id="Page_50"/>also up to the south choir aisle—the way the pilgrims approached the shrine of St. Thomas. Also opening from the south-west transept is St. Michael's or the Warrior's Chapel, as it is now popularly called. In the illustration facing p. 30, the tomb of Lady Margaret Holland and her two husbands, John Beaufort, Earl of Somerset, and Thomas, Duke of Clarence, is shown occupying the centre of the chapel, but it just misses a more interesting, if much less beautiful, tomb, that of Stephen Langton, the courageous Archbishop who took such a leading part in forcing John to sign Magna Charta. The plain sarcophagus is partly within and partly outside the chapel, for when it was rebuilt in the fourteenth century it was extended so much to the east that it became necessary either to move Langton's tomb or else to make an arch in the wall, and the latter course was taken, with the curious result still to be seen. An astonishing contrast to the clear-sighted action of this Norman Archbishop was the attitude of Archbishop Howley (1828-1848) whose bitter hostility to the Reform Bill in 1831 so raised the anger of the people of Canterbury that they greeted his next arrival in the city with showers of stones and rotten eggs. In the midst of a howling mob the archiepiscopal carriage slowly struggled to the Deanery, bearing in it the amiable Churchman who was convinced that the Reform Bill was "mischievous in its tendency, and extremely dangerous to the fabric of the constitution." Such words are deeply interesting at the present day, when many people think they see, in progress on the same lines, dangers of an equally unfounded order.

Passing along the south aisle of the choir, one gradually sees the whole of the elaborately devised eastern parts of the Cathedral as they were reconstructed by William of Sens and his English successor. The arcades of alternately circular and octagonal pillars have richly carved foliated capitals, and there is a lightness in form and a profusion of carving that tells of the coming of the Gothic style—indeed, so far in advance of the plain Norman work of Conrad is the present choir that the change to pure Early English is slight in comparison. In its great length this choir is unique, and in the lowness of its vaulted roof is also unusual, but this is accounted for by the undercroft beneath. From the centre of the choir the remarkable inward bend of the walls, necessitated through the determination not to alter the plan of the Trinity Chapel so hallowed by the memory of the Blessed St. Thomas, is very noticeable: to some extent it helps to give one an impression of the great length of the whole choir, with the chapel beyond. The eastern transepts and chapels still have their apsidal chapels almost as they were built by Conrad.

Ascending some more steps, the modern pilgrim reaches Trinity Chapel, where his eyes, instead of falling upon a shrine encrusted with jewels and precious metals, merely look between the pillars upon an empty space. A vacant spot, however, can be eloquent enough, and to those who have read Chaucer's "Canterbury Tales" or the late Mr. Snowden Ward's "Canterbury Pilgrimages," if they have gone no farther in the study of this fascinating cult, the site of the shrine whose fame was European is able to give almost as deep a thrill as any experienced by the wayworn folk of the Middle Ages.

By going closer and examining the pavement, a shallow groove appears marking the exact position of the base of the shrine. This was worn by the endless stream of pilgrims as they knelt in ecstasy before the object their eyes had longed to feast upon. To the west is a fine thirteenth-century mosaic pavement similar to that in the Confessor's Chapel at Westminster Abbey, to which it is very fitting to compare this chapel, for if it is not quite a "Chapel of the Kings" it has a King—Henry IV.—and a king's eldest son—the Black Prince—on either side, and after Westminster Abbey there was scarcely a more sacred spot in the kingdom than this.

It was fitting that Henry IV. should be buried here, for he had taken a considerable amount of interest in the rebuilding of the nave, and had been liberal in his financial aid. The effigies of Henry and his second wife, Joan of Navarre, are believed to be faithful representations. Of the tomb of Edward the Black Prince, if space permitted, much could be said, for it is a magnificent piece of work apart from the historical interest that attaches to the soldier Prince, whose two great victories at Crécy and Poitiers have thrilled every English schoolboy during all the subsequent centuries. The strong iron railing has prevented any damage to the bronze or latten effigy, and except for the tarnishing and general deterioration of gilding and paint, one looks on the monument as it was erected in the days of chivalry. All the details of this tomb had been arranged by the Black Prince himself, and it was he who chose the Norman-French inscription all can plainly read to-day. Above the tomb is suspended a flat canopy of wood with an embattled moulding, and on the underside a much decayed painting of the Trinity, if one may call it such when the Dove is not represented. On the beam from which the canopy is suspended are hung the shield, helmet, velvet coat, brass gauntlets, and empty sword sheath which are the survivals of two complete suits, one for peace, and one for war, which were carried at the funeral as the Prince had ordered in his will.

The eastern extension of the chapel is called Becket's Crown, a name tradition associates with the preservation in this chapel of a portion of St. Thomas's skull. One window contains old glass, and in the centre of the floor is placed the chair of Purbeck marble in which the Archbishops are enthroned. As it is no longer considered as old as the days of Augustine the title St. Augustine's Chair must be regarded as a figure of speech.

By the most marvellous good fortune the wonderful series of windows in Trinity Chapel, illustrating the many cures wrought at the Shrine of St. Thomas, have come down to the present time almost unharmed, and this magnificent range of thirteenth-century glass is finer than anything else of its period in England. This glass is all prior to 1220, and without it there would have been no representation of the first shrine at all. The colour in these windows is all subservient to the careful drawing of the pictures in the medallions, but in the north choir aisle there are some windows almost of the same period where the colour is as splendid as in any of the early windows at Chartres. For any description of the tombs of the archbishops there is, unfortunately, no space here. In the splendid crypt, besides the interest of the various periods of Norman and Transitional work, there is the rich Perpendicular screenwork of the Chapel of Our Lady of the Undercroft, and the Huguenot Chapel in what was the Black Prince's Chantry. In Tudor times the whole of the undercroft was given up to the French Protestant refugees, who, besides worshipping there, set up their looms in this hallowed portion of the Cathedral where the martyr was laid until his translation in 1220 and where Henry II. had passed the night after his severe penance. This very short description of such a building must be regarded as a mere introduction to the study of a vast subject, for in the space available nothing more is remotely possible.