THE ABBEY--II.
The Abbey must not, however, be dismissed without some reference to its
history. There is a history of its buildings, and there is a history of
its people. The architectural history of the Abbey has been written in
many volumes. Briefly, there was a monastery with its church here as
early as the eighth century: this was destroyed by the Danes; then a new
House with its church was founded and the House was rebuilt on a scale
of great magnificence by Edward the Confessor. Next, Henry the Third
resolved to honor Edward the Confessor by pulling down his church and
rebuilding it entirely. This he accomplished as far as the crossing of
the transepts and the nave. The great feature of the new church was now
the Shrine of the Confessor, raised high above the floor of the church
by an artificial mound of earth brought from the Holy Land. St. Peter,
to whom Edward had dedicated the church, was now supplanted by St.
Edward. The nave was continued by Edward the First, who built five bays,
according to Gilbert Scott. The chantry of Henry the Fifth, Henry the
Seventh’s Chapel, and the completion of the western towers by Wren, or
by his pupil Hawksmoor, have been added since the work of King Edward.
As for the domestic buildings of the Abbey, there are still fragments
remaining of the Confessor’s work. But the buildings were in great part
rebuilt by Abbot Litlington toward the end of the fourteenth century.
The Cloisters, the Jerusalem Chamber, the Chapter House, the Abbot’s
dining hall, still remain; while the Cloisters, the Refectory, the
Infirmary cloisters, and fragments of the Chapel of St. Catherine also
show in ruin, more or less complete, the beauty of his work. The history
of a monastery apart from its architecture must be meager. The more
meager it is, the more likely, one feels, is it that the House has
sustained its pristine zeal. To the Benedictine of the ancient rule,
behind his walls, cut off from the outer world, there were no events: he
was buried; the world did not exist for him; the small events of the
Abbey, the death of one Abbot and the election of another; an unexpected
legacy; the building of another chapel; the addition of new carved
stalls to the Abbey church; what else was there to chronicle?
At Westminster the monks were noted for their scriptorium. The work of
copying and illuminating was one which flourished in religious Houses
first because it was work which required the attention and care of men
who were not bound by any consideration of time--whether a missal was
completed in a year or in ten years mattered nothing; the only point
worthy of consideration was the excellence of the work; next, it was
just the kind of delicate artistic work, conventional in its drawing and
in its coloring, which a monk of artistic tastes would like. What else
did the Westminster monks do? They taught their novices; they received
the sons of noblemen as scholars and wards; they administered their very
large estates; they governed the rabble of Sanctuary; they carried on a
tradition of learning, but they produced no scholars; and they took part
in every national and Royal Function held in the Abbey church. I think
it may be conceded that, except in one deplorable case, there were few
scandals attached to the Abbey of St. Peter’s, Westminster. The stories
connected with the poet Skelton point to a certain laxity as regards
going outside the House and drinking in the Westminster taverns. Indeed,
it is plain that the monks were frequently seen in the streets and in
public places. But we hear little of the monks, and this fact must be
placed to their credit.
Twice is the silence broken. On one occasion some prophet announced that
a high tide was coming up the Thames, which would overflow the Abbey
buildings and drown the monks. Then the Abbot with all the brethren
betook himself to a small House at Kilburn, the Priory of St. John the
Baptist, where they took shelter until the tide was past and the prophet
was covered with confusion.
The second case is that of Richard Podelicote, which deserves a longer
notice.
This case occurred in the year 1303. It is certainly one of the most
astonishing and daring attempts in history--only equaled by Colonel
Blood’s attempt nearly four hundred years later. It was the Robbery of
the Royal Treasury. The King’s Treasure consisted of the Saxon Regalia;
the jeweled crowns, swords, cups of state, and precious vessels acquired
by the Norman and Plantagenet kings, and of such moneys as the King had
accumulated or set apart for special purposes, or acquired by ordinary
means from year to year. The Treasury was the ancient Norman Chapel of
the Pyx, _i. e._, Chapel of the Box, which contained the things required
for the assay and examination of new coins. In 1303 the chapel contained
a far larger amount of specie than was usual. This money was lying
there, ready for the use of the King in his Scottish campaign. It
amounted to one hundred thousand pounds, an enormous sum, equivalent to
something like a million or more of our own money.
