­ing the place in re­pair was in the worst pos­si­ble taste. But a change has been wrought of the hap­pi­est kind in re­cent years, so that no cathe­dral in the coun­try can boast a more ad­mirable in­te­ri­or.

It has been the cus­tom to de­plore the lack of el­eva­tion, and its low­ness has com­pelled com­par­isons with the cathe­drals of France. But this ob­jec­tion is, sure­ly, rather triv­ial. For though the long vault­ed roof, un­in­ter­rupt­ed the whole length of the build­ing, might tend to take away from the ap­pear­ance of height, the work on the roof it­self, the del­icate or­na­ments on cap­itals and win­dows, do much to atone for this ef­fect. To the or­di­nary vis­itor, it may safe­ly be as­sert­ed, lack of height will on­ly be ob­vi­ous when point­ed out to him.

#The Nave.#--Lit­tle of the Nor­man ma­son­ry is now to be seen, yet it is clear that when Mar­shall com­plet­ed Warel­wast's de­sign he found the nave fin­ished. To quote Canon Free­man, whose book, too tech­ni­cal for the gen­er­al pub­lic, is of in­cal­cu­la­ble val­ue to the stu­dent: “On the in­te­ri­or face of both north and south walls of the nave aisles, dis­tur­bances of ma­son­ry oc­cur­ring at reg­ular in­ter­vals in­di­cate the po­si­tion of a se­ries of Nor­man pi­lasters, the base of one of them hav­ing re­cent­ly been found _in situ_ be­neath the stone seat. Out­side, and cor­re­spond­ing to the po­si­tion of each sev­er­al pi­laster, may be ob­served ei­ther flat but­tress­es of Nor­man form and ma­son­ry, or else traces of their re­moval. These re­mains, link­ing to­geth­er the ob­vi­ous­ly Nor­man tow­ers and the mas­sive west wall, point to the con­clu­sion that the Nor­man cathe­dral, as Mar­shall found it, in­clud­ed the en­tire nave.”

When the changes be­gan, the Fab­ric Rolls, if they “do not en­tire­ly desert us,” give us but mea­gre help, so that the ex­act date and cost of each de­tail is on­ly to be guessed at. Sta­ple­don prob­ably in­tend­ed, as ear­ly as 1325, to be­gin the work of re­cast­ing the nave. In that year he made pur­chas­es of “15 great poplar trees bought for scaf­folds, and 100 alder trees.” Fur­ther en­tries tell us of sev­en and eight­pence worth of tim­ber “bought by the Bish­op at Lon­don,” and “48 great trees from Lang­ford.” The work hith­er­to at­tempt­ed by Sta­ple­don did not de­mand an out­lay of this kind; so, though Gran­dis­son gets the hon­our of hav­ing fin­ished the nave, some­thing is due to Sta­ple­don for hav­ing giv­en the ini­tia­tive. The large bal­ances of the pre­ced­ing nine years had left a great sum of mon­ey in the lat­ter's hands, and a do­na­tion of Sta­ple­don's fur­ther in­creased that bal­ance by the sub­stan­tial sum of £600. In Jan­uary, 1333, is a record of William Canon's bill for mar­ble he had been com­mis­sioned to fur­nish. He had agreed to sup­ply the Purbeck pil­lars for the nave, re­ceiv­ing £10 16s. for eleven large columns, and 5s. a-​piece for bases and cap­itals. This is one of the most in­ter­est­ing items we have of the build­ing and cost of the cathe­dral, and oc­curs for­tu­nate­ly at a time when such in­for­ma­tion is un­usu­al­ly scanty. In ad­di­tion to the above-​men­tioned Purbeck mar­ble, stone from the quar­ries of Caen in Nor­mandy, and oth­er places near­er home, was pro­cured in large quan­ti­ties. In 1338 the bish­op gave per­mis­sion to the Dean and Chap­ter to ob­tain from his agents at Chudleigh “twelve suit­able oaks from his wood there.” About 1350 the build­ing of the nave was com­plet­ed. It was ex­ten­sive­ly re­stored in re­cent years un­der the guid­ance of Sir Gilbert Scott. The Purbeck columns had fall­en in­to a most di­lap­idat­ed state, and were care­ful­ly re­paired, the ma­te­ri­al used be­ing ob­tained from those spots which had sup­plied the orig­inal builders.

The view of the nave as one en­ters the west door is most im­pres­sive. Its full height of sev­en­ty feet is not dwarfed by the un­hin­dered stretch of roof. The groined and ribbed roof it­self is of mar­vel­lous beau­ty and springs from slen­der vault­ing shafts, of which the boss­es are exquisite­ly carved with a strange mix­ture of re­li­gious and leg­endary fig­ures, fo­liage and an­imals. The artists seem to have ran­sacked the whole uni­verse for sub­jects, and to have in­ter­pret­ed their ideas with great cun­ning. The cor­bels that sup­port the vault­ing shafts are equal­ly elab­orate­ly carved.

[Il­lus­tra­tion: THE NAVE, LOOK­ING WEST. The Pho­tochrom Co. Pho­to.]

[Il­lus­tra­tion: COR­BELS AND BOSS­ES (FROM BRIT­TON'S 'EX­ETER,' 1826).

(2) Vir­gin and Child. (3) Min­strel and tum­bler. (4) Coro­na­tion of the Vir­gin. (5) Mur­der of S. Thomas (Beck­et), from Nave. (6) From La­dy Chapel. (7) From Choir. (8) and (11) Heads pop­ular­ly iden­ti­fied with Ed­ward III and Q. Philip­pa. (10) The Vir­gin and her Coro­na­tion. (See Prideaux and Shafto, “Boss­es and Cor­bels of Ex­eter Cathe­dral.”)]

They con­sist of fig­ures and fo­liage, and the va­ri­ety of sub­jects cho­sen is no less sur­pris­ing than the skill the artists have shown in the re­al­iza­tion of their ideas. Whether they are pe­cu­liar to Ex­eter or not, it may be safe­ly said that one could not eas­ily find their equals ei­ther in de­sign or ex­ecu­tion. The sub­jects treat­ed are too nu­mer­ous for de­tailed treat­ment in this place, but the carv­ing of vines and acorns and oak­leaves will be read­ily ad­mired.

[Il­lus­tra­tion: THE MIN­STRELS' GALLERY. The Pho­tochrom Co. Pho­to.]

The nave has sev­en bays, and the ar­cades are sup­port­ed by clus­tered pil­lars of Purbeck mar­ble, show­ing var­ious tints of blue and grey. There are six­teen shafts in each pier cor­re­spond­ing with the eight sub­or­di­nate mould­ings in each pair of arch­es, and the di­ag­onal po­si­tion of each clus­ter adds much to its grace­ful ap­pear­ance. In the retro-​choir there are ear­li­er ex­am­ples of this kind of pier, show­ing how the builders ex­per­iment­ed with the group­ing of the shafts be­fore they at­tained the per­fect pro­por­tions of the pil­lars in the nave and choir. It seems that they uti­lized the Nor­man pil­lars as the cen­tral core round which to group the Purbeck shafts. The tri­fo­ri­um, in groups of four arch­es, is un­usu­al­ly low, and rests on small clus­tered columns, bro­ken in one place on­ly on the north side to make way for the Min­strels' Gallery.

#The Min­strels' Gallery.#--This is the most beau­ti­ful gallery of its kind to be found in Eng­land, its twelve dec­orat­ed nich­es con­tain­ing fig­ures of mu­si­cians. The mu­si­cal in­stru­ments rep­re­sent­ed in­clude the cit­tern, bag­pipe, haut­boy, crowth, harp, trum­pet, or­gan, gui­tar, tam­bour, and cym­bals, with two oth­ers which are un­cer­tain. The tint­ed fig­ures of the an­gels, stand­ing out against an or­ange-​coloured back­ground--each in a sep­arate niche with an elab­orate­ly carved canopy--play­ing up­on the var­ious in­stru­ments, are ad­mirably carved and most grace­ful in form and ar­range­ment. The two nich­es on ei­ther side of the gallery con­tained fig­ures of St. Mary and St. Pe­ter; the nich­es are sup­port­ed by cor­belled heads of Ed­ward III and Queen Philip­pa. Ed­ward III cre­at­ed the Black Prince Duke of Corn­wall in 1337, and made the city of Ex­eter part of the duchy. “The city,” ac­cord­ing to Iza­cke, “be­ing held of the said duke, as par­cel of the dutchy, by the fee farm rent of twen­ty pounds per ann.” To this con­nex­ion has been traced the erec­tion of the gallery, for such duchies “were ter­ri­to­ri­al re­al­ities,” and the prince would be re­ceived by min­strels chaunt­ing in the gallery when­ev­er he paid a vis­it to his feu­dal de­pen­den­cy. It is as­sert­ed that it was first used af­ter the bat­tle of Poic­tiers, when the Black Prince brought with him to Eng­land, vis­it­ing Ex­eter _en route_ for Lon­don, the cap­tured French King. But Pro­fes­sor Free­man thinks the Duke did not pay a vis­it to Ex­eter at that time, and that lo­cal tra­di­tion refers re­al­ly to a lat­er date when “he came home as a sick man” not long be­fore his death.

The lofty char­ac­ter of the cleresto­ry above the gallery, and set some­what far­ther back, is re­mark­able. The trac­ery of all the win­dows is of the best type of the four­teenth cen­tu­ry and is un­ri­valled by that of any oth­er En­glish cathe­dral of sim­ilar date. In their main fea­tures the op­po­site win­dows are alike, though they vary in de­tail.

[Il­lus­tra­tion: BAYS OF NAVE, WITH THE MIN­STRELS' GALLERY (FROM BRIT­TON'S 'EX­ETER,' 1826).]

[Il­lus­tra­tion: THE 'PAT­TE­SON' PUL­PIT. The Pho­tochrom Co. Pho­to.]

#St. Rade­gunde's Chapel.#--On the south side of the main en­trance and with­in the thick­ness of the west­ern wall is the chapel of St. Rade­gunde, one of the most in­ter­est­ing in the cathe­dral. As ear­ly as 1220 a deed be­long­ing to the Chap­ter makes men­tion of this chapel “with­in St. Pe­ter's ceme­tery,” and is dat­ed in the may­oral­ty of one Turbest and at­test­ed by the then bish­op, Si­mon de Apuliâ. Gran­dis­son, in ac­cor­dance with the cus­tom of his day, while com­plet­ing the work of trans­form­ing the cathe­dral, looked out for a suit­able place of buri­al for him­self. He chose this chapel, and in 1350 the Fab­ric Rolls con­tain a ref­er­ence to the glaz­ing of the win­dows and the bet­ter se­cur­ing of them with nine bars of iron. In ac­cor­dance with a clause in his will, “Cor­pus vero meum vo­lo quod se­peliatur ex­tra os­tium oc­ci­den­tale Ec­cle­si­ae Ex­on. ita celerit­er si­cut fieri po­ter­it,” his re­mains were placed un­der the low arch in the east of the chapel. Here they lay for many years, but in the lat­er years of Eliz­abeth, ap­par­ent­ly with­out cre­at­ing any pub­lic in­dig­na­tion, his tomb was ri­fled and his ash­es scat­tered to the “four winds.” There seems to be no good rea­son why re­li­gious fa­nati­cism should have caused the tomb of so great and good a man to be de­spoiled. Two in­ter­est­ing de­tails are the carved fig­ure of Christ on the roof and the holes in the stones from which the lamps were for­mer­ly hung.

#St. Ed­mund's Chapel#, in the north-​west cor­ner of the nave, was part of the Nor­man church, and was in­cor­po­rat­ed in his new work by Bish­op Gran­dis­son. In it is a large font of mod­ern Goth­ic style, pre­sent­ed in the nine­teenth cen­tu­ry by Archdea­con Bartholomew.

#The Font.#--At the south-​west side of the nave stands the chal­ice-​shaped font of white mar­ble, pur­pose­ly made in 1644 for the bap­tism of Hen­ri­et­ta Anne, youngest child of Charles I, af­ter­wards Duchess of Or­leans, who was born in Ex­eter dur­ing the Par­lia­men­tary wars. The font is said to have been made in a fort­night, which may ac­count for the in­fe­ri­or char­ac­ter of the sculp­ture. But if not of artis­tic mer­it, it is cer­tain­ly of his­toric in­ter­est, and af­ter be­ing set aside for some years, was re­placed in its present po­si­tion in 1891, and is now al­ways used for bap­tisms.

#The Pat­te­son Pul­pit# was placed in the nave in 1877. It is of Mans­field stone, and is a beau­ti­ful ex­am­ple of mod­ern sculp­ture. The pan­els rep­re­sent the Mar­tyr­dom of St. Al­ban, the em­barka­tion of St. Boni­face and his com­pan­ions for Ger­many, and the na­tives of Nuka­pu, Melane­sia, plac­ing the body of Bish­op Pat­te­son in a ca­noe. The Mar­tyred Bish­op is shown wrapped in a na­tive mat, a rel­ic still pre­served in his fam­ily.

MON­UMENTS IN THE NAVE

The great west win­dow was filled with stained glass in 1904 in com­mem­ora­tion of Dr. Tem­ple, Bish­op of Ex­eter 1869, of Lon­don 1885, and in 1896 Arch­bish­op of Can­ter­bury. Fig­ures in the low­er lights rep­re­sent the most no­table Bish­ops of Ex­eter from Le­ofric to Fred­er­ick Tem­ple.

