THE FAMOUS TAPESTRY
There is not a school child in England who has not heard of the
marvellous piece of work supposed to have been wrought by Queen Matilda
and the ladies of her court; but until the tapestry is actually seen,
the conception of it is as vague as that of giants and fairies. As a
matter of fact, the work is not tapestry at all, but crewel work. Real
tapestry resembles carpet, and is closely worked, and the background
is all filled in; but this of Bayeux is lightly worked in worsted,
on a strip of linen about two hundred and thirty feet in length by
about twenty inches in breadth, and is placed on a stand, ingeniously
arranged, so that by walking round the outside and inside the whole
strip can be seen without trouble, and in itself remains intact.
The question whether Queen Matilda and the ladies of William’s court
really were the authors of this marvellous record in needlework will,
with such subjects as the authorship of the _Letters of Junius_,
always remain unanswered. There are arguments for and against; the
fact that the tapestry was designed for the glorification of William,
looks as if it were executed in his lifetime, and the disproportionate
importance attached to the smallest events in the campaign in Brittany,
which are given with more detail and fidelity than even in the
chronicles, looks as if that campaign must have been contemporary,
and was depicted with that disregard for proportion which is ever the
effect of seeing an affair in the foreground. The minute details given
in the case of the figures look also as if they were done from personal
knowledge--details such as the fact that Edward the Confessor is
always represented with a beard, and that the Saxons wear moustaches,
while the Frenchmen are clean shaven. In the reign of the Conqueror’s
successor, the Normans themselves cultivated beards, and allowed the
hair to grow; and anyone working tapestry at that date would surely
never have been realistic enough to depart from the fashions he saw
around him to depict those which had preceded them. Later on, also,
other little points, such as immoderately peaked shoes, were adopted;
these are not shown in the tapestry, though had the work been done
later than the Conqueror’s reign, the fashions would have been those of
the then prevailing mode.
On the other hand, there are serious arguments against Matilda’s being
the designer, though they are mostly negative; for instance, the
tapestry is not mentioned in her will, neither does it find a place in
the inventory of the goods belonging to the church at Bayeux in 1369,
though it is mentioned in that made in 1476, from which the inference
is drawn that it was not in existence at the earlier date. But, on the
other hand, it may well have been overlooked. By some it is supposed to
have been executed for the cathedral of Bayeux by Bishop Odo’s command,
and it is a fact that in length it exactly fits the circuit of the
choir walls, where it might have been hung on feast days.
It was in 1724 that attention was first drawn to the tapestry, which
until then had been lying unnoticed at Bayeux. There was a drawing
of it in the Cabinet of Antiquities at Paris, and M. Lancelot coming
across this was struck by it, and searched for the original, though
he was quite uncertain what material it was in, whether it were a
fresco, a sculpture, or a piece of needlework. It was unearthed at
last at Bayeux, and was kept in a side chapel at the cathedral rolled
around a mighty spool, whence it was unrolled once a year. In 1803,
when Buonaparte meditated an invasion of England, the tapestry was
brought to France with a view to stimulating the spirits of the French
by pointing out to them what had been done might be done again.
Subsequently, the much better plan of preserving the work from injury
and enabling it to be seen, which is at present in use, was adopted.
The case is glazed, so that the tapestry may stand for as many hundred
years as it has already stood, without perceptible injury.
The worsted in which it is worked is as fresh as the day it was first
used, and its brightness against the light background contrasts very
strongly with the dingy hues of the tapestry one is accustomed to see.
The colours used are drabs and greens, russets and blues, all art
colours, and extraordinarily effective. The shadows are treated in a
very original manner: for instance, when it is desired to show the
inside of a horse’s leg in shadow, the leg is filled in in a different
colour from that of the horse’s body; it is technically supposed to
represent a shadow, and this does very well.
There is a border decorated by grotesque beasts and heraldic figures,
and the border has sometimes to give way to the exigencies of the
story, when an exceptionally tall man or a large ship has to encroach
upon it.
The drama begins long before the Norman Conquest, and is told with a
verve and humour quite unexpected; whether it were Matilda who was the
designer, or the wives of those “natives of Normandy on whom William
had bestowed lands in England,” as the writer in the _Encyclopædia
Britannica_ thinks, the authors must have had plenty of character, and
strong indeed must their freshness have been to resist the withering
dulness of the life then deemed meet for women. And freshness they
had in full measure, for no one could have depicted the lugubrious
roundness of Harold’s face, and the quaint expressions of the horses,
who did not delight in the work.
