THE ROYAL CHAPELS IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.
LONDON, _October 2, 1902_.
[Sidenote: A Hard-hearted Verger.]
We had reserved our last day in London for a visit to the eastern
part of the great Abbey, where nearly all the kings and queens of
England are buried. There is a charge of sixpence for admission to
this part of the building. When we had paid our fees a black robed,
bullet-headed, hard-voiced verger led us rapidly, along with a big
crowd of other sightseers, from one chapel to another, pointing out one
or two objects of special interest in each, and speaking a few words
of explanation. Thus we were "railroaded" through the Royal Chapels in
the most tantalizing manner. When we were all turned out of the iron
gate at the end of this rapid round, with our heads full of a jumble
of kings and queens, and other notables, our little party lingered
to parley with our burly conductor, in the hope of getting more time
in this fascinating part of the Abbey; but, though a shilling is a
wonder-worker in England, and though we offered to pay another fee each
for the privilege of remaining a while longer, our guide was for some
reason obdurate. It should be added, in justice to him, that this was
only the second day that the Abbey had been opened to visitors, after
being closed throughout the greater part of the summer on account of
the coronation, and consequently there was a much larger number of
visitors for the vergers to handle than usual.
[Sidenote: A Courteous Sub-Dean.]
We were not yet beaten, however. After a brief "council of war," two of
us walked out through the cloisters, rang at the door of the sub-Dean's
residence, and, learning that he was not in, left a note for him,
explaining our disappointment at having waited so long for the Abbey to
open, only to find that we could get but a hasty glance at some of its
most interesting parts, and asking him to give us permission to visit
those parts at our leisure. On his return home, the sub-Dean, Canon
Duckworth, very courteously wrote the desired authorization that we
should visit the chapels "without a guide," and this permission was of
use to some members of the party that afternoon.
Meantime it occurred to us that all vergers might not be equally
ungracious, so, pending the Canon's answer to our note, we approached
that one of the vergers who seemed to have the most benevolent face,
informed him that we had just been through the chapels, but that our
guide had given us very little time, and had not shown us the wax
effigies at all, which we were very anxious to see, and asked him if
he could not afford us a better opportunity. Unlike him of the stony
heart into whose hands we had fallen at first, this one promptly and
kindly granted our request, though doubtless expecting a fee, which, by
the way, he deserved and received, and not only came with us himself
to show us the wax effigies, but then gave us liberty to roam among
the chapels at our pleasure. It was now dinner-time, but we gladly did
without dinner in order to improve the opportunity thus secured, and
set about a leisurely and thorough examination of the contents of the
chapels and adjoining rooms in the eastern half of the building.
[Sidenote: The Wax Effigies.]
The wax work figures in a chamber over one of the chapels are very
interesting, and should not be missed by visitors to Westminster,
and yet I went through the Abbey some years ago without even knowing
that they were there. We had a good look at them this time. They are
effigies of notable personages, dressed exactly as they were in life.
These effigies were carried at the public funerals of those whom they
represent. The earlier custom was to carry the embalmed bodies of the
kings and queens, with faces uncovered, at their funerals, but from
the time of Henry V. these life-like representations were carried
instead. Here is Queen Elizabeth, ugly and overdressed, as usual,
with the diadem on her head, the huge ruff round her neck, the long
stomacher covered with jewels, the velvet robe embroidered with gold
and supported on panniers, and the pointed high-heeled shoes with
rosettes--"gotten up," perhaps, pretty much as she was when, just a
year before her death, she had allowed the Scottish ambassador, as
if by accident, to see her "dancing high and disposedly," that he
might disappoint the hopes of his master, King James, by his report
of her health and spirits; she was then an old woman. There are few
subjects more perilous for a man to write about than a woman's dress,
and I may as well tell my readers that in the foregoing description of
Elizabeth's finery I have closely followed good authorities.
Another of the effigies shows us the swarthy and sensual face of
Charles II. He is dressed in red velvet, with lace collar and ruffles.
Here, too, is the strong face and slight figure of William III.,
represented as very much shorter than Mary, his wife, who stands nearly
six feet in height beside him. The fat figure of Queen Anne, and the
very small one of Lord Nelson, with the empty sleeve of course, are
among the most interesting. There are eleven in all still existing. A
good many have disappeared.