The mon­ument un­der the west win­dow com­mem­orates ser­vices and loss­es of the 1st Bat­tal­ion of the Duke of Corn­wall's Light In­fantry, which, as the 32nd Reg­iment, great­ly dis­tin­guished it­self dur­ing the Se­poy re­volt in In­dia in 1857-8.

On the north-​west is a mu­ral tablet with medal­lion por­trait com­mem­orat­ing Richard Black­more, the au­thor of _Lor­na Doone_, 1825-1900. The three lights of the small win­dow above are filled with stained glass in con­nex­ion with this memo­ri­al. The cor­re­spond­ing win­dow on the south side was filled with stained glass by Dean Cowie.

The largest mon­ument in the north aisle is that to the mem­ory of of­fi­cers and men of the 9th Lancers who fell dur­ing long and dis­tin­guished ser­vice in In­dia.

Far­ther on is a large brass, of no par­tic­ular mer­it, to the mem­ory of the men of the 2nd Bat­tal­ion of the North De­von Reg­iment who fell in the Afghan War of 1880-81. It is sur­mount­ed by two reg­imen­tal flags.

Above a mu­ral tablet to Lieu­tenant G.A. Allen is a win­dow of stained glass erect­ed to the mem­ory of the 11th Earl of De­von. The colour scheme is par­tic­ular­ly good, and the de­sign, rep­re­sent­ing Ja­cob's dream, is not un­suc­cess­ful.

A plain tablet to the mem­ory of Samuel Se­bas­tian Wes­ley, the fa­mous mu­si­cian, is the on­ly oth­er mon­ument in the aisle of gen­er­al in­ter­est.

In the same aisle have re­cent­ly been placed the colours of those bat­tal­ions of the De­vons who served in the great Eu­ro­pean War, 1914-18.

To com­plete the ex­am­ina­tion of the nave we must cross to the south aisle, in the first bay of which is the an­cient door­way, prob­ably built by Bish­op Bruere, lead­ing in­to the clois­ter. At the end of the aisle is the mon­ument of Colonel John Mac­don­ald, who died in 1831, a son of the cel­ebrat­ed Flo­ra Mac­don­ald. The most east­ern win­dow of the aisle is filled with stained glass rep­re­sent­ing four bish­ops of the Courte­nay fam­ily. Pe­ter Courte­nay, Bish­op of Ex­eter, will be rec­og­nized as he holds the great “Pe­ter” bell, his gift to the cathe­dral, which hangs in the north tow­er. He is the bish­op al­lud­ed to by Shake­speare (_Richard III._, Act iv, Sc. 4):

“In De­von­shire Sir Ed­ward Courte­nay, and the haughty Prelate, Bish­op of Ex­eter, his el­der broth­er, With many more con­fed­er­ates are in arms.”

Af­ter the ac­ces­sion of Hen­ry VII., he was trans­lat­ed to Winch­ester.

[Il­lus­tra­tion: THE NAVE, LOOK­ING EAST. The Pho­tochrom. Co. Pho­to.]

For­mer­ly there was a Courte­nay chantry in the last bay of this aisle, cor­re­spond­ing with Bish­op Bran­tyn­gham's chantry on the north side. These be­came ru­inous and were re­moved ear­ly in the nine­teenth cen­tu­ry. The Courte­nay tomb in the south transept is en­tire­ly a restora­tion. The ef­fi­gies rep­re­sent Sir Hugh Courte­nay, 2nd Earl of De­von, and Mar­garet de Bo­hun, his wife. The great brass of their son, Sir Pe­ter Courte­nay, al­so for­mer­ly in the chantry, is now in the south choir aisle: it has been sad­ly in­jured by be­ing trod­den un­der foot for many hun­dred years, and is now pro­tect­ed by mat­ting. He was stan­dard bear­er to Ed­ward III. and Richard II., and one of the first Knights of the Garter.

The cen­tre win­dow of the south nave aisle is filled with stained glass in mem­ory of those of the De­von Reg­iment who served in the South African War, 1899-1901. The tablets with their names are in St. Ed­mund's Chapel. Their flags hang on ei­ther side of the win­dow.

The large brass tablet, though, like too many of the memo­ri­als in the nave, un­nec­es­sar­ily large and far from mer­ito­ri­ous in de­sign, is not with­out in­ter­est. It is to the mem­ory of Ma­jor-​Gen­er­al Howard El­phin­stone, V.C., who was drowned off Ushant in 1890.

Above a tablet of brass to Hugh, 2nd Earl of De­von, and his wife, is a win­dow erect­ed by Sir Ed­win Watkin to the mem­ory of Thomas La­timer. The small win­dow to the left, erect­ed by Dean Cowie in mem­ory of his wife, should be no­ticed.

#North Transept.#--We have al­ready seen that the two great tow­ers of the cathe­dral were in their na­ture transep­tal from the be­gin­ning. But they were quite sep­arat­ed from the body of the church, the arch­es con­nect­ing them be­ing filled in with strong­ly built ma­son­ry, form­ing a com­plete wall. But Quiv­il, wish­ing to en­large the in­te­ri­or of the build­ing, took down these walls, and he set about al­ter­ing the arch­es and con­vert­ing them in­to the same Dec­orat­ed style to match this work in the rest of the build­ing. He al­so al­tered and trans­formed the Nor­man chapels that pro­ject­ed on the east side of each transept. In the north transept one win­dow and two nar­row door­ways still be­tray their Nor­man ori­gin. The open gal­leries in each transept are con­nect­ed by a pas­sage with the cleresto­ry. This, too, is Quiv­il's work, and his win­dows in the two chapels of St. John and St. Paul, eas­ily dis­tin­guish­able by their wheel-​shape, are in­ter­est­ing.

Here is Chantry's fine stat­ue of the De­von­shire artist North­cote, and a tablet to the mem­ory of the men and of­fi­cers of the 20th (De­von) Reg­iment who fell in the Crimea. Vis­itors will no­tice with in­ter­est a fair­ly suc­cess­ful mu­ral paint­ing rep­re­sent­ing the res­ur­rec­tion, the sol­diers in ar­mour be­ing drawn with con­sid­er­able spir­it.

#Sylke Chantry# is in the north transept. Sylke was a per­son of con­sid­er­able im­por­tance in his day, and one who de­served and ob­tained no lit­tle hon­our from his con­tem­po­raries. He ad­min­is­tered the af­fairs of the dio­cese as vicar-​gen­er­al dur­ing the ab­sence of Bish­op Courte­nay, and al­so dur­ing that of Bish­op Fox. In 1499 he was made pre­cen­tor, and held that of­fice till his death. The priests, grate­ful for the ef­forts he had made to fur­ther their com­fort, de­cid­ed to keep his obit. The ab­bot and con­vent of St. Mary of Cleeve, in Som­er­set­shire, will­ing to show their sense of obli­ga­tion to him and Canon Moore, gave year­ly to the Dean and Chap­ter the sum of £6 13s. 4d. to be spent in cel­ebrat­ing their an­niver­sary. Sylke's tomb rep­re­sents a very ghost­ly fig­ure with the epi­taph, “Sum quod eris, fuer­am quod es, pro me, pre­cor, ora.” The chantry is in the style of the lat­er Goth­ic, and is one of those “fi­nal touch­es” to the cathe­dral Archdea­con Free­man es­teems so hap­pi­ly im­part­ed to it. The an­cient works of the thir­teenth-​cen­tu­ry clock, up­on the north wall, have been placed in this chantry, the ma­chin­ery be­ing in mo­tion though it does not now work any part of the ac­tu­al clock. The var­ious parts are of dif­fer­ent dates; the old­est wheel has been work­ing more or less reg­ular­ly for about 700 years. The di­al rep­re­sents the sun and moon re­volv­ing round the earth in the cen­tre, the vary­ing phas­es of the moon be­ing in­di­cat­ed.

#St. Paul's Chapel# is on the east side of the north transept. At­tribut­ed to the time of Mar­shall or his im­me­di­ate pre­de­ces­sors. On the tiles are the arms of Hen­ry III.'s broth­er, Richard of Corn­wall, who was elect­ed King of the Ro­mans. It is used as a vestry for the lay choral vi­cars.

#South Transept.#--Open­ing from the east wall is the #Chapel of St. John the Bap­tist#. It cor­re­sponds with that of St. Paul in the north transept. Some of the glass in the win­dows was placed there at the restora­tion of 1870. The screen di­vid­ing it from the transept is Old­ham's work. The chapel is now fur­nished for pri­vate med­ita­tion and prayer.

[Il­lus­tra­tion: THE TRANSEPT, NORTH, SHOW­ING THE OR­GAN AND CLOCK. The Pho­tochrom. Co. Pho­to.]

#Chapel of the Holy Ghost.#--This, one of the most an­cient parts of the cathe­dral, lies be­tween the south tow­er and chap­ter house. It oc­cu­pies the place of the pas­sage known as the slype in monas­tic church­es. The plain stone bar­rel roof should be not­ed. It is now used as the cho­ris­ters' vestry.

The south transept con­tains a very in­ter­est­ing col­lec­tion of mon­uments.

#Mon­uments in South Transept.#--On the east wall a shal­low re­cess, in which are set some frag­ments of sculp­ture, is tra­di­tion­al­ly de­scribed as the tomb of Le­ofric, first Bish­op of Ex­eter. Hok­er thus tells the sto­ry: “This Le­ofricus died an. 1073, and was buried in the ceme­tery or church­yard of his own church, un­der a sim­ple or bro­ken mar­ble stone; which place, by the since en­larg­ing of his church is now with­in the South Tow­er of the same, where of late, an­no 1568, a new mon­ument was erect­ed to the mem­ory of so good, wor­thy & no­ble a per­son­age, by the in­dus­try of the writ­er here­of but at the charges of the Dean & Chap­ter.”

In the cor­ner at the south-​east is the grave of Bish­op John the Chaunter, who died in 1191. He was for thir­ty years pre­cen­tor of the cathe­dral, and was con­se­crat­ed bish­op by Bald­win, Arch­bish­op of Can­ter­bury, “preach­er and pil­grim of the Cru­sade,” and a na­tive of Ex­eter. Bish­op John as­sist­ed at the coro­na­tion of Richard I. He held the see for six years.

Sir Pe­ter Carew, whose mu­ral tablet is a con­spic­uous fea­ture, was buried at Wa­ter­ford in Ire­land. He is one of the most dis­tin­guished mem­bers of an an­cient west­ern fam­ily. On the Whit­sun­day of 1549, the vil­lage of Sam­ford Courte­nay rose in re­volt against the new prayer-​book that Ed­ward VI. had or­dered to be used in the church­es, and the whole dio­cese speed­ily fol­lowed the lead. The peo­ple swore that “they would keep the old and an­cient re­li­gion as their fore­fa­thers be­fore them had done.” Sir Gawain Carew, Sir Pe­ter Carew, and Sir Thomas Den­nis, the sher­iff, were busy in stem­ming the tide of re­bel­lion. Ef­forts at com­pro­mise were use­less. The peo­ple bit­ter­ly de­mand­ed the old re­li­gion, and called the new form of wor­ship “a Chris­tian game,” while the Cor­nish­men de­clared that they, since “cer­tain of us un­der­stand no En­glish, ut­ter­ly refuse the new En­glish.” Ear­ly in Ju­ly the mal­con­tents set siege to Ex­eter. The wealth of the civic dig­ni­taries stim­ulat­ed the be­siegers, who sum­moned the city to sur­ren­der three times, vow­ing that “they would en­ter by force and take the spoil of it,” were their de­mands re­fused. There was dis­con­tent and plot­ting with­in the walls, and food gave out. Many were ea­ger to let in the rebels, and Hok­er records that “but two days be­fore the de­liv­ery of the city,” the mal­con­tents pa­rad­ed the streets, cry­ing out: “Come out these heretics and twopen­ny book­men! Where be they! By God's wounds and blood we will not be pinned in to serve their turn: we will go out and have in our neigh­bours; they be hon­est good and god­ly men.” But the prin­ci­pal cit­izens, though nur­tured in the old faith, held out grim­ly for the king. The siege was raised by John, Lord Rus­sell, whom Sir Pe­ter had hasti­ly sum­moned from Hin­ton St. George, in Som­er­set­shire. Food was sup­plied to the city “by the spe­cial in­dus­try and trav­els of a thou­sand Welsh­men un­der Sir William Her­bert.” Sir Pe­ter, on his ar­rival in Lon­don, was threat­ened with hang­ing by the Lord Pro­tec­tor “as hav­ing caused the com­mo­tion by burn­ing the barns at Cred­iton. He plead­ed the king's let­ter un­der his hand and privy signet.” But he es­caped with dif­fi­cul­ty, though he ob­tained from Lord Rus­sell the lands of Win­is­lacre as a re­ward. Lat­er on he op­posed Queen Mary's mar­riage with the King of Naples, and as Fuller puts it: “This ac­tive gen­tle­man had much adoe to ex­pe­dite him­self, and save his life, be­ing im­pris­oned for his com­pli­ance with Sir Thomas Wy­ate.” He lived an ac­tive, reck­less life to the last, clos­ing his ca­reer by some “sig­nal ser­vice” in Ire­land. He was a broth­er of the Earl of Totnes. The hand­some Eliz­abethan mon­ument is to Sir John Gilbert, broth­er of the more fa­mous Humphrey, and his wife, Eliz­abeth Chudleigh. He was one of the mer­chant ad­ven­tur­ers and a half-​broth­er of Raleigh. His re­la­tions with Ex­eter were very friend­ly, the mer­chants be­ing keen­ly in­ter­est­ed in mar­itime dis­cov­er­ies, for they hoped in far away Asia to get a new mar­ket for their cloth.

