[Footnote 204: See p. 282.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Cottage at Rampton._]

After leaving Waterbeach our road has diverged widely from the Cam.

Those who have followed the river course, either by boat or by the towing-path, will be rewarded by finding themselves, in course of time, at Upware, the tiniest and most sequestered of hamlets, where the wide Fens spread all around, bare, treeless, houseless, open to the sweep of every breeze, and giving the same delicious sense of s.p.a.ce as a sea view. The whole atmosphere breathes remoteness, the very inn calls itself "FIVE MILES FROM ANYWHERE." But, though wide, the view is not like a sea view, boundless. The Island of Ely limits it to the north-west, and to the south-east the nearer uplands of East Anglia. For here is the nearest point on the Cam to Reach, the little hamlet once so important an emporium, where the Devil's d.y.k.e runs down to the Fen.[205] To Upware, accordingly, there was cut through the sedge and peat, at some time beyond memory, the long straight waterway of Reach Lode, whereby even sea-going ships were able to discharge their cargoes on Reach Hithe. At a later date, but as early as the twelfth century, Burwell Lode was led to the same outlet. Those to Swaffham and Bottisham come in somewhat higher up the river.

[Footnote 205: See p. 194.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Dovecote at Rampton._]

A mile to the east of Upware we can see how mighty a task those men of old undertook who cut these lodes through the primaeval jungle. For here is that Wicken Fen, which we have already spoken of,[206] where a square mile of that jungle is preserved in its primaeval condition, and where (in all but the old bird life) the fauna and flora of the old Fenland may still be studied in their old environment; where the peat is still spongy under your foot, and the tall crests of the reeds rise high above your head. To dig out ma.s.ses of that spongy peat, to cut through miles of those tall reeds would be no light business even with our own modern means of excavation. What must it have been to the rude implements of the ancients?

[Footnote 206: See p. 180.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: _The Quay, Ely._]

Some two miles beyond Upware the Cam falls into the Ouse, and the united stream sweeps past Thetford and round the corner of the island to Ely, where the Cutter Inn (near the railway station) makes a good landing-place.

CHAPTER XIV

Ely.--Island and Isle.--St. Augustine.--St. Etheldreda, Life, Death, Burial, St. Audrey's Fair.--Danish Sack of Ely.--Alfred's College.--Abbey restored.--Brithnoth, Song of Maldon.--Battle of a.s.sandun.--Canute at Ely.--Edward the Confessor.--Alfred the Etheling.--Camp of Refuge, Hereward, Norman Conquest, Tabula Eliensis, Nomenclature, Norman Minster.--Bishops of Ely, Rule over Isle.--Ely Place, Ely House.

The tourist through Cambridgeshire should now turn his attention to Ely, a place second only in interest, if indeed second, to Cambridge itself. The central point of note in Ely is the Cathedral; known to us ever since our schooldays through Macaulay's picture-giving pen, which sets it before us as "Ely's stately fane." We hope soon to learn something of the history of this great church, of her growth, of her decay, of her restoration, of those men and women who have made her what she is, of the tumults and storms she has over-lived. Truly we may say, with Stirling the poet that the Minster at Ely

"Still ship-like on for ages fares, And holds its course, so smooth so true, For all the madness of the crew; It must have better rule than theirs."

Before we actually visit the place itself let us make ourselves familiar with the outline of its chequered history.

The city of Ely has a population approaching 8,000, and stands on the western edge of the Island of Ely, once truly an island, being an area of dry land rising from the midst of the fens, and, till their drainage, accessible only by boat or causeway. This _Island_, a true bit of natural _terra firma_, measures about eight miles by six, and lies at the southern end of a much more extensive fenland archipelago, of irregular shape, measuring approximately thirty miles by twenty, known from of old as the _Isle_ of Ely. The waters of the Fen, which, so lately as a century ago, made this wide area an archipelago indeed, have now given place to a "boundless plain" of fertile corn-land, so rich in harvests as to be often called "The Golden Plain of England."

A twelfth century chronicler, the writer of the "Liber Eliensis,"

a.s.serts that, within the first years of the seventh century A.D., Ethelbert, King of Kent, newly converted to Christianity, founded a monastery at Cratendune, about a mile south of Ely, and that Saint Augustine, the first Archbishop of Canterbury, consecrated it. But we cannot say that the authentic history of Ely begins till seventy years later, when we see an Anglo-Saxon lady founding a monastery on this rising ground in the midst of the Fens. The lady is Etheldreda, once Queen of Northumbria; her monastery is known to us as Ely. She is the daughter of Anna, King of East Anglia, who had reigned at Exning, almost within sight of Ely.

