Ecclesiastical Curiosities

30Sacrificial Foundations.

By England Howlett.

In early ages a sacrifice of some sort or other was offered on the foundation of nearly every building. In heathen times a sacrifice was offered to the god under whose protection the building was placed; in Christian times, while many old pagan customs lingered on, the sacrifice was continued, but was given another meaning. The foundation of a castle, a church, or a house was frequently laid in blood; indeed it was said, and commonly believed, that no edifice would stand firmly for long unless the foundation was laid in blood. It was a practice frequently to place some animal under the corner stone-a dog, a wolf, a goat, sometimes even the body of a malefactor who had been executed.

Heinrich Heine says:-"In the middle ages the opinion prevailed that when any building was to be erected something living must be killed, in the blood of which the foundation had to be laid, by which process the building would be 31 secured from falling; and in ballads and traditions the remembrance is still preserved how children and animals were slaughtered for the purpose of strengthening large buildings with their blood."

" . . . I repent:

There is no sure foundation set on blood,

No certain life achiev'd by other's death."

King John, Act iv., Sc. 2.

Shakespeare.

To many of our churches tradition associates some animal and it generally goes by the name of the Kirk-grim. These Kirk-grims are of course the ghostly apparitions of the beasts that were buried under the foundation-stones of the churches, and they are supposed to haunt the churchyards and church lanes. A spectre dog which went by the name of "Bargest" was said to haunt the churchyard at Northorpe, in Lincolnshire, up to the first half of the present century. The black dog that haunts Peel Castle, and the bloodhound of Launceston Castle, are the spectres of the animals buried under their walls. The apparitions of children in certain old mansions are the faded recollections of the sacrifices offered when these houses were first 32 erected, not perhaps the present buildings, but the original halls or castles prior to the conquest, and into the foundations of which children were often built. The Cauld Lad of Hilton Castle in the valley of the Wear is well known. He is said to wail at night:

"Wae's me, wae's me,

The acorn's not yet

Fallen from the tree

That's to grow the wood,

That's to make the cradle,

That's to rock the bairn,

That's to grow to a man,

That's to lay me."

Afzelius, in his collection of Swedish folk tales, says: "Heathen superstition did not fail to show itself in the construction of Christian churches. In laying the foundations the people retained something of their former religion, and sacrificed to their old deities, whom they could not forget, some animal, which they buried alive, either under the foundation, or within the wall. A tradition has also been preserved that under the altar of the first Christian churches a lamb was usually buried, which imparted security and duration to the edifice. This was an emblem of the true church lamb-the Saviour, 33 who is the corner stone of His church. When anyone enters a church at a time when there is no service, he may chance to see a little lamb spring across the choir and vanish. This is the church-lamb. When it appears to a person in the churchyard, particularly to the grave-digger, it is said to forbode the death of a child that shall be next laid in the earth."

The traditions of Copenhagen are, that when the ramparts were being raised the earth always sank, so that it was impossible to get it to stand firm. They therefore took a little innocent girl, placed her on a chair by a table, and gave her playthings and sweetmeats. While she thus sat enjoying herself, twelve masons built an arch over her, which when completed they covered over with earth, to the sound of music with drums and trumpets. By this process they are, it is said, rendered immovable.2

It is an old saying that there is a skeleton in every house, a saying which at one time was practically a fact. Every house in deed and in truth had its skeleton, and moreover every house was designed not only to have its skeleton, but its ghost also. The idea of providing every 34 building with its ghost as a spiritual guard was not of course the primary idea; it developed later out of the original pagan belief of a sacrifice associated with the beginning of every work of importance. Partly with the notion of offering a propitiatory sacrifice to mother earth, and partly also with the idea of securing for ever a portion of soil by some sacrificial act, the old pagan laid the foundation of his house in blood.

The art of building in early ages was not well understood, and the true principles of architecture and construction were but little appreciated. If the walls of a building showed any signs of settlement the reason was supposed to be that the earth had not been sufficiently propitiated, and that as a consequence she refused to carry the burden imposed upon her.

It is said that when Romulus was about to found the city of Rome he dug a deep pit and cast into it the "first fruits of everything that is reckoned good by use, or necessary by nature," and before the pit was closed up by a great stone, Faustulus and Quinctilius were killed and laid under it. The legend of Romulus slaying his twin brother Remus because he jumped the walls of the city to show how poor they were, 35 probably arises out of a confusion of the two legends and has become associated with the idea of a sacrificial foundation. To the present day there is a general Italian belief that whenever any great misfortune is going to overtake the city of Rome the giant shadow of Remus may be seen walking over the highest buildings in the city, even to the dome of St. Peter's.

Sacrifice was not by any means confined to the foundations of buildings only. A man starting on a journey or on any new and important work would first offer a sacrifice. A ship was never launched without a sacrifice, and the christening of a vessel in these days with a bottle of wine is undoubtedly a relic of the time when the neck of a human being was broken and the prow of the vessel suffused with blood as a sacrificial offering.

In our own time the burial of a bottle with coins under a foundation stone is the faded memory of the immuring of a human victim. So hard does custom and superstition die that even in the prosaic nineteenth century days we cannot claim to be altogether free from the bonds and fetters with which our ancestors were bound.

36Grimm, in his German Mythology, tells us: "It was often considered necessary to build living animals, even human beings, into the foundations on which any edifice was reared, as an oblation to the earth to induce her to bear the superincumbent weight it was proposed to lay upon her. By this horrible practice it was supposed that the stability of the structure was assured as well as other advantages gained." Of course the animal is merely the more modern substitute for the human being, just in the same manner as at the present day the bottle and coins are the substitute for the living animal. In Germany, after the burial of a living being under a foundation was given up, it became customary to place an empty coffin under the foundations of a house, and this custom lingered on in remote country districts until comparatively recent times.

With the spread of Christianity the belief in human sacrifice died out. In 1885, Holsworthy Parish Church was restored; during the work of restoration it was necessary to take down the south-west angle of the wall, and in this wall was found, embedded in the mortar and stone, a skeleton. The wall of this part of the church 37 had settled, and from the account given by the masons it would seem there was no trace of a tomb, but on the contrary every indication that the victim had actually been buried alive-a mass of mortar covered the mouth, and the stones around the body seemed to have been hastily built. Some few years ago the Bridge Gate of the Bremen city walls was taken down, and the skeleton of a child was found embedded in the foundations.3

The practice of our masons of putting the blood of oxen into mortar was no doubt in the first instance associated with the idea of a sacrifice; however this may be, the blood had no doubt a real effect in hardening the mortar, just the same as treacle, which has been known to be used in our days. The use of cement when any extra strength is needed has put aside the use of either blood or treacle in the mixing of mortar.

It is a curious instance of the wide spread of the belief in blood as a cement for ancient buildings that Alá-ud-din Khilji, the King of Delhi, A.D. 1296–1315, when enlarging and strengthening the walls of old Delhi, is reported to have mingled in the mortar the bones and 38 blood of thousands of goat-bearded Moghuls, whom he slaughtered for the purpose. A modern instance is furnished by advices which were brought from Accra, dated December 8th, 1881, that the King of Ashantee had murdered 200 girls, for the purpose of using their blood to mix with the mortar employed in the building of a new palace.

A foundation sacrifice is suggested by the following curious discovery, reported in the Yorkshire Herald of May 31st, 1895: "It was recently ascertained that the tower of Darrington Church, about four miles from Pontefract, had suffered some damage during the winter gales. The foundations were carefully examined, when it was found that under the west side of the tower, only about a foot from the surface, the body of a man had been placed in a sort of bed in the solid rock, and the west wall was actually resting upon his skull. The gentle vibration of the tower had opened the skull and caused in it a crack of about two-and-a-half inches long. The grave must have been prepared and the wall placed with deliberate intention upon the head of the person buried, and this was done with such care that all remained as placed for at least 600 years."

39The majority of the clergy in the early part of the Middle Ages doubtless would be very strongly imbued with all the superstitions of the people. The medi?val priest, half believing in many of the old pagan customs, would allow them to continue, and it is both curious and interesting to notice how heathenism has for so long a period lingered on, mixed up with Christian ideas.

It is said that St. Odhran expressed his willingness to be the first to be buried in Iona, and, indeed, offered himself to be buried alive for sacrifice. Local tradition long afterwards added the still more ghastly circumstance that once, when the tomb was opened, he was found still alive, and uttered such fearful words that the grave had to be closed immediately.

Even at the present day there is a prejudice more or less deeply rooted against a first burial in a new churchyard or cemetery. This prejudice is doubtless due to the fact that in early ages the first to be buried was a victim. Later on in the middle ages the idea seems to have been that the first to be buried became the perquisite of the devil, who thus seems in the minds of the people to have taken the place of the pagan deity. Not in England alone, but all over Northern Europe, 40 there is a strong prejudice against being the first to enter a new building, or to cross a newly-built bridge. At the least it is considered unlucky, and the more superstitious believe it will entail death. All this is the outcome of the once general sacrificial foundation, and the lingering shadow of a ghastly practice.

Grimm, in his "Teutonic Mythology," tells us that when the new bridge at Halle, finished in 1843, was building, the common people got an idea that a child was wanted to wall up in the foundations. In the outer wall of Reichenfels Castle a child was actually built in alive; a projecting stone marks the spot, and it is believed that if this stone were pulled out the wall would at once fall down.

Bones, both human and of animals, have been found under hearthstones of houses. When we consider that the hearth is the centre, as it were, and most sacred spot of a house, and that the chimney above it is the highest portion built, and the most difficult to complete, it seems easy to understand why the victim was buried under the hearthstone or jamb of the chimney.

There is an interesting custom prevailing in Roumania to the present day which is clearly a 41 remnant of the old idea of a sacrificial foundation. When masons are engaged building a house they try to catch the shadow of a stranger passing by and wall it in, and throw in stones and mortar whilst his shadow rests on the walls. If no one passes by to throw a shadow the masons go in search of a woman or child who does not belong to the place, and, unperceived by the person, apply a reed to the shadow and this reed is then immured. In Holland frequently there has been found in foundations curious looking objects something like ninepins, but which in reality are simply rude imitations of babies in their swaddling bands-the image representing the child being the modern substitute for an actual sacrifice. Carved figures of Christ crucified have been found in the foundations of churches. Some few years ago, when the north wall of Chulmleigh Church in North Devon was taken down there was found a carved figure of Christ crucified to a vine.4

A story is told that the walls of Scutari contain the body of a victim. In this case it is a woman who is said to have been built in, but an opening was left through which her infant might be 42 passed in to be suckled by her as long as any life remained in the poor creature, and after her death the hole was closed.

The legend of Cologne Cathedral is well known. The architect sold himself to the devil for the plan, and gave up his life when the building was in progress; that is to say, the man voluntarily gave up his life to be buried under the tower to ensure the stability of the enormous superstructure, which he believed could not be held up in any other way.

It is well known that the extinguished torch is the symbol of departed life, and to the present day the superstitious mind always connects the soul with flame. It was at one time a common practice to bury a candle in a coffin, the explanation being that the dead man needed it to give him light on his way to Heaven. It is extremely doubtful, however, whether this was the original idea, for most probably the candle in the first instance really represented an extinguished life, and was thus a substitute for a human sacrifice which, in the pagan times, accompanied every burial. The candle, in fact, took the place of a life, human or animal, and in many instances candles have been found 43 immured in the walls and foundations of churches and houses.

Eggs have often been found built into foundations. The egg had, of course life in it-but undeveloped life, so that by its use the old belief in the efficacy of a living sacrifice was fully maintained without any shock to the feelings of people in days when they were beginning to revolt against the practices of the early ages.

Sir Walter Scott speaks of the tradition that the foundation stones of Pictish raths were bathed in human blood. In the ballad of the "Cout of Keeldar" it is said:

"And here beside the mountain flood

A massy castle frowned;

Since first the Pictish race, in blood,

The haunted pile did found."

From Thorpe's "Northern Mythology" we learn that in Denmark, in former days, before any human being was buried in a churchyard, a living horse was first interred. This horse is supposed to re-appear, and is known by the name of the "Hel-horse." It has only three legs, and if anyone meets it it forebodes death. Hence is derived the saying when anyone has survived a dangerous illness: "He gave death a 44 peck of oats" (as an offering or bribe). Hel is identical with death, and in times of pestilence is supposed to ride about on a three-legged horse and strangle people.

The belief still lingers in Germany that good weather may be secured by building a live cock into a wall, and it is thought that cattle may be prevented from straying by burying a living blind dog under the threshold of a stable. Amongst the French peasantry a new farmhouse is not entered upon until a cock has been killed and its blood sprinkled in the rooms.5

It is probable that sacrificial foundations had their origin in the idea of a propitiary offering to the Goddess Earth. However this may be, it is certain that for centuries, through times of heathenism, and well into even advanced Christianity, the people so thoroughly associated the foundation of buildings with a sacrifice that in some form or other it has lingered on to the present century. Now in our own day the laying the foundation of any important building is always attended with a ceremony-the form remains, the sacrifice is no longer offered. For ecclesiastical buildings, or those having some 45 charitable object, a religious ceremony is provided, while for those purely secular the event is marked by rejoicings. We cannot bring ourselves to pass over without notice the foundation laying of our great buildings, and who shall venture to say that superstition is altogether dead, and that we are free from the lingering remains of what was once the pagan belief?

* * *

46The Building of the English Cathedrals.

By the Rev. Geo. S. Tyack, B.A.

Of all the sins of the nineteenth century, the one which most militates against its attainment of excellence in art is its impatience. A work has been no sooner decided on, than there is a clamour for its completion. Our cathedrals were for the most part reared in far other times, and are therefore admirable. Growing with the stately, deliberate increase of the ponderous oak, they speak of days when art was original, sincere, patient, and therefore capable of great deeds; original, not in extravagance or eccentricity, but in the realization of the natural development of style, advancing from grace to grace, from the perfection of solidity to the perfection of adornment, by an unforced growth; sincere, in its confidence of its own capacity for fulfilling its appointed end, in its grasp of the possibilities in its materials, in its choice of the true, rather than the easy, method of working; and patient, finally, in its contentment to do in each age a little solidly and well, 47 rather than a great deal indifferently, in its aim at artistic perfection in preference to material completeness. Thus it is that none of our cathedrals are the work of one age, save those of Salisbury and London, and even they have details which they owe to succeeding times.

The above words are not intended to imply that our medi?val builders made no mistakes. The brief review of some of their work will show us proof to the contrary; but the mistakes were rare exceptions. If, for instance, a captious critic turns to Peterborough, and points us to the defective foundations, which have recently required the rebuilding of the central tower, and the supposed necessity of reconstructing the west front, all that the case will prove is that our great monastic architects' work was not always absolutely eternal. "So there was jerry-building in those days too!" someone exclaims, with a note of triumph at the dragging down of the great ideals of the past to the level of the paltriness of the present. If such be the case, we reply, there were indeed giants in those days, the very "jerry building" of which rides out the storms of well-nigh seven centuries before revealing any fatal weaknesses.

48In considering these splendid buildings, of which the present century has happily proved itself no unappreciative heir, it will be of interest to devote a few lines to the means which were employed to raise funds for their construction. Several illustrations of the methods employed in the case of cathedrals and other churches have come down to us. The story of the foundation of the new buildings at Crowland Abbey in 1112, exhibits an outburst of popular enthusiasm which irresistibly recalls the free gifts of the Hebrew people for the building of the first temple. "The prayers having been said and the antiphons sung," says Peter Blesensis, vice-chancellor under Henry II., "the abbot himself laid the first corner-stone on the east side. After him every man according to his degree laid his stone; some laid money, others writings by which they offered their lands, advowsons of livings, tenths of sheep and other church tithes; certain measures of wheat, a certain number of workmen or masons, etc. On the other side, the common people, as officious with emulation and great devotion, offered, some money, some one day's work every month till it should be finished, some to build whole pillars, others 49 pedestals, and others certain parts of the walls."

Indulgences, remitting so many days' penance, were sometimes issued to encourage the gifts of the faithful. Thus in the time of Henry VIII. a church brief was issued soliciting help towards the repair of Kirby Belers Church, in Leicestershire, part of which runs as follows:-"Also certayne patriarkes, prymates, &c., unto the nombre of sixtie-five, everie one of theym syngularly, unto all theym that put their helpyng handes unto the sayd churche, have granted xl dayes of pardon; which nombre extendeth unto vij yeres and cc dayes, totiens quotiens." Sometimes, by way of penance itself, a fine was imposed, which was devoted to a local building fund. Gilbert, bishop of Chichester, in certain constitutions promulgated in 1289 rules that every priest in the diocese who shall be convicted of certain scandalous sins shall "forfeit forty shillings, to be applied to the structure of Chichester Cathedral." In modern money this fine would amount to something like ￡40. Walter, Bishop of Worcester, also ordained in 1240 that beneficed priests who dressed unclerically should be fined to the extent of a tenth of their annual revenue for the benefit of the 50 building of his cathedral. A yet earlier order concerning laity as well as clergy was issued by the Witan at Engsham, in Oxfordshire, in the year 1009, which decides that "if any pecuniary compensation shall arise out of a mulct for sins committed against God, this ought to be applied, according to the discretion of the bishop," to one of several pious purposes, of which two are "the repair of churches, and the purchase of books, bells, and ecclesiastical vestments."

Another way of raising money was to exact a contribution from church dignitaries, as a kind of "entrance fee," on their accepting preferment. William Heyworth, bishop of Coventry, (a see now owning Chester as its mother city), decreed in 1428 that "every canon on commencing his first residence should pay a hundred marks towards the structure of the cathedral, the purchase of ornaments," and other similar expenses.

In 1247, Bishop Ralph Neville, of Chichester, having died indebted to some of the canons of the cathedral, left by will a sufficient sum to discharge his obligations. But these ecclesiastical creditors decided that it should be devoted to "the completion of a certain stone tower, 51 which had remained for a long time unfinished." The same canons bitterly complained because the Pope had ordained that all vacant prebends throughout the country should remain unoccupied for a year, in order that their revenues might be devoted to the erection of the minster at Canterbury; whereas they not unnaturally felt that the needs of their own cathedral had the first claim upon them.

Those churches which contained the shrines of popular saints drew, for the repair or enlargement of the fabric, no small revenue from the offerings of pilgrims. The eastern part of Rochester Cathedral was paid for by the moneys deposited at the tomb of S. William of Perth; and the large sums given by visitors to the shrine of S. Thomas of Canterbury materially assisted in keeping the building in repair.

Unquestionably the sums needed for rearing these massive piles were in most cases given, either in money or in kind, by the faithful; sometimes the princely offerings of a few wealthy men, sometimes the countless small gifts of the multitude, have become transmuted into tapering spire, or ponderous tower, "long-drawn aisle and fretted vault." The poor, in some instances, 52 as we have seen, voluntarily gave their labour; in others the hands of the monks themselves raised and cut the sculptured stones.

In most cases the cathedrals which we now possess are not the first that have occupied their sites. Some humble building, often reared by one of the pioneers of the faith, was in the majority of instances the shrine that first consecrated the spot to the service of God.

It was in 401, during the visit of Germanus and Lupus, bishops of Auxerre and of Troyes, to aid in exterminating the Pelagian heresy, that the earliest shrine of S. Alban, a simple wooden oratory, was erected at Verulam; S. Deiniol built a little stave-kirk, or timber church, at Bangor about 550; and Kentigern, some ten years later, raised the first religious establishment at Llanelwy, or S. Asaph; while where now the ruined Cathedral of Man rears its weather-beaten gables and sightless windows at Peel, tradition says S. Patrick consecrated S. Germain first bishop of the Southern Isles in 447.

Many causes, however, combined to sweep away not only all traces of these earliest churches, but also in many instances more than one more solidly constructed successor. The 53 growth of architectural taste and skill made men impatient of the rudeness of their forefathers' simple fanes; in a surprising number of instances the lightning-flash or the raging fire destroyed the buildings wholly or in part. The cathedrals of the north felt more than once the shock of the Border wars; and civil strife, or religious fanaticism, wrought mischief in many others. Thus it has come to pass that the centuries have seen four cathedrals in succession at Hereford, at Gloucester, and at Bangor; and three at a multitude of places, Canterbury, London, Winchester, Peterborough, Lichfield, Oxford, and half-a-dozen more.

The incursions of the Danes were answerable for the destruction of several of the earlier foundations. Canterbury had a cathedral, the most ancient part of which had been erected, according to tradition, by Lucius, the first Christian King of the Britons, and afterwards restored by S. Augustine. To this, about the year 740, Cuthbert, the archbishop, added a chapel for the interment of the occupants of the see; and Odo, in the tenth century, enlarged and re-roofed it. But in the days of saintly Alphege, in 1005, the Danish invaders fell upon the city, 54 making of the church a ruin, and of its bishop a martyr. A similar fate befell the metropolitan church of the north. On the site where Paulinus baptized King Edwin and his two sons into the Christian faith a little wooden oratory was raised, over which ere long Edwin commenced to build a stone church, which S. Oswald, his successor, completed. This, after having been beautified by S. Wilfred, was burnt about 741, but re-built shortly afterwards by Archbishop Egbert. It was this latter building which fell before the Danes.

At Ely the religious house founded by S. Etheldreda, which was the precursor of the modern cathedral, was burnt by the same marauders about 870. Rochester suffered in the same way; and no trace of the church built, so says the Venerable Bede, by King Ethelbert himself now remains. Peterborough has been particularly unfortunate in this respect. The first building here was begun by Peada, King of Mercia, in the seventh century. In the year 870 the Danes, on one of their forays, burnt church and monastery to the ground, and massacred the abbot and all his monks. In 971 King Edgar raised the place once more from its desolation, 55 but again it was seriously damaged, though not absolutely destroyed, by the sea-kings shortly before the Norman Conquest. Oxford was partially burnt in 1002 owing to the same people, but in a different way. A number of Danes took refuge in the tower of S. Frideswide to escape the senseless and brutal massacre organised on S. Brice's day in that year, and the English fired the structure rather than suffer their prey to escape them.

It will be convenient here, although it may take us in some cases away from those primitive foundations which so far we have considered, to glance at the other instances in which war has left its mark upon our cathedrals. Hereford, lying near the Welsh border, felt the storm and stress of warfare in 1056. Originally founded at some unknown date in very early English times, the church at Hereford was rebuilt about 830 by a noble Mercian, named Milfrid, and was repaired, if not actually renewed, by Athelstan the bishop, who came to the see in 1012. Ten years before the Norman Conquest, however, Griffith, prince of Wales, at the head of a combined host of Welsh and Irish, crossed the marches and plundered and burnt the church 56 and city. In the reign of Hardicanute (1039–1041) the citizens of Worcester, having risen against the payment of the ship-tax, were severely punished, a military force being sent to occupy their city. So thoroughly did it carry out the work of inflicting discipline on the malcontents, that the church, amongst other buildings, was left in ruins. The original church at Gloucester was built in 681, as part of a conventual establishment; this was destroyed, and, after an interval, rebuilt by Beornulph, King of Mercia, sometime previous to 825. This church was looted by the Danes, but restored by S. Edward the Confessor. In the year after the Conquest, Gloucester was occupied by the Normans, whose entrance was not, however, accepted quite peaceably by the citizens; and in the tumult the Cathedral was seriously injured by the one or the other party. Exeter provides us with another case. Here was a cathedral in early English days, which lasted until the time of Bishop William Warelwast, who began the erection of a new one in 1112. During the stormy reign of Stephen, the city was held for Matilda and had to stand a siege by the King, to the great damage of the still 57 unfinished church. To quote one further illustration only: Bangor, whose wooden church was replaced by a stone one somewhere about 1102, suffered grievously in the wars waged between Henry III. of England, and David, Prince of Wales, an episode in which was the destruction of the Cathedral.

56a

From a photo by Albert F. Coe, Norwich

NORWICH CATHEDRAL.

The conquest of England by William, Duke of Normandy, had a vast influence on the ecclesiastical buildings of the country. On the continent art had advanced at a pace unknown in this island, and the plain and massive churches scattered over the land must have seemed very rude structures in the eyes of the prelates who came in the victor's train. S. Edward the Confessor, with his Norman predilections, had no doubt accustomed his courtiers to some aspects of foreign art, and through his influence the so-called Norman architecture preceded the Normans in the country; but such instances of it as were to be seen must have been few, and probably confined to the southern counties.

Scarcely had the Conqueror's throne been secured before his countrymen, placed in the abbeys and sees of England, began to rebuild, on 58 new and grander plans, the churches under their charge.

Lanfranc, who ascended the throne of S. Augustine in 1070, set himself to the work of rebuilding Canterbury Cathedral, not contenting himself with any enlargement or embellishment of the older fane, but making a clean sweep of that, and beginning from the foundations. S. Anselm, and the prior of the monastery, Ernulph, took up the work and enlarged upon Lanfranc's design, pulling down and re-building the choir. Early in the next century, namely in 1130, the new Cathedral, completed under the supervision of Conrad, successor to Ernulph, was solemnly dedicated with great pomp in the presence of the Kings of England and of Scotland.