Heroes of lat­er days are not for­got­ten in this gal­lant com­pa­ny, and a tablet on the east wall com­mem­orates the men of the 32nd Reg­iment (Corn­wall Light In­fantry) who fell in the In­di­an Mutiny. The colours of the reg­iment show the names of Wa­ter­loo and Luc­know.

[Il­lus­tra­tion: IN­TE­RI­OR OF THE NAVE IN THE LAST CEN­TU­RY (FROM A PRINT IN THE BRITISH MU­SE­UM).]

#The Choir Screen.#--This is the work of Bish­op Sta­ple­don, and was prob­ably com­plet­ed about 1324. The Dean and Chap­ter an­tic­ipat­ed the ad­mi­ra­tion which this screen would cause in af­ter ages, and we read that they pre­sent­ed William Canon, the ex­ecu­tor of the mar­ble work, “£4, out of their cour­tesy.” High above the screen, as we learn from the Fab­ric Rolls, the rood with Mary and John rest­ed on an iron bar.

[Il­lus­tra­tion: CHOIR SCREEN, LOOK­ING N.E. (FROM BRIT­TON'S 'EX­ETER,' 1826).]

The paint­ings with­in the pan­els above the beau­ti­ful­ly carved span­drils have lit­tle in­ter­est or mer­it, though it is thought that they date from the same pe­ri­od as the screen it­self. It is dif­fi­cult, how­ev­er, to be­lieve that they can be so old, or that such good and bad work could be­long to the same pe­ri­od. James I. in­tro­duced in­to the fo­liage of the span­drils the rose and this­tle; but this un­called-​for emen­da­tion was sum­mar­ily re­moved in the year 1875. The side arch­es of the screen were at one pe­ri­od filled up with thick walls, and two strong doors barred the arch of en­trance, but this was al­tered by the re­stor­ers in 1875.

#The Or­gan# was orig­inal­ly built by John Loose­more about 1665. In its ex­ist­ing form it is an en­larged re­con­struc­tion by Messrs. Willis, the old in­stru­ment be­ing in­cor­po­rat­ed in it as a choir-​or­gan. The or­gan case, which was an el­egant spec­imen of Re­nais­sance wood­work, has al­so un­der­gone al­ter­ation and ren­ova­tion.

#The Choir.#--If the chief glo­ry with re­gard to the ex­te­ri­or of the cathe­dral re­mains un­doubt­ed­ly with the de­sign­er and builder of the great tow­ers, the choir, the work of Byt­ton and Sta­ple­don, is no less cer­tain­ly the supreme glo­ry of the in­te­ri­or. The Nor­man choir reached no far­ther than the third bay, count­ing from the choir screen. Traces re­cent­ly dis­cov­ered seem to prove that it had an ap­si­dal ter­mi­na­tion. Bish­op Mar­shall, in com­plet­ing Warel­wast's work, added four bays and de­stroyed the triple apse. It is al­so pos­si­ble that, as the tran­si­tion pe­ri­od to Ear­ly En­glish was in its birth, some of the vault­ing was point­ed. Byt­ton con­vert­ed the choir as left by Mar­shall in­to the Dec­orat­ed style, in­spired to the work by the suc­cess which had at­tend­ed Quiv­il's ef­forts in the east­ern­most bay of the nave. The whole work--the trans­for­ma­tion of the choir with its aisles--took about fif­teen years to com­plete, the speed and skill with which it was ac­com­plished be­ing due to the fact that the task was not en­tire­ly in the hands of one body of labour­ers. It seems to have been di­vid­ed in­to two por­tions, at which the builders worked si­mul­ta­ne­ous­ly. Ad­mirable as Quiv­il's work in the nave had been, that of Byt­ton in the choir is an im­prove­ment. Doubt­less he had learnt some­thing from the dif­fi­cul­ties his pre­de­ces­sor en­coun­tered, and knew how to avoid them. At any rate, he pushed for­ward the work with great vigour and bold­ness. He formed his pil­lars of hor­izon­tal sec­tions of Purbeck mar­ble from nine to fif­teen inch­es thick: five boutelles on each side pre­sent­ing “the ap­pear­ance of twen­ty-​five shafts bound in one.” In the pave­ment of the choir more than ten thou­sand tiles were used. For the vault­ing of the choir, al­so his work, though the hon­our due to him has till late­ly been de­nied, he pro­cured quan­ti­ties of Port­land stone. Ma­te­ri­al for bases and cap­itals was im­port­ed al­so from Port­land: the en­try in the Fab­ric Rolls runs: “For the pur­chase of 18 great blocks of stone at Port­land for the keys or boss­es, to­geth­er with 60 bases and cap­itals, in­clud­ing car­riage by sea £4 16 8.” The colour­ing of the key­stones was due to Sta­ple­don in the first year of his epis­co­pate.

[Il­lus­tra­tion: THE CHOIR, LOOK­ING WEST. The Pho­tochrom. Co. Pho­to.]

[Il­lus­tra­tion: THE CHOIR BE­FORE RESTORA­TION (FROM AN EN­GRAV­ING AF­TER CHARLES WILD).]

Be­tween 1870 and 1875 the choir un­der­went very ex­ten­sive re­pairs. For the most part they were suc­cess­ful, and if in par­tic­ular in­stances ob­jec­tion may be tak­en, it would be hy­per-​crit­icism to de­tract from their val­ue. Wher­ev­er pos­si­ble, the stone was tak­en from the quar­ries used by the first builders. The Purbeck mar­bles es­pe­cial­ly had severe­ly suf­fered, and the mould­ings and bases ruth­less­ly de­stroyed for the bet­ter ac­com­mo­da­tion of the wain­scot­ing to the stalls; more­over, the dif­fer­ences in the na­ture of the stone were ren­dered null by a hideous yel­low wash with which they had been lav­ish­ly be­sprin­kled. Dur­ing the restora­tion the cor­bels and roof-​boss­es were cleaned and care­ful­ly re­paired. These, though of the same char­ac­ter as those in the nave, are both rich­er and more var­ied in de­sign and more skil­ful­ly carved.

#The Choir Stalls.#--The stalls are en­tire­ly mod­ern, and the work of Sir Gilbert Scott. Orig­inal­ly, no doubt, they were sim­ilar in style to the bish­op's throne, one of the most ad­mirable of Sta­ple­don's ad­di­tions to the cathe­dral. They were prob­ably sur­mount­ed with canopies, with an open ar­cade of stone be­hind them. The mod­ern de­sign­er has so con­struct­ed his stalls as to bear out this idea, since as far as pos­si­ble they are meant to re­place the ear­li­er ones. The mis­eri­cords of Bish­op Bruere have been placed be­neath the seats. These mis­eri­cords have not their equal in Eng­land. They are rich­ly carved, rep­re­sent­ing fo­liage, wild beasts, an ele­phant, men fight­ing, oth­ers play­ing mu­si­cal in­stru­ments, and leg­endary mon­sters. The in­tro­duc­tion of an ele­phant proves that these mis­eri­cords were not com­plet­ed un­til af­ter Bruere's death in 1244; the ele­phant hav­ing been first brought in­to Eng­land in 1255. There is al­so a rep­re­sen­ta­tion of a knight in a swan-​boat, show­ing that the leg­end of Lo­hen­grin was known in Eng­land.

#The Rere­dos.#--This, too, is mod­ern work, and most suc­cess­ful­ly has Earp car­ried out the de­signs of Sir Gilbert Scott. It is of al­abaster, in­laid with agate, car­nelian, and jasper. In the cen­tre of the three com­part­ments in­to which it is di­vid­ed is the As­cen­sion, the oth­er two groups rep­re­sent­ing the De­scent of the Holy Ghost and the Trans­fig­ura­tion. As the work has met with con­sid­er­able op­po­si­tion, it is well to re­mem­ber Archdea­con Free­man's words, he hav­ing the best of all rights to speak. “With its del­icate canopies of al­abaster, and sculp­tures wrought in bold re­lief, its in­lay of choice mar­bles, its re­dun­dance of cost­ly stones, and its at­ten­dant an­gel fig­ures, it en­shrines a mul­ti­tude of ideas well har­mo­niz­ing with its place and pur­pose.” The an­cient al­tar of Sta­ple­don's has long since dis­ap­peared. This was most­ly of sil­ver, the men­sa on­ly be­ing of mar­ble. In the mon­ument of Le­ofric, erect­ed by Hok­er, the his­to­ri­an, was found a large slab of mar­ble marked with cross­es. This pos­si­bly was a por­tion of Sta­ple­don's al­tar de­stroyed by an Or­der in Coun­cil, 1550 (see be­low, p. 69).

#The Bish­op's Throne# was Sta­ple­don's work, erect­ed in 1316. It is no­table for not hav­ing a sin­gle nail in it, be­ing en­tire­ly fixed to­geth­er with wood­en pegs. This “mag­nif­icent sheaf of carved oak,” as it has been called, ris­es to the height of fifty-​sev­en feet. The carv­ing shows fo­liage and finials of great beau­ty, and be­neath the canopies are an­gel fig­ures bear­ing the in­signia of the Bish­op's of­fice. On one side the chal­ice and Host of bless­ing; on the oth­er, the bell, book, and can­dle that con­veyed the Bish­op's curse.

At the date of the 1870 restora­tions the throne was in a very de­fec­tive state. It had been cov­ered with brown paint, and the low­er pan­els were not a lit­tle dam­aged. There are traces of an­cient colour­ing still, but on­ly the paint­ings at the base have been ren­ovat­ed, which com­mem­orate the quar­tette of fa­mous bish­ops, Warel­wast, Quiv­il, Sta­ple­don, and Gran­dis­son, and were, no doubt, some­what lat­er than the throne it­self. Orig­inal­ly the nich­es of the taber­na­cle work were filled with fig­ures, but these have dis­ap­peared.

[Il­lus­tra­tion: THE CHOIR, LOOK­ING EAST. The Pho­tochrom. Co. Pho­to.]

[Il­lus­tra­tion: SEDIL­IA IN THE CHOIR. The Pho­tochrom. Co. Pho­to.]

#The Sedil­ia.#--It is nat­ural af­ter an ex­am­ina­tion of the throne in wood to turn to Sta­ple­don's equal­ly splen­did achieve­ment in stone. The sedil­ia were most care­ful­ly re­stored un­der Sir Gilbert Scott. There are three arch­es, each ten feet high, of open­work, above which is a rich dis­play of taber­na­cle work. The nich­es once con­tained stat­ues, for the sock­ets are vis­ible. The carv­ing, ex­traor­di­nar­ily skil­ful and in­tri­cate, con­sists of leaves and an­imals' heads. Like much of the carv­ing in the cathe­dral that is at­tribut­ed to this date, it was the work of De Mon­ta­cute, a French artist. The seats are di­vid­ed by met­al shafts, the ter­mi­nal di­vi­sions be­ing sup­port­ed by li­ons. It has been con­tend­ed that these li­ons are of con­sid­er­ably ear­li­er date than the rest of the work; but there is no ev­idence to go up­on ex­cept a fan­cied re­sem­blance to Ear­ly En­glish work. There seems no rea­son why Sta­ple­don should not have cho­sen li­ons as a fit­ting dec­ora­tion, and carved them in a style more or less tra­di­tion­al. Three small heads are carved on the back of the sedil­ia, the cen­tre one be­ing that of Le­ofric, and on ei­ther side the heads of Ed­ward the Con­fes­sor and his wife Eadgytha. It will be re­mem­bered that they were present, with their whole court, at the in­stal­la­tion of Le­ofric. The cen­tral seat is known as Le­ofric's stone, on which he is tra­di­tion­al­ly said to have sat, and there is an en­try in the year 1418 record­ing that twen­ty pence was paid “for writ­ing on the stone of my Lord Le­ofric.”

On the tri­fo­ri­um ar­cad­ing, just over the sedil­ia, the heads of Le­ofric, Ed­ward, and Eadgytha are re­peat­ed.

The dec­ora­tion of the choir vault is by Messrs. Clay­ton and Bell. The at­tempt to give life to the roof­ing by gild­ing the boss­es and paint­ing the ribs red and blue and gold, while the ground colour is a dull white, is not with­out mer­it.

#Pul­pit in Choir# of De­von mar­bles and al­abaster, erect­ed in 1871. The beau­ti­ful­ly carved pan­els rep­re­sent our Lord bless­ing the chil­dren; the Ser­mon on the Mount; St. Pe­ter preach­ing on the day of Pen­te­cost; St. Paul at Athens; and St. Paul be­fore Fes­tus.

#The East Win­dow.#--Hen­ry de Blake­born, a canon of the cathe­dral, en­larged “this Gable win­dow in the Per­pen­dic­ular style.” Al­though it was dam­aged a good deal in Cromwell's time, much of the old glass re­mains. The shields on the up­per part of the win­dow are mod­ern, but those at the bot­tom are those of the first bish­ops and bene­fac­tors. The three cen­tre fig­ures in the low­est row were added in Bran­tyn­gham's day.

[Il­lus­tra­tion: PUL­PIT IN THE CHOIR. The Pho­tochrom. Co. Pho­to.]

[Il­lus­tra­tion: ST. JAMES' CHAPEL (DRAWN BY H.P. CLIF­FORD).]