The robbery apparently began with a raid upon the Refectory, and was not
at first intended to go any farther. The robber was one Richard de
Podelicote, described as a merchant of some kind, formerly trading in
the Low Countries. We must, of course, be careful not to suppose that a
so-called “merchant” was necessarily a person with the dignity and
authority of a Whittington. Richard de Podelicote was probably an
unsuccessful trader in foreign wares, not a craftsman or a retailer,
else he would have been so described. Richard, who said in his
confession that he had lost the sum of £14 17s. in a lawsuit, was a
broken man, desperate and cunning; he observed that the small gate in
the wall which led from the Palace to the Abbey (at the door now by
Poets’ Corner) was unwatched and neglected. At this time the King
himself, with a great army, was on his way to Scotland; the Palace was
therefore deserted. All the grooms, armorers, blacksmiths, pages, and
men-at-arms were with the King. A crowd of servants followed with such
gear as was wanted for the cooking, carrying provisions, wine, and all
kinds of things. There were left in the Palace only the Queen and her
people, the canons, vicars, singing men, and boys of St. Stephen’s; the
women and the children; and some of the servants. The courts of the
palace were therefore quiet and deserted; the strictness of the rules
about closing and opening gates, and about watching those who entered or
went out, was relaxed. This private way from the Palace to the Abbey
was hardly ever used--perhaps it was well-nigh forgotten. The thief,
therefore, would have no difficulty whatever, pretending to be a workman
sent perhaps to repair the roof, in introducing by this postern a ladder
into the Abbey precinct. Or indeed he might have entered boldly by any
of the remaining four gates into the Abbey.
At night all the gates, except this, being locked and made fast, and all
the monks, even the two guardians of the church, being asleep, the thief
was perfectly safe. No one could see him. He set his ladder against one
of the Chapter House windows and so, opening a window and tying a rope
round the stonework, he easily let himself down into the Chapter House
and so into the Cloisters. There is mention of some kind of night-watch;
there was such a watch in the church; the Sacristan is said to have been
responsible for a night-watch in the Abbey; there was perhaps an
irregular patrol; perhaps the Sacristan, whose guilt in what afterward
occurred is but too apparent, was already an accomplice. However that
might be, there were no watchmen out on the night when Richard de
Podelicote stood in the silent Cloisters and glanced hurriedly around
before he forced open the lock of the Refectory door and proceeded to
the job in hand. This was to fill his bag with silver cups from the
aumbries or cupboards in the Refectory. Nobody disturbed him; he
retreated as he had entered; he climbed up his rope; he replaced his
ladder along the wall as if it had been left there by a workman, and he
passed through the postern into the Palace itself. To find a place for
rest and concealment in that deserted nest of houses, chambers, and
offices was not difficult; to carry out his bag in the morning--his bag
full of silver cups--was also easy. Perhaps, as happened later, the
custodian of the gate was an accomplice in this job as well.
The next chapter in the story is more difficult to understand. To rob
the King’s treasury was a far more serious job than to rob the
Refectory. For the Treasury was a chamber with stone walls of great
thickness, cemented firmly, only to be dislodged by being taken away
piecemeal with infinite labor: and to carry out whole sacks and hampers
full of treasure was impossible for one man unaided. There must be
confederates. There must certainly have been confederates within and
without the Abbey: monks who would assist in averting suspicion; people
who would buy up the plunder.
The story has been related by two writers from such documents as remain;
one of these is Mr. Joseph Burtt, late Assistant Keeper of the Public
Records, who contributed a paper on the subject to Gilbert Scott’s
“Gleanings from Westminster Abbey,” and the other is Mr. Henry Harrod,
F.S.A., in a paper printed in the forty-fourth volume of “Archæologia.”
The differences between the two accounts are very slight.
Mr. Harrod, however, endeavors to prove that the King’s Treasury was not
the Chapel of the Pyx, but the Crypt of the Chapter House. I cannot
think that he has made out his case. It is true that the Crypt is a
strong and massive structure perfectly well adapted for such a purpose;
but the tradition which attaches to the chapel, the strong iron door,
the provision about the keys, the nature of the things actually stored
there after the regalia was removed, seem to me quite clearly to prove
that this place and not the Crypt was the Royal Treasury.