[Sidenote: Mutilated Monuments.]
The shrine of Edward the Confessor is raised upon a kind of platform
mound, said to have been made of several shiploads of earth brought
from the Holy Land, and is surrounded by the tombs of Edward I., the
good Queen Eleanor, Richard II., Henry V., and others. Above the grand
tomb of Henry V. are hung his shield, saddle and helmet. Upon it lies
the headless effigy of the great king, which was cut from English oak
and plated with silver-gilt. The head, which was of solid silver, with
teeth of gold, was stolen from the Abbey centuries ago. Other tombs
have suffered in the same way. The coffin of Edward the Confessor has
been robbed of its funeral ornaments. The sceptre has been stolen from
the hand of Queen Elizabeth. One of the beautifully modelled fingers of
the recumbent marble statue of Mary, Queen of Scots, has been broken
off, carried away as a souvenir, perhaps, by some conscienceless vandal.
In the two aisles on the opposite side of Henry VII.'s Chapel lie the
remains of these two rival queens, Elizabeth and Mary, the one beheaded
by the other,--a striking instance of the equality of the grave, and
reminding us of Macaulay's description of the Abbey as "the great
temple of silence and reconciliation, where the enmities of twenty
generations lie buried."
I have only touched in the briefest manner a few of the many
interesting monuments which throng the royal chapels. But there is one
thing that I must write to you about before leaving the subject of
Westminster Abbey finally, and that is the vacant space in the Central
Eastern Chapel, where the body of the greatest man that ever ruled
England once lay, and the story of why his body is not there now.
We have seen that Lord Macaulay speaks of Westminster Abbey as "the
great temple of silence and reconciliation, where the enmities of
twenty generations lie buried." In the same strain, Sir Walter Scott
writes:
"Here, where the end of earthly things
Lays heroes, patriots, bards, and kings;
Where stiff the hand and still the tongue
Of those who fought, and spoke, and sung;
Here, where the fretted aisles prolong
The distant notes of holy song,
As if some angel spoke again,
'All peace on earth, good will to men';
If ever from an English heart,
Oh! here let prejudice depart."
These are fine sentiments, and certainly the policy of the authorities
of the Abbey has been broad enough in some respects, far too broad
indeed, as many think, in the matter of admitting the bodies of men of
skeptical views and evil lives to lie here alongside of the great and
good in God's house.
[Sidenote: Monuments Denied to Notable Persons.]
But in some other respects the policy has been a narrow one. The
erection of a monument here to Louis Napoleon, the late Prince Imperial
of France, who fell in Zululand while fighting in the cause of
England, was prevented by what has been called "the illiberal clamor
of an ignorant faction." By the way, within the precincts of the
Roman Catholic Oratory of Brompton, in West London, stands a statue
of Cardinal Newman, the most distinguished of modern apostates, who
forsook the English Church for the Romish; it was intended for Oxford,
but was refused by the University, and not allowed a place in the
streets of London. These two are not very good examples of the kind
of narrowness to which I refer,--one can hardly blame the English
churchmen for the treatment accorded to Newman's statue,--they are
simply instances which naturally come to mind in connection with the
general subject. I will give an example presently of the complete
triumph of prejudice in the exclusion from the Abbey of the greatest
man of action that England ever produced.
[Sidenote: The Objection to Milton.]
Meantime, as leading up to that, let us note the remark of Dr. Gregory
to Dr. Johnson when, in 1737, the monument of Milton was placed in the
Abbey: "I have seen erected in the church a bust of that man whose name
I once knew considered a pollution of its walls." He was referring to
the action of Dean Sprat in cutting away a part of the fulsome epitaph
on the tomb of John Philips which compared him to Milton, of whom he
was a feeble imitator. "The line, '_Uni Miltono secundus, primoque
paene par_,' was effaced under Dean Sprat, not because of its almost
profane arrogance, but because the royalist dean would not allow even
the name of the regicide Milton to appear within the Abbey--it was
'too detestable to be read on the wall of a building dedicated to
devotion.' The line was restored under Dean Atterbury," and, as already
noted, a bust of the great Puritan genius was installed in the Abbey a
few decades later, so that the triumph of prejudice in this case was
short-lived.
[Sidenote: General Meigs and President Davis.]