#St. James' Chapel.#--In the aisle on the south of the choir. In the north aisle im­me­di­ate­ly op­po­site is the com­pan­ion chapel of St. An­drew. It will be no­ticed how fre­quent­ly one part bal­ances an­oth­er through­out the build­ing. These chapels are part­ly Mar­shall's work. When the ap­si­dal chapels were pulled down at the time the apse was de­stroyed, Mar­shall built the present chapels of St. James and St. An­drew. Bron­scombe al­tered them con­sid­er­ably, and the first item in the Fab­ric Rolls is, “for 3 win­dows for St. James Chapel 8s. 9d.; for glass 16s.” This is the last year of Bron­scombe's epis­co­pate, and proves he had, at any rate, al­most fin­ished the ren­ova­tion of this chapel. The most no­tice­able fea­tures are the up­per cham­ber, and the mag­nif­icent but half-​de­stroyed mon­ument pop­ular­ly known as Le­ofric's tomb. The chapel con­tained two al­tars, one ded­icat­ed to St. James and the oth­er prob­ably to St. Thomas of Can­ter­bury.

Near­ly op­po­site this chapel are the ef­fi­gies of two knights, dat­ing from the four­teenth cen­tu­ry; their cross-​legged at­ti­tude lead­ing to the er­ro­neous no­tion that they were Cru­saders. They prob­ably rep­re­sent Humphrey de Bo­hun, fa­ther of Mar­garet, wife of Hugh Courte­nay, 1332, and Sir Arthur Chich­ester of Raleigh, 1301. Old his­to­ries de­scribe ar­mo­ri­al bear­ings paint­ed on their shields, but these have long since per­ished.

#St. An­drew's Chapel.#--Op­po­site to, and cor­re­spond­ing with that of St. James'. It was Mar­shall's work orig­inal­ly, like its fel­low chapel, be­ing a sub­sti­tute for one of the old ap­si­dal chapels of the Nor­man choir. Sta­ple­don com­plet­ed the ren­ova­tions so as to make it a par­al­lel to Bron­scombe's re­stored chapel of St. James. The de­tached shafts are clear­ly an im­ita­tion of the ear­li­er bish­op's work. The chapel con­tains an up­per cham­ber, for­mer­ly used as a mu­ni­ments room. The chapel orig­inal­ly con­tained al­tars to St. An­drew and St. Cather­ine. In 1305 is an or­der of Byt­ton's that chantry ser­vices should be held here for An­drew de Kilken­ny, late dean, and oth­ers. Among the names we find that of Hen­ry de Kilken­ny, who was at the time of Byt­ton's or­der still liv­ing, and a canon of the cathe­dral.

[Il­lus­tra­tion: ST. GEORGE'S CHAPEL (OR SPEKE'S CHANTRY). DRAWN BY H.P. CLIF­FORD.]

#The Am­bu­la­to­ry.#--Be­tween the high al­tar and the La­dy Chapel is the am­bu­la­to­ry. It is no­tice­able that the shafts dif­fer from those in oth­er parts of the build­ing. The north and south win­dows are of the time of Bish­op Bruere (thir­teenth cen­tu­ry). The ar­chi­tec­ture through­out the retro­choir is Ear­ly Dec­orat­ed.

Two old oak bible-​box­es are at­tached, one to each pil­lar: though ug­ly and clum­sy they are dis­tinct­ly in­ter­est­ing.

The win­dows are mod­ern and ex­cel­lent. Messrs. Clay­ton and Bell have sel­dom done any­thing bet­ter. The colours are quite ad­mirable and well blend­ed. Two mon­uments of Ja­cobean work are well wor­thy of at­ten­tion. Con­cern­ing the sub­ject of one, Ja­cob Railard, there is noth­ing to be learnt; but the oth­er, John Bid­good, was “one of the most ac­com­plished and ben­efi­cial physi­cians of his age,” and was born in 1623. He was de­prived of his fel­low­ship at Ex­eter Col­lege in 1648 “for drink­ing of healths to the con­fu­sion of Re­form­ers.” Like many an­oth­er good man he had to suf­fer for his loy­al­ty. He ob­tained his doc­tor's de­gree at Pad­ua and won a great rep­uta­tion as a skil­ful and hu­mane prac­ti­tion­er. With the Restora­tion he ob­tained his Ox­ford de­gree but con­tin­ued to prac­tise in his na­tive city. He died in his six­ty-​eighth year.

At the north end of the am­bu­la­to­ry is #Speke's Chantry#, al­so called St. George's Chapel. It is of late, and ex­ceed­ing­ly rich, Per­pen­dic­ular work. Oliv­er no­tices that in 1657 the east win­dow and al­tar were de­stroyed to make a pas­sage “in­to the great church of St. Pe­ter's-​in-​the-​East, par­ti­tioned from West Pe­ter's by a brick wall erect­ed, plas­tered, and whitened on both sides by Wal­ter Dee­ble, at the ex­pense of £150.” The ef­fi­gy of Sir John Speke rests in the chapel; the carv­ing be­hind the fig­ure is very elab­orate. His home was at White Lack­ing­ton in Som­er­set­shire, and he was the own­er of Bramp­ford Speke near Ex­eter. To se­cure the ob­ser­vance of his and his wife's obit, he en­dowed the chapel with the “lands, ten­ements, and hered­ita­ments in Lang­ford, Fre­head, and Ashill, in Som­er­set­shire.”

The north win­dow is to the mem­ory of Archdea­con Bartholomew, and was placed here in 1865.

[Il­lus­tra­tion: THE LA­DY CHAPEL. The Pho­tochrom. Co. Pho­to.]

At the oth­er end of the am­bu­la­to­ry is #Bish­op Old­ham's Chantry#, ded­icat­ed to our Saviour. It was rich­ly re­stored by Bish­op Old­ham, who al­so re­stored the Speke--or St. George--Chantry im­me­di­ate­ly op­po­site. It is to this bish­op we owe the “del­icate and el­egant screen­ing which im­parts dis­tance and veil­ing to all nine chapels and to Pri­or Sylke's chantry in the north transept.” The walls and vault­ing are rich­ly dec­orat­ed, and the pan­elling and re­bus at the north-​east cor­ner con­tain a re­bus on the bish­op's name (oul-​dom), be­ing dec­orat­ed with owls. In ac­cor­dance with his ob­ject in restor­ing the chapel, his body was buried there and his ef­fi­gy lies in a niche of the south wall. Old­ham was a part founder of Cor­pus Christi Col­lege, Ox­ford, by whose or­ders the chapel was re­stored some years ago. He set­tled the arms of the see--gules, a sword erect in pale ar­gent, pom­melled and hilt­ed or, sur­mount­ed with two keys in saltire of the last. He was a na­tive of Manch­ester, found­ed the gram­mar school there, and held the post of war­den. He was a man of very me­thod­ical habits, ac­cord­ing to Hok­er. He dined reg­ular­ly at eleven, and supped at five. “To en­sure pre­ci­sion he had a house clock to strike the hours and a ser­vant to look af­ter it. Should his lord­ship be pre­vent­ed by im­por­tant busi­ness from com­ing to ta­ble at the ap­point­ed time, the ser­vant would de­lay the clock's strik­ing the hour un­til he knew that his mas­ter was ready. Some­times, if asked what was the hour, he would hu­mor­ous­ly an­swer, 'As your lord­ship pleaseth,' at which the bish­op would smile and go away.”

#The La­dy Chapel.#--It has been sug­gest­ed that this chapel oc­cu­pies the site of the choir in the old cathe­dral of Le­ofric. The ear­li­est men­tion of it is in a deed of Bish­op Bruere's in 1237. It was re­mod­elled by Bron­scombe and Quiv­il. But the “two point­ed arch­es with sol­id piers--to­tal­ly dif­fer­ent from any oth­ers in the Cathe­dral--di­vid­ing the Chapel from the side chapels,” though their mould­ing has been al­tered very con­sid­er­ably in or­der to tal­ly with a lat­er style, show ev­idence of much ear­li­er date. The shafts are of Purbeck mar­ble, and the win­dows, ar­ranged as in the nave, con­tain the last im­por­ta­tion of glass from abroad, save that in the transep­tal win­dows, used in the cathe­dral. The boss­es in the east­ern bay, with the evan­ge­lists' em­blems and head of Christ, should be no­ticed. The elab­orate four­teenth cen­tu­ry rere­dos is the work of Gran­dis­son. The cen­tral niche con­tained a fig­ure of the Vir­gin, be­fore which a lamp was sus­pend­ed. The sedil­ia and dou­ble pisci­na on the south side are in­ter­est­ing.

The La­dy Chapel con­tains sev­er­al mon­umen­tal tombs of in­ter­est. Be­neath the arch­es con­duct­ing to the side chapels are the ef­fi­gies of Bish­ops Bron­scombe and Stafford.

Bron­scombe died in 1280, Stafford in 1419; but with a re­gard to sym­me­try, which is con­spic­uous in the cathe­dral, the ear­li­er ef­fi­gy of Bron­scombe was raised and pro­vid­ed with a new canopy to cor­re­spond with Stafford's tomb on the op­po­site side. Bron­scombe lies on the south side, at the en­trance to, or the north side of, his chapel of St. Gabriel. The colour­ing on the ef­fi­gy must have been un­com­mon­ly splen­did, and even the rem­nants of the pat­terns have not fad­ed out of all beau­ty.

[Il­lus­tra­tion: BISH­OP BRON­SCOMBE'S MON­UMENT (FROM BRIT­TON'S 'EX­ETER,' 1826).]

Stafford's tomb is on the north side at the en­trance to the chapel of St. Mary Mag­dalen. It has had to con­tend with sev­er­er en­emies than old age, but shock­ing­ly as the ef­fi­gy has suf­fered, it still pre­serves some­thing of its orig­inal beau­ty and state­li­ness. The at­ti­tude is sim­ple; the gloved hands of the bish­op are joined over his breast in an at­ti­tude of prayer. The face is thin and as­cetic, its saint­ly aus­ter­ity be­ing ren­dered more no­tice­able ow­ing to the rich mitre that crowns the head. The folds of the robe are man­aged with a con­sum­mate sim­plic­ity and skill. In Le­land's “Itinerary” the bish­op's epi­taph is pre­served:

“Hic jacet Ed­mundus de Stafforde in­tu­mu­la­tus, Quon­dam pro­fun­dus legum doc­tor rep­uta­tus, Ver­bis fa­cun­dus, Comi­tum de stirpe crea­tus, Fe­lix et mundus Pa­ter hu­jus Pon­tif­ica­tus.”

#Tomb of Sir John and La­dy Dod­dridge.#--Sir John Dod­dridge came of an old De­von­shire fam­ily, for in 1285 one Wal­ter Dod­dridge and his wife sur­ren­dered to the Dean and Chap­ter of Ex­eter a right of en­trance in­to the close from their house in High Street. Fuller says of him that it were “hard to say, whether he was bet­ter artist, di­vine, Cure, or Com­mon Lawyer, though he fixed on the last for his pub­lick Pro­fes­sion.” He was sec­ond jus­tice of the King's Bench, and gained great renown as a judge of stern in­tegri­ty. Sir John was three times mar­ried, the la­dy whose ef­fi­gy is here rep­re­sent­ed be­ing his third wife, Dorothy, daugh­ter of Sir Amias Bamp­fylde. She died in 1615. Sir John, who be­came a judge of the King's Bench, lived till 1628. He won the nick­name of the “sleepy judge,” for he al­ways closed his eyes in court, the bet­ter to keep his at­ten­tion fixed on the case. The mon­ument is very elab­orate, and if not beau­ti­ful is well worth at­ten­tion on ac­count of its tech­ni­cal qual­ities and the prob­able ac­cu­ra­cy of its rep­re­sen­ta­tion. The dress of La­dy Dorothy Dod­dridge ex­hibits a good ex­am­ple of cos­tume; the skirt em­broi­dered with pan­sies and car­na­tions; the ruff and cuffs show­ing old De­von­shire “bone lace.” It was no doubt copied from one of the la­dy's ac­tu­al gowns.

On the south side of the La­dy Chapel are two most in­ter­est­ing mon­uments of ear­ly bish­ops. That to­wards the east has been as­signed to Bartholomew Is­canus (1161-84), but in all prob­abil­ity it rep­re­sents one of his far ear­li­er pre­de­ces­sors. The sculp­ture is al­most ar­cha­ic in style, the mitre low, the face beard­ed, and the type ex­traor­di­nar­ily Byzan­tine. The left hand holds the pas­toral staff, the point of which im­pales a winged drag­on, with a sphinx-​like head, at his feet. In the an­gles of the arch­way at the tomb are the fig­ures of two an­gels with censers.

The oth­er tomb is that of Si­mon de Apu­lia (d. 1223). It presents a great con­trast to that just de­scribed. The great ad­vance made in the art of sculp­ture is no­tice­able in the more hu­man char­ac­ter of the face, which is clean shaven, and the more skil­ful man­age­ment of the hands. The artist, too, seems to have court­ed dif­fi­cul­ties, for the bish­op's robe and mitre are rich­ly jew­elled, and the fo­liage and an­imal at his feet, though con­ven­tion­al, are most elab­orate­ly de­signed.

[Il­lus­tra­tion: SCREEN OF ST. GABRIEL'S CHAPEL.]

#Bish­op Pe­ter Quiv­il# (1291).--This tomb­stone in the cen­tre of the pave­ment was re­stored here in 1820 on the rep­re­sen­ta­tion of Mr. John Jones of Franklyn; the cross and let­ters were re-​cut un­der his di­rec­tions. The epi­taph is “Pe­tra te­git Petrum, ni­hil of­fi­ci­at sibi tetrum,” and West­cott in his “View of De­von” writes, “which verse was writ­ten in an an­cient char­ac­ter, each let­ter dis­tant from the oth­er at least four inch­es; so that this short verse sup­plied the whole large cir­cum­fer­ence, and cost me some labour in find­ing out and read­ing it.”