In considering the method of the robbery it makes a very great
difference whether the Treasury was in one or the other place. Consider
the plan (p. 101) of the Abbey. If the Treasury was in the Chapter House
the robber might, if the postern were closed, work all day at the back
of this house. No one ever came into the cemetery which is now Henry
VII.’s Chapel. If the Treasury was in the Chapel of the Pyx, he would
have to work by night only in the passage frequented every day by the
monks, and leading from the Chapter House to the Cloisters.
In any case the whole world knew the position of the King’s Treasury. In
the reign of Edward I., just as now, there was the massive and ponderous
iron door, closely locked, which could not be broken open in a single
night by a dozen men. The Abbot and the Prior were the official
guardians of the Treasury; they kept the keys. A key was also kept by
the Master of the King’s Wardrobe.
Matthew of Westminster is deeply indignant at the suspicion that any of
the monks were concerned in the robbery. But he is careful not to tell
the story, which is suspicious to the highest degree. Meantime it is
perfectly certain that no one unaided could effect this work without its
being discovered while incomplete. Dean Stanley (p. 369) says that
Richard “concerted with friends, partly within, partly without the
Precincts.” He refers to Matthew of Westminster under the year 1303.
Unfortunately Matthew makes no reference whatever to any accomplices; he
merely says, “Edward had his Treasury plundered by a single robber.” And
this bald statement he repeats immediately afterward.
The undeniable facts in the case are these:
1. At the end of April, 1303, the King’s Treasury at Westminster Abbey
was broken open and a great quantity of treasure was stolen.
2. On June 6 the King, being then at Linlithgow, heard of the robbery
and very naturally fell into a wrath more than royal. He dispatched writ
after writ, ordering the most searching investigation.
3. An investigation was made. In consequence of this all the monks of
Westminster and forty other persons were taken to the Tower and kept
there.
4. On the day of Annunciation, 1306, the monks were released.
The evidence, so far as it has been preserved, shows how the robbery was
planned and carried out.
First there is the confession of Podelicote himself:
“He was a travelling merchant for wool, cheese, and butter, and was
arrested in Flanders for the King’s debts in Bruges, and there were
taken from him £14 1s., for which he sued in the King’s Court at
Westminster at the beginning of August in the thirty-first year, and
then he saw the condition of the Refectory of the Abbey, and saw the
servants bringing in and out silver cups and spoons and mazers. So he
thought how he might obtain some of those goods, as he was so poor on
account of his loss in Flanders, and so he spied about all the parts of
the Abbey. And on the day when the King left the place for Barnes, on
the following night, as he had spied out, he found a ladder at a house
which was near the gate of the Palace toward the Abbey, and put that
ladder to a window of the Chapter House, which he opened and closed by a
cord; and he entered by this cord, and thence he went to the door of the
Refectory, and found it closed with a lock, and he opened it with his
knife and entered, and there he found six silver hanaps in an aumbry
behind the door, and more than thirty silver spoons in another aumbry,
and the mazer hanaps under a bench near together; and he carried them
all away, and closed the door after him without shutting the lock. And
having spent the proceeds by Christmas he thought how he could rob the
King’s Treasury. And as he knew the ways of the Abbey, and where the
Treasury was and how he could get there, he began to set about the
robbery eight days before Christmas with the tools which he provided for
it, viz., two ‘tarrers,’ great and small knives, and other small
‘engines’ of iron, and so was about the breaking open during the night
hours of eight days before Christmas to the quinzain of Easter, when he
first had entry on the night of a Wednesday, the eve of St. Mark (April
24); and all the day of St. Mark he stayed in there and arranged what he
would carry away, which he did the night after, and the night after
that, and the remainder he carried away with him out of the gate behind
the church of St. Margaret, and put it at the foot of the wall beyond
the gate, covering it with earth, and there were there pitchers, cups
with feet and covers. And also he put a great pitcher with stones and a
cup in a certain tomb. Besides he put three pouches full of jewels and
vessels, of which one was ‘hanaps’ entire and in pieces. In another a
great crucifix and jewels, a case of silver with gold spoons. In the
third ‘hanaps,’ nine dishes and saucers, and an image of our Lady in
silver-gilt, and two little pitchers of silver. Besides he took to the
ditch by the mews a pot and a cup of silver. Also he took with him
spoons, saucers, spice dishes of silver, a cup, rings, brooches, stones,
crowns, girdles, and other jewels which were afterwards found with him.
