Download PDF | Nicholas Vincent, The Holy Blood: King Henry III and the Westminster Blood Relic (Cambridge University Press, 2006).
280 Pages
THE HOLY BLOOD
This is the first extended study of relics of the Holy Blood: portions of the blood of Christ’s Passion supposedly preserved from the time of the Crucifixion and displayed as objects of wonder and veneration in the churches of medieval Europe.
Inspired by the discovery of new evidence relating to the relic deposited by King Henry III at Westminster in 1247, the study proceeds from the particular political and spiritual motives that determined this gift to a wider consideration of blood relics, their distribution across western Europe, their place in Christian devotion and the controversies to which they gave rise among theologians. In the process the author advances a new thesis on the role of the sacred in Plantagenet court life as well as exploring various intriguing byways of medieval religion.
NICHOLAS VINCENT is Professor of Medieval History, Christ Church College, Canterbury. His previous books include Peter des Roches: An Alten in English Politics, 1 205-1 238 (1.996).
Introduction
In his Chronica majora, Matthew Paris supplies us with an eye-witness account of a ceremony conducted by King Henry III at Westminster on Sunday, 13 October 1247, the feast of the translation of the relics of St Edward the Confessor. Falling midway between Henry’s birthday on 1 October, and the anniversary of his accession on 28 October, the feast of St Edward’s translation had long been celebrated as one of the highpoints of the royal year, coinciding conveniently with the Michaelmas sessions of exchequer and the Bench, a busy time for King and courtiers, drawing many hundreds of people to attend at Westminster. The Confessor himself was a saint for whom Henry III felt keen, even fanatical, devotion. The pious, demilitarized Edward of legend served as a model for Henry’s own preferred style of kingship. There were more personal resonances too, between the Confessor’s early life, deprived of both father and mother, and the insecurities of Henry III’s own orphaned childhood.' For many years past Henry had lavished money and attention upon the Confessor’s shrine and upon the monks of Westminster who served it. In 1228 he had written to the Pope requesting Edward’s inclusion in the Roman calendar of saints, and in 1239 he had named his first-born son Edward, in the Confessor’s memory. In 1245, he had set about the demolition of the east end of the Abbey church in order that the whole might be sumptuously rebuilt. As a result, the relics of St Edward had been removed to a temporary site and Henry had taken the opportunity to obtain further support from the Pope, soliciting a papal indulgence that offered a year and forty days’ remission of enjoined penance to all who attended the proposed movement of Edward’s bones.3 A year later he had established an independent financial office at Westminster for the furtherance of his building projects there.t More recently still, in October 1246, he had decreed that his own body was to rest at Westminster after his death; the clearest sign of devotion that a king could bestow upon any religious house.» At much the same time he had obtained licence for the abbots of Westminster to offer pontifical blessing to the congregation during the celebration of Mass, Matins and Vespers.° Hence, in the autumn of 1247, when he ordered his nobles to assemble at Westminster on 13 October, ‘to hear the most agreeable news of a holy benefit recently conferred upon the English’, the summons may have been greeted with lively anticipation. Certainly, it was sufficient to draw the chronicler Matthew Paris and at least three of his fellow monks from St Albans to Westminster, possibly at the King’s own invitation, to record whatever events might unfold.’
According to Matthew Paris, on the day appointed, the King announced that he had come into possession of a most precious relic; a portion of the blood of Jesus Christ, sent to him under the seals of the patriarch of Jerusalem, the masters of the ‘Templars and the Hospitallers and various bishops from the Holy Land. From the time of its arrival in England, the relic is said to have been kept a closely guarded secret, stored at the London church of the Holy Sepulchre.® Having spent the previous night in fasting and prayer, early in the morning of 13 October Henry led a solemn procession from St Paul’s Cathedral to Westminster. Dressed in a simple cloak, he carried the crystal vase containing Christ’s blood in his own hands, supported by two attendants and walking beneath a pall borne upon four spears. For the two miles of his journey he is said to have kept his gaze fixed upon heaven and the relic he held in his hands. At the bishop of Durham’s house in Whitehall, he was met by the monks of Westminster and by a great congregation of bishops, abbots and other prelates. ‘The King then continued on his way, carrying the relic in procession around the church, the palace and the royal apartments of Westminster, before presenting it to the monks and to their patron saints, St Peter and St Edward. Mass was then celebrated and a sermon preached by the bishop of Norwich, who extolled the virtues of the relic, comparing it in flattering terms to the relics of Christ’s Passion that had been acquired a few years earlier by the French King Louis [X. The bishop announced that indulgences totalling six years, one hundred and sixteen days had been granted to all who should come in future to venerate the Holy Blood. After this, crowned and dressed in cloth of gold, the King bestowed knighthood upon his half-brother, William de Valence, and upon a number of William’s associates. Matthew Paris tells us that he himself was then summoned to the throne and questioned by the King on what he had seen. ‘The King commanded Matthew ‘to write a plain and full account of all these events, and indelibly to insert them in writing in a book, that the recollection of them may be in no way lost to posterity’. The chronicler and three of his companions were invited to dine with the King, whilst a splendid feast was arranged in the monks’ refectory for the whole convent of Westminster.