King Anna was a devout man, who himself died a hero's death, fighting for the Cross and for his country against the overwhelming onset of Penda, the heathen King of Mercia, who made it the object of his life to stamp out English Christianity. But, though Anna fell, his cause triumphed. Penda shortly died, and his work perished with him. Not so Anna's. After his death the tide of Christian progress ran the stronger; and all over England it was through members of his family that it was specially championed.

Married to the King of Northumbria, his daughter Queen Etheldreda had renounced her husband and her northern kingdom, and had returned to her native Fenland, there to found a monastery for both monks and nuns. In taking this step she had been influenced by two persons of note; by St. Hilda, her aunt, the foundress and first Abbess of Whitby, and by St. Wilfrid, Bishop of York. Hilda had in early life gained a firm hold on the heart of her niece, who had become fired with the wish to follow her example and herself to found a monastery.

In spite of this resolve, of which she made no secret, she had been forced (while strongly protesting) into a nominal marriage with Egfrid, the youthful King of Northumbria. After twelve years of unhappy life, she had been induced by St. Wilfrid to quit her husband; from St. Wilfrid's hand she had received the veil, before him she had taken the vows that bound her to a monastic life. It is a strange, unnatural tale, that cannot claim our approval; but there it is, and its truth is not questioned.

Queen Etheldreda, accompanied by certain attendants had then fled southward, with her deeply wronged husband in chase. She had been sheltered on one occasion from his pursuit by a tide of unprecedented height, which protected her on a rocky hiding-place while the King pa.s.sed by, all unaware that he was close to her. At length she had reached her own fenland country; and here, still following Hilda's example, she set herself to build a monastery, choosing the highest ground available. She was a well dowered lady, for her first husband, Tonbert, was a Prince of the Girvii, a Celtic tribe descended from those refugee Britons who had sought safety in the fens when all else was conquered by the English invaders two centuries earlier. This prince had bequeathed to his childless widow all his wide fenland domains; so Etheldreda had no need to seek further for an endowment for her monastery; while her brother Adwulf, now King of East Anglia, defrayed the cost of the new buildings. These ere long became the home of both monks and nuns, who lived in separate houses and met only for their common worship in the Abbey church. No Abbot was appointed, but Etheldreda herself was their Abbess, ruling both s.e.xes alike.

It is probable that from its foundation the monastery at Ely was under the influence of the rule of St. Benedict, for St. Wilfrid during Etheldreda's life-time was a frequent resident there, and he was in close touch with St. Botolph, that most influential, though half legendary saint, who, from his hermitage at Ickenhoe in Suffolk, was introducing throughout East Anglia the rule of the monks of St.

Benedict, those great preservers of civilisation, which, but for them, must in many lands have perished, when the strong hand of the Roman Empire lost its grip.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _The North Triforium of the Nave, Ely._]

Little is recorded of Etheldreda's life as abbess; and, after a rule of seven years, she died at the age of forty-nine, in the year 679, her death being due to an epidemic then prevalent, combined with a tumour in the neck. The death-bed scene is sculptured on one of the corbels of the Octagon Towers at Ely, where the more picturesque events of her life are quaintly set before us in stone. The saintly lady died after much suffering, which the ministrations of her devoted physician Cynifrid failed to allay; though he did for her all that the surgery of those days allowed. She bore her sickness with composure of mind, and when she knew that the end was at hand, she (as others have done before and since) summoned her whole household to her chamber to take her last farewell of them all. She told them that the time of her departure was at hand; she spoke to them of the vanity of this world's enjoyments, and recommended them to keep Heaven always in view, whereby they might in some measure have a foretaste of its joys. After this she received the Communion in both kinds from the hands of Huna, a priest devoted to her service; then, while praying for the inhabitants of the monastery, she pa.s.sed from earth. It may be of interest to remember that throughout the seven years of her rule at Ely, Theodore, the great organiser of the Anglican Church, "the first Archbishop whom the whole Church of England obeyed," filled the See of Canterbury.

It was Etheldreda's wish to be buried with all simplicity in the cemetery set apart for the nuns of Ely; so we are glad to learn that this her last desire was respected by her followers, and that she was laid to rest among the nuns in a wooden coffin. Her elder sister, St.

s.e.xburga, widow of the King of Kent, took her place as Abbess, and ruled at Ely till another generation was arising. After sixteen years had gone by, those who still remembered and loved Etheldreda wished that her body should be with them at their devotions in the church, and they resolved to translate her remains from the cemetery to the Abbey.