Cer­tain­ly this is one of the most in­ter­est­ing memo­ri­als in the cathe­dral; in­deed, it may be well con­sid­ered the most in­ter­est­ing, for it is ded­icat­ed to the man by whose ge­nius the whole great de­sign was be­got­ten. Its sim­plic­ity is note­wor­thy. But Quiv­il re­quired no elab­orate sepul­ture; the cathe­dral it­self is his mighty mon­ument, since it was he who found­ed--

“A fane more no­ble than the vestal trod-- The Chris­tian's tem­ple, to the Chris­tian's God.”[4]

[4] Richard Clarke Sewell, 1825, Mag­dalen Col­lege.

#St. Gabriel's Chapel.#--This chapel was trans­formed by Bish­op Bron­scombe (1257-80). The vault­ing has been re­coloured in con­for­mi­ty with the an­cient tints and pat­terns. The chapel con­tained sev­er­al mon­uments, but these have been re­moved to oth­er parts of the cathe­dral. Bron­scombe trans­formed the chapel that it might be used for his buri­al place. St. Gabriel was his pa­tron saint, and he caused the day of the archangel to be cel­ebrat­ed with hon­ours sim­ilar to East­er Day and Christ­mas Day. There is some old glass in the win­dows. Note the kneel­ing fig­ure of the bish­op with the scroll: “O Sancte Gabriel Archangele, in­ter­cede pro gra­tia.” The skil­ful restora­tion of the south win­dow with pieces of old glass is one of the most hap­py re­sults of lat­er work in the cathe­dral. The al­tar slab marked with five cross­es, ap­pears to have been used in Le­ofric's mon­ument, where it was found in the last cen­tu­ry. It was placed here by Dean Cowie.

#St. Mary Mag­dalen Chapel#, first men­tioned in the Fab­ric Rolls for 1284. It was prob­ably Mar­shall's work orig­inal­ly, Bron­scombe fur­ther im­proved it, and Quiv­il en­tire­ly re­mod­elled it. With the ex­cep­tion of the Per­pen­dic­ular screen shut­ting it off from the north aisle, it is of the same date as the La­dy Chapel. The north win­dow is Bron­scombe's work, and the still fin­er east win­dow, con­tain­ing a good deal of the ear­ly fif­teenth-​cen­tu­ry glass, is Quiv­il's. The chapel orig­inal­ly con­tained an al­tar to St John the Evan­ge­list and a fig­ure of the Mag­da­lene, for in Bish­op Lacy's reg­is­ter are the words, “ex­tra vestibu­lum coram ymag­ine Sanc­tae Marie Mag­da­lene.” On the floor of the chapel is a brass to Canon Lang­ton, dat­ed 1413. He was a cousin of Bish­op Stafford. He is rep­re­sent­ed kneel­ing, clothed in a most rich cope and alb, on which is de­signed the Stafford knot. His hands are met in prayer. The epi­taph on­ly gives the date of his death, and refers to his re­la­tion­ship with the above-​named bish­op.

In this chapel al­so is a mag­nif­icent mon­ument to Sir Gawain Carew and his wife, and their nephew, Sir Pe­ter. It is in two parts: on the up­per lie the fig­ures of Sir Gawain and his dame, on the low­er that of the more fa­mous nephew, with his legs crossed, an un­usu­al po­si­tion for a fig­ure on so late a tomb. Sir Pe­ter and his un­cle took an ac­tive part in quash­ing the re­bel­lion that dis­turbed the west­ern coun­ties in the reign of Ed­ward VI. The for­mer died at Wa­ter­ford, in Ire­land, 1575. Sir Pe­ter Carew sat on the King's Com­mis­sion of 1552, which sum­moned the Dean and Chap­ter to the bish­op's palace, “then and there to an­swer all de­mands and ques­tions con­cern­ing the jew­ells plate and oth­er or­na­ments of your cathe­drall churche.”

In 1857 the mon­ument was ad­mirably re­stored by the mem­bers of the Carew fam­ily, the whole be­ing gild­ed and coloured.

TOMBS IN THE CHOIR AND CHOIR AISLES.

The first tomb to no­tice on the north side of the choir is that of the mur­dered bish­op, Sta­ple­don. The canopy was ju­di­cious­ly re­stored at the be­gin­ning of the cen­tu­ry. From be­neath it one ob­serves a great im­age of Christ, the pierced hands raised to bless. The wound­ed feet stand up­on a sphere, pos­si­bly to rep­re­sent His do­min­ion over the world, and an in­signif­icant earth­ly king, in scar­let robes, seems to take refuge in the shad­ow of the Saviour. Be­neath the canopy lies the fig­ure of the bish­op, grasp­ing the crozi­er in his left hand and a book in his right. The keys up­on his sleeve rep­re­sent the arms of the see. Above the mon­ument the arms of the bish­op fig­ure on the choir screen, and over the tombs of Lacy and Mar­shall the same plan has been ob­served. This screen was erect­ed about the close of the four­teenth cen­tu­ry.

Be­low the sacrar­ium, on the north, are the tombs of the Eliz­abethan bish­op, William Brad­bridge, and that of Bish­op Lacy (1420-55). His arms, “Three shov­ellers heads erased,” may be seen on the screen work above it. The tomb is de­spoiled of the brass that once adorned it--said to have been tak­en out by the Ref­or­ma­tion Dean, Si­mon Hayes (who al­so de­spoiled St. Rade­gunde's Chapel), be­cause pil­grims re­sort­ed to Lacy's tomb, and re­gard­ed him as a saint.

The next tomb, that of Mar­shall, is of pe­cu­liar in­ter­est, and it is un­for­tu­nate that a good view is not eas­ily at­tain­able. It has been point­ed out by a spe­cial­ist that the or­na­ment on the cha­suble is al­most unique, re­mind­ing one of the fo­liage in Ear­ly En­glish work. The medal­lions at the side are es­pe­cial­ly in­ter­est­ing.

At the west, near the Speke Chantry, is the re­mark­able mon­ument, gen­er­al­ly sup­posed to be the tomb of Sir Richard de Sta­ple­don, an el­der broth­er of the great bish­op whose trag­ic death we have al­ready de­scribed in the first chap­ter of this book. He was a lawyer and one of his Majesty's judges. Prince's quaint de­scrip­tion of his tomb is worth quot­ing in full: “In a niche in the wall is a mon­ument erect­ed to his Mem­ory, rep­re­sent­ing his Fig­ure live­ly cut in stone sit­ting on horse­back; where is cut out al­so in the same, a crip­ple tak­ing hold of the fore­leg of his horse: which seems to con­firm the Tra­di­tion, That a cer­tain Crip­ple, as Sir Richard was rid­ing in­to the City of Lon­don with his Broth­er, ly­ing at the gate, laid hold on one of his Horse's Fore-​legs, and by cross­ing of it threw Horse and Rid­er to the Ground; by which means he was soon slain; and that from this oc­ca­sion the place ob­tain'd the name of Crip­ple-​gate, which it re­tains to this day.” It is a pity so quaint a sto­ry be­longs to the realm of leg­end, for there is no sub­stan­tial proof forth­com­ing of its truth.

[Il­lus­tra­tion: TOMB OF BISH­OP STA­PLE­DON.]

The next mon­ument on this side is an ema­ci­at­ed fig­ure, or _Me­men­to Mori_, a grue­some style pop­ular in the fif­teenth cen­tu­ry. It may have been in­tend­ed for a ceno­taph of Bish­op Bothe, the leg­end, near­ly erased, at the top, be­ing the same as that on his brass in the church of East Hors­ley, Sur­rey, where he is buried.

[Il­lus­tra­tion: MON­UMENT OF BISH­OP MAR­SHALL (FROM BRIT­TON'S 'EX­ETER,' 1826).]

The mon­ument to An­tho­ny Har­vey of Colomb John is of no great in­ter­est, be­ing poor­ly de­signed. Its date is 1564. Har­vey was stew­ard of the abbeys of Hart­land, Buck­land, and Newen­ham at the time when the re­li­gious hous­es were sup­pressed. He is said to have amassed very con­sid­er­able wealth; for, in ad­di­tion to the prof­its de­rived from the spo­li­ation of the above monas­ter­ies, he re­ceived from Hen­ry VI­II con­sid­er­able lands be­long­ing to the abbey of Tewkes­bury, which he sold, prob­ably most ad­van­ta­geous­ly, to a cloth­ier of Cred­iton. Har­vey was con­nect­ed with the Carews through the mar­riage of his daugh­ter, and heiress, with George Carew, Dean of Ex­eter, the no­to­ri­ous plu­ral­ist. Their son, Har­vey's grand­son, was cre­at­ed Earl of Totnes, but died with­out is­sue.

At the west end of the south aisle is the mon­ument of Bish­op Gary (1621-26) and a mu­ral tablet com­mem­orat­ing Robert Hall, el­dest son of Bish­op Hall, and trea­sur­er of the cathe­dral. To him Ex­eter owes a per­pet­ual debt of grat­itude, for, when the city sur­ren­dered to Fair­fax in 1646, he took down the Bish­op's Throne and con­cealed it (buried it ac­cord­ing to lo­cal tra­di­tion), and af­ter the Restora­tion was able to re-​erect in its prop­er place the most mag­nif­icent Bish­op's throne in Eng­land.

Nei­ther the ef­fi­gy of Bish­op Cot­ton (1621) nor the an­gel rest­ing on the sar­coph­agus of Bish­op We­st­on--a typ­ical Geor­gian mon­ument--are of much in­trin­sic mer­it. Flax­man's stat­ue to Gen­er­al Sim­cox, the hero of the Queen's Rangers in the Amer­ican War, is the on­ly oth­er no­table mon­umen­tal achieve­ment in the south choir aisle.

The Pe­ter, or Great Bell, of Ex­eter is said to have been a gift of Bish­op Courte­nay's. This opin­ion is very much dis­put­ed, as the Fab­ric Rolls show that there were bells here in the time of Ed­ward II. As ear­ly as 1351 is an en­try of 6s. for mend­ing the Pe­ter Bell. Again in 1453, twen­ty-​five years be­fore Courte­nay was cre­at­ed bish­op, men­tion is made of the spend­ing of twen­ty pence “in una baud­er­ick pro Max­ima Cam­pana in Cam­panili Bo­re­ali.” Oliv­er, how­ev­er, acute­ly points out that this last en­try is dat­ed the very year that Courte­nay was ap­point­ed Archdea­con of Ex­eter, and sug­gests that “on that oc­ca­sion he may have of­fered such valu­able presents.” On the 5th Novem­ber, 1611, the bell was crazed, but was re­cast in 1676. Its re­put­ed weight is 12,500 lb. If this is cor­rect, it is the sec­ond largest bell in Eng­land. Great Tom of Christ Church, Ox­ford, is more than 5,000 lb. heav­ier, but it eas­ily ex­ceeds its oth­er ri­vals, Tom of Lin­coln and the Great Bell of St. Paul's, which weigh re­spec­tive­ly 11,296 lb. and 8,400 lb.

* * * * *

#The Chap­ter House# lies at the south end of the transept be­yond the Chapel of the Holy Ghost. The low­er part of the room is the orig­inal build­ing of the ear­ly thir­teenth cen­tu­ry, be­tween 1224 and 1244, and the face of the wall is dec­orat­ed with Ear­ly En­glish ar­cades sep­arat­ed by del­icate shafts. This build­ing prob­ably had a stone vault­ed roof. Lacy height­ened it, adding lofty Per­pen­dic­ular win­dows; and the whole is com­plet­ed by a rich tie-​beam roof, part­ly the work of Bish­op Bothe (1465-78), whose arms, with Lacy's, are paint­ed on it (see p. 13). The east win­dow, re­cent­ly re­stored, con­tains many coats of arms in an­cient glass. Among these is the Aus­tri­an ea­gle quar­tered with the li­on of Bo­hemia, re­mind­ing us that Richard, Earl of Corn­wall, broth­er of Hen­ry III, and lord of Rouge­mont Cas­tle, Ex­eter, was about 1260 elect­ed King of the Ro­mans, thus as­so­ci­at­ing Ex­eter with the high­est sec­ular hon­our then known to Eu­rope.

#The Clois­ter.#--Archdea­con Free­man thinks that orig­inal­ly the clois­ter “was con­fined to the east side, as a nec­es­sary com­mu­ni­ca­tion be­tween the chap­ter house and the great south door of the nave.” Dur­ing Sta­ple­don's time a de­sire had been evinced to en­large this clois­ter; and in 1323 there is a record to the ef­fect that eight heads had been carved for vault­ing the clois­ter. In the Fab­ric Rolls are en­tries that show the work of build­ing pro­ceed­ed with some ac­tiv­ity and con­sid­er­able cheap­ness. Here are a few ex­tracts that are in­ter­est­ing:

“Twen­ty-​five horse-​loads of sand for the clois­ter, 9d. A thou­sand lath nails and heal­ing pins for do. S. Clif­ford scul­pan­ti 18 capites 3/9: 10 do. 2/-.”

By 1342 the work was prob­ably fin­ished to the north, and forty years lat­er the whole must have been com­plet­ed. It has been said that the old clois­ter was in­fe­ri­or to those of Worces­ter and Glouces­ter. But they must have had con­sid­er­able mer­it if Mr. Pear­son's restora­tion re­al­ly rep­re­sents, and there is lit­tle doubt it does, the old struc­ture.

