A Reattribution of the Tree of Jesse Tomb Slab in Lincoln Cathedral

Abstract

In the north-east corner of the nave of Lincoln Cathedral is a tomb slab made of Tournai marble emblazoned with the iconography of the Tree of Jesse. A Victorian inscription proclaims that it belongs to the building’s founder, Bishop Remigius de Fécamp (r. 1072–92). Since its ‘rediscovery’ in the cloister in 1857 scholars have examined the tomb slab’s material significance and its placement within the greater network of incised funerary monuments of the 12th century. This article re-examines the tomb’s possible patron and occupant, challenging earlier assumptions about its date and placing it within the context of Saint Hugh’s reconstruction of the cathedral’s east end. In so doing, it reassesses the importance of the Lincoln tomb slab and the iconography of the Tree of Jesse in medieval England.

Keywords:

• Lincoln
• tomb slab
• Saint Hugh
• Remigius
• Tree of Jesse
• cult
• Tournai

A shoot will come up from the stump of Jesse; from his roots a Branch will bear fruit.

The Spirit of the Lord will rest on him—the Spirit of wisdom and of understanding, the Spirit of counsel and of might, the Spirit of the knowledge and fear of the Lord—and he will delight in the fear of the Lord. (Isaiah 11: 1–3)¹

The iconography of the Tree of Jesse imagines the Messianic prophecy from the Book of Isaiah. It represents the lineage of Christ and is most commonly represented vertically as a vine growing from the reclining figure of Jesse, enveloping his descendants in interlacing branches. Its first extant depictions come in two illuminated manuscripts and one magnificent textile from the Bavarian city of Regensburg in the 11th century, made for local royalty.² By the mid-12th century, it began to flourish as an iconographic type most commonly found in illuminated manuscripts and in sculptures great and small, as well as stained glass, including the earliest known example in the chevet windows of the basilica of Saint-Denis, created in 1144 under the aegis of Abbot Suger (c. 1081–1151).³ In 1934, Arthur Watson published the first and only comprehensive study of the origins and development of the Tree of Jesse in medieval art history.⁴ Since then, a number of scholars have examined a variety of iconographic case studies, including the Jesse window in the Corona chapel of Canterbury Cathedral, the single remaining panel from lost York Minster’s Tree, and several early French examples.⁵ Most recently, Susan L. Green has examined the development of the iconography in the Low Countries throughout the 15th and 16th centuries.⁶ Despite its popularity and ubiquity, many questions about the function and significance of the Tree of Jesse in medieval visual culture still remain unanswered. Moreover, early and somewhat atypical iterations of the iconography, and the context surrounding their creation before its widespread representation across Europe, require more attention.

This article will examine the early and remarkable Tree of Jesse carved onto a tomb slab now located in the north-east corner of the nave of Lincoln Cathedral (Fig. 1). The significance and date of its design have yet to be determined. Since its ‘rediscovery’ in 1857 by Reverend G. A. Poole, antiquarians and art historians have attempted to assign a specific occupant of the tomb in question. Some suggested it marks the resting place of Bishop Remigius (r. 1067–92), while others believe it to belong to Bishop Alexander (r. 1123–48).⁷ It is thought to have been commissioned by either one of these bishops, or on their behalf by Bishop Robert de Chesney (1148–66) or Richard FitzNeal (c. 1130–98), Lord High Treasurer (c. 1158–89). By re-examining the evidence in light of the unique aspects of the iconography, this article seeks to offer a new appraisal of the Tree of Jesse tomb slab at Lincoln. It will reassess the proposed attributions, situate the object within the wider context of its design and the culture of ecclesiastical power in the transitional cathedral, and ultimately suggest that it served as the centrepiece of an abortive cult dedicated to Remigius orchestrated at the end of the 12th century by Bishop Hugh (r. 1186–1200, canonized 1220) during a period of ongoing restoration, political instability and the ‘Becketization’ of cathedrals in England.

Fig. 1. Tree of Jesse tomb slab, north-east corner of the nave, Lincoln Cathedral

Angela Websdale with permission of the Dean and Chapter of Lincoln Cathedral

description

The slab is made of Tournai marble, indicative of its status and expense, and measures 1.98 × 0.685 (top) × 0.51 m (bottom), typical for trapezoidal Tournai tombs of this period.⁸ Unfortunately, it is badly worn, rendering most of the figures unrecognisable, especially at the base, limiting most avenues of stylistic analysis.⁹ Despite the condition, it is recognisably a Tree of Jesse, although the design is more complex than any other 12th-century example seen in contemporary stained-glass windows. Jesse was presumably sleeping along the base, but, unfortunately, the lower perimeter is completely missing with the possible exception of what may be the top of his head in the lower left-hand corner. Above him, in the mandorla-shaped branches, is the crowned figure of King David holding his harp in left hand (Fig. 2). In his other hand, he appears to be holding a pair of tablets resembling the typical representation of the Ten Commandments.

Fig. 2. Detail of Fig. 1 showing King David

Angela Websdale with permission of the Dean and Chapter of Lincoln Cathedral

Above David is the Virgin, and at the top sits Christ with his arms raised either in blessing or showing his wounds (Fig. 3). In between the figures seated in the Tree are three pairs of flanking prophets. Of these, only Moses, who appears between Christ and the Virgin, is definitely identifiable, as he is depicted with horns and the Brazen Serpent.¹⁰ However, Poole suggested, without specification, that one of the figures is Elias and the flanking figures at the base, nearly effaced, are Adam and Eve.¹¹ This seems to be little more than speculation. Although Poole produced an accompanying drawing, it leaves much to be desired, and two earlier illustrations of the slab by John Carter from April 1784, and by Richard Gough from 1786, though clearer, do little to aid with these identifications (Figs 4–6).¹² There are only two other Tree of Jesse images from anywhere near the proposed dates of this tomb which feature Adam and Eve: a column on the west façade of the Cathedral of St Martin in Lucca (c. 1180–1200), and the famed painted ceiling of the abbey church of St Michael in Hildesheim (c. 1230); both churches which boast ownership of holy wood.¹³ However, in both examples the figures of Adam and Eve appear underneath the recumbent Jesse, standing nude to either side of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil with a serpent spiralling up its trunk. These features are missing from the Lincoln slab, which complicates Poole’s already unlikely attribution. In any case, the Tree is finished with a pair of angels flanking Christ at the top, signifiers of Christ’s celestial position.

Fig. 3. Detail of Fig. 1 showing Christ close up

Angela Websdale with permission of the Dean and Chapter of Lincoln Cathedral

Fig. 4. Illustration of the slab by G. A. Poole

After G. A. Poole, ‘The Architectural History of Lincoln Minster’, Reports and Papers of the Architectural and Archaeological Societies of the Counties of Lincoln and Northampton, Associated Architectural Societies Reports and Papers, 4 (1857), pl. II

Fig. 5. Illustration of the slab by John Carter (1784)

After J. Carter, Specimens of the Ancient Sculpture and Painting Now Remaining in This Kingdom, from the Earliest Period to the Reign of Henry Ye VIII, 2 vols (London, 1786), I, pl. 37

Fig. 6. Illustration of the slab by Richard Gough (1786)

After R. Gough, Sepulchral Monuments in Great Britain … Part I (London 1786), plate opposite p. lii, no. 6

The Virgin presents a striking figure (Fig. 7). Unlike the figures of David and Christ, she does not have outstretched arms and, in Carter and Gough’s drawings the Virgin appears to be holding something on her lap, probably the infant Christ. The possibility of seeing the Theotokos here was first suggested by Zarnecki, and is further supported by the two lions on her seat, surely an allusion to the Throne of Solomon, so much so that John Carter misidentified the Virgin as the eponymous king in 1784.¹⁴ The Virgin’s connection to the Throne had been intermittently argued since at least the 4th century, but it was only in the 11th century that the idea really became prevalent, at the same time that it became entangled with the representation of the Virgin as the sedes sapientiae, the ‘Throne of Wisdom’.¹⁵ The iconography of the Virgin and Child is an important one for Lincoln Cathedral. In 2018 the original of Lincoln was rediscovered in the cathedral archives. The cathedral’s 12th-century seal matrix seal (Lincoln Cathedral, PS 211), c. 1148–60, is wrought in silver and depicts the Virgin crowned and enthroned with the infant Christ on her lap and a flowering rod topped with a fleur-de-lis in her hand (Fig. 8).¹⁶ It is the second chapter seal and is comparable to the earlier first.¹⁷ The image is reused on another seal rediscovered at the same time, that of the Vicars Choral. This seal, dating from the 13th century, shows the same image of the enthroned Virgin and Child, but instead flanked by praying canons and above the scene of the Annunciation. These seals would have closely associated with Lincoln Cathedral as an institution, and—as we shall see—may refer to a lost cultic image for Lincoln, so it is no surprise that the combination of the Virgin holding the infant Christ and a flowering rod were reused in Lincoln, including on the Tournai slab.