And he says that what he took out of the Treasury he took at once out
of the gate near St. Margaret’s Church, and left nothing behind within
it.”
It will be observed that he takes the whole blame to himself and names
no confederates. Was this loyalty to his friends? If so, it was loyalty
of a very unusual kind. Another man, John de Rippingall, however, who
also confessed, states that there were present two monks, two foresters,
two knights, and about eight others.
The evidence of conspiracy was very strong. First, as regards the monks.
Podelicote himself says that the work took him four months. Was there no
help from within to keep this work secret? Consider: the robber was
cutting through a massive stone wall; he would have to remove the stones
one by one at night and replace them when he ceased at daybreak. But
this kind of work cannot be done without making a considerable amount of
mess. Now, the Sacrist and his officers had charge of the church and the
close, and they were charged to watch “in the cemetery.” By the cemetery
is meant, I suppose, the ground lying between the East end of the Abbey
and the wall, now covered by Henry VII.’s Chapel.
Stanley, without any discoverable authority, calls the cloister-garth
the cemetery. During that time of four months the Sacrist’s watch never
once discovered this workman. I do not suppose a nightly patrol, but any
kind of watch means some kind of irregular visit here and there.
The work would involve the removal of those stones which were
underground. In order to effect this the flags must be taken up every
night, if the passage was paved; if it was not, the difficulty of
opening and closing the cavity for working in was very greatly
increased. It seems to me, in fact, impossible that the thing could
have been managed at all without confederates in the Abbey itself.
There were other reasons for suspecting the Sacrist. He brought one day,
before the discovery, a silver-gilt cup to the Abbot; he found it, he
said, outside St. Margaret’s Church. It was debated whether the Abbot
could rightly keep the cup thus found within the precincts. Where did
the Sacrist get that cup? Did he give it up in fear of having it
discovered in his possession? William the Palmer, Keeper of the Palace,
deposed that he had seen a very unusual coming and going of the Sacrist,
the Sub-Prior, and other monks, carrying things. What things? Some of
the things were taken away in two great hampers by a boat from King’s
Bridge, the river stairs of the Palace. Another monk, John de Lynton,
was proved to have sown the ground in the cloister with hemp seed in the
winter, so that when the hemp grew up there might be a convenient and
unsuspected place to hide their plunder. One John Albas deposed that he
was employed to make certain tools for the use of the robbers, and that
Alexander de Pershore, the monk, threatened to kill him if he revealed
the design; it was he who had seen the said Alexander and other monks
taking two large panniers into a boat at the King’s Bridge. John de
Ramage, another confederate, went in and out of the Abbey a good deal at
this time; he suddenly bought horses and arms and splendid attire. Where
did the money come from? The robbers were also assisted by William de
Paleys, who had charge of the Palace gate. He it was who passed the
burglars in and let them out. Under his bed were found the richly
jeweled case of the holy Cross of Neath, with other valuable things
belonging to the Treasury.
They stole the King’s money, a great quantity of gold and silver cups
(some of these they broke up), and many rings, jewels, and other
precious things. They had the sense to understand that the King’s crown
and the greater jewels would be of no use at all to them, therefore they
left these things behind; but they took the money, and they took the
things they could melt down and sell for silver or for gold. A good deal
was sold in London, the purchasers not caring to inquire how this
valuable stuff was obtained. Some of the jewels were sold by Podelicote
in Northampton and Colchester. This worthy was actually found to be in
possession of two thousand pounds’ worth of property stolen from the
Treasury.
Such is the story. It does not state in what manner the fact of the
robbery was discovered. It took place at the end of April or the
beginning of May. The King heard of it in June. It is stated, however,
by Burtt that it was not till the 20th of June that the Master of the
Wardrobe, John de Drokenesford, came with the Keeper of the Tower, the
Justices, the Lord Mayor, and the Prior of Westminster, and opened the
doors of the Treasury, when he found “the chests and coffers broken open
and many goods carried away.” But the robbery was known before that
date. How? We cannot learn.
Many of the criminals were caught in actual possession of the spoil.