It is cu­ri­ous that the clois­ter, cer­tain­ly the least of­fen­sive and not the most beau­ti­ful part of the cathe­dral, should have suf­fered so severe­ly at the hands of the Pu­ri­tans. For on the whole the cathe­dral prop­er es­caped with but small dam­age. Pro­fes­sor Free­man, in dis­cussing the al­leged des­ecra­tions suf­fered by St. Mary and St. Pe­ter, af­ter the en­trance of Fair­fax and his army in­to the city, writes thus: “The ac­count in Mer­curius Rus­ti­cus, which has giv­en vogue to the com­mon sto­ry is whol­ly un­true.” He fur­ther adds: “Some fa­nat­ic sol­dier may, in­deed, ac­cord­ing to the sto­ry, have bro­ken off the head of Queen Eliz­abeth, mis­tak­ing her for our La­dy. But no gen­er­al mu­ti­la­tion or des­ecra­tion took place at this time. And at Ex­eter, one form of mu­ti­la­tion, which spe­cial­ly af­fect­ed the west front, was not the work of en­emies but of devo­tees. For ages the coun­try folk who came in­to the city loved to car­ry home a Pe­ter stone for the heal­ing of their ail­ments.” It is on­ly fair to add that Archdea­con Free­man refers in very dif­fer­ent lan­guage to the re­sult of the oc­cu­pa­tion by the Pu­ri­tans, but though the dec­ora­tive por­tions of the clois­ter may have suf­fered, we can­not ac­count for the dis­ap­pear­ance of the ex­te­ri­or walls with­out a bet­ter rea­son for their de­struc­tion. It should be not­ed, how­ev­er, that in the fif­teenth cen­tu­ry the Dean and Chap­ter bit­ter­ly com­plained of the con­duct of the Ex­eter boys, who played “un­law­full games as the toppe, queke, pen­ny pryke & most at­te tenys” in the clois­ter, where­by they were “de­fowled & the glas win­dows all to-​brost.” But at this time the cathe­dral and mu­nic­ipal au­thor­ities were far from friend­ly to each oth­er. Dr. Oliv­er writes of the ru­ins in his day that they “have dis­ap­peared with the ex­cep­tion of part of a flut­ed col­umn at the west cor­ner of the car­pen­ter's shop.” With the de­bris small and mean hous­es were built. On the 30th of Oc­to­ber, 1657, we are giv­en a hint as to what may have been the mean­ing of this wan­ton de­struc­tion. Ap­par­ent­ly the ground set apart for “the con­ve­nience of the stu­dious and con­tem­pla­tive” was found to have valu­able at­tributes as a mar­ket-​place, for on the above day the “Fri­day cloth mar­ket for serges and oth­er drap­ery” was or­dered to be held in this place. Com­merce did not tri­umph for long, though, as on­ly three years lat­er the buy­ers and sell­ers were bun­dled back in­to South Street.

[Il­lus­tra­tion: THE EAST GATE, PULLED DOWN IN 1784.]

A large num­ber of boss­es and carv­ings of the orig­inal struc­ture, dis­cov­ered dur­ing the re­cent ex­ca­va­tions, have been skil­ful­ly in­cor­po­rat­ed by Mr. Pear­son in his restora­tion. Above the clois­ter is a li­brary con­tain­ing 8,000 vol­umes, many of them be­queathed by the late Chan­cel­lor Har­ring­ton.

#The Close.#--This was an im­por­tant ad­junct to all cathe­drals in the days fol­low­ing the Con­quest. We have seen that on one oc­ca­sion at least the cathe­dral church of Ex­eter was severe­ly bom­bard­ed, with the re­sult that the north­ern tow­er dif­fers con­sid­er­ably from the south­ern in places. The church, then, we may pre­sume, was in­tend­ed to be used, when nec­es­sary, as a fortress: but as it was al­so some­thing else very dif­fer­ent, this ne­ces­si­ty was rather shunned than court­ed. There­fore it was cus­tom­ary to sep­arate the church from the world by walls and gates of proved strength. This space so se­cured formed an out­er fortress, against which the at­tacks of an en­emy must, per­force, have been di­rect­ed first. It placed en­tire­ly in the hands of the cler­gy the de­fence of their own church, a task they were quite ca­pa­ble of per­form­ing with cred­it; for Matthew Paris tells us of one bish­op of Ex­eter, Bruere, that he dis­played ac­tiv­ity both “spir­itu­al and tem­po­ral” in the Holy Land. The de­fence of the city, that of the sa­cred build­ing be­ing thus pro­vid­ed for, was the busi­ness of the cap­tains and men-​at-​arms. The walls and gates of the close have van­ished, with­out leav­ing a trace of their ex­is­tence. One priv­ilege, how­ev­er, yet haunts the place--the cor­po­ra­tion have no ju­ris­dic­tion over it.

In the close at the north side of the cathe­dral has been placed a stat­ue of Richard Hook­er, the the­olo­gian (1553-1600), au­thor of “The Laws of Ec­cle­si­as­ti­cal Poli­ty.” The “Ju­di­cious Hook­er” was born in Ex­eter, and was a nephew of John Vow­el, alias Hok­er, Cham­ber­lain and His­to­ri­an of the city.

#The Cathe­dral Li­brary# was found­ed by Le­ofric him­self. One of his prin­ci­pal rea­sons for trans­lat­ing the see from Cred­iton to Ex­eter be­ing his fear lest the valu­able books he had col­lect­ed should at any time be de­stroyed by raiders in an un­for­ti­fied town.

When, in the be­gin­ning of the sev­en­teenth cen­tu­ry, Sir Thomas Bod­ley, him­self a na­tive of Ex­eter, found­ed the Bodleian Li­brary at Ox­ford, the Dean and Chap­ter of Ex­eter pre­sent­ed to it a large num­ber of books and manuscripts, many of which had be­longed to Le­ofric. For­tu­nate­ly one vol­ume re­mained in Ex­eter, over­looked by own­ers then un­aware of its val­ue, pos­si­bly of its very ex­is­tence. This vol­ume, “The Ex­eter Book,” is the great­est trea­sure pos­sessed by the Dean and Chap­ter, be­ing an An­glo-​Sax­on manuscript, con­tain­ing al­most a third of all the An­glo-​Sax­on lit­er­ature that is known. The con­tents in­clude “Cynewulf's Chris­tus,” a po­em on the life of our Lord; some leg­ends of saints; and a quaint col­lec­tion of rid­dles and jokes. The ink of its writ­ing, near­ly one thou­sand years old, is as fresh as if it had been in­scribed but re­cent­ly.

As al­ready men­tioned, the mu­ni­ments room was for­mer­ly above St. An­drew's Chapel. At a lat­er date the li­brary was placed in the La­dy Chapel, and was thence re­moved to the chap­ter house. To­wards the end of the last cen­tu­ry Canon Cook and Chan­cel­lor Har­ring­ton left their valu­able li­braries to the Dean and Chap­ter, and in or­der to ac­com­mo­date the books Dean Cowie re­stored the south side of the clois­ter, and built a new li­brary over it.

Here may be seen the Ex­eter Book, the Ex­eter Domes­day, Gran­dis­son's Or­di­nale, Lacy's Pon­tif­ical, and oth­er beau­ti­ful ex­am­ples of il­lu­mi­na­tion. Al­so the orig­inal char­ter of Ed­ward the Con­fes­sor ap­point­ing Le­ofric Bish­op of Ex­eter, signed by the King and Queen, Earl God­win, and a no­table group of Sax­on Thanes.

Among the print­ed books are a First Fo­lio of Shake­speare, and the sealed Prayer Book of King Charles II.

The li­brary is open to the pub­lic af­ter Matins on Tues­days and Fri­days.

#The Palace# is a build­ing so close­ly as­so­ci­at­ed with the cathe­dral as to de­mand a brief no­tice. In it is the chapel of St. Mary, which seems to have been fre­quent­ly used in pref­er­ence to the cathe­dral for the cel­ebra­tion of es­pis­co­pal func­tions. Or­di­na­tion ser­vices were of­ten held with­in its walls. It was orig­inal­ly built that ser­vices might be said there for the re­pose of the souls of dead bish­ops of Ex­eter. A doc­ument is quot­ed by Oliv­er, in which the parish of Al­wyn­gton is called up­on to pay the of­fi­ci­at­ing chap­lain a year­ly sum of four marks and that of Har­ber­ton two. This chapel, now re­stored, is used for do­mes­tic pur­pos­es. But at one time it was clear­ly re­gard­ed as per­tain­ing to the cathe­dral, for the Dean and Chap­ter, on the fes­ti­val of St. Faith, pre­sent­ed to it a pair of wax can­dles. Bran­tyn­gham, in 1381, men­tions the “fruc­tus et proven­tus can­tari­ae in­fra Palatium nos­trum Ex­onie, pro an­imabus pre­de­ces­so­rum nos­to­rum ip­sius funda­to­rum.” The old en­trance was un­der the great arch­way, and bat­tle­ments, by gra­cious per­mis­sion of roy­al­ty, sur­round­ed the whole. In the great hall feasts were held for 100 poor peo­ple; but the palace now is shorn of a good deal of its grandeur. The Ec­cle­si­as­ti­cal Com­mis­sion­ers in 1845 de­cid­ed to re­build and re­pair what re­mained.

[Il­lus­tra­tion: THE BISH­OP'S PALACE. Al­fred Pumphrey Pho­to.]

THE DIO­CESE OF EX­ETER.

A chrono­log­ical list of the bish­ops of the dio­cese, from the days of Le­ofric, when the seat of the bish­opric was re­moved from Cred­iton, to our own day, when the dio­cese of Truro has been carved out from that of Ex­eter, is here giv­en briefly, since the more no­table hold­ers of the see have been al­ready men­tioned in the first chap­ter.

#Le­ofric# (1046-1072). In 1050 the see was re­moved from Cred­iton and the new See of Ex­eter found­ed.

#Os­bern# (1072-1103). No al­ter­ations were made to the build­ing dur­ing this pe­ri­od. The bish­op was ad­mired for his “sim­plic­ity of En­glish man­ners and habits,” for al­though Nor­man by birth he had been ed­ucat­ed in Eng­land.

#William Warel­wast# (1107-1136), a nephew of William the Con­queror, be­gan to de­mol­ish the Sax­on Church. To him may be at­tribut­ed the tow­ers, choir, apse, and nave of the Nor­man build­ing. The sto­ry of his blind­ness, and of his be­ing sent on an em­bassy to Rome, rests on some­what slen­der au­thor­ity.

#Robert Chich­ester# (1138-1155) was pro­mot­ed from the dean­ery of Sal­is­bury at the Coun­cil of Northamp­ton. He con­tin­ued Warel­wast's work.

#Robert Warel­wast# (1155-1160) was a nephew of the for­mer bish­op of that name.

#Bartholomæus Is­canus# (1161-1184), a na­tive of Ex­eter, was of hum­ble birth. He is said to have been an en­emy of Beck­et's and was called by Pope Alexan­der III. “the lu­mi­nary of the En­glish Church.”

#John the Chaunter# (1186-1191) con­tin­ued the build­ings which had been sus­pend­ed dur­ing the last epis­co­pate.

#Hen­ry Mar­shall# (1194-1206), broth­er to the Earl of Pem­broke, Mar­shal of Eng­land, was pro­mot­ed from York, of which cathe­dral he was dean. He com­plet­ed the build­ings as de­signed by the first Warel­wast. To him we owe the La­dy Chapel, the larg­er choir, the north porch, clois­ter door­way, and six chapels. He as­sist­ed at the coro­na­tion of King Richard at Winch­ester in 1194, and at that of John in 1199.

#Si­mon de Apu­lia# (1214-1223). But lit­tle is record­ed of this bish­op. He as­sist­ed at Hen­ry III.'s coro­na­tion at Glouces­ter when the king was a lad of ten. To him al­so is at­tribut­ed the fix­ing of the bound­aries of the city parish­es. His tomb is in the La­dy Chapel.

#William Bruere# (1224-1244) served as Pre­cen­tor of Ex­eter be­fore he was made bish­op. To him are due the chap­ter house and stalls in the old choir. For five years he was in the Holy Land, and Matthew Paris writes of his en­er­gy and un­tir­ing de­vo­tion in ad­min­is­ter­ing to the wants of his coun­try­men.

#Richard Blondy# (1245-1257). Ac­cord­ing to Hok­er this bish­op was the son of Hi­lary Blondy, May­or of Ex­eter in 1227.

#Wal­ter Bronescombe# (1257-1280), a na­tive of Ex­eter, was on­ly in dea­con's or­ders when cho­sen bish­op. He re­stored the chapels of St. Gabriel, St. Mary Mag­da­lene and St. James. He al­so found­ed a col­lege at Glas­ney and re­stored “the es­tab­lish­ment of Cred­iton” to much of its for­mer splen­dour.

#Pe­ter Quiv­il# (1280-1291) was born in Ex­eter, and a _pro­tégé_ of Bronescombe's. His first prefer­ment was as Archdea­con of St. David's, from whence he was pro­mot­ed bish­op of his na­tive city. He it was who de­signed the Dec­orat­ed cathe­dral and trans­formed transepts with chapels, east­ern bay of the nave, and the La­dy Chapel.

#Thomas de Byt­ton# (1292-1307) con­tin­ued Quiv­il's work, trans­form­ing the choir and its aisles. He was a na­tive of Glouces­ter­shire and had been Dean of Wells. An in­dul­gence of forty days was grant­ed by the Pope, Boni­face VI­II., three arch­bish­ops and five bish­ops, to all who should pray for his pros­per­ity. The rules he made for the gov­ern­ment of the col­le­giate church at Cred­iton won gen­er­al ap­proval.