Fig. 7. Detail of Fig. 1

Angela Websdale, with permission of the Dean and Chapter of Lincoln Cathedral

Fig. 8. Seal matrix of Lincoln Cathedral (c. 1148–60)

Author, with permission of the Dean and Chapter of Lincoln Cathedral

The image of the Virgin Mary holding the Christ Child appeared at least three times in 12th-century Tree of Jesse iconography, all before the slab was probably made: twice in manuscripts produced for Cîteaux Abbey c. 1120–50 (Dijon, Bibliothèque Municipale, MS 641, fol. 40v, and MS 129, fol. 4v) and on a remarkable pulpit panel now in the Church of San Leonardo in Arcetri, Florence, although originally thought to have come from San Pier Scheraggio, another Florentine church, from c. 1180–1210.¹⁸ All three can be understood in relation to the growing importance of the Virgin in exegetical discussions and theological practises.¹⁹ Although there are no English comparisons for the Virgin and Christ in the Tree of Jesse, George Zarnecki argued that the composition of the Tree makes it ‘clear that the [Lincoln] tombslab was executed … to a design sent from England’, drawing comparison with Trees of Jesse in English manuscripts such as the Shaftesbury Psalter.²⁰ Art historians have shown that the iconography of the horned Moses is an aspect of English influence on French visual culture, having appeared first in several illuminations in an Old English Hexateuch (London, British Library, Claudius B IV) in c. 1050.²¹ Furthermore, there is seemingly a link between the horned Moses and the Tree of Jesse, for three of the four earliest extant English manuscripts that contain a horned Moses also contain the Tree, with two of them being found within the Jesse iconography.²² The flanking prophets also suggest the influence of English manuscripts on the tomb’s design. It was only after the stained-glass Tree of Jesse formula was established at Saint-Denis by 1144 that French manuscripts start consistently to contain flanking prophets within their iconographies.²³ In English manuscripts, however, portrayals of prophets flanking the lineage of Christ were almost universal before the Tree of Jesse took form in stained glass in the Corona chapel of Canterbury Cathedral from c. 1200.²⁴

The makers of the tomb at Lincoln would likely have been familiar with the Jesse iconography. Although there are similarities between the tomb and the Shaftesbury and Winchester Psalters, the Tournai slab is closer to French stained-glass designs than to any extant English manuscript. This can be seen with one easily overlooked aspect of the Jesse Tree at Saint-Denis, where the figures are seated. Earlier versions with similar layout mostly show the figures as half-length portraits resting on the branches of the Tree itself.²⁵ The Tree in Canterbury is the first in England with figures seated on chairs, an iconographical addition which would be common, though not universal, as the Tree developed. However, the figures on the Lincoln slab are also seated on chairs. Further, as we have just seen, the inclusion of the Virgin and Child in the Tree appeared first in French manuscripts and Italian sculpture. Despite this possible continental influence on the design (this pairing appeared nowhere in England before the Lincoln slab), the Lincoln Jesse displays many iconographic details that are specific to England and suggests a later date than has been thus far proposed. These include seated figures including a Theotokos with a leonine throne, flanking prophets with a horned Moses, and a vertical layout (reminiscent of the Saint-Denis window).

THE PROPOSED ATTRIBUTIONS

Scholars have suggested two alternative occupants and four different patrons of the Lincoln slab, but have offered little detailed commentary on its Tree of Jesse iconography. Through a reassessment of the dating, iconography and proposed identity of the occupant, I argue that this tomb slab was created as the centrepiece of a new cultic space in St Hugh’s Choir, originally intended for Remigius. After canonization attempts for the founding bishop failed the slab was quietly repurposed as a simple episcopal tomb.

The first identification of the slab comes in Poole’s study of 1857, in which he associated it with an evocative description of how in 1124 a fire broke the tomb of Bishop Remigius (r. 1067–72/1072–92 Dorchester/Lincoln), offered by Gerald of Wales (c. 1146–c. 1223) in his Vita Sancti Remgii, c. 1196–99:²⁶

As time went on, it happened that the cathedral of the Blessed Virgin was destroyed by an accidental fire. And when the fire itself erupted more strongly, the timber of the roof fell to the floor; the slab lying on top of the body [petra corpori superposita] was broken in the middle and separated into two parts.²⁷

Poole claimed that this description matched the Lincoln Tree of Jesse tomb slab, although his drawing of the tomb is (to put it gently) largely inaccurate. However, Poole’s attribution was convincing enough to have the slab ‘re’-located to the north-east part of the nave in 1872, 800 years after Remigius moved the see, with an inscription by Bishop Wordsworth (r. 1869–85) claiming the slab as that of Remigius.²⁸ Five years later, in 1877, Poole restated his belief, insisting that association with Remigius was ‘irresistible’.²⁹

There are, however, a number of reasons why this attribution must be incorrect. First, the use of monuments made of Tournai marble in England is generally thought to date no earlier than the episcopate of Henry of Blois, who ruled the see of Winchester from 1129 to 1171.³⁰ Stylistically, as we shall shortly see, the slab seems to share many similarities with the c. 1171 reconstruction of Tournai Cathedral and seems more developed than the largely c. 1150 corpus of Tournai marble fonts found in England, predominantly in Lincolnshire and Hampshire.³¹ Moreover, as George Zarnecki pointed out, it is ‘inconceivable’ that the founder’s memorial slab would not have been replaced by the incumbent bishop if it were broken in 1124 fire, especially if that bishop was Alexander of Lincoln, nicknamed ‘the magnificent’ by his contemporaries due to his support of lavish lifestyle and artistic patronage.³² Finally, if the tomb was that of Remigius, it would be the earliest extant representation of the Tree of Jesse in any media outside of the Bavarian group. It would also be far more developed than them, especially given its stylistic affinities with the Tree of Jesse window in Saint-Denis of c. 1144. It would be one of the earliest depictions of David with a harp as well as the first known image of David harping in a Tree of Jesse, pre-dating any other by a century. Finally, it would be the second oldest depiction of Moses with horns, pre-dating the next oldest by at least twenty-five years.³³ This constellation of concerns suggests that tomb does not date from the time of Remigius’ death, or any time before the 1124 fire.³⁴

In her study of Tournai tomb slabs in England, published in 1981, Elizabeth Bradford Smith (née Schwartzbaum), argued that Bishop Alexander of Lincoln (r. 1123–48) was the slab’s patron and occupant.³⁵ This idea was first suggested in 1963 by Zarnecki, building on Francis Hill’s suggestion that the slab dated from the ‘later part of the twelfth century’.³⁶ Although Hill did not explain his reasoning, Zarnecki associated the tomb’s design with a fragment of the Romanesque sculptural decoration of the west façade, which may be a Tree of Jesse.³⁷ This suggestion also depended upon Alexander’s reputation as a patron of the arts.³⁸ Smith developed the idea through a comparison of the Lincoln slab with two other 12th-century Tournai marble tombs: a tomb in Salisbury Cathedral, believed to have been made for Alexander’s uncle, Bishop Roger of Salisbury (r. 1102–39); and another in Ely Cathedral, said to belong to Alexander’s half-brother, Bishop Nigel of Ely (r. 1133–69).³⁹ Smith convincingly argued that each slab would have been carved in Tournai, rather than in situ, as they all bear similarities to the capital and portal sculptures in the recently redeveloped Tournai Cathedral.⁴⁰ Based upon these observations and the familial ties, she concluded that the slabs all have the same patron, Alexander, who—sometime after Roger’s death in 1139 but before his own in 1148—commissioned the monuments for himself and his family members, as well as a font made of Tournai marble for Lincoln Cathedral (the only place to hold both a tomb and a slab made of the substance). She continued by arguing that the poor financial and social standings of Roger and Nigel after they were punished by King Stephen in 1139 for their suspected support of Empress Matilda in the Anarchy would leave them unable to afford the expense of their own tombs.⁴¹ Alexander thus stepped in and paid for the production of all three, including his own in Lincoln.

Smith assumed that Alexander was wealthy because of his association with the rebuilding of Lincoln Cathedral, and because of his foreign travels. But this is problematic. First, she misdates the devastating fire to 1141 rather than 1124, before his family’s fall. Second, although it is true that Alexander could afford to travel to Rome and was there for much of 1145 and 1146, Nigel also went to Rome in 1144, implying that Alexander was not significantly richer than his half-brother.⁴² Even if Alexander were wealthier before his death, a new tomb marker for Nigel might have been unnecessary for in the intervening years Nigel had recovered his wealth, having been named Treasurer of England soon after the ascension of Henry II in 1154.⁴³ Moreover, Smith seems to have failed to account for the twenty-one-year gap between Alexander’s death in 1148 and the death of Nigel in 1169, making the Ely slab a rather strange pre-mortem gift.⁴⁴ Finally, Smith’s attribution of Lincoln Cathedral’s extant Tournai marble font—currently in the south-west corner of the nave—to Alexander’s patronage can be challenged.⁴⁵ The font itself is square and carved on each face with beasts (three on the north, south and east, and four on the west). They are generally in profile and often face-to-face. They have rounded bodies and prominent eyes, with something between leonine and avian forms, with wings. They strongly resemble beasts carved on contemporary Tournai fonts imported to England in Winchester (c. 1148–65), St Michael’s in Southampton (c. 1170), East Meon (c. 1150), St Peter’s in Ipswich (c. 1153), and the Lincolnshire church of Thornton Curtis (1150s).⁴⁶ Based partly upon this corpus, James King suggested that the patron of the Lincoln font was Bishop Alexander’s successor, Robert de Chesney (r. 1148–66), who may have commissioned it in the mid-1150s.⁴⁷

King nonetheless concurred with Smith’s proposal that the Tournai marble tomb slab and font were commissioned at the same time and credited the tomb to Robert de Chesney, albeit without detailed discussion.⁴⁸ This argument is hard to sustain, however, as the human figures on the group of Tournai fonts related to Lincoln’s are very different to those on the Tree of Jesse tomb slab. Those on the fonts in Winchester (Fig. 9) and East Meon are carved with large heads and bulging, almond-shaped eyes, whereas those on the Jesse slab, though very worn, are more naturalistically proportioned. A later date for the tomb slab is in fact supported by Smith’s analysis of the capital and portal sculptures of Tournai Cathedral, which she argued must have influenced the design of the tomb slabs in Lincoln, Ely, and Salisbury, and were likely made ‘within a relatively short space of time’, around the consecration of the cathedral in c. 1171.⁴⁹ Although Smith contended that the font sculptors were ‘lesser members of the cathedral workshop’, it seems more likely that they were merely working to a style not yet influenced by the arrival of early Gothic to Tournai.⁵⁰

Fig. 9. South side of the font in Winchester Cathedral (c. 1148–65)