Notsurprisingly these events have founda place in most accounts of the reign of Henry III. The procession from St Paul’s to Westminster was later depicted by Matthew Paris in one of his better known drawings, whilst his interview with the King has been justly regarded as an indication of the close relations that bound the chronicler to the court. However, to date no attempt has been made to investigate the background to the gift of the Holy Blood to Westminster. Historians have been content to recite Paris’ description, without searching for further evidence.'® As will become apparent, the archives of Westminster Abbey yield important new material relating to the affair, including a letter from the patriarch of Jerusalem that describes the relic of the Holy Blood in some considerable detail. The present study is intended both as a commentary upon this rediscovered letter, and as an attempt to provide an overview of the history of relics of Christ’s blood, their origin, distribution and place in popular devotion, essential if we are to understand the particular blend of scepticism and reverence with which the Holy Blood of Westminster was regarded from the moment of its arrival in England. Remarkable as it may seem, there exists no comprehensive account of the history of such relics, a fact that is all the more extraordinary given the attention that historians have lavished upon relics in general, and in particular upon Corpus Christi, the more solid counterpart to relics of the Holy Blood."'
The present study begins with the immediate circumstances behind the gift of the blood to Westminster. This in turn will carry us on to the letter from the patriarch of Jerusalem and an attempt to explain its rather peculiar contents by reference to the wider relations between England and the church of Jerusalem. Thereafter we shall turn back to investigate the history of blood relics prior to 1247, posing one question above all others: why was it so difficult for the Westminster relic to find acceptance as a genuine relic of Christ’s blood? ‘This question requires an answer, since, as we shall see, the Holy Blood of Westminster, unlike similar relics elsewhere in Europe, was not destined to serve as the object of any popular cult or devotion. In seeking to explain this failure, we shall look to the schools and to scholastic opinion, specifically with regard to the relic of Westminster and more generally in respect to the wider problems associated with all relics of Christ’s bodily presence on earth. Finally we shall consider the aftermath of the events of 1247, the grant of indulgences, the pictorial representation of Henry III’s relic and the cult that developed, or rather that fazled to develop, around the blood of Westminster in the later Middle Ages. ‘To appreciate the full extent of this failure, we shall compare the Westminster relic with its rivals elsewhere, and in particular with the cult of the Holy Blood at Hailes. Here too, new evidence will be brought to light, suggesting that the blood of Hailes enjoyed a more respectable pedigree than the Westminster blood, sufficient, perhaps, to explain its greater attractiveness to pilgrims.
In what follows, I have been able to do no more than touch upon some of the more important themes associated with relics of Christ’s blood. My enquiry will not please all readers. ‘To certain critics, it will no doubt appear hopelessly ‘old-fashioned’. In particular, I have made little or no attempt here to incorporate the findings or to adopt the methods of many of those historians now engaged in the study of the medieval ‘body’. The best of such studies are excellent: none better than those of Caroline Walker Bynum, cited frequently below. For the rest, however, I find myself unimpressed by the mixture of crude Freud and over-ripened Derrida that too often passes for ‘body history’. The authors of such studies too often appear to be as ignorant of the learned languages of the Middle Ages as they are incapable of coherent expression in the modern vernacular. ‘Misdirected’ is perhaps the politest term that can be applied to much of this sort of writing. The pursuit of ‘mentalities’ is a valuable scholarly exercise. Indeed, much of what follows can be read as a study in the medieval mentality — political, religious, cultural and otherwise. I have held back, however, from what I regard as some of the wilder attempts by historians to superimpose modern terminology upon the thought-processes of the past. Such themes as sacrality, ‘the holy’ and the interplay of scientific and theological belief-systems will be found here in abundance. I plead guilty, however, to a charge of attempting to rob such themes of much of the numinous aura with which they have on occasion been invested.
The students of another variety of ‘misdirected’ research will likewise be disappointed by my findings. No one who ventures upon the study of relics, and in particular the relics of Christ, can avoid an encounter with the world of esoteric publishing. ‘There are any number of studies, populist or arcane as the case may be, devoted to such themes as masonic blood sacrifice, or the Druidic mysteries of the Grail. In pursuing the story of the Holy Blood, I have met with more than my fair share of such stuff. Its authors — worthy men and women no doubt — can claim at least one distinction from the gnostics of academe. For the most part they write in pursuit of some private obsession, or merely to put money in their pockets. The gnosis to which they lay claim is of a different, and for the most part more innocent, order to that claimed by tenured university scholars. The writers of esoteria, through personal psychosis or healthy commercialism, are preconditioned to detect conspiracy behind even the most innocent of facts. Academics, by contrast, have no excuse for burdening their readers with that which is sloppy or fraudulent. Those in search of ‘body’ language, or esoteric enlightenment, should look elsewhere. I make no claim here to have discovered the whereabouts of the Holy Grail, or to have unearthed the treasure of the Templars, and I leave it to others to apply ‘bodily’ or ‘mental’ spin to my findings. By drawing attention to a rich new vein of source material I hope none the less, that my enquiry may encourage, rather than pre-empt, further research into a fascinating and altogether remarkable aspect of medieval spirituality.
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