#Wal­ter de Sta­ple­don# (1308-1326) was Pro­fes­sor of Canon Law at Ox­ford and a chap­lain to Pope Clement V. He was killed by a Lon­don mob. The trans­formed choir transepts are his work, and he erect­ed the or­gan screen, bish­op's throne, and sedil­ia. Dur­ing his epis­co­pate, al­so, the clois­ters were be­gun.

#James Berke­ley# (1326-1327), Archdea­con of Hunt­ing­don, and grand­son of William de Fer­rers, Earl of Der­by, died a few weeks af­ter his con­se­cra­tion.

#John Gran­dis­son# (1327-1369) was born in Here­ford­shire, of good fam­ily. His long tenure of the see is one of the most mem­orable chap­ters in the his­to­ry of Ex­eter. The fa­tal Black Death oc­curred dur­ing his epis­co­pa­cy, 1348-1369. He in­her­it­ed the trans­form­ing zeal of his pre­de­ces­sors and set his seal on the six west­ern bays of the nave, the great west win­dows, and the vault­ing and the aisles. He com­plet­ed the north clois­ter.

#Thomas Bran­tyn­gham# (1370-1394) was ed­ucat­ed at the Court of Ed­ward III., and was a canon of Ex­eter when cho­sen bish­op. He was a con­stant ad­vis­er of the king, on­ly be­ing re­leased from his privy coun­cil and par­lia­men­tary du­ties when his ad­vanced age made them irk­some to him. He was very busy in all the af­fairs of the dio­cese, but found time to com­plete the clois­ters, east win­dow, and west front.

#Ed­mund Stafford# (1395-1419) came of a great­ly dis­tin­guished fam­ily. He was a canon of York when Pope Boni­face IX. ad­vanced him to the See of Ex­eter. For a time he served the king as Lord High Chan­cel­lor. He has been abused by Camp­bell in his “Lives of the Lord Chan­cel­lors of Eng­land”: but there seems lit­tle doubt that he de­served the rep­uta­tion he cer­tain­ly got of be­ing learned, grave, and wise, and “very well ac­count­ed gen­er­al­ly of all men.” To him are at­tribut­ed the canopies over the tombs in the La­dy Chapel.

#John Ket­ter­ick# or #Cat­ter­ick# (1419) died at Flo­rence a month af­ter his ap­point­ment.

#Ed­mund Lacy# (1420-1455), com­pos­er of an of­fice in hon­our of the Archangel Raphael, left a saint­ly rep­uta­tion, and pil­grim­ages were, for long, made to his tomb. Ac­cord­ing to Canon Free­man he raised the chap­ter house and glazed the nave win­dows.

#George Neville# (1458-1465) was a son of the Earl of Sal­is­bury. He was Chan­cel­lor of Ox­ford, and on­ly twen­ty-​four when made bish­op. Though for sev­er­al years Lord High Chan­cel­lor, and trans­lat­ed to York, he died in dis­grace and com­par­ative pover­ty.

#John Bothe# (1465-1478) was the son of a Cheshire knight. He has of­ten, but wrong­ly, been cred­it­ed with be­ing the donor of the throne. With more cer­tain­ty the roof of the chap­ter house has been ac­knowl­edged as his work.

#Pe­ter Courte­nay# (1478-1486), son of Sir Philip Courte­nay of Pow­der­ham, had been Archdea­con of Ex­eter and Wilt­shire, and Dean of Wind­sor and Ex­eter be­fore he was ap­point­ed Bish­op of Ex­eter. He as­sist­ed at the coro­na­tion of Richard III., but was none the less trans­lat­ed, for his ser­vices, by Hen­ry to the dio­cese of Winch­ester.

#Richard Fox# (1487-1491), the next bish­op, was held in great es­teem by Hen­ry VII., whom he rep­re­sent­ed for a time as Am­bas­sador at the Court of Scot­land. He ar­ranged the pre­lim­inar­ies of the mar­riage of Hen­ry's daugh­ter Mar­garet with James IV. He was trans­lat­ed to Bath and Wells, then to Durham, and fi­nal­ly to Winch­ester. He is said to have re­fused the dig­ni­ty of Arch­bish­op of Can­ter­bury, which his god­son, Hen­ry VI­II., was anx­ious he should ac­cept.

#Oliv­er King# (1492-1495) was Bish­op of Ex­eter for a short time on­ly, be­ing trans­lat­ed to Bath and Wells. He be­gan build­ing the Abbey Church at Bath, but did not live to see much of it com­plet­ed.

#Richard Red­man# (1496-1501) was trans­lat­ed to Ex­eter from St. As­aph. He re­signed the see on be­com­ing Bish­op of Ely.

#John Arun­dell# (1502-1503) was trans­lat­ed from the See of Lich­field and Coven­try. He was fa­mous for his benev­olence and hos­pi­tal­ity. He died af­ter bare­ly two years' ten­an­cy of the west­ern bish­opric.

#Hugh Old­ham# (1504-1519) came of an an­cient Lan­cashire fam­ily. A large and flour­ish­ing man­ufac­tur­ing town in that coun­ty bears his name. He found­ed the gram­mar school in Manch­ester, and on his el­eva­tion be­came fa­mous through­out the west of Eng­land for his learn­ing and piety.

#John Vesey (Har­man)# (1519-1551). A lengthy ac­count is giv­en of this bish­op in the first chap­ter.

#Miles Coverdale# (1551-1553) was a fa­mous re­former, and re­vised Tyn­dale's trans­la­tion of the Bible. He was not pop­ular in the dio­cese, and on Queen Mary's ac­ces­sion was de­prived of his see, to the great sat­is­fac­tion of his flock.

#James Turberville# (1555-1559) was de­prived of his see on his re­fusal to ac­knowl­edge the ec­cle­si­as­ti­cal suprema­cy of Eliz­abeth. He had been pop­ular in the west of Eng­land, where the Ref­or­ma­tion was at first hearti­ly dis­liked.

#William Al­leyn# (1560-1570). Oliv­er writes the sur­name Al­ley. The dio­cese was now so poor that he was com­pelled to re­duce the num­ber of canons from twen­ty-​four to nine. On­ly by ac­cept­ing the rec­tor­ship of Honi­ton was the bish­op him­self able to sup­port the dig­ni­ty of his of­fice. He was the au­thor of sev­er­al re­li­gious books that had con­sid­er­able pop­ular­ity in their day.

#William Brad­bridge# (1570-1578) is said to have spec­ulat­ed large­ly in agri­cul­tur­al land, and to have died a debtor for a large amount, in­clud­ing £1,400 owed to Queen Eliz­abeth. Be­yond this lit­tle is record­ed of him ex­cept that he lived at New­ton Fer­rers, of which he held the liv­ing _in com­men­dam_, which must have put his cler­gy to great in­con­ve­nience.

#John Wolton# (1579-1594). Dur­ing Wolton's epis­co­pate the rev­enues were re­stored to the chap­ter, the crown re­serv­ing to it­self the sum of £145 year­ly. The priest-​vi­cars, al­so, re­ceived back from the queen the greater por­tion of their pos­ses­sions.

#Ger­vase Babing­ton# (1595-1597) was trans­lat­ed from Llandaff. He re­mained at Ex­eter but a short time. He seems to have been a favourite with the queen, who took an ear­ly op­por­tu­ni­ty to pro­mote him to the wealthy See of Worces­ter.

#William Cot­ton# (1598-1621).

#Valen­tine Carey# (1621-1626) had been Mas­ter of Christ's Col­lege, Cam­bridge, and Dean of St. Paul's.

#Joseph Hall# (1627-1641) was Dean of Worces­ter when pro­mot­ed to the See of Ex­eter. He was a fa­mous the­olog­ical writ­er, and was trans­lat­ed to Nor­wich in 1641. There he suf­fered a great deal of un­mer­it­ed per­se­cu­tion, which he bore brave­ly, though the ill-​treat­ment of his en­emies killed him.

#Ralph Brown­rigg# (1642-1659), Mas­ter of St. Catharine's, Cam­bridge, was bish­op in trou­blous times. He had to re­tire to a friend's house in Berk­shire. He was elect­ed Preach­er of the Tem­ple, and was buried at the cost of the Inn.

#John Gau­den# (1660-1662) was Mas­ter of the Tem­ple. His ti­tle to fame is as the re­put­ed au­thor of the [Greek: EIKÔN BASI­LIKÊ]. Be­ing the first bish­op ap­point­ed af­ter the Restora­tion, his ar­rival in Ex­eter was glad­ly wel­comed by the loy­al cit­izens. But he does not seem to have been a lov­able man, and was over-​ea­ger for rich­es. He was trans­lat­ed to Worces­ter on his com­plaint of pover­ty reach­ing the king's ears.

#Seth Ward# (1662-1667) was al­ready pop­ular as dean when he suc­ceed­ed Gau­den as bish­op. He cleared the cathe­dral of the small traders who des­ecrat­ed the precincts, and gave to his church the finest or­gan then known in Eng­land. He was trans­lat­ed to Sal­is­bury, and be­came Chan­cel­lor of the Or­der of the Garter. He ob­tained an en­vi­able rep­uta­tion for his good sense, piety, learn­ing, and gen­eros­ity.

#An­tho­ny Spar­row# (1667-1676) was Mas­ter of King's Col­lege, Cam­bridge, when con­se­crat­ed bish­op. Cos­mo III. vis­it­ed Ex­eter dur­ing his ten­an­cy of the see.

#Thomas Lam­plugh# (1676-1688) seems to have been a clever politi­cian. By ex­press­ing his loy­al­ty to James II., when William had land­ed at Tor­bay, he was cre­at­ed Arch­bish­op of York; there­upon he ac­tive­ly sup­port­ed the Prince of Or­ange. “My Lord, you are a gen­uine old Cav­alier,” was the king's greet­ing. One hopes the mem­ory of those words trou­bled the arch­bish­op dur­ing his three years' ex­pe­ri­ence of an ill-​de­served dig­ni­ty.

#Jonathan Trelawny# (1689-1707) came of a fa­mous Cor­nish fam­ily. As Bish­op of Bris­tol he was al­ready fa­mous, for he was one of the sev­en bish­ops whose tri­al and ac­quit­tal has­tened the down­fall of the last Stu­art king. He was trans­lat­ed to Winch­ester. A pop­ular re­frain, wed­ded to vers­es by the cel­ebrat­ed par­son Hawk­er, of Mor­wen­stow, keeps his mem­ory alive in the west­ern coun­ties.

#Off­spring Black­ball# (1708-1716) was chiefly and hon­ourably known as a pro­mot­er of char­ity schools.

#Launcelot Black­burne# (1717-1724). Of this bish­op there is lit­tle to record. He was trans­lat­ed to the Arch­bish­opric of York in 1724.

#Stephen We­st­on# (1724-1742). The epis­co­pal reg­is­ters were now kept for the first time in En­glish. His long reign seems to have been quite un­event­ful, and prob­ably was, there­fore, en­tire­ly suc­cess­ful.

#Nicholas Claggett# (1742-1746) was trans­lat­ed from St. David's.

#George Lav­ing­ton# (1747-1762).

#Fred­er­ick Kep­pel# (1762-1777), a son of the Earl of Albe­mar­le, was a canon of Wind­sor when ap­point­ed Bish­op of Ex­eter.

#John Ross# (1778-1792).

#William Buller# (1792-1796), of an old west coun­try fam­ily, was pro­mot­ed from the dean­ery of Can­ter­bury.

#Hen­ry Regi­nald Courte­nay# (1797-1803), trans­lat­ed to this see from Bris­tol.

#John Fish­er# (1803-1807) was tu­tor to the Duke of Kent, fa­ther of Queen Vic­to­ria. He was trans­lat­ed to Sal­is­bury in 1807.

#George Pel­ham# (1807-1820) was trans­lat­ed from Bris­tol. Af­ter, ac­cord­ing to Oliv­er, “for thir­teen years ex­pect­ing high­er prefer­ment,” he was pro­mot­ed to Lin­coln.

#William Carey# (1820-1830), head mas­ter of West­min­ster School. When he had been ten years at Ex­eter he was trans­lat­ed to St. As­aph, a cu­ri­ous re­ver­sal of the usu­al pro­ceed­ing. For al­though a Welsh bish­opric of­ten led to an En­glish one, a change from Ex­eter to St. As­aph could hard­ly have been “prefer­ment” in the or­di­nary sense.

#Christo­pher Bethell# (1830-1831). Ex­eter, for this bish­op al­so, was mere­ly a step­ping-​stone be­tween Glouces­ter and Ban­gor.

#Hen­ry Phillpotts# (1831-1868) was the most fa­mous bish­op who has held the see in this cen­tu­ry. He re­stored the palace, which had fall­en in­to a ru­ined con­di­tion. He was en­er­get­ic about the af­fairs of his dio­cese, a born ruler of men, and a schol­ar of em­inence. The sto­ry of his epis­co­pate is a well-​known chap­ter to stu­dents of the ec­cle­si­as­ti­cal his­to­ry of the first half of the queen's reign.

#Fred­er­ick Tem­ple# (1869-1885), head mas­ter of Rug­by, 1858-1869; Bish­op of Ex­eter, 1869; trans­lat­ed to Lon­don, 1885, and to the Metropoli­tan See of Can­ter­bury, 1896.

#Ed­ward Hen­ry Bick­er­steth# (1885-1901) was Dean of Glouces­ter when ap­point­ed bish­op. Re­signed.

#Her­bert Ed­ward Ryle# (1901-1903) trans­lat­ed to Winch­ester. On re­sign­ing the see of Winch­ester he be­came Dean of West­min­ster.