After F. Bond, Fonts and Font Covers (London 1908), 169

Most recently, Shirin Fozi—though agreeing with Smith’s idea that the Lincoln, Ely and Salisbury slabs were made jointly for Alexander, Nigel and Roger—has disputed the notion that Alexander was patron and has instead suggested that Richard FitzNeal (c. 1130–98), son of Nigel of Ely, commissioned all three tombs.⁵¹ Although Richard was dean of Lincoln from 1183 to 1189 and then bishop of London from 1189 to 1198, Fozi suggested that the tombs were produced at some point during Richard’s extensive tenure as Treasurer of England (c. 1159–98), perhaps in the 1160s.⁵² Fozi examines the slab in the context of her larger argument that no funerary effigies from the period of 1000–1200 ‘were commissioned by the people they represent’, and that ‘the identifiable examples unfailingly focus on individuals whose legacies had been tarnished’ and needed some sort of post-death redemption.⁵³ Although convincing in her first point, Fozi’s own criteria seem to argue against the suggestion that Richard was patron of all three slabs. Although the beleaguered Roger, who died still at odds with King Stephen, may still have required rescue from ‘public humiliation’ through the use of a fine tomb slab, Alexander and Nigel’s reputations had already recovered by the time of their deaths.⁵⁴

There is simply is not enough evidence to suggest that the three slabs at Lincoln, Ely and Salisbury were commissioned together—by Alexander, Richard or anyone else—as a set intended to commemorate or redeem Roger of Salisbury or his two nephews, and their placement in these three cathedrals seems merely coincidental. Moreover, indeed, in 1996 Freda Anderson suggested that the Tournai tomb slab in Salisbury Cathedral was made in the 1170s not for Roger but for Osmund—the bishop (r. 1078–99) and later saint (canonized 1457) of Salisbury—for his burial in Old Sarum Cathedral, before being reused for the same purpose on top of a Purbeck slab in Salisbury’s new cathedral after his translation there in 1228.⁵⁵ Anderson proposed that the slab was a second attempt at a Tournai grave marker for Osmund; another slab found close by and commonly ascribed to the bishop was carved incorrectly and represents a first attempt.⁵⁶ Based upon the c. 1165–70 carving of a Tournai slab in Southover church for the founder’s wife, Gundrada, and the similarities it and other carvings at the church have to the Salisbury tomb, Anderson suggested that both Salisbury’s Tournai slabs ‘could not have been earlier than the 1170s’.⁵⁷ This lines up nicely with the chronology of the capital and portal sculptures of Tournai Cathedral by Smith, though Anderson rejects the notion that the slab was carved at Tournai, instead suggesting that it was made onsite at a workshop in Old Sarum, albeit perhaps with the help of Flemish sculptors.⁵⁸ Although by no means a definitive attribution, the suggestion that the Salisbury slab was made for Osmund and not Roger raises serious questions against the idea that the three slabs were commissioned as a set.

In sum, previous attempts to identify the patron or occupant of the Tree of Jesse tomb slab in Lincoln Cathedral are problematic. While earlier antiquarians suggested that the Lincoln slab was produced around the time of the death of Remigius (1092), recent scholars have suggested dates for its production that range between 1148 and the late 1160s. Most publications point to Bishop Alexander as either the patron and/or the occupant. The consensus holds that the slab was carved in Tournai to a design sent from Lincoln, but no one has adequately addressed why a Tree of Jesse was selected to decorate the grave marker. Zarnecki thought it may be related to a very damaged portal sculpture, Smith suggested it may have been ‘a personal choice by a learned churchman’, and Fozi that it ‘may reflect the intersection of political and ecclesiastical interests that was at play’, whilst Poole and King offer no explanation at all.⁵⁹

REMIGIUS: A REATTRIBUTION

This article argues that the Tournai tomb slab in Lincoln was made for Remigius, the founder and first bishop of Lincoln. However, it will contend that the context surrounding the acquisition of Tournai marble as well as the distinctive iconography of the Tree of Jesse imply that the slab was not commissioned around the time of his death in 1092, but much later. This tomb slab was likely dispatched from Tournai and designed to adorn a new and worthy location for the body of Remigius in the c. 1190s, nearly a century after his death, possibly in anticipation of a jubilee, during which time Bishop Hugh of Lincoln championed the cult of his episcopal predecessor while supporting the reconstruction and reorganization of the cathedral’s east end. In the end, the cult of Lincoln’s founder would be eclipsed by that of his chief supporter: Pope Honorius III canonized St Hugh on 17 February 1220 and the new Gothic reconstruction of the cathedral centred on the new saint.

As we have seen, Hill dated the tomb slab to the ‘later part of the twelfth century’, based seemingly on the opinion of Sir Alfred Clapham (1883–1950) and on Arthur Watson’s study of Tree of Jesse iconography.⁶⁰ Anderson’s recent re-dating of the Salisbury slabs to at least the c. 1170s confirms that Tournai marble was procured for high-status tomb slabs in England at the end of the 12th century, before its resurgence in the 14th century.⁶¹ In Lincolnshire there is evidence for import from the mid-12th century, with twenty-two examples of monumental incised slabs made of Tournai marble across the county from c. 1325–70.⁶² David A. Stocker has also suggested that Lincoln had a culture of ornate tomb monuments in the third quarter of the 12th century, with at least one local example possibly based upon the Jesse slab, and another carved Tournai slab supposedly from around the end of the 12th century is found in the church of St Oswald in the Lincolnshire village of Rand.⁶³

As argued above, the inclusion on the Tree of Jesse slab of both a horned Moses and a harping David suggests a date in at least the late 12th century, coinciding with the period between Bishop Hugh’s consecration in 1186 and death in 1200. In this section the wider devotional and political culture at Lincoln is explored, showing how and why the Tree of Jesse tomb slab was selected to serve as the centrepiece for the nascent cult of Remigius. Remigius, who moved the see to Lincoln from Dorchester in 1072, was remembered at Lincoln as both a bishop and a founder, who oversaw the construction of his new cathedral on the site of an old minster church dedicated to the Virgin.⁶⁴ That Marian tradition was recalled by the cathedral’s dedication, by the chapter’s 12th-century seal and by the prominence of Marian imagery in the cathedral.⁶⁵ The image of the Virgin and Child and Tree of Jesse on the tomb slab thus effectively positioned Remigius as a devotee of the Virgin, and as the ‘Jesse’ from which the current cathedral sprouted.

A close reading of Gerald of Wales’ Vita Sancti Remigii, written from 1196 to 1199 at the request of Bishop Hugh, implies that a new slab could have been installed to honour Remigius during Hugh’s episcopate.⁶⁶ There are fifteen miracles recorded across fifteen chronological chapters in this Vita, and these can be split into three groups: four from between Remigius’ death in 1192 but before the fire of 1124, three from after the fire and eight that post-date the martyrdom of Thomas Becket in 1170. Miracles in the first group all take place at the bishop’s tomb (‘ad tumbam’ or ‘coram tumba locatus’).⁶⁷ The last of these must have occurred in 1123 or 1124, as Bishop Alexander is said to be in post and in the next chapter the tomb is broken in the fire. According to Gerald, Remigius’ body was miraculously found incorrupt in his tomb despite the damage caused by the disaster and the many years since his death.⁶⁸ Despite the damage, miracles were still performed ‘ad tumbam viri sancti’ after the 1124 fire, including seven of the eight miracles from after 1170. The first of these is the story of a blind woman who dreams that the Canterbury martyr tells her to go to tomb of the man who had loved Christ’s ‘mother always with all his efforts, but especially in the construction of the church of Lincoln, which he had founded in her name’.⁶⁹

It is important to note that more than half of the recorded miracles occurred after 1170, perhaps due to Hugh’s promotion of Remigius’ cult. Gerald ends the final miracle with a striking allegory of Remigius:

So far the plant of Christ (Christi planta) has not ceased to be watered by the divine dew of virtues and miracles, until it has established itself in the heavenly garden, an area of true delights, accordingly spaced through garden beds and tempered by the well-watered spring, it would be evident to all to have established firm roots (firmas radices).⁷⁰

Although Gerald’s language is consistent with well-established hagiographical tropes, the allusion here to firm roots is especially suggestive given the centrality of Remigius’ tomb to his cult (dust from it was also mixed with water to give to visitors), and the iconography of the Tree of Jesse tomb slab.

Bishop Hugh was in the diocese of Lincoln in May 1192, the 100th anniversary of Remigius’ death, likely along with Abbot Benedict of Peterborough (r. 1177–93), Bishop Gilbert Glanvill of Rochester (r. 1185–1214), Archbishop Geoffrey Plantagenet of York (r. 1191–1212) and Bishop Hugh de Puiset of Durham (r. 1153–95), in order to settle a dispute between the latter two men.⁷¹ The fortuitous (or, perhaps, deliberate) presence of Benedict, whose tireless work as a miracle collector and hagiographer was fundamental to the creation and growth of Becket’s cult, and Geoffrey, archbishop of York (currently without a counterpart in Canterbury) and illegitimate son of King Henry II, as well as a previously elected (though never consecrated) bishop of Lincoln, meant that any jubilee event would have been attended by some prestigious guests. If such an event did take place (and there is no direct evidence for it), then it provides a plausible terminus ante quem for installation of the new tomb slab in the cathedral, locating and anchoring the site of devotion to launch the cult. Elected seven years earlier, Hugh would have had plenty of time to commission, collect and install a magnificent tomb of Tournai marble.