The first scene shows King Edward the Confessor commissioning Harold
to visit Normandy. Harold’s object was nominally to obtain the release
of his nephews held prisoners by William, but it is supposed that
Edward the Confessor had his own reasons for sending him into William’s
power, as he feared Harold, and really desired William to be his heir
in England. If this were so, William certainly took the advantage thus
given to him, and played his cards with conspicuous skill. We are
carried through Harold’s journey to the coast, his voyage, his wreck,
and his subsequent capture by Guy, Count of Ponthieu. It may be noted
that the hawks, which can be seen on the wrists of the characters, are
not hooded, another small indication as to date, for hawks began to
wear hoods about 1200, so that the work must have been executed before
then. When Harold follows Guy as a prisoner, his hawk sits reversed
upon his wrist, a sign of dejection, while that of Guy looks forward
in the usual way. At the repeated solicitation of William, who backed
his request with the present of a considerable slice of territory,
Harold is next brought to him as a prisoner by the triumphant Guy, who
points to him, as much as to say, “See what I have done!” However,
William receives him as a guest, and brings him to his palace. The
leading characters in this drama are by no means lay figures; Harold
can be easily recognised by his round face and vacuous expression;
he is smaller than William, who is heavy jawed and strong. In the
beasts on the border we see the same spirit which is to be found more
developed in the gargoyles on churches, a spirit full of mischief and
appreciation of what may be called the “weird grotesque.”
Did some of these ladies who worked, apparently so patiently and
submissively, get rid of their feelings of petty jealousy and spite by
working them into the canvas? Did Edith caricature the knight who was
blind to her charms, and Matilda glorify him who loved her in secret?
It is strange to notice that the main figures are all men; women very
seldom figure in the play, only three times in fact, and twice they are
nameless. In the next compartment we have the principal exception, a
lady dressed in a nunlike habit stands in a small kiosk, and a man pats
her cheek condescendingly; the inscription tells us that some woman
named Elgiva conversed with a clerk. The probable explanation is that
this is William’s daughter Adeliza or Agatha, whom he agreed to give
to Harold in marriage, and it may be that the pleasing intelligence
so jocularly conveyed to her, is that of her future destiny. Though
Adeliza at this date was only seven or eight years old, she afterwards
refused to marry a Spaniard, on account of her former betrothal to
Harold, and so it seems probable that she played a part in the drama.
[Illustration: THE SPINNING WHEEL]
In the next stage Harold assists William in an expedition to
suppress the rebels, Conan, Duke of Brittany, and the Duke of Anjou.
The men are all represented in chain armour, and their pointed shoes
nearly touch the ground on each side of the horses, which are small. It
may be noted also that the horses wear no defensive armour, which was
not used until the time of Henry the First. Towns are symbolised by a
kind of dome standing on an arch. The army passes by Mont St Michel,
and at the river Couesnon, which forms the boundary between Normandy
and Brittany, many of the soldiers come to grief. The towns of Dol and
Rennes are next passed, and Dinan is besieged. In it Conan is caught,
and is forced to yield to hand out the keys of the besieged town.
Harold is knighted by William for his prowess on the field. In this
section we have the local touch which gives Bayeux her representation
in the tapestry, for at Bayeux is held a solemn parliament, whereat
Harold acknowledges William heir to King Edward.
At this time also took place the formal ceremonial of betrothal between
himself and Adeliza, which made so undying an impression on the child;
and which seemed to Harold merely a part of the game he had to play,
as he took no account of it whatever, marrying almost directly after
his return to England. The ceremony of the oath, by which he swore to
uphold William’s claim to the English throne, was, if chroniclers can
be believed, of more importance in his eyes. For a book of the New
Testament having been laid before him, he swore upon it with a sacred
oath, and then the gold cloth on which it had been laid was lifted, and
there, disclosed to his astonished eyes, were relics of great sanctity
and value, apparently to him of far more import than the Gospels, for
he started and trembled violently.