No common coffin was held to be a fitting casket for those precious relics; but in a waste place named Armeswerke,[207] fifteen miles up the River Cam (which may be identified as now forming part of the Fellows' garden at Magdalene College, Cambridge, between the terrace and the river), there was found a marble sarcophagus of Roman workmanship.[208] This was brought to Ely; and with careful and simple ceremony the body of the first Abbess was lifted from the wooden and laid in the marble coffin, all being carried out under the superintendence of s.e.xburga. On beholding the uncorrupted body of the dear sister who had died in so much pain, s.e.xburga was heard to exclaim, "Glory to the name of the Lord most high!" All the look of suffering had gone, and the Saint appeared as if asleep on her bed.

Gently removed from the wooden to the stone coffin, the body was carried into the Abbey Church, and placed behind the high altar; and for eight centuries the shrine of St. Etheldreda was visited by troops of pilgrims, who came from far and near to worship, to leave their offerings, and to seek healing from disease and infirmity. s.e.xburga was followed as Abbess by her sister, Ermenilda, Queen of Mercia. Thus Ely had three sister queens as her first three Abbesses; and hence perhaps the three crowns that still form the arms of the Bishopric.

[Footnote 207: This is the word used by the "Historia Eliensis." Bede, our earliest authority, speaks of "a small waste city, which in the English tongue is called Grantchester." He almost certainly means Cambridge. See p. 221.]

[Footnote 208: Doubt has been cast on this story, owing to the incidental mention by the chronicler of a shaped head-s.p.a.ce in this coffin. This has been held to point to a twelfth century origin for the Legend, inasmuch as such head-s.p.a.ces were not used until that date. In the present year(1910), however, an undoubtedly Roman sarcophagus thus shaped has been unearthed in Egypt. It is figured in the _Ill.u.s.trated London News_ (July 23, 1910).]

St. Etheldreda was long remembered with affection, and was commonly spoken of as St. Audrey. The popular Pilgrims' Fair held at Ely was known at St. Audrey's Fair; and the cheap fairings bought and sold there (especially the coloured necklets of fine silk known as "St.

Audrey's chains") were called, from her name, "tawdry"; and thus a new word was coined for us with a strange story of its own, a word hardly worthy of the great Abbess of the Fenland to whom it owes its origin.

Centuries later, St. Audrey's Fair, held in October, had grown to be one of the most important in the land, lasting for a fortnight. By the year 1248 it had become such a centre of merchandise as to interfere with the traffic of the Fair which Henry the Third had lately established at Westminster in honour of St. Edward the Confessor; the King therefore issued a warrant interdicting the fair at Ely. This suspension meant serious loss to the Bishop, Hugh de Northwold, "who made a heavy complaint to the King concerning the matter, but he gained from him nothing except words of soothing promises of future consolation," says the chronicler.

For two hundred years after the death of the foundress, the abbey of monks and nuns went on with its pious works and ways. Then, in 870, appeared the Danes, still pagans; and after working their way through Yorkshire and Lincolnshire, where they "wasted with fire and sword all that ever they came to, they brake down all the abbeys of the fens; nor did Ely, so famous of old, escape." Having laid waste Peterborough, then known as Medhampsted, they came across the fens to Ely. The abbey and all the buildings pertaining to it were burnt; the monks and nuns put to the sword. Before setting fire to the buildings the Danes had secured for themselves all they contained of value, and great was the store, for the people of the neighbourhood had brought their goods into the monastery as to a place of safety. All was seized by the invaders, and what they could not carry away they destroyed.

Thus Etheldreda's Abbey, after lasting 200 years, was left a deserted ruin; but her coffin of stone escaped without injury. One of the depredators, indeed, is said to have made an attempt to break into it, with the result that his eyes started from his head, and then and there he died, as the chronicler relates. The ancient sarcophagus had proved worthy of its trust.

The hour was one of direst need; for all England lay spent and gasping beneath the bloodstained feet of the heathen pirates. But, with the need, there arose the deliverer. In 871, the year after the sack of Ely, Alfred the Great, "England's darling," succeeded to the kingship of the exhausted realm; and the life and death struggle entered on its last and most desperate phase. For one moment even he seemed to go under, and was driven to an outlaw life in the marshes of Athelney; the next, we see him shattering the invaders by his miraculous victory of Ethandune, and, with incomparable state-craft, negotiating that Peace of Wedmore, whereby the Danes had to acknowledge him as their Overlord.