SAINT HUGH AND THE CULT OF SAINT REMIGIUS

Hugh’s support of the cult of Remigius aligns with what is known of his life and career before his arrival at Lincoln in 1186.⁷² He was a Carthusian monk who served in several French houses before he was compelled in 1179 by King Henry II (1133–89) to serve as prior of the first Carthusian house in England, Witham Charterhouse in Somerset.⁷³ On 21 September 1186 he was consecrated bishop of Lincoln in Westminster Abbey.⁷⁴

Hugh was near-obsessed with collecting relics. Adam of Eynsham (c. 1155–c. 1233)—Hugh’s personal chaplain, near constant companion from 1197 until the bishop’s death in 1200 and author of the Magna Vita Sancti Hugonis (c. 1212)—records that Hugh possessed a gold ring in which he kept no fewer than thirty relics.⁷⁵ Adam’s Vita contains at least three stories of special relics acquired by Hugh. After much pleading to the Abbot Garnier of Fleury (1183–1210), he received a tooth of St Benedict of Nursia, and also sliced off some sinew from the arm of St Oswald in Peterborough. At Fécamp, where Remigius spent his early life, Hugh bit off pieces of the arm bone of Mary Magdalen, ‘first with his incisors and finally with his molars’ (prius incisiuos deinde molares dentes apposuit).⁷⁶ Since Hugh’s new cathedral was bereft of any major (or even minor) relics when he came to power in 1186, Remigius’ canonization represented a valuable opportunity.⁷⁷

Evidence for Hugh’s efforts to canonize Remigius comes from Gerald of Wales’ efforts to complete the Vita Sancti Remigii whilst in Lincoln from 1196 to 1199.⁷⁸ As its name implies, the Vita was created with the expectation that Remigius would be canonized, and Gerald explicitly states that this is his aim for Remigius (and later in his vita for Hugh) at the beginning of the text.⁷⁹ At this time, papal legates investigating claims of sanctity would consider vitas when looking for evidence.⁸⁰ Most significantly, Gerald’s vita for Hugh was used in the papal canonization commission’s report on the bishop’s sanctity, to which Adam of Eynsham testified in person.⁸¹ It stands to reason that the earlier life of Remigius could have been used in the same manner if any official inquiry had taken place. Hugh was familiar with the process having already taken part in the canonization process for St Gilbert of Sempringham (c. 1085–1190, canonized 1202), founder of the eponymous Gilbertine Order, established thirty miles south of Lincoln.⁸² In the end, Remigius was never canonized, and it was Hugh who was canonized on 17 February 1220, just twenty years after his death.

This canonization effort is also linked to the rebuilding of the Lincoln’s east end, following the precedent at Canterbury. The building is said to have been rent from ‘top to bottom’ by an earthquake in April 1185, mere months before Hugh’s episcopate began.⁸³ After some delay caused by the tearing down and rebuilding of the old Roman wall that abutted the cathedral, restoration and building began c. 1193/4.⁸⁴ Hugh’s Choir, as it is commonly now known, consisted of a total reconstruction and extension of the east end for the purpose of forming a new cultic space for the cult of Remigius, work that was largely completed by Hugh’s death in 1200.⁸⁵ Hugh’s Choir took inspiration from the recent Gothic redevelopment of the east end of Canterbury, the spectacular setting for the cult of St Thomas, though this time eclipsing its southern counterpart with ‘the principle that more was better than less’.⁸⁶ The precise design of Hugh’s Choir remains the focus of debate, though it is generally accepted that it took the form of a central, irregular half-hexagonal or semi-octagonal chapel with two apsidal ‘bubble’ chapels and three interconnected eastern chapels.⁸⁷ Moreover, the few examples of early stained glass at Lincoln also demonstrate the strong influence that Gothic Canterbury had on the artistic designs of Lincoln during Hugh’s reign.⁸⁸ The similarities between the central chapel of Hugh’s east end and the Corona chapel at Canterbury are noteworthy, established since the first comprehensive examination of the foundations by Edmund Venables in 1887.⁸⁹ This comparison has enjoyed sustained support from more recent scholars too, with Peter Kidson writing that the east end chapel ‘cannot be easily explained except as a kind of copy of the Corona at Canterbury’, and John Baily proposing that Hugh’s east end had a high vault akin to that seen in the Corona.⁹⁰

However, unlike Canterbury, Lincoln seemingly had no central cult around which to build their Gothic east end. There has also been much scholarly debate on the purpose of this new east end. It has been suggested by Kidson and Stocker, though not without some disagreement, that Hugh’s east end was originally intended to elevate the cult of Remigius.⁹¹ Following the transformation and ‘Becketization’ of Canterbury to maximize the power, prestige and pilgrimage potential of St Thomas, many other institutions searched for their own resident saint in order to follow the incredibly successful ‘Becket model’.⁹² John Jenkins and others have pointed to the early Gothic rebuilding of York, where many healing miracles were recorded at the tomb of Bishop William (d. 1154), suggesting that the reconstruction was an attempt ‘to bolster the status of a saint and the Cathedral community within their locality’.⁹³ Rachel Koopmans has shown the same recalibration happening at Durham in the 1170s with her analysis of the additions made by Reginald of Durham to his earlier miracle collection of St Cuthbert.⁹⁴ The recorded types and locations of miracles shifted dramatically after Becket’s martyrdom towards healings occurring within cathedral precincts, which Jenkins labels as ‘Becket’s speciality’.⁹⁵ It seems noteworthy that every miracle attributed by Gerald to Remigius (bar his body being found incorrupt) features an act of healing within the cathedral, even those that record miracles from before Becket’s death. It therefore seems entirely reasonable that Lincoln too could be ‘Becketized’ through the construction of Hugh’s new east end, with the tomb of Remigius as its centrepiece, demarcated with a slab of Tournai marble, much as Becket’s tomb formed the early focal point of his cult before his 1220 translation.

the ‘bastard shoots’ of the plantagenets

Scholars have often portrayed Hugh as a master mediator between Church and State, saying that although he would often disagree with Henry II, he would use his wit to win him over.⁹⁶ However, this royal favour waned during the reigns of King Richard (r. 1189–99), who, shortly before the his death at the siege of Châlus-Chabrol, was rumoured by Adam of Eynsham to have ‘included the bishop of Lincoln and his clergy amongst those upon whom as rebels [Richard] had decided to take vengeance as quickly as possible’. Adam also reported that King John (r. 1199–1216) petulantly delayed handing his oblation to Hugh at a holy feast, loudly ruing that he had to give it, and that he would rather keep it. Afterwards, Hugh preached at length to the crowd on ‘the characters of good and bad rulers, and their future rewards’.⁹⁷ Hugh refused to be used as a pawn by kings, with both trying to co-opt his authority.⁹⁸ Perhaps learning from Becket’s legacy, Hugh never cultivated the patronage of the Plantagenets, unlike his contemporary Hubert Walter (r. 1193–1205), who used his royal influence to become archbishop of Canterbury.⁹⁹ For his contemporary John of Leicester, Hugh would be remembered after his death as the ‘hammer of kings’.¹⁰⁰

When describing the bishop on his deathbed in 1200, Adam of Eynsham’s Magna Vita records a troubling prophecy shared by Hugh concerning the fate of the Plantagenet rulers:

The words of the Bible must inevitably be fulfilled in the case of the descendants of King Henry. ‘Bastard shoots will not have deep roots’ [Wisdom 4: 3] and ‘the offspring of an adulterous union shall be destroyed’ [Wisdom 3: 16]. The present king of the French will avenge his pious father Louis on the sons of the adulteress who forsook her lawful husband shamelessly for his rival, the king of the English. For this cause this Frenchman Philip shall wipe out the English royal stock just as the ox plucks up grass by its roots; for already three of Henry’s sons, two of them kings and the other a count, have been destroyed by the French, and they will allow the fourth who still remains only a short respite.¹⁰¹

Adam wrote these words c. 1212, whilst in exile during the interdict placed on England caused by John’s refusal to accept Stephen Langton as archbishop of Canterbury (r. 1207–28).¹⁰² By this time, John had already lost Normandy and all of his continental lands were under occupation (though he would not formally lose Anjou, Poitou and Brittany until the Truce of Chinon in September 1214).¹⁰³ Although Farmer questions whether this prophecy really was a revelation from Hugh or a poignant intervention by his hagiographer, it seems unlikely that Adam would include or write anything that would needlessly threaten Hugh’s chance of canonization for a personal political attack.¹⁰⁴ Furthermore, Adam was only given the abbacy of Eynsham in 1213/14 by Hugh’s successor at Lincoln, Hugh of Wells (r. 1209–35), which suggests that the new administration approved of the Magna Vita.¹⁰⁵

Gerald of Wales, author of Remigius’ Vita, was similarly bold in his criticism of Henry II and his children. The first of three books of Gerald’s De Principis Instructione was likely already in circulation by the time of his arrival in Lincoln in 1196.¹⁰⁶ He ended his chapter entitled ‘The Death and Bloody End of Tyrants’, calling Britain ‘a fertile fatherland for tyrants’ and justifying his claim by pointing to the violent deaths of English kings ‘from bows or crossbow bolts or the force of enemies’, albeit without naming any kings.¹⁰⁷ These critical views can be seen to have intensified by the time Gerald completed Remigius’ Vita, as he wrote that Henry invaded Ireland in order to evade the interdict which he thought was coming for his part in Becket’s death, a reasoning which he had previously not included in his 1189 text on the conquest of Ireland.¹⁰⁸ In the other two books of De Principis Instructione, compiled by at least 1217, he openly attacks the monarchy. Of particular note is a chapter in the third book entitled ‘The Origins of Both King Henry and Queen Eleanor, and the Totally Corrupt Root of their Sons’.¹⁰⁹ In this polemical chapter, Gerald explains that because Eleanor’s grandfather absconded with the wife of one of his vassals and ignored the warnings of a hermit sent by God, the whole family would be cursed and not bear ‘happy fruit’.¹¹⁰ Gerald then claims that his source for this information was Bishop Hugh, who ‘used to relate this [story], citing as his source King Henry II, who used to tell him this when he was attacked by his sons’.¹¹¹ When discussing the king’s offspring, Gerald wrote that since ‘the root was so completely vicious, how could a fruitful or virtuous shoot come forth from it?’.¹¹² He ends this chapter by brazenly attacking Henry II and his sons, and concluding with an open lamentation that England is a breeding ground for tyrants and hoping that the French, who were ‘accustomed to being kings by a kind of natural succession’, might be divinely granted England to rule ‘as was desired by many’.¹¹³ Gerald even assigns dire predictions of Henry’s future to other churchmen, including Bernard of Clairvaux (c. 1090–1153, canonized 1174).¹¹⁴ The similarities between Gerald’s attack on the Plantagenets in De Principis Instructione and the prophecy attributed to Hugh in the Magna Vita are stark. The texts claim that the marriage between Henry and Eleanor was an adulterous union, that their children would not be fruitful, and that the kings of France should rule England in their stead, all the while using vivid tree imagery to imply the downfall of the ‘rotten’ Plantagenet family.

If Hugh positioned an image of the Tree of Jesse at the devotional centre of Lincoln Cathedral, it might not be a coincidence that the allegorical potential of its iconography also spurred a pervasive antithesis in the form of political criticism. While this Tree of Jesse explicates the genealogy of Christ, growing around the worthy figures of David, Moses and the Virgin Mary, Gerald and Hugh’s criticism of the Plantagenets condemned the shallow, vicious roots of their rulers, conjuring an effective anti-type of the Jesse archetype.