Among these were Podelicote, William de Paleys, and John de Ramage. The
history of this wonderful case is unfortunately incomplete. The fate of
the ringleaders is unknown and the particulars of their trial have not
been preserved. It is, however, quite certain that they were all hanged,
most likely with the pleasing additions to hanging which prolonged the
ceremony and gave it greater importance. In Rishanger there is a brief
note on the subject. He is speaking of the robbery: “Propter quod multi
fuerunt--et quidam insontes forte--suspensi.” All the monks, forty of
them, were sent to the Tower; another company of forty persons, not
monks, were sent there as well. The monks were liberated after two
years’ imprisonment; what became of the rest I know not.
The following letter from the King, enjoining the Justices to make speed
with the trial, is interesting, if only because it gives the names of
the monks:
“Rex dilectis et fidelibus suis Rogero Brabazan, Willielmo Bereford,
Rogero de Higham, Radulpho de Sandwico et Waltero de Gloucestriâ,
salutem.
“Cum Walterus Abbas Westmonastriensis:
Frater Alexander de Pershore
“ Rogerus de Bures
“ Radulfus de Merton
“ Thomas de Dene
“ Adam de Warefield
“ Johannes de Butterle
“ Johannes de Nottele
“ Robertus de Cherring
“ Johannes de Salop
“ Thomas de Lichfield
“ Simon de Henle
“ Walterus de Arthesden
“ William de Charve
“ Robertus de Bures
“ Ricardus de Sudbury
“ Henricus atte Ry
“ Adam de Lilham
“ Johannes de London
“ Johannes de Wyttinge
“ Robertus de Middleton
“ Ricardus de Cullworth
Frater Rogerus de Aldenham
“ Johannes de Wanetyng
“ Willielmus de Breybroke
“ Robertus de Roding
“ Petrus de la Croyz
“ Henricus Payn
“ Henricus de Bircherton
“ Philippus de Sutton
“ Guido de Ashewell
“ Willielmus de Kerchenton
“ Thomas de Woberne
“ Willielmus de Glaston
“ Johannes de Wigorniâ
“ Robertus Vil
“ Raymundus de Wenlock
“ Ricardus de Waltham
“ Ricardus de Fanelon
“ Henricus Temple
“ Henricus de Wanetyng
“ Johannes de Wenlok
“Commonachi ejusdem domus;
Gervase de St. Egidio
Rogerus de Presthope
Walterus de Ethelford
Rogerus de Wenlok
Hano de Wenlock
Adam le Skynnere
Johannes Sharpe
Ricardus Smart
Johannes de St. Albano
Johannes de Linton
Johannes de Lalham
Henricus le Ken
Ricardus de Weston
Rogerus de Bruger
Thomas de Dinglebrigge
Galfridus del Coler
Radulphus de Dutton
Radulphus de Humenden
Johannes de Sudbury
Ricardus Burle
Joceus de Cornubiâ
Galfridus de Kantia
Johannes de Oxoniâ
Ricardus del Ewe
Johannes de Bralyn
Johannes de Bramfleg
Robertus le Porter
Rogerus le Orfeuvre
Robertus le Bolthad
Maritius Morel
Godinus de Lernhote
--de fractione Thesaurariæ nostræ apud Westmonasterium nuper furtive
factâ et Thesauro ibidem ad valorem C. M. librarum capto et asportato
indictati et eâ occasione in prisonâ nostrâ Turris nostræ London
detenti, asseruerunt se inde falso et malitiose indictatos fuisse et
nobis attente supplicaverunt quod veritatem inde inquiri et eis
justitiam exhiberi faciamus. Assignavimus vos justiciarios ad
inquirendum per sacramentum tum militum quum aliorum &c.... de
comitatibus Middlesex et Surrey per quos &c. super negotio prædictam
plenam veritatem et ad negotium illud audiendum et terminandum &c., &c.”
The names suggest a few observations. First, the monks, with one or two
exceptions, all come from country villages or from small country
towns--one is from Lichfield; one from London. How are we to interpret
this fact? Surely by the very simple explanation that to be made a
member of this rich and dignified foundation was a provision for a
younger son. The wars carried off some of the sons--eldest as well as
younger; in the service of the King or of some great Lord some found
employment and preferment; some were apprenticed in the great companies
of London and perhaps of Bristol, York, and Norwich; some were put into
the monasteries as children, and remained there all their lives. With
three exceptions all the surnames are territorial. The three--Payn, Vil,
and Temple--may have belonged to gentlehood, but I know not. A boy
received as a novice was assured at least of a tranquil life, free from
care. We are not to suppose that these rich endowments were given to
boys taken from the plow. I say that the names in this list go to prove
the fact that the monasteries were filled with the children of
gentlefolk. For, granting that a rustic would also be called by the name
of his village, how was a plain country lad from Pershore, Merton,
Warefield, Henley, Sudbury, Rye, to get himself recommended and accepted
by the Abbot of Westminster?
