Before us is the monument, put up one hundred and fifty years after his
death, to Geoffrey Chaucer, the father of English poetry, and we see upon
the pavement wreaths which mark the graves of our two most distinguished
modern poets, Alfred, Lord Tennyson, and Robert Browning, and were placed
there no doubt by some visitor to the Abbey, who desired thus to show
honour to their memory. This spot is the very centre of the famous
Poets' Corner, and close by is the vault where lie the bones of Spenser,
and the pens and funeral odes of the poets who attended his funeral.
* * * * * *
Close together on the left are the monuments of three men, all of whom
were old Westminsters, two of them headmasters of the school. Busby and
Vincent were strict disciplinarians, whose belief in the efficacy of the
rod was afterwards equalled if not excelled by Dr. Keate at Eton. Busby
flogged impartially the boy with brains and the boy with none, but prided
himself in later life on having schooled many a budding genius, including
the future laureate, Dryden himself. Amongst those who smarted under his
discipline was the eloquent preacher, Dr. South, who reclines in marble
so peacefully by his side. For fifty-five years Busby ruled supreme at
Westminster School; he remained a Loyalist to the core throughout the
disturbing changes of the Commonwealth, and {54} continued faithful to
the Stuarts even under the disquieting régime which followed the
Restoration. South, who was a Prebendary, is remembered here for his
refusal of the Deanery, a post which Dr. Vincent, whose medallion is
between these monuments, accepted (1816) a century after South's death.
So excessive was his use of the rod that Southey, a schoolboy at the
time, raised an energetic protest against the headmaster's tyranny, and
was forthwith expelled from Westminster. When he became Dean, however,
Vincent turned his superfluous energy to more practical uses, and, as we
have already said, carried out the restoration and preservation of Henry
VII.'s Chapel, besides many useful repairs to the Abbey fabric.
Before we pass within the iron gate and thus approach the head of the
cross, _i.e._ the apse with its surrounding chapels, we must stand awhile
in the centre of the church beneath the lantern. On either side stretch
the arms of the cross: the southern one we have just visited, the
northern we leave for our return. From here we can observe the
architectural features, and point out that the west aisle of the south
cross is cut off by the eastern walk of the cloister, a singular
arrangement, due probably to the fact that the ancient Norman {55}
cloister, which stood long after the building of Henry the Third's
church, was already in this position. Between the triforium and the roof
of this cloister is a vaulted chamber, called the Muniment Room, where
some of the Abbey documents are still kept, and the ancient chests
contain archives, which are gradually being sorted and rearranged. Upon
the wall the traces of Richard the Second's badge, the White Hart, can be
seen from below on sunny mornings. We have already noticed the doorway
of St. Faith's Chapel at the extreme south end, and there also are the
ruins of a little stone stair, which used to lead below the triforium
level above the chapel into the monks' dormitory beyond. The large rose
window, the tracery of which has been remodelled more than once since the
thirteenth century, was refilled with painted glass two years ago in
memory of the late Duke of Westminster. We look the other way, down the
north transept, and see the statues of statesmen in the distance, which
we shall examine later on. The northern rose window was also restored
several times in the eighteenth century, when it entirely lost its
original character under Dean Atterbury's energetic supervision. We are
told that he actually watched the workmen hewing {56} smooth the old
sculptures. Before his exile the Dean chose the subjects for the painted
glass, the colours of which, mellowed by time, compare favourably with
the modern lights below. From where we stand we can see one of the few
existing stone angels blowing trumpets, which formerly filled the
spandrels of the arches, and were part of the angelic choir all round the
church. The arcading immediately under the window still remains, but
lower down the architecture is completely ruined by two monstrous naval
monuments. The eastern aisle is cut off from the rest of the transept
and divided into three small chapels. The western is partially severed
from the main aisle by large cenotaphs.
We turn to the west and see the present choir, which stretches to the
organ screen. The stalls are of no artistic merit, and were designed in
part by Wyatt, early in the nineteenth century; later on they were added
to by Blore, who was also responsible, in 1848, for the wooden casing of
the ancient stone wall between choir and nave. Beneath the
black-and-white pavement, his own gift, lie the remains of Dr. Busby.
* * * * * *
[Illustration: View of the Choir and Nave, Looking West from the High
Altar]
* * * *