At the very least, those who were close to Hugh were willing to write attacks against Henry II, Queen Eleanor, and their sons. One may expect then that the Metrical Life of Saint Hugh, likely written by the famed poet Henry of Avranches in the 1220s to celebrate the bishop’s canonization, would not show such an antagonistic relationship between the bishop and his kings given Henry’s extensive royal patronage.¹¹⁵ Although the text repeatedly emphasizes Hugh’s piety and devotion to his episcopal duties, extols the majesty of the cathedral’s new architecture and narrates Hugh’s many miracles, it also presents a portrait of the saint as unabashedly defiant towards and unwavering in his criticism of English kings.¹¹⁶ The Metrical Life goes further, though, and positions Hugh in the role of defender of the Church, portraying him as the only man willing—and able—to defy the king:

If the church was to maintain its freedom it required a single protector, one who would not be overawed by the king, one who in his own person would put the case for all, and would not fear to shed his own blood for the preservation of the church’s liberty. The only person found fit for the task was Hugh.¹¹⁷

Hugh is then positioned as a worthy counterpart to Becket, the ‘white lily of Lincoln’ rather than the ‘red rose of Kent’; a defender of the Church’s freedom, and someone willing to risk bloodshed to protect it from the abuse of the state.¹¹⁸

The use of fruitless tree metaphors as effective allegories to express criticism of kings Henry II, Richard and John seems to have stemmed from the political culture at Lincoln in the 1190s. These criticisms emerged around Hugh’s rebuilding of the east end, which celebrated the short-lived cult of Remigius, whose tomb would be adorned with a Tree of Jesse. It is tempting to think that the Tree of Jesse may have been selected as a virtuous iconography for the cathedral’s founder in the wake of ongoing criticism of the Plantagenets and their ‘bastard shoots’, especially when one considers that Henry was compared as an anti-type to King David at the time.¹¹⁹ It could be the case that the figure of David on the tomb slab holds the Ten Commandments as a reminder to all rulers that they were bound by the laws of God, particularly, in light of Henry II’s failing, the sixth commandment, ‘thou shalt not commit adultery’.

conclusion

Although scholars have long since disregarded the idea that the Tree of Jesse tomb slab in Lincoln Cathedral was made for the first bishop of Lincoln, Remigius de Fécamp, this article has resurrected that idea but argued that it was designed at some time in the 1190s, probably before the anniversary in 1192, in an attempt to centre a new cult and achieve his canonization. After the death of Thomas Becket in 1170 the desire for local saints exploded in England and across Europe, and Lincoln was no exception. Aided by his position as the founder of a cathedral and the record of some miracles, the burgeoning cult of Remigius seemed ready-made for success. However, even with the backing of Bishop Hugh, one of the most powerful and influential prelates in England, the cult of Remigius failed to develop. Ironically, it was the legacy of Hugh, probably the chief architect behind attempts to secure Remigius’ canonization, which ultimately led to the cult’s failure. After Hugh’s death on 16 November 1200, not only was the main proponent for the cause lost; Hugh instantly surpassed his episcopal predecessor as a far more attractive candidate for sainthood. With many miracles in both life and death, Hugh’s canonization on 17 February 1220 and the total redesign of the east end beginning in 1256, the tomb Hugh had commissioned for Remigius lost its original significance; it served not as a marker for a major cult, but rather an episcopal grave. With the completion of the Angel choir c. 1280, the tomb slab of Remigius carved with a Tree of Jesse was possibly moved next to the high altar, but by 1295 another grave marker ascribed to Remigius was constructed there.¹²⁰ The subsequent location of the original slab is hard to trace. It was recorded in the ‘second north cross aisle’, the north-east transept, by Carter in 1784, and in the north choir aisle by Gough in 1786, where it may have been stored next to the 13th-century Remigius tomb as a companion piece, similar to how Edward the Confessor’s tomb slab was supposedly kept next to Becket’s tomb to enhance its prestige.¹²¹ Although we do not know for certain whether it was one of the ‘eighty-seven tombstones’ moved during the 1782–91 repaving, or if it resided north of the choir (in the aisle or the transept) before 1782, it seems likely that the slab was moved into the cloister at some point between 1786 and 1791, and certainly before Poole’s rediscovery and reattribution in 1857.¹²² Today, it can be found in the north-east corner of the nave, just before the choir screen.

The Tree of Jesse iconography was likely chosen for a multitude of reasons, most of which reveal more about the men who chose it—St Hugh and his coterie—and their vision for the cult, than Remigius himself. That is not to say that the life and legacy of Remigius had no bearing on its design. As founder, Remigius would have ultimately confirmed the dedication of the cathedral to the Virgin, and the Tree of Jesse is undoubtedly a Marian image.

The inclusion of the Tree of Jesse on this tomb could also reflect the ongoing tension between Church and State. As we have seen, Hugh was perceived (like Becket) as a defender of ecclesiastical rights due to his criticism of Plantagenet rulers, whom he apparently condemned as ‘bastard shoots’ and the ‘offspring of an adulterous union’.¹²³ Hugh’s close ties with Gerald of Wales, whom he commissioned as hagiographer of Remigius and who was one of the most vocal critics of the Plantagenets, is further evidence of his deeper discomfort with the royal dynasty, as is Adam of Eynsham’s willingness to portray Hugh’s royal antagonism in his own Magna Vita. Hugh’s commitment to untangling the affairs of the Crown from English religious life is thus articulated in allegorical language similar to that of its more positive counter-type, the Tree of Jesse.

Even without official papal canonization, Remigius was still held in high regard locally throughout the 13th century and beyond, and he still received the loosely defined honorific title of ‘sanctus’.¹²⁴ John de Schalby, canon of Lincoln, recorded in his c. 1330 history that ‘the miracles which happened after [Remigius’] death showed how dear in his lifetime he had been to God’.¹²⁵ Thus, well into the 14th century, Remigius would be regarded as a conduit of miracles, perhaps at the location of his tomb carved with a Tree of Jesse.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to thank Emily Guerry for providing so much support in every step of writing this article and to Angela Websdale for providing me with excellent photographs of the slab after my own attempts failed. Further thanks must be given to Tom Nickson and my anonymous reviewers, whose feedback provided several interesting avenues of research. Finally, I am indebted to the staff of Lincoln Cathedral, who allowed me access to the tomb slab at a time when the space was otherwise inaccessible.

Notes

1 ‘Et egredietur virga de radice Jesse, et flos de radice ejus ascendet. Et requiescet super eum spiritus Domini: spiritus sapientiae et intellectus, spiritus consilii et fortitudinis, spiritus scientiae et pietatis; et replebit eum spiritus timoris Domini.’

2 For the mantle, see E. Coatsworth and G. Owen-Crocker, Clothing the Past: Surviving Garments from Early Medieval to Early Modern Western Europe (Leiden 2018), 100–02. For the manuscripts, see G. Reimann and H. Büttner, Mittelalterliche Buchmalerei in Sammlungen Volksdemokratischer Länder (Leipzig 1961), 16–17, 36; J. Kvĕt, Czechoslovakian Miniatures from Romanesque and Gothic Manuscripts, Fontana UNESCO Art Books, 6 (Milan 1964), 11–14; J. D. Kyle, ‘The Monastery Library at St. Emmeram (Regensburg)’, The Journal of Library History, 15 (1980), 1–21; A. Gieysztor, ‘Symboles de la royauté en Pologne: Une groupe de manuscrits du XIe et du début du XIIe siècles’, Comptes Rendus des Séances de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres, 134 (1990), 128–37, at 132; J. A. H. Williams, ‘The Earliest Dated Tree of Jesse Image: Thematically Reconsidered’, Athanor, 18 (2000), 17–23.

3 E. Panofsky and G. Panofsky-Soergel ed., Abbot Suger on the Abbey Church of St.-Denis and Its Art Treasures, 2nd edn (Princeton 1979); P. L. Gerson ed., Abbot Suger and Saint-Denis: A Symposium (New York 1986); S. M. Crosby and others ed., The Royal Abbey of Saint-Denis in the Time of Abbot Suger (1122–1151) (New York 1981); L. Grodecki, Les Vitraux de Saint-Denis: Étude sur le vitrail au XIIe siècle, Corpus Vitrearum Medii Aevi: France: Série Études, 1 (Paris 1976).

4 A. Watson, The Early Iconography of the Tree of Jesse Window (Oxford 1934).

5 A. Watson, ‘The Speculum Virginum with Special Reference to the Tree of Jesse’, Speculum, 3 (1928), 445–69; J. R. Johnson, ‘The Tree of Jesse Window of Chartres: Laudes Regiae’, Speculum, 36 (1961), 1–22; M. H. Caviness and V. C. Raguin, ‘Another Dispersed Window from Soissons: A Tree of Jesse in the Sainte-Chapelle Style’, Gesta, 20 (1981), 191–98; G. B. Blumenshine, ‘Monarchy and Symbol in Later Medieval France: The Tree of Jesse Window at Evreux’, Fifteenth Century Studies, 9 (1984), 19–57; E. C. Pastan, ‘“And He Shall Gather Together the Dispersed”: The Tree of Jesse at Troyes Cathedral’, Gesta, 37 (1998), 232–39; M. D. Taylor, ‘The Prophetic Scenes in the Tree of Jesse at Orvieto’, The Art Bulletin, 54 (1972), 403–17; R. Marks, Stained Glass in England During the Middle Ages (Abingdon 2006), 113–17.

6 S. L. Green, Tree of Jesse Iconography in Northern Europe in the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries (New York 2018).