The other names--those of the persons indicted who were not monks--also
illustrate the change and growth in the surname. There are thirty-one
names--twenty-one are places of birth; four signify trade; six are names
which I do not understand.
One more episode in the life of the Abbey--an episode which startled the
Brotherhood in a way long remembered. There was a Spanish prisoner in
the hands of his captors, two English knights named Shackle and Hawke.
The prisoner was allowed to go home in order to collect his ransom,
leaving his son behind in his place. But the ransom was not sent. Then
John of Gaunt, who pretended to the crown of Castile, demanded the
release of the young Spaniard. This the two knights refused; they
intended to secure their ransom, and according to the existing rules of
the game as it was then played, they were quite right. John of Gaunt,
without troubling himself about the legality of the thing, imprisoned
them both in the Tower; but he could not find the young Spaniard. The
knights escaped and took sanctuary at Westminster. Hither they were
pursued by Alan Bloxhall, Constable of the Tower, and Sir Ralph Ferrers,
with fifty armed men. It was on the 4th of August, in the forenoon,
during the celebration of High Mass, that the two fugitives ran headlong
into the church followed by their pursuers. Even in the rudest times
such a thing as was then done would have been regarded as monstrous and
horrible. For the knights and their servants ran round and round the
choir, followed by the men of the Tower, and the words of the
Gospel--they were at the Gospel of the day--were drowned by the clash of
mailed heels and of weapons, by the shouts and yells of the murderers
and the groans of the victims. Hawke fell dead in front of the Prior’s
stall; one of the monks was killed, no doubt trying to stop the men, and
one of Hawke’s servants. Then the Constable recalled his men and they
all went back to the Tower, feeling, we may imagine, rather apprehensive
of the consequences. And the Spanish prisoner was not caught after all.
Now, this young Spaniard seems to have been the soul of honor, for he
was with the knights all the time, disguised as one of the servants; it
seems as if he might have given himself up at any moment.
Naturally, the Abbot and the monks sent up an outcry that was heard over
all Christendom. Was the like wickedness ever heard? Not only to break
sanctuary, but to commit murder--a triple murder--in the Church itself
and at the celebration of High Mass! The Abbey Church was closed for
four months; Parliament, which then met in the Chapter House, was
suspended; the case was brought before the King; the two chief
assailants were excommunicated; and they had to pay two hundred pounds
to the Abbey--a fine of about three thousand pounds of our money.
Meanwhile Shackle compromised the matter of the Spanish prisoner; he
gave him up, but received a sum of five hundred marks down and an
annuity of one hundred marks.
Another breaking of sanctuary took place at the time of Wat Tyler’s
rebellion, when the unfortunate Marshal of the Marshalsea was dragged
from the Confessor’s shrine and murdered. But the rebels being dispersed
and their leaders hanged there was nothing more said.
Such events as these, from time to time, broke the monotony of the
monastic life. A coronation; a Royal wedding; a great funeral; the
flight of a Queen--Elizabeth Woodville: or a Duchess--as the Duchess of
Gloucester--to sanctuary; the death of a King--Henry IV.--in the Abbey;
these things gave the Brethren something to think about, something to
quicken the slow march of Time.
There were, and are, however, other residents of the Abbey besides the
monks; there are all the dead Kings and Queens and Princes; all the dead
nobles and the dead ignobles; the dead men of letters and the arts who
lie buried in this Campo Santo, the most sacred spot in all the Empire.
“Mortality, behold and fear!
What a change of flesh is here!
Think how many royal bones
Sleep within these heaps of stones.”
The verger will show us the Royal tombs and the Royal waxworks, with the
shrine of the Confessor, the armor of Henry V., and all the treasures
that lie behind those iron gates. We can see for ourselves the monuments
of the great unknown and the great illustrious who are buried in this
cemetery. We can read in the historians of the Abbey about the tombs and
the statues, the sculptors and the architects, the occupants and their
royal achievements.