#Archibald Robert­son# (1903-1916). Re­signed.

#Ru­pert Ernest William Gas­coyne Ce­cil# (1916- ).

[Il­lus­tra­tion: OLD HOUS­ES IN FORE STREET. A. Pumphrey Pho­to.]

ROUGE­MONT CAS­TLE AND THE GUILD­HALL.

It is re­lat­ed that when Gytha fled to­wards the riv­er and William the Con­queror marched through the east­ern gate of the city, claim­ing it as his prize, he promised the cit­izens their lives, goods, and limbs. But, al­though he ad­hered strict­ly to his promise, and took care that his vic­to­ri­ous sol­diers should not pil­lage or in­sult the in­hab­itants, he was well aware of the supreme val­ue of his con­quest. The tak­ing of Ex­eter was prac­ti­cal­ly the tak­ing of all west­ern Eng­land. So he de­ter­mined to make his po­si­tion im­preg­nable, and to this end set about the build­ing of a cas­tle on the Red Mount. The task was not a hard one: the Nor­man en­gi­neers had lit­tle need to dis­play their pe­cu­liar in­ge­nu­ity. Na­ture had done much, and to her work Briton, Ro­man, and En­glish­man had made ad­di­tions. As Pro­fes­sor Free­man puts it: “The hill­side was ready scarped, the ditch was ready dug.” Bald­win de Molles was ap­point­ed su­per­in­ten­dent and com­man­der, and so well did he car­ry out his trust that with­in a year the cas­tle was built and the men of Corn­wall and De­von had at­tacked its walls in vain. Per­haps be­cause William had been a mer­ci­ful con­queror, not de­spoil­ing or ill-​us­ing the cit­izens, per­haps be­cause the cit­izens were afraid, know­ing the just man was strong and his hand heavy in anger, the be­siegers found no help with­in the city walls. Hence­forth Ex­eter was for the king.

A cu­ri­ous ex­am­ple of its loy­al­ty was shown in the trou­bled days of King Stephen. Earl Bald­win, from all ac­counts a cru­el and vi­olent man, took arms against the king. Stephen de­mand­ed that the cas­tle should be de­liv­ered up. For his an­swer the Earl laid in pro­vi­sions, and at the head of his fol­low­ers pa­trolled the streets of the city threat­en­ing vengeance on those who op­posed his will. Stephen, speed­ily ap­prised by his faith­ful cit­izens of these ri­otous do­ings, sent two hun­dred knights to con­front the rebel. Lat­er he came him­self, and the cas­tle was close­ly be­sieged. Af­ter three months' heavy fight­ing the wells in the cas­tle gave out. De­prived of wa­ter, Bald­win, who was brave enough, made shift with wine, us­ing it both for cook­ery and ex­tin­guish­ing the fires. But at last the king was vic­to­ri­ous and, not heed­ing the wise coun­sel of his broth­er Hen­ry of Winch­ester, per­mit­ted the fol­low­ers of Bald­win to “go forth with their goods and fol­low what lord they would.”

In 1483, Richard III., fear­ing that the west favoured the claims of Hen­ry, Earl of Rich­mond, has­tened to Ex­eter. He was civil­ly greet­ed by John At­twill, the may­or. But his com­ing was not very wel­come, nor did his con­duct con­tribute to the gai­ety of the in­hab­itants. In his train was Lord Scrope, whose busi­ness it was to try the rebels. None could be found, how­ev­er, save the king's broth­er-​in-​law, St. Leg­er, and his es­quire, John Rame. Richard none the less de­ter­mined to strike ter­ror in­to the hearts of all who wa­vered in their al­le­giance. So both men were be­head­ed at the Car­fax. This done, the king bus­ied him­self in study­ing the sur­round­ing coun­try, and made care­ful note of the city and cas­tle. The mil­itary strength of Rouge­mont pleased him, though the name did not. A west coun­try ac­cent, some say, gave it a sound like Ridge­mount, too close an echo of his ri­val's ti­tle. The in­ci­dent is re­ferred to by Shake­speare in these well-​known lines:

“Rich­mond! when I last was at Ex­eter, The may­or in cour­tesy showed me the cas­tle, And called it Rouge­mont--at which name I start­ed; Be­cause a bard of Ire­land told me once, I should not live long af­ter I saw Rich­mond.”

The cas­tle was con­sid­er­ably in­jured a few years lat­er when Perkin War­beck, at the head of his Cor­nish­men, at­tacked the city. The fight seems to have been a long and fu­ri­ous one. The North Gate was burned, and both there and at the East Gate the rebels were tem­porar­ily suc­cess­ful. But af­ter the Earl of De­von and his ret­inue came to the help of the cit­izens the rebels were ex­pelled and had to make their way to Taunton, un­suc­cess­ful. Hen­ry soon af­ter­wards ar­rived bring­ing Perkin War­beck with him. By his clemen­cy to­wards the rebels he cre­at­ed re­al en­thu­si­asm, so that the pris­on­ers “hurled away their hal­ters and cried God Save the King.”

By the time Charles I. came to the throne the cas­tle was al­ready show­ing “gap­ing chinks and an aged coun­te­nance.” Fair­fax and his Round­heads com­plet­ed the ru­in. But it was not war on­ly which left the build­ing as we now see it. An ivy-​cov­ered gate­way is all that re­mains. Yet from its sum­mit one has a fine view of the sur­round­ing coun­try, and can read­ily un­der­stand of what strate­gi­cal val­ue its pos­ses­sion must have been in “bat­tles long ago.”

[Il­lus­tra­tion: ROUGE­MONT CAS­TLE. Pho­tochrom Co. Ltd. Pho­to.]

[Il­lus­tra­tion: THE GUILD­HALL, EX­ETER. The Pho­tochrom Co. Pho­to.]

The hand of the re­former proved stronger than that of the vic­to­ri­ous cap­tain. What war had failed to do en­ter­pris­ing cit­izens ac­com­plished in times of peace. About the year 1770 the city fa­thers seem to have been an­imat­ed by an un­holy pas­sion for de­struc­tion. Not on­ly was the house of the Earls of Bed­ford, a house full of his­toric and ma­jes­tic mem­ories, pulled down, but the ven­er­able fortress at­tract­ed at­ten­tion. First a gate­way, then the chapel, lat­er the castel­lan's house dis­ap­peared. New as­size courts, su­perla­tive­ly ug­ly, proud­ly rose in their stead. But even then the zeal of the re­form­ers was not sa­ti­at­ed. “Ten years lat­er the East­ern Gate, with its two mighty flank­ing tow­ers soar­ing over the pic­turesque house on each side with its wide and lofty Tu­dor arch span­ning the road, its stat­ue of Hen­ry the Sev­enth, com­mem­orat­ing its re­build­ing af­ter the siege by Perkin War­beck--the gate which was heir to that through which the con­queror made his way--all per­ished, to the great sat­is­fac­tion of the Ex­eter of that day; for 'a beau­ti­ful Vista was opened from St. Sid­well's in­to the High Street, a very great and nec­es­sary im­prove­ment.'” It is easy to share Pro­fes­sor Free­man's in­dig­na­tion; less easy, un­hap­pi­ly, to per­suade men of our own day to deal kind­ly by the an­cient mon­uments that are still left to us.

An­oth­er build­ing that has played a no­table part in the his­to­ry of the city is the #Guild­hall#, of which the por­ti­co makes so pleas­ing an or­na­ment to the High Street. The build­ing is a pic­turesque med­ley, “En­glish win­dows and Ital­ian pil­lars,” and Pro­fes­sor Free­man wit­ti­ly sug­gests that it serves to re­mind us of the jum­ble of tongues char­ac­ter­iz­ing “much of the law busi­ness that has been done with­in it.” The present build­ing was built in 1464, re­plac­ing one of ear­li­er date. There are many pic­tures of lo­cal in­ter­est in the hall, and al­so por­traits by Sir Pe­ter Lely of Princess Hen­ri­et­ta, Anne, Duchess of Or­leans, and of Gen­er­al Monk. The Princess was born in Ex­eter, and the por­trait was pre­sent­ed to the city by Charles II af­ter the Restora­tion. Gen­er­al Monk be­longed to a De­von­shire fam­ily whose res­idence was near Tor­ring­ton. There seems to have been at one time a guild or con­fra­ter­ni­ty con­nect­ed with the chapel of St. George, erect­ed over the hall about the last year of Richard III. In the ac­counts are found en­tries such as this: “Prin­ci­pae and oth­ers for ex­eq­uis and mass­es said in the chapel of Guild­hall for the re­pose of the souls for the broth­ers and sis­ters of the fra­ter­ni­ty of St. George.”

When Richard III was near­ing the end of his reign, the roof was for­ti­fied by a gun placed in charge of John Cro­ker and ten sol­diers. It is a strange co­in­ci­dence that the chapel should have been built at this time. Ev­ident­ly the wise cit­izens were de­ter­mined to pro­tect their in­ter­ests both here and here­after.

DI­MEN­SIONS.

In­ter­nal length 383 ft. Nave, length 140 ft. “ breadth (with aisles) 72 ft. ” height 66 ft. Choir, length 123 ft. Transept, length 140 ft. Area 29,600 sq. ft.

IN­DEX

Am­bu­la­to­ry, 61.

Bell, great, 74. Bish­ops, list of, 83-89. Bish­op's throne, 56. Black­all, Off­spring, Bish­op, 18. Bran­tyn­gham, Th., Bish­op, 11. Bron­scombe, Wal­ter, Bish­op, 4; his tomb, 66. Bruere, Wm., Bish­op, 4, 8. Byt­ton, Thomas de, Bish­op, 6, 78.

Carew mon­ument, 70. Chapels and Chantries: St. An­drew's, 61. St. Ed­mund's, 39. St. Gabriel's, 69. Holy Ghost, of the, 47. St. James', 59. St. John Bap­tist's, 44. La­dy, 65. St. Mary Mag­dalen's, 69. Old­ham's, 63. St. Paul's, 44. St. Rade­gunde's, 36. Speke's, 63. Sylke's, 44. Chap­ter House, 75. Choir, 52-61. Choir screen, 48. Choir stalls, 55. Clock, 44. Clois­ter, 75. Close, 78. Cor­bels and Boss­es, 32, 35. Courte­nay memo­ri­als, 40, 57.

Di­men­sions, 96. Dod­dridge Tomb, 67.

Font, 39.

Gau­den, John, Bish­op, 16. Gran­dis­son, John, Bish­op, 10; his tomb, 38. Guild­hall, 95.

Hall, Joseph, Bish­op, 16.

Lacy, Ed­mund, Bish­op, 12. La­dy Chapel, 65. Lam­plugh, Thomas, Bish­op, 17. Lech­lade, Wal­ter de, Can­tor, 6. Le­ofric, 1st Bish­op, 3. Liber Ex­onien­sis, 3. Li­brary, Cathe­dral, 78.

Mar­shall, Hen­ry, Bish­op, 4. Min­strels' gallery, 36. Mis­eri­cords, 55. Mon­uments, nave, 39-43; transepts, 44, 47.

Nave, in­te­ri­or, 31-43. Neville, George, Bish­op, 14.

Old­ham, Hugh, Bish­op, 15, 63. Or­gan, 52.

Palace, 79. Porch, north, 24. Pul­pits, 39, 59.

Quiv­il, Pe­ter, Bish­op, 5; his tomb, 69.

Rade­gunde, St., chapel of, 36. Rere­dos, 56. Richard III, at Ex­eter, 96. Roof, 24; in­te­ri­or, 32. Rouge­mont Cas­tle, 91.

Sedil­ia, 56-59. Si­mon de Apu­lia, Bish­op, 4; his tomb, 67. Stafford, Ed­mund, Bish­op, his tomb, 66. Sta­ple­don, Wal­ter de, Bish­op, 7-10. Sylke, his chantry, 44.

Tombs: Brad­bridge, 71. Bron­scombe, 66. Stafford, 66. Sir John and La­dy Dod­dridge, 67. Is­canus. 67. Si­mon de Apu­lia, 67. Quiv­il, 69. Mar­shall, 71. Sim­cox, 74. Sta­ple­don, 71. Tow­ers, 23. Transept, North, 43; South, 44. Tri­fo­ri­um, 35.

Vault, 32. Vesey, John, Bish­op, 15.

Ward, Seth, Bish­op, 17. Warel­wast, Bish­op, 3. West Front, 27-29. William III, at Ex­eter, 17. Win­dow, East, 59. Win­dows of nave, 39-43; trac­ery, 36.

* * * * *

[Il­lus­tra­tion: PLAN OF EX­ETER CATHE­DRAL From Brit­ton's 'An­tiq­ui­ties of Ex­eter.'

#REF­ER­ENCES TO PLAN.#

A. B. West Doors. C. The Nave. D. D. Nave Aisles. E. Chapel of St. Ed­mund. F. North Porch G. Transept North (St. Paul's Tow­er). H. Chapel of St. John the Bap­tist. I. Canon's Vestry. J. The Choir. K. K. Choir Aisles. L. Syke's Chantry. M. Chapel of St. James. N. Chapel of St. George (Speke's Chantry). O. Chapel of St. Saviour (Bish­op Old­ham's Chantry). P. La­dy Chapel. Q. Chapel of St. Mary Mag­dalen. R. Chapel of St. Gabriel. T. Transept South (St. Pe­ter's Tow­er). U. Chapel of the Holy Ghost. V. The Chap­ter House. Y. St. Paul's Chapel (North Transept). Z. St. Rade­gunde's Chapel.]

* * * * *

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