7 G. A. Poole, ‘The Architectural History of Lincoln Minster’, Reports and Papers of the Architectural and Archaeological Societies of the Counties of Lincoln and Northampton, Associated Architectural Societies Reports and Papers, 4 (1857), 8–49; G. A. Poole, ‘The Tomb of Remigius. A Paper Read at a Meeting of the Lincolnshire Architectural Society, at Southwell, May, 1877’, Reports and Papers of the Architectural and Archaeological Societies of the Counties of Lincoln and Northampton, Associated Architectural Societies Reports and Papers, 14 (1877), 21–26; G. Zarnecki, Romanesque Sculpture at Lincoln Cathedral, Lincoln Minster Pamphlets, 2nd edn (Lincoln 1970); E. Schwartzbaum, ‘Three Tournai Tombslabs in England’, Gesta, 20 (1981), 89–97; J. F. King, ‘The Tournai Marble Baptismal Font of Lincoln Cathedral’, JBAA, 155 (2002), 1–21.

8 C. S. Drake, ‘The Distribution of Tournai Fonts’, Antiq. J., 73 (1993), 11–26, at 11–15; Schwartzbaum, ‘Tournai Tombslabs’, figs 1–3, in English Romanesque Art, 1066–1200, ed. G. Zarnecki, J. Allen and T. Holland (London 1984), 181–82.

9 Schwartzbaum, ‘Tournai Tombslabs’, 90n.

10 R. Mellinkoff, The Horned Moses in Medieval Art and Thought, California Studies in the History of Art, 14 (Berkeley 1970).

11 Poole, ‘Tomb’, 21.

12 Poole, ‘Architectural History’, between pages 16 and 17; J. Carter, Specimens of the Ancient Sculpture and Painting Now Remaining in This Kingdom, 2 vols (London 1786), I, pl. 37; R. Gough, Sepulchral Monuments in Great Britain: Applied to Illustrate the History of Families, Manners, Habits and Arts, at the Different Periods from the Norman Conquest to the Seventeenth Century. Part I. (London 1786), plate opposite lii, no. 6.

13 P. Salonius, ‘The Cathedral Façade: Papal Politics and Religious Propaganda in Medieval Orvieto’, in Visible Exports/Imports: New Research on Medieval and Renaissance European Art and Culture, ed. E. J. Anderson, J. Farquhar and J. Richards (Newcastle upon Tyne 2012), 127–28; Watson, Early Iconography, 125–27; J. Sommer, Das Deckenbild der Michaeliskirche zu Hildesheim, reprint (Königstein im Taunus 2000); A. Schmarsow, S. Martin von Lucca Und Die Anfänge Der Toskarischen Skulptur Im Mittelalter (Breslau 1890), 24–27; S. Martinelli, L’immagine Del Volto Santo di Lucca: Il Successo Europeo di un’iconografia medievale, Temi Del Medioevo Artistico in Toscana, 1 (Pisa 2016).

14 G. Zarnecki, Romanesque Lincoln: The Sculpture of the Cathedral (Lincoln 1988), 94; 1 Kings 10.18–20; Carter, Specimens, I, 37.

15 A. Iafrate, The Wandering Throne of Solomon: Objects and Tales of Kingship in the Medieval Mediterranean (Leiden 2016), 236–37, at 245–48; I. H. Forsyth, The Throne of Wisdom; Wood Sculptures of the Madonna in Romanesque France (Princeton 1972), 1–3, particularly n. 1.

16 L. Milner, ‘The Seals of Lincoln Cathedral Chapter’, JBAA, 175 (2022), 1–12.

17 Ibid.

18 Watson, Early Iconography, 89–92. For more on the Cîteaux manuscripts, see M. Fassler, ‘Mary’s Nativity, Fulbert of Chartres, and the Stirps Jesse: Liturgical Innovation circa 1000 and Its Afterlife,’ Speculum, 75 (2000), 389–434; F. Costantino et al., ‘San Leonardo in Arcerti: innovazione tecnologica per la Gestione Integrata dei Beni Culturali’, in 18 Conferenza Nazionale AS ITA 2014 (2014), 381–88, https://vcg.isti.cnr.it/Publications/2014/CDPCDS14/ (accessed 12 June 2023).

19 M. Rubin, Mother of God: A History of the Virgin Mary (New Haven 2009); M. E. Fassler, The Virgin of Chartres: Making History through Liturgy and the Arts (New Haven 2010).

20 G. Zarnecki, Romanesque Sculpture at Lincoln Cathedral, Lincoln Minster Pamphlets, 2nd edn (Lincoln 1970), 21; London, British Library, Lansdowne MS 383, fol. 15r, https://www.bl.uk/manuscripts/FullDisplay.aspx?ref=Lansdowne_MS_383 (accessed 24 April 2023).

21 R. Mellinkoff, The Horned Moses in Medieval Art and Thought, California Studies in the History of Art, 14 (Berkeley 1970), 64–65; https://www.bl.uk/manuscripts/Viewer.aspx?ref=cotton_ms_claudius_b_iv_fs001r (accessed 23 March 2023).

22 London, Lambeth Palace Library, MS 4, fol. 98r; London, British Library, Cotton MS Nero C IV (the Winchester Psalter), fols 4r and 9r.

23 Douai Bibliothèque Municipale, De laudibus sanctae crucis, MS 340; Bibliotheque municipale d’Amiens, Bible of Corbie, MS 23; Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal, Psalter of Blanche of Castille, MS 1186.

24 M. H. Caviness, The Early Stained Glass of Canterbury Cathedral, Circa 1175–1220 (Princeton 1977), 71–75.

25 The exception to this is an antiphonary from Germany (Cleveland Museum of Art, MS 1949.202), which may date from before the Saint-Denis window and which shows the figures in a mixture of positions, including standing, seated and half-length.

26 Poole, ‘Architectural History’, 8; Gerald of Wales, ‘Vita Sancti Remigii’, in Giraldi Cambrensis: Opera, ed. J. F. Dimock, Chronicles and Memorials of Great Britain and Ireland during the Middle Ages (London 1877), 1–80; S. Plass, ‘A Scholar and His Saints: Examining the Art of Hagiographical Writing of Gerald of Wales’ (2020), 178–79. For Poole, see G. Herring, ‘Poole, George Ayliffe (1809–1883), Church of England Clergyman and Author’, ODNB (2004).

27 ‘Processu vero temporis, cathedralem beatae Virginis ecclesiam casuali contigit igne consumi. Et ipso incendio, cum fortius ingrueret, tecti materia in aream corruente, petra corpori superposita, per medium confracta, partes in geminas est separata’: Gerald of Wales, Vita Sancti Remigii, 25–26 (Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, Parker Library, MS 425).

28 The inscription reads: ‘Depositvm vt fertvr Remigii Dorcacestrensis primvm deinde Lincolniensis episcopi et hvivs ecclesaiae fvndatoris a. s. MLXXII restitvtvm a. s. MDCCCLXXII’: E. Venables, ‘The Architectural History of Lincoln Cathedral’, Archaeol. J., 40 (1883), 159–92, 377–418, at 174; F. Hill, Medieval Lincoln, reprint (Cambridge 1965), 374; M. Pawley, ‘Wordsworth, Christopher (1807–1885), Bishop of Lincoln’, ODNB (2010).

29 Poole, ‘The Tomb of Remigius’, 26.

30 G. Zarnecki, ‘Henry of Blois as a Patron of Sculpture’, in Art and Patronage in the English Romanesque, ed. S. Macready, Occasional Papers of the Society of Antiquaries of London, N.S. 8 (London 1986), 159–72; S. Badham, ‘The Use of Sedimentary “Marbles” for Church Monuments in Pre-Reformation England’, Church Archaeology, 11 (2007), 1–19, at 1; R. Wood, ‘The Romanesque Tomb-Slab at Bridlington Priory’, Yorkshire Archaeological Journal, 75 (2003), 63–76, at 66; J. F. King, ‘The Tournai Marble Tomb-Slabs at Trondheim (Norway) and Tortefontaine (France) and Their Significance’, JBAA, 161 (2008), 24–58, at 38; F. W. Anderson, ‘Provenance of Building Stone’, in Object and Economy in Medieval Winchester, ed. M. Biddle, Winchester Studies, 7/ii (Oxford 1990), 306–14, at 313.

31 See notes 51 and 48.

32 Zarnecki, Romanesque Lincoln, 93; G. Zarnecki, Later English Romanesque Sculpture, 1140–1210 (London 1953), 20; D. M. Smith, ‘Alexander [Called Alexander the Magnificent] (d. 1148), Bishop of Lincoln’, ODNB (2004).

33 David first appears holding a harp in the Tree of Jesse on a trumeau of the Portico de la Gloria of the cathedral of Santiago de Compostela, c. 1188, and later appears with regularity in miniatures and stained glass in around c. 1200, as seen in the Munich Psalter (Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm.835, fol. 121r), the Bible of Corbie (Amiens, Bibliotheque Municipale d’Amiens, MS 23, fol. 195r) and in stained glass of the Chapelle de Chateau de Baye. The oldest depiction of a horned Moses comes from the Old English Hexateuch, Claudius B IV, in c. 1050 (this is the same manuscript in which one finds the illustrations of figures upon which images from the Canterbury Ancestors windows were based), https://www.bl.uk/manuscripts/Viewer.aspx?ref=cotton_ms_claudius_b_iv_fs001r (accessed 27 September 2022). It was not until c. 1120 that this iconography would be seen again, across England and in Salzburg within the Bury Bible (Cambridge Corpus Christi College, MS 2), the Shaftesbury Psalter (London, British Library, Lansdowne MS 383), and the Gebhardt Bible (Vienna Nationalbibliothek, Ser. nov. 2701), the second of which is in its depiction of the Tree of Jesse: Mellinkoff, Horned Moses, 61–62.

34 Zarnecki, Romanesque Sculpture, 93–96.

35 Schwartzbaum, ‘Tournai Tombslabs’, 93.

36 It should be noted that Zarnecki seemingly misinterprets dating of the slab in Hill, Medieval Lincoln, 374–75, to the ‘later part of the twelfth century’ as the ‘mid-twelfth century’ instead.

37 Zarnecki, Romanesque Sculpture, 21; Zarnecki, Romanesque Lincoln, 93–94; Zarnecki, Later English, 20–28; P. Dixon, Lincoln Cathedral: The Romanesque Frieze (Lincoln 2009).

38 Zarnecki, Later English, 20.

39 The slabs respectively measure 2.25 × 0.95 m (top) × 0.67 m (bottom) for Roger, and 1.72 × 0.895 m (top) × 0.70 m (bottom) for Nigel: Schwartzbaum, ‘Tournai Tombslabs’, 1–3.

40 Ibid., 91–92; Zarnecki, Romanesque Lincoln, 94.

41 Schwartzbaum, ‘Tournai Tombslabs’, 95–96; D. Crouch, The Reign of King Stephen: 1135–1154 (2014), 115.

42 Schwartzbaum, ‘Tournai Tombslabs’, 95; Smith, ‘Alexander’; J. Hudson, ‘Richard Fitz Nigel [Richard Fitz Neal] (c. 1130–1198), Administrator, Writer, and Bishop of London’, ODNB (2004); P. Kidson, ‘Architectural History’, in A History of Lincoln Minster, ed. D. M. Owen (Cambridge 1994), 14–46, at 23–24.

43 Zarnecki himself argues this point: Zarnecki, ‘Henry’, n. 52; R. Fitz Nigel, Dialogus de Scaccario: The Course of the Exchequer, ed. C. Johnson, Oxford Medieval Texts (Oxford 1983), 50; W. L. Warren, Henry II (Berkeley 1973), 266; J. Fairweather ed., Liber Eliensis: A History of the Isle of Ely from the Seventh to Twelfth Century; Compiled by a Monk of Ely in the Twelfth Century, reprint (Woodbridge 2005), bk. 3, ch. 122, p. 461; S. B. Chrimes, An Introduction to the Administrative History of Mediaeval England (Oxford 1966), 51.

44 Zarnecki, Romanesque Lincoln, 95–96.

45 Schwartzbaum, ‘Tournai Tombslabs’, 95.

46 King, ‘Baptismal Font’, 13–19; J. Crook, Winchester Cathedral (Andover 2001), 16; N. Pevsner and D. Lloyd, Hampshire and the Isle of Wight (London 1973), 17–18, 683, 523, and 200; N. Pevsner, J. Harris and N. Antram, Lincolnshire (New Haven 2002), 404.

47 P. Storemyr, P. Degryse and J. King, ‘A Black Tournai “Marble” Tombslab from Belgium Imported to Trondheim (Norway) in the 12th Century: Provenance Determination Based on Geological, Stylistic and Historical Evidence’, Materials Characterization, 58 (2007), 1104–18, at 1115, suggests four possible occupants of the Trondheim slab: Archbishop Jon Birgerson (d. 1157), King Haakon Herdebrei (d. 1162), Erling Skakke (d. 1179) and Archbishop Eystein (d. 1188). See also King, ‘Baptismal Font’, 16–19; Ø. Ekroll, ‘The Octagonal Shrine Chapel of St Olav at Nidaros Cathedral: An Investigation of Its Fabric, Architecture and International Context’ (unpublished Ph.D. thesis, Norwegian University of Science and Technology, 2015), particularly 361–65.

48 King, ‘Baptismal Font’, 18.

49 Schwartzbaum, ‘Tournai Tombslabs’, 91–93.

50 E. Schwartzbaum, ‘The Romanesque Sculpture of the Cathedral of Tournai’ (unpublished Ph.D. thesis, New York University, 1977), 194–98.

51 S. Fozi, Romanesque Tomb Effigies: Death and Redemption in Medieval Europe, 1000–1200 (University Park, PA 2021), 158–64.

52 J. Hudson, ‘Richard Fitz Nigel [Richard Fitz Neal] (c. 1130–1198), Administrator, Writer, and Bishop of London’, ODNB (2004); Fozi, Romanesque, 164.

53 Fozi, Romanesque, 3.

54 Ibid.; both were witnesses for various royal charters within a couple of years of Roger’s death: Smith, ‘Alexander’; Hudson, ‘Nigel’.

55 F. Anderson, ‘The Tournai Marble Tomb-Slabs in Salisbury Cathedral’, in Medieval Art and Architecture at Salisbury Cathedral, ed. L. Keen and T. Cocke, BAA Trans., xvii (London 1996), 85–89, at 86–88.

56 Ibid., 85.

57 Ibid., 86–87.

58 Ibid., 85, 87.

59 Zarnecki, Romanesque Sculpture, 21; Zarnecki, Romanesque Lincoln, 95; Schwartzbaum, ‘Tournai Tombslabs’, 95; Fozi, Romanesque, 164.

60 Hill, 374–75; A. W. Clapham, English Romanesque Architecture After the Conquest (Oxford 1934), 159; Watson, Early Iconography.

61 Anderson, ‘Tournai Marble’, 86–87.

62 S. Badham and M. Norris, Early Incised Slabs and Brasses from the London Marblers, Reports of the Research Committee of the Society of Antiquaries of London, 60 (London 1999), 15; Badham, ‘Sedimentary’, 3. For example, see the tomb of the Hanseatic merchant, Wisselus de Smalenberg (d. 1340) in the church of St Botolph in Boston: W. Page, A History of Lincolnshire, VCH, 2 vols (London 1906), II, 215; A. Way, ‘Engraved Sepulchral Slabs: With Notices of Some Remarkable Examples Existing in France and in England’, Archaeol. J., 7 (1850), 48–55, at 54–55; F. A. Greenhill, Monumental Incised Slabs in the County of Lincoln (Newport Pagnell 1986), 4, 16–17, 21–24, 26–28, 64, 114–15, 116–17, 134–35; King, ‘Trondheim and Tortefontaine’, 38.

63 D. A. Stocker, ‘The Excavated Stonework’, in St. Mark’s Church and Cemetery, ed. B. J. J. Gilmour, D. A. Stocker and J. Dawes, Archaeology of Lincoln, 13,1 (London 1987), 44–82, at 63, n. 6 and 82; D. A. Stocker, ‘A Recently Discovered Romanesque Grave-Cover from Lincoln and Its Local Affiliations’, Lincolnshire History and Archaeology, 23 (1988), 31–34; Pevsner, Harris and Antram, Lincolnshire, 607; L. A. S. Butler, ‘Minor Medieval Monumental Sculpture in the East Midlands’, Archaeol. J., 121 (1964), 111–53, at 146.

64 D. Bates, Bishop Remigius of Lincoln, 1067–1092, reprint (Lincoln 2000), 8–12.

65 Green, Tree of Jesse, 2–15; J. A. H. Williams, ‘The Earliest Dated Tree of Jesse Image: Thematically Reconsidered’, Athanor, 18 (2000), 17–23, at 18. An image of the Virgin and Child like that on the tomb slab can be seen in glass in Lincoln Cathedral in the composite window s.II, which is likely reused and redeployed from Hugh’s east end (c. 1200–20): N. J. Morgan, ‘The Middle Ages’, in Stained Glass of Lincoln Cathedral (London 2012), 19. Other iterations include the Virgin and Child on a boss in the cloisters (c. 1296) and in the spandrels of the Angel choir (c. 1256–80), where, as on the tomb slab, a beast is crushed beneath the Virgin’s feet: C. R. Brighton, Lincoln Cathedral Cloister Bosses (Lincoln 1985), 14; K. Turley, ‘“The Face of the One Who Is Making for Jerusalem”: The Angel Choir of Lincoln Cathedral and Joy’, JBAA, 171 (2018), 61–99.

66 Plass, ‘A Scholar’, 278–79; M. Staunton, ‘Thomas Becket in the Chronicles’, in The Cult of St Thomas Becket in the Plantagenet World, c. 1170–c. 1220, ed. P. Webster and M.-P. Gelin (Woodbridge 2016), 95–111, at 102; Gerald of Wales, ‘Vita Sancti Remigii’, ch. VI–XX.

67 Chapters VI, VII and IX give ‘ad tumbam’ (at the tomb), whilst ch. VIII givess ‘coram tumba locatus’ (before the tomb): Gerald of Wales, ‘Vita Sancti Remigii’, ch. VI–IX.

68 ‘effossum corpus et discoopertum, cum annis jam xxxii. in terra jacuisset, adeo integrum ut ibi positum fuerat est inventum; nulla etiam in veste ipsius, vel in modico, laesione reperta’ (The body was dug out and uncovered after thirty-two years. He was placed on the ground, so complete it was if he had just been found deposited there. No injury was found, even to his clothes): ibid., 25–26.

69 ‘matrique ipsius totis semper nisibus, prsecipue vero in Lincolniensis ecclesise constructione, quam nomine suo fundaverat’: ibid., 27–28.

70 ‘Eatenus enim Christi planta divino virtutum atque signorum rore rigari non cessavit, donec ipsam in horto coelesti, veraque deliciarum area, per areolas congrue distincta, et fontis irrigui scaturigine temperata, firmas posuisse radices cunctis perspicuum esset’: ibid., 31.

71 Roger of Howden, Chronica Magistri Rogeri de Houedene, ed. W. Stubbs, Rerum Britannicarum Medii Ævi Scriptores; or, Chronicles and Memorials of Great Britain and Ireland during the Middle Ages., 4 vols (London 1964), III, 170–72; G. V. Scammell, Hugh Du Puiset, Bishop of Durham (Cambridge 1956), 176–81.

72 D. H. Farmer, Saint Hugh of Lincoln (London 1985); Adam of Eynsham, Magna Vita Sancti Hugonis: The Life of St. Hugh of Lincoln, ed. D. L. Douie and D. H. Farmer, Oxford Medieval Texts, 2 vols (Oxford 1985) [henceforth MVSH].

73 ‘Houses of Carthusian Monks: The Priory of Witham’, in VCH Somerset, ed. W. Page, 2 vols (London 1911), II, 123–28, at para. 4; Farmer, Saint Hugh, 16.

74 Page, ‘The Priory of Witham’, II, para. 6; ‘Bishops’, in Fasti Ecclesiae Anglicanae 1066–1300: Volume 3—Lincoln, ed. D. E. Greenway (London 1977), 1–5.