Having thus committed himself, he returns to England and gives an
account of his enterprise to Edward, who soon afterwards dies. There
are several deathbed scenes; indeed we are never quite sure that we
have seen the last of Edward. Two of these scenes, for reasons of
space, are put into one compartment; that is to say, those representing
Edward on his deathbed, and Edward at the point of death addressing his
courtiers.
It is said that William was hunting in the forest of Rouvray, near
Rouen, when the fact of Harold’s having assumed the crown was made
known to him by no less a messenger than Tostig, Harold’s own
rebellious brother. William was not the man to submit quietly; the
next scene in the tapestry shows us the diligent preparations made for
the invasion of England. Normandy maintained no standing navy: it was
necessary to build one. We see men chopping down trees, which have a
striking resemblance to barnacles upside down. It was in January the
news was brought, and not till the following autumn was the fleet ready
to sail. The smallest details are given faithfully on the tapestry; we
see the ships, when ready, being drawn down to the shore by ropes, and
floated on sinuous waves. The conveyance of the horses to the English
shore threatened a difficulty from the tapestry-workers’ point of view,
but they did not shirk it. They represented a row of horses’ heads
projecting in regular array from the edges of the boats, and the bodies
were left to the imagination, supposed to be neatly packed away in a
space that would have conveniently held their tails! The flotilla set
sail on September 12th from Dives, but was driven into St Valery, where
it lay until the 27th, then once more set forward with a favourable
wind.
Harold had himself been by no means idle, his fleet had cruised the
Channel during the summer months, waiting for the expected foe; but in
September there bore down upon the Yorkshire coast his brother Tostig,
in force, with the support of Harold Hardrada, so Harold hastened
northward to engage with him, and while he was facing and subduing
this new foe, his fleet, left without a head, dispersed, and William
landed without opposition. He landed at Pevensey, and we see in the
tapestry the horses, restored to their full size, led ashore; the ships
drawn up in array on the beach, and the establishment of a camp, with
arrangements for plenteous eating and drinking. On one side we have
the killing of an ox, who regards his executioner with an expression
of pained surprise. This is deliberate; the lady who worked that ox
could have made him wear any expression she chose. A sheep is also
sacrificed, and red tongues of flame start up beneath the cauldrons
wherein the food is cooked. Then we see tables spread, groaning with
provender. “The duke sat down to eat, and the barons and knights had
food in plenty; for they had brought ample store. All ate and drank
enough, and were right glad that they were ashore.” The fortifying of
the camp is done symmetrically; the men raising the earthworks take
care to have three little dabs or mounds of earth of equal size upon
their spades;--indeed the mixture of symmetry and fidelity to detail
is remarkable throughout the work; we generally find that in following
design, truth is lost sight of. A messenger comes from Harold to
William, and in the next scene hostilities have begun in the burning of
a house, in which are a woman and child--the third woman in the piece,
the second being present at King Edward’s deathbed.
Then after all these preliminaries we come to the climax, the _mêlée_
at Hastings, which occupies fully a quarter of the whole length of the
canvas. These scenes are extraordinarily fine. All the vigour of mixed
action is shown in the most uncompromising of materials, wool-work.
We have the deaths of Harold’s two brothers, Leofwine and Gurth;
the encouragement of Bishop Odo of Bayeux; the scene where William
raises his visor to show himself unhurt; the _mêlée_ where Harold’s
army is cut to pieces. The border consists of a line of more or less
dismembered men lying prostrate, and the ladies’ highly-developed
sense of humour shows itself at every turn. It is unfortunate that some
of these, the most brilliant of the scenes, are on the inside of the
frame as the tapestry now stands, and cannot be photographed for lack
of light and space.
At last we see Harold in agony drawing the fatal arrow from his eye;
and though he lived for some hours longer, the news of his death when
it came was the signal for flight, leaving the Normans victors in a
fight which had lasted the whole day. Of Earl Godwin’s seven sons,
two still remained alive after the battle, but both ended their lives
in the seclusion of a religious house. As we draw to the close of the
great drama the stitches are unfinished, the work left in many places
merely indicated, and the roll is worn.
We feel a debt of gratitude toward the workers difficult to express.
The tapestry thrills with life: it is not a mere strip of worked linen,
but what we in these latter days would call a “human document,” and
it has come down through nine hundred years bearing more detail, more
history, on its folds than has ever been told to us by any monkish
parchment or royal scroll.