The story reminds one of the action of General Meigs in removing the
name of President Davis from the record-stone of the Cabin John Bridge
near Washington. This magnificent aqueduct bridge, one of the largest
and most beautiful single stone arches in the world, was erected by
Jefferson Davis while Secretary of War for the United States, and
of course his name, with those of the then President and other high
officials of the government, was placed on the completed structure.
When the Civil War came on, and Mr. Davis was elected President of the
Confederate States, General Meigs had the misfortune to lose a son in
battle in Virginia. One can feel profound sympathy with him in such
a bereavement, but does it not seem a small and childish thing that
he should then have had Mr. Davis' name chiselled off the bridge in
revenge? And has not his action, like Dean Sprat's, defeated itself?
The blank made in the inscription excited curiosity and gave rise to
questions, which brought out the whole story, and thus reminded many
people who might otherwise have forgotten it, what eminent services
Jefferson Davis had rendered to the united country before the unhappy
division which made him the President of that portion of it with which
his greater fame is now associated.
[Sidenote: The Vindication of Cromwell.]
To but few men in her long history is England so deeply indebted as to
Oliver Cromwell. Clarendon's _History of the Rebellion_, written by a
bitterly hostile and prejudiced contemporary, effectually blackened
Cromwell's character for some two hundred years, the misrepresentation
being continued by other royalist writers, such as Sir Walter Scott in
_Woodstock_. Carlyle's publication of Cromwell's own letters proved
that he had been grossly slandered, and put it beyond question that
the Protector was a sincere and godly man and a true patriot, as well
as the greatest man of action that had ever lived in England. This is
the view taken of Cromwell by the more recent biographies of him, which
have been coming from the press in significantly rapid succession, such
as Hood's, Gardiner's, John Morley's and President Roosevelt's. So that
in several senses Cromwell is coming to his own again, though his work
seemed at one time to have failed utterly, and to have been swept
clean away by the restoration of Charles II. to the throne.
[Sidenote: Treatment of his Dead Body.]
It is of the indignities visited upon Cromwell's remains at the time
of this Restoration that I wish to tell you. The great men of the
Commonwealth and several members of Cromwell's family were buried in
the extreme eastern end of the Abbey. After the Restoration they were
disinterred from this honorable place of sepulture, and the only member
of the Protector's family who was allowed to remain in the Abbey was
his second daughter, Elizabeth Claypole, "as being both a royalist and
a member of the Church of England."
The bodies of Cromwell, his son-in-law, General Ireton, and Bradshaw,
the judge who had condemned Charles I., were dragged through London on
sledges and hanged at Tyburn, and their heads were set up on the high
roof-gable of Westminster Hall, the very building in which Cromwell
had been made Lord Protector of the Commonwealth. It is safer to kick
a dead lion than a living one. Fancy these valiant royalists treating
Cromwell that way in his lifetime!
[Sidenote: History of Cromwell's Head.]
Cromwell's head having been embalmed before his burial, "remained
exposed to the atmosphere for twenty-five years, and then one stormy
night it was blown down, and picked up by the sentry, who, hiding
it under his cloak, took it home and secreted it in the chimney
corner; and, as inquiries were constantly being made about it by the
government, it was only on his death-bed that he revealed where he
had hidden it. His family sold the head to one of the Cambridgeshire
Russells, and in the same box in which it still is, it descended to
a certain Samuel Russell," who, being in need, sold it to James Cox,
the keeper of a famous museum. Cox in turn sold it, about the time of
the French Revolution, for $1,150, to three men, who made a business
of exhibiting it at half a crown per head in Bond Street, London. At
the death of the last of these three men, it came into the possession
of his three nieces. These young ladies, being nervous at keeping it
in the house, asked Mr. Horace Wilkinson, their physician, to take
charge of it for them, and finally sold it to him; and in his house at
Sevenoaks, Kent, the head of Oliver Cromwell remains to this day.
It is a ghastly story, though I have been careful to leave out the most
gruesome details.
To-day, immediately in front of Westminster Hall, where his head
was first exposed in dishonor, stands a bronze statue of the Great
Protector, with a Bible in one hand and a sword in the other,--erected
within the last five years,--and doubtless the day will come when a
monument of "the greatest prince that ever ruled England" will be given
its rightful place in Westminster Abbey.