75 MVSH, II, 167; Farmer, Saint Hugh, 89; Adam of Eynsham, I, MVSH, xii.

76 MVSH, II, 167–71; J. N. M. Rocher, Histoire de l’abbaye Royale de Saint-Benoît-Sur-Loire (Orléans 1865), 300–10.

77 Kidson, ‘St Hugh’s Choir’, 34; Tatton-Brown, ‘Canterbury’, 98–99; D. A. Stocker, ‘The Mystery of the Shrines of St Hugh’, in St Hugh of Lincoln: Lectures Delivered at Oxford and Lincoln to Celebrate the Eighth Centenary of St Hugh’s Consecration as Bishop of Lincoln, ed. H. Mayr-Harting (Oxford 1987), 89–124, at 107; P. Binski, Becket’s Crown: Art and Imagination in Gothic England, 1170–1300 (New Haven 2004), 55.

78 Plass, ‘A Scholar’, 178–79; Staunton, ‘Chronicles’, 102.

79 ‘et non unica mercede retribuendo, beatum Remigium, nobilem Lincolniensem antistitem primum, simul cum Hugone primo, opere quidem et opera laudatissimis, Romie canonicari satagat, Lincolniseque transferri; quatinus qui magni meritis et gratia suis ambo temporibus, et propemodum in eadem ecclesia prsesidendo pares extiterant, magno simul in terris, dignoque, parique donentur lionore’: Gerald of Wales, ‘Vita Sancti Remigii’, 6.

80 R. Koopmans, Wonderful to Relate: Miracle Stories and Miracle Collecting in High Medieval England, The Middle Ages Series (Philadelphia 2011), 152–53; E. Mason, St Wulfstan of Worcester, c. 1008–1095 (Oxford 1990), 278–80.

81 Farmer, Saint Hugh, 101.

82 Ibid., 56; John Capgrave’s Lives of St. Augustine and St. Gilbert of Sempringham and a Sermon, ed. J. J. Munro (London 1910), 142.

83 ‘ecclesia Lincolniensis mertopolitana scissa est a summo deorsum’: Chronica Magistri Rogeri de Houedene, II, 303; R. M. W. Musson, The Seismicity of the British Isles to 1600 (Keyworth 2008), 23.

84 J. Bilson, ‘The Plan of the First Cathedral Church of Lincoln’, Archaeologia, 62 (1911), 543–64; P. Kidson, ‘St Hugh’s Choir’, in Medieval Art and Architecture at Lincoln Cathedral, ed. V. A. Sekules and T. A. Heslop, BAA Trans., viii (London 1986), 29–42, especially 30–31; J. Baily, ‘St Hugh’s Church at Lincoln’, Architectural History, 34 (1991), 1–35; S. Harrison, ‘The Original Plan of the East End of St Hugh’s Choir at Lincoln Cathedral Reconsidered in the Light of New Evidence’, JBAA, 169 (2016), 1–38, especially 1–3; D. A. Stocker, ‘Excavations to the South of Lincoln Minster 1984 and 1985—An Interim Report’, Lincolnshire History and Archaeology, 20 (1985), 15–20, particularly 18–19; R. Stalley, ‘Lapides Reclamaeunt: Art and Engineering at Lincoln Cathedral in the Thirteenth Century’, Antiq. J., 86 (2006), 131–47, at n. 1.

85 Farmer, Saint Hugh, 31–34.

86 Kidson, ‘Architectural History’, 30. For a new interpretation of Lincoln's relationship to Beverley Minster, see the article by Harrison and Philips in this volume of the journal.

87 Harrison, ‘Original Plan’; Kidson, ‘Architectural History’, 25–37.

88 Compare, for example, the panel of Noah in the Ark in Lincoln, s.II, to that of Canterbury, n.XIV.

89 E. Venables, ‘Some Account of the Recent Discovery of the Foundations of the Eastern Termination of Lincoln Minster, as Erected by St. Hugh’, Archaeo. J., 44 (1887), 194–202, at 199.

90 Kidson, ‘Architectural History’, 27; Baily, ‘St Hugh’s Church’, 23, 24.

91 Kidson, ‘St Hugh’s Choir’, 34; Stocker, ‘Mystery’, 107; Baily, ‘St Hugh’s Church’, 31.

92 J. Jenkins, ‘Replication or Rivalry? The “Becketization” of Pilgrimage in English Cathedrals’, Religion, 49 (2019), 24–47.

93 Ibid., 42.

94 Koopmans, Wonderful, 134–35.

95 Ibid.; Jenkins, ‘Replication’, 40, 42.

96 Farmer, Saint Hugh, 1; MVSH, I, 117–18.

97 ‘quod Lincolniensem episcopum simul et lerum inter illos computaret, quibus ob sui contemptum grauia queque rependere quamtocius maturaret’: MVSH, II, 131; Farmer, Saint Hugh, 71; ‘cum de bonorum seu malorum principum morbius et premiis postfuturis multa dissereret’: MVSH, II, 142–43.

98 K. J. Leyser, ‘The Angevin Kings and the Holy Man’, in St Hugh of Lincoln: Lectures Delivered at Oxford and Lincoln to Celebrate the Eighth Centenary of St Hugh’s Consecration as Bishop of Lincoln, ed. H. Mayr-Harting (Oxford 1987), 49–74, at 67.

99 C. R. Cheney, Hubert Walter (London 1967), 44–48.

100 MVSH, I, 56. For Hugh’s funeral, John wrote a short epitaph: ‘Pontificum baculus, monachorum norma, scholarum consult, regum malleus Hugo fuit’ (Here lies Hugh, model of bishops, flower of monks, friend of scholars, and hammer of kings): MVSH, II, 232.

101 ‘Nam procul dubio in posteris Henerici regisimpleri necesse est quod Sciptura prelocuta es, “Spuria uitulamina non dabunt radices altas” et “Ab iniquo thoro semen exterminabitur”. Set et rex modernus Francorum sanctum genitorem suum Lodowicum ulciscetur in sobole preuaricationis, que thorum cum eo immaculatum repudiauit eiusque emulo Anglorum regi impudica adhesit. Quamobrem Gallicus iste Philippus regiam Anglorum ita delebit stripem quemadmodum bos herbam solet usque ad radices carpere. Nam a Gallis tres ipsius nati iam abrasi sunt, reges uidelicet duo, unus consul. Quartus qui superset curtam habebit pacem ab eis’: MVSH, II, 184–85.

102 Ibid., I, xi–xii.

103 Ibid., xii.

104 Farmer, Saint Hugh, 94–95.

105 D. Knowles, C. N. L. Brooke, and V. C. M. London ed., The Heads of Religious Houses: England and Wales, I, 940–1216, 2nd edn (Cambridge 2004), 49.

106 Gerald of Wales, Gerald of Wales: Instruction for a Ruler (De Principis Instructione), ed. R. Bartlett, Oxford Medieval Texts (Oxford 2018), xiii–xix.

107 Ibid., 232–33.

108 Gerald of Wales, ‘Vita Sancti Remigii’, 61; C. Ó Clabaigh and M. Staunton, ‘Thomas Becket and Ireland’, in Listen, O Isles, Unto Me: Studies in Medieval Word and Image in Honour of Jennifer O’Reilly, ed. E. Mullins, D. Scully and J. O’Reilly (Cork 2011), 87–101, at 89; Gerald of Wales, The Conquest of Ireland, ed. T. Wright, trans. T. Forester (Cambridge 2001).

109 ‘De origine tam regis Henrici qvam Alienore regine et radice filiorvm omni ex parte visiosa’: Gerald of Wales, Instruction for a Ruler, ch. 3.27.

110 Ibid., ch. 3.27, 685–89.

111 Ibid., 685.

112 Ibid., ch. 3.27.

113 Ibid., 693.

114 Ibid., 702–03.

115 Although the Metrical Life is anonymous, evidence strongly suggests that Henry of Avranches is the author: Garton, Metrical Life, 4; J. C. Russell, ‘Master Henry of Avranches as an International Poet’, Speculum, 3 (1928), 34–63, at 34–35.

116 Garton, Metrical Life, ll. 544–87.

117 ‘ecclesiae libertas exigit unum // Tutorem, quem non moveat reverential, qui pro // Omnibus alleget unus, propriumque cruorem // Fundere non timeat pro libertate tuenda // Nullus ad hoc aptus reperitur praeter Hugonem’: ibid., ll. 1020–24, pp. 64–65.

118 Gerald of Wales, ‘Vita Sancti Hugonis’, in Giraldi Cambrensis: Opera, 81–150, at 87.

119 M. Staunton, The Historians of Angevin England (Oxford 2017), 104–05.

120 V. Sekules, ‘The Tomb of Christ at Lincoln and the Development of the Sacrament Shrine: Easter Sepulchres Reconsidered’, in Medieval Art and Architecture at Lincoln Cathedral, ed. T. A. Heslop and V. A. Sekules, BAA Trans., viii (London 1986), 118–31, at 118.

121 Carter, Specimens, I, pl. 37; Gough, Sepulchral Monuments, see plate opposite p. lii, no. 6. Gervase, The Historical Works of Gervase of Canterbury, ed. W. Stubbs, 2 vols (London 1880), II, 285; J. A. Robinson, Gilbert Crispin, Abbot of Westminster: A Study of the Abbey under Norman Rule (Cambridge 1911), 25.

122 R. Sanderson, Lincoln Cathedral; An Exact Copy of All the Ancient Monumental Inscriptions There, as They Stood in MLCXLI (London 1851), iii–iv; Poole, ‘Architectural History’, 16.

123 MVSH, II, 184–85.

124 M. Paris, Matthaei Parisiensis Chronica Majora: Volume 5: AD 1248 to AD 1259, ed. H. Richards Luard, 7 vols (Cambridge 2012), V, 419, 490; Statutes of Lincoln Cathedral, ed. H. Bradshaw and C. Wordsworth, 2 vols (Cambridge 1892), I, 368; Liber Quotidianus Contrarotulatoris Garderobae. Anno Regni Regis Edwardi Primi Vicesimo Octavo A.D. MCCXCIX & MCCC, ed. J. Topham (London 1787), 37.

125 The Book of John de Schalby, Canon of Lincoln (1299–1333), Concerning the Bishops of Lincoln and Their Acts, trans. J. H. Srawley, Lincoln Minster Pamphlets, 1, 8 vols (Lincoln 1949), II, 5.