Let us turn to the men of Letters and of Art. Here lies Chaucer; buried
in the church in the year 1400, not because he was a great poet, but
because he was one of the Royal household. The monument was erected in
the reign of Edward VI. Next to him lies Spenser, who died in King
Street close by. All the poets were present at his funeral; elegies
written by them for this occasion were thrown into the grave with the
pens that wrote them. The Countess of Dorset erected the monument. Then
come Drayton, Ben Jonson, Sir William Davenant, Abraham Cowley, John
Dryden--whose monument was raised by Sheffield, Duke of Buckingham.
This Sheffield raised: the sacred dust below
Was Dryden’s once:--the rest who does not know?
But the lines were altered and Pope’s proposed epitaph did not appear.
John Milton’s bust was put up in 1737; his ashes lie in St. Giles’
Cripplegate. Here are that remarkable pair Aphra Behn and Tom Brown.
Here is Mrs. Steele, Dick Steele’s first wife, and here lies Addison,
the writer who is perhaps more loved than any other in our whole
literary history. They knew how to honor so great a scholar and an
essayist in the year 1719. His body lay in state in the Jerusalem
Chamber. They buried him in the dead of night--funerals in the
eighteenth century were often held at midnight when the darkness and the
gleaming torches added to the impressiveness of the ceremony. Bishop
Atterbury met the corpse; the choir sang a hymn, and the procession was
conducted by torchlight round the Royal Tombs into Henry VII.’s Chapel.
Tickell has written upon the scene:
Can I forget the dismal night that gave
My soul’s best part for ever to the grave?
How silent did his old companions tread
By midnight lamps the mansions of the dead;
Through breaking statues, these unheeded things,
Through rows of warriors and through walks of kings!
What awe did the slow solemn knell inspire,
The pealing organ and the pausing choir:
The duties by the lawn-robed prelate pay’d:
And the last words that dust to dust conveyed!
Matthew Prior and Gay followed Addison. Pope was buried at Twickenham;
Gray at Stoke Pogis; Goldsmith in the Temple. Samuel Johnson lies in the
Abbey; Sheridan, Cumberland, and Macpherson are buried here. And here of
moderns are Macaulay, Lord Lytton, Dickens, and Tennyson. Of actors and
actresses Anne Oldfield, Anna Bracegirdle, Betterton, Garrick, and John
Henderson are buried here. Of musicians Purcell, John Blow, William
Croft, Charles Burney, Sterndale Bennett, and Händel are buried here. Of
painters there are none. This is a very remarkable omission. How did it
happen? Presumably because the successive Deans and Canons have had no
taste for art.
The list includes a goodly company. Whenever a great man dies, the Dean
should remove a monument--one of the unknown--to make room for the
newcomer; in that way the Abbey would become more and more the Holy
Field of the British Empire.
One thing more before we leave the Abbey. We read of the mediæval
churches, especially such churches as old St. Paul’s, the Gray Friars,
and Austin Friars, how they were filled from end to end with tombs of
princes and noble ladies, carved and precious, with alabaster and
marble; how between and among the greater tombs were the tombs of the
lesser folk--but all of them, nobles and ladies and knights--the common
sort lay outside--insomuch that the church was filled with their
monuments. If we go into Westminster Abbey, alone of existing churches
we can understand this wealth of sepulchral monuments formerly so
common.
What says Addison?
“When I am in a serious humour I very often walk by myself in
Westminster Abbey. When the gloominess of the place, and the use to
which it is applied, with the solemnity of the building and the
conditions of the people who lie in it, are apt to fill the mind with a
kind of melancholy or rather thoughtfulness that is not disagreeable....
When I look upon the tombs of the great, every emotion of envy dies in
me; when I read the epitaphs of the beautiful, every inordinate desire
goes out; when I meet with the grief of parents upon a tombstone, my
heart melts with compassion; when I see the tombs of the parents
themselves I consider the vanity of grieving for those whom we must
quickly follow; when I see kings lying by those who deposed them, when I
consider rival wits placed side by side, or the holy men who divided the
world with their contests and disputes, I reflect with sorrow and
astonishment on the little competitions, factions, and debates of
mankind.”