As such, he shortly established a College of Priests at Ely. Eight of the clerics who had witnessed the sack of the monastery came back to their old home, and rebuilt a part of the church that it might serve again as a place of worship. These priests were not monks, and are said to have had wives and children. They lived in poverty; for all the endowments of the Abbey had been seized by Burgraed, the last King of Mercia. But gradually, as the children of Alfred won back the kingdom, the endowment of Ely began afresh. Here a fishery, and there a wood, and again a mill with adjoining pastures, was bestowed on the little College--a term which still clings to the Cathedral precincts of Ely, called to this day the College, not the Close as in most Cathedral cities.

With the accession, in 958, of the great Edgar, the first English King to be Emperor of all Britain, the monarch who, nearly a thousand years ago, gained for himself, as but one of our kings has done since, the t.i.tle of "Peacemaker," brighter days dawned. Then, as now, the Catholic Church might have been well called "Cette eternelle recommenceuse," able to rise from her ashes with life renewed. From the havoc wrought by the Danes, the Abbey of Ely, as a Benedictine House, arose once more, rebuilt, refounded, and re-endowed by King Edgar, who restored to it by Royal Charter all that Etheldreda had originally bestowed; adding thereto several demesnes and sundry privileges. The re-const.i.tution of the Abbey was carried out under the guidance of Ethelwold, Bishop of Winchester.

The monks were thus restored; but the nuns of Ely have disappeared from view. As for those secular priests who were in possession and had maintained the sacred character of the spot for well-nigh a hundred years, ever since its devastation by the Danes, they were allowed to stay on if they submitted to the Benedictine Rule, otherwise they were dismissed.

In the year 970, on the Feast of the Purification, a day that we shall again find eventful in the annals of Ely, the new and restored monastic buildings were consecrated by Dunstan, who now, as Archbishop of Canterbury, filled the highest office in the Church of the land.

The chronicler, Roger of Wendover, tells us how, by Dunstan's counsel, King Edgar "everywhere restrained the rashness of the wicked, cherished the just and modest, restored and enriched the desolate churches of G.o.d, gathered mult.i.tudes of monks and nuns to praise and glorify the Great Creator, and built more than forty monasteries."

This shews us that, the events taking place at Ely were in no sense isolated, but were part of a great revival going on throughout the whole country.

In the year 991 the restored Abbey becomes connected with one of the most stirring poems of the English language, the "Song of Maldon." The Danish invasions, which had been checked for a century by the glorious line of monarchs who inherited King Alfred's blood and energy, were beginning again. One of these pirate hordes had landed in East Anglia, now no longer a separate princ.i.p.ality but merely a district of the United Kingdom of England, governed by an "Alderman" named Brithnoth.

Ethelred, surnamed the Unready, was on the throne--a King who for his lack of good judgment well deserved this contemptuous sobriquet--and his want of energy and capacity threw on to the shoulders of his subordinates the burden of the defence of his realm.

Brithnoth rose to the emergency, as a true Christian hero. At the head of his retainers he hurried to meet the foe, calling out the local levies to join his march. At Ely, as he hastened past, he, with his men, was royally entertained. The day before, when he was pa.s.sing Ramsey Abbey, the Abbot had offered him hospitality, but only for himself and half a dozen picked friends. This n.i.g.g.ardly invitation drew from Brithnoth a scornful answer: "Tell my Lord Abbot," he replied, "that I cannot fight without my men, neither will I feed without them." At Ely meat and drink were placed before leader and followers without distinction, and well were the monks rewarded, for Brithnoth requited their hospitality by the gift of no fewer than nine manors, all lying near Cambridge--Trumpington, Fulbourn, and others--stipulating only that, if slain in battle, his body should be brought back to their church for burial.

At Maldon in Ess.e.x on the River Panta (or Blackwater, as it is now called), he met the Danes, who began by sending a herald demanding a ransom, to be fixed by themselves, as the price of peace:

"Then back with our booty To ship will we get us, Fare forth on the flood, And pa.s.s you in peace."

This degrading offer Brithnoth contemptuously refuses:

"For ransom we give you Full freely our weapons, Spear-edge and sword-edge Of old renown."

The Danes at once make their way across the river and attack the English levies:

"Then drave from each hand Full starkly the spear, Showered the sharp arrows, Busy were bows, Shield met shaft, Bitter the battle."

In the end the pirates are driven back to their ships, but at the cost of Brithnoth's own life. He is pierced by a spear, and sinks dying to the ground; to the last exhorting his soldiers to fight on, and commending his own soul to G.o.d in the following beautiful and touching lines: