The Time Traveler's Guide to Medieval England: A Handbook for Visitors to the Fourteenth Century (42 page)

Reasons for going on pilgrimage vary greatly. You might do so because of a pact with God, or the saints, along the lines mentioned above. Or you might want to confess to a particular sin. If you have
committed adultery, for example, you might not wish to confess to the priest if he happens to be your spouse’s brother. Traveling a long way to confess, and atone, is the perfect answer. On the other hand, if you need to get away from where you live—if you
wish
to commit adultery, for example—what better way is there of leaving the gossips in your home town? Chaucer’s Wife of Bath, who has “thrice been to Jerusalem” and has also visited the other major shrines of the Three Kings at Cologne, Santiago de Compostela, and Rome, is well versed in the art of love. She is only too happy to conflate “wandering” geographically with “straying” morally. On a more conscientious level, a man who has fought in a battle might wish to undertake a pilgrimage in order to give thanks to God for his survival. A man or woman whose spouse is extremely sick might wish to leave his or her side to make a pilgrimage to a nearby shrine, to ask for the help of a local saint. The merchant in Chaucer’s “Sea Captain’s Tale” remarks to his wife that failed merchants go on pilgrimages to escape their creditors.

As that motley crew who set out with Chaucer on his journey to Canterbury indicate, you do not have to wear any special clothes to be a pilgrim. The knight—returning from a military expedition—wears a coarse tunic besmirched with rust from his chain mail. His esquire wears a short, embroidered gown, with sleeves cut long and wide, in the latest fashion. The knight’s servant, a yeoman, wears his coat and hood of green, carries a bow, arrows, sword, and dagger and wears a leather bracer on his arm. The merchant is adorned in a multicolored tunic with a fashionable beaver hat from Flanders. Thus everyone is wearing their usual attire, from the sea captain in his knee-length woollen gown to the Wife of Bath and the physician, “dressed in Persian blue and scarlet, lined with taffeta and fine sarsenet.” It is true that you will come across the odd die-hard pilgrim wearing the traditional long, wide-sleeved cassock of russet, patched with crosses. No doubt he is also carrying a staff and wearing a wide-brimmed hat adorned with scallop shells and pewter badges from all the holy places he has visited. But such stereotypes are the minority and more like traveling hermits than pilgrims.

If you set out on a pilgrimage, the chances are that very soon you will fall in with other pilgrims heading in the same direction. It is a good idea to stay with them, for the sake of company and entertainment as well as the extra security. As the theologian Wycliffe points
out to the archbishop of Canterbury, when men and women go on pilgrimages they sing “wanton songs” and play bagpipes, so that

every town they pass through, what with the noise of their singing and the sound of their piping, and the jangling of their Canterbury bells, and the barking of dogs after them, they make more noise than the king would, if he were to come that way, with all his clarions and minstrels.
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Interestingly the archbishop does not deny such accusations, but rather explains that the reason why the pilgrims have pipers and singers in their company is so that, if one of them should strike his foot upon a stone and make it bleed, the musicians can take away the pain with mirth.

Where should you go on your pilgrimage? For the truly dedicated there are the great pilgrimage destinations of Santiago de Compostela in northern Spain, Rome, the shrine of the Three Kings in Cologne, and Jerusalem itself. However these journeys are expensive, time-consuming, and dangerous. For most people, keen to go on a pilgrimage but reluctant to sail abroad, the greatest draw is not a particular church but the choicest relics. Just as God, Jesus, and the saints are the stars of the mystery plays, so the shrines of the saints are the most holy destinations. Chief among these is the shrine of St. Thomas Becket in Canterbury Cathedral. It attracts about two hundred thousand pilgrims every year, each one of them paying Id or more to see the sights: the place where Becket was struck down, the point of the sword that killed him, his tomb, and so on. This generates more than £900 yearly, not to mention the many gifts from visiting dignitaries.
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The shrine itself is entirely covered with plates of pure gold and studded with sapphires, diamonds, rubies, balas rubies, and emeralds, with carved agate, jasper, and cornelian reliefs. The most stunning jewel of all is one particular ruby, no larger than a man’s thumbnail, embedded in the wall to the right of the nearby altar. Even though the church is quite dark, especially near the shrine, this ruby radiates an intense red light, which causes everyone who sees it to marvel at it.
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With treasures like this on display, the fame of Canterbury spreads even farther, across Europe. And so more visitors come. If you visit you may be encouraged to buy lead and pewter ampullae: small
vessels supposedly containing holy water mixed with St. Thomas’s own watered-down blood. This water is supposed to have a wide range of medicinal and spiritual properties. Alternatively, you may buy a pewter badge showing the sword that killed Becket, or a badge showing him being killed.
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So the fame of the saint and the church is spread farther by pilgrims proudly taking these souvenirs back home. It is big business—and so is the pilgrim trade in all the other major churches where there is a saint’s body. You may not be familiar with the name of St. William of Perth but income from pilgrims visiting his tomb in Rochester Cathedral pays for the central tower to be rebuilt in 1343.

Most English saints’ remains may be considered “real” relics: they are actually what they purport to be. They are not pigs’ bones (to use Chaucer’s expression), nor are they the bones of a nondescript corpse sold on the ecclesiastical relic market. It is only to be expected that the body of St. Hugh, bishop of Lincoln, lies in his shrine in Lincoln Cathedral: he died in 1200. Even the Saxon saints’ bones have, in many cases, been carefully preserved in their churches down the centuries. However a few of the major pilgrimage destinations require more explanation. Why does Walsingham Priory have a reconstruction of the house of the Virgin Mary? The reason is that someone dreamed of it, and started to build it, and miraculously the stones were moved to this site. As the priory grew in importance, the relic of the Virgin’s milk was purchased by a benefactor, as was a famous image of her. You might say, therefore, that the shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham has nothing to do with the actual Virgin Mary. But this is the second most visited place of pilgrimage in England—second only to Canterbury. How does one account for this?

In order to understand the power of such places you need to understand pilgrimages from a subjective point of view: scientific objectivity will not help you. Look at the effect on those who make the journey to Walsingham. Having traveled for days—perhaps weeks—all the way from their homes, the pilgrims come at last to the Slipper Chapel, about a mile and a half from the priory. It is the first stage in the culmination of a long journey. Here they take off their shoes, so they can walk the last mile and a half to the priory barefoot, in a penitential fashion. With their feet hurting but their anticipation heightened, they sing religious songs along the way. Then they come to the narrow pilgrims’ gate in the walls of the precinct. Inside, they enter a small chapel where, on making an offering, they are allowed to kiss a great bone, called the finger bone of St. Peter. They are then conducted in solemn silence to a thatched building where there are two wells, famed for their medicinal properties and for the rumor that they have the power to grant pilgrims whatever they truly desire. Having made such wishes, the pilgrims are led to the chapel of the Virgin. By this stage, they are in a state of religious ecstasy. They enter the chapel, one by one. At last they pass before the famed relic of the Holy Milk. That the milk itself is solid, and probably made of chalk, mixed with egg white, is unimportant to them.
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What matters is not whether the relic is genuine or not but the spirit of the pilgrimage itself—a demonstration of commitment and faith.

Most great religious houses have substantial collections of relics, Canterbury Cathedral has several shrines besides that of St. Thomas Becket, including the bodies of three other archbishop-saints: St. Oda, St. Anselm, and St. Dunstan. Similar assortments of holy body parts are to be found in many lesser houses. Wimborne Minster, for example, is not one of the principal pilgrimage destinations, having

Relics in the Church of Wimborne Minster
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A piece of the True Cross

Part of Christ’s robe

A large stone from the Holy Sepulchre

A piece of the altar upon which Christ was lifted up and offered by Simeon

Some hairs from Christ’s beard

A piece of the scourging pillar

A shoe of St. William

Part of the thigh of St. Agatha

Some bones from St. Catherine

Part of St. Mary the Egyptian

Part of Christ’s manger

A thorn from Christ’s crown of thorns

One of St. Philip’s teeth

Some blood from St. Thomas Becket

St. Francis’s hair shirt

no famous miracle-working saint’s corpse with which to draw the crowds. But nevertheless you may consider going there, if only to see “St. Francis’s hair shirt.” And the relics at Wimborne are mere dust compared to some dazzling artifacts preserved in overseas churches. What about going to see the sponge which was soaked with vinegar and lifted to Christ’s lips while he was on the cross? Or the finger with which St. Thomas touched the rib of the risen Christ? Or some of the earth from Calvary saturated with the holy blood? All these are kept together, in the church of Santa Croce, in Italy. The same church claims also to have a piece of manna—the food with which God fed the starving Israelites. Quite extraordinary. But such claims show the confidence of the church. Few pilgrims who make the journey to Santa Croce will even imagine asking the obvious question: why was this heavenly food not eaten at the time?

Shocking though it may appear to you, you have something in common with these people who believe in relics, fight tournaments, and hunt with falcons. Books. Many of them see literature as a satisfying and enjoyable way to spend time. Of course, they might not actually pick up a book themselves; lords and their families, together with members of their households, are accustomed to having books read to them as they sit in the hall or chamber of an evening.
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Nevertheless the music of a tale told well is as popular as any other form of minstrelsy and as enjoyable as literature in the modern world.

Leading this move towards the enjoyment of literature is the royal family. All the fourteenth-century kings and their spouses are keen on books. Among the many volumes in Edward II’s personal possession are a Latin history of the kings of England, a biography of St. Edward the Confessor in French, a Latin prayer book, and a “romance” in French.
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“Romance” is the term for all fiction; it does not necessarily relate to a love story—although many romances do incorporate love stories. Edward’s consort, Queen Isabella, is an enthusiastic book collector. She has many volumes of religious devotion, including a spectacular apocalypse; a two-volume Bible in French; a book of sermons in French; two books of Hours of the Virgin; and various antiphonals, graduais, and missals for use in her chapel. She also owns an encyclopedia (Brunetto Latini’s
Trésor,
in French) and at least two history books:
Brut
(bound with the
Trésor)
and a book about the genealogy of the royal family. She also owns at least ten romances. Among them are
The Deeds of Arthur
(bound in white leather),
Tristan and Isolda, Aimeric de Narbonne, Perceval and Gawain,
and
The Trojan War.
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