Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover art]
"_It is with history as with travelling through a great
country. The by-ways are often the most pleasant._"
[Illustration: HENRY VII's CHAPEL.]
*The Story of
Westminster Abbey*
_Being some Account of that Ancient
Foundation, its Builders and
those who Sleep therein._
BY
VIOLET BROOKE-HUNT
AUTHOR OF
"PRISONERS IN THE TOWER OF LONDON," "LORD ROBERTS," ETC.
London
JAMES NISBET & CO., LIMITED
21 BERNERS STREET
1902
*INTRODUCTION*
Geoffrey's father had gone to be the representative of the Mother
Country in one of the distant Colonies, and as the boy had "more brains
than body," to quote his house-master, his parents had taken him with
them for a time, making a long journey first. When he came home to go
to Eton, I found him a much-travelled person, brimming over with a host
of new ideas and impressions, though otherwise the same original dreamy
boy as ever. The inches he had added to his height and his chest
testified to the success of the experiment on that score, while it was
evident that his active little brain and his big eyes had made the most
of their opportunities.
"I seemed to be doing lessons all day," he confided to me, "only they
weren't lessons out of a book, and they seemed so much easier to
remember. I wish I could always learn things by seeing them!" As the
Christmas holidays had to be spent in London, I took Geoffrey at his
word, and one morning we wandered down to Westminster Abbey for the
ostensible purpose of seeing the Coronation Chair. Of course we saw a
great deal more, and one visit led to another.
"It's not a bit like a churchyard, though it is full of monuments," was
Geoffrey's criticism one morning. "It is just a book about English
history right from the very beginning; and please I want you to write it
all down; because now I've seen the places and the monuments and the
figures, I shall understand reading about them."
I demurred, but Geoffrey had answers for most of my objections, and here
is his view of the matter, imparted to me in fragments and at intervals
during the day.
"It's not only what I want," he said, "but I know some of the boys and
girls where father is would like it too, especially if you put in plenty
of pictures. You see though lots of them have never been over here at
all, they always call England home, and they all mean to come some day.
And of course when they do come they will go to Westminster Abbey,
because it partly belongs to them. I am afraid I can't explain it very
well, but what I mean is that now I have learned so many new things
about the Abbey, I feel as if I understood ever so much more about
history; not the dates and the Acts of Parliament and the dull parts,
but the kings and the queens, and the important men who really lived and
did things. And all those people must belong to every one who is
English, no matter where they live, mustn't they? So if you put them
all into a book, every one who reads it will know what to go and look
for in the Abbey, and they won't feel quite strange when they get inside
the doors, because they will see old friends all around them."
Geoffrey's remarks were suggestive, to say the least of them, and as he
spoke I could not help feeling that there were other boys and girls
besides those across the seas, and possibly some grown-up people too,
who would learn to better know and love the Abbey, with its eight
hundred years of unbroken traditions, if they could read its story
written in simple language and told in a simple way.
That is at once my excuse and my justification for a book which does not
aspire to be technical, exhaustive, or very erudite. Critics will find
plenty to criticise, especially in the latter part, for I am well aware
that with such a mass of material to draw from, much has been left
unsaid that is nevertheless full of interest. Many events have of
necessity been crowded into a few lines, when a few chapters would not
have done them justice, while I plead guilty to having dwelt at greater
length on some names than is perhaps warranted by their actual position
in history. Broadly speaking, my desire has been, firstly, to consider
the Abbey as including the Palace of Westminster, and to weave men and
events connected with both into the story; secondly, to try and make
clear how wonderfully representative, how all-embracing, is this
glorious old Church, with its continual reminder to us that though
former things may pass away, new things for ever spring up to fill the
empty places.
Then Geoffrey had his favourites and I had mine, for both of us in our
different ways are hero-worshippers, and thus has our selection been
made.
For the rest, I can only feel that, despite its shortcomings, the book
will not altogether fail in its object if it makes the Abbey a more
familiar place to the boys and girls of the Empire, if it helps, in the
words of Matthew of Paris, "to keep alive the memory of the good in the
past generations, for the which all sacred historians have striven, from
Moses down to the deep-souled chroniclers of the years in which we
ourselves are living."
Many are the books to which I am deeply indebted, but especially would I
mention, among other works, Dart's "History of the Abbey Church" (1723),
Widmore's "History of the Church of St. Peter" (1750), Neale and Brayley
on "The History and Antiquities of the Abbey" (1818), and portions of
the Chronicles, Matthew of Paris, Froissard, and Stowe. Among modern
works Dean Stanley's "Memorials" easily takes the first place, as much
for the charm of its style as for its general value and admirable
classification; and I am especially obliged to Mr. John Murray, the
publisher, for allowing me to use two of the copyright plans from this
book. Stanley's "Sermons on Special Occasions" are also so closely
connected with Westminster Abbey that I have found them very suggestive.
The Deanery Guide is invaluable, and contains a storehouse of
information concisely and correctly tabulated. No one should go round
the Abbey for the first time without this excellent little work, and I
gratefully acknowledge the assistance it has been to me. I must also
include the "Annals of Westminster Abbey," by Mrs. Murray Smith;
"Westminster Abbey," by W. J. Loftie; "Westminster," by Sir Walter
Besant, and "A Little Guide to Westminster," by E. M. Troutbeck.
For more general information and for biography I have turned to the
standard histories, especially to Freeman's "Norman Conquest," and to
those most useful lists of authorities given in the "Dictionary of
National Biography."
VIOLET BROOKE-HUNT.
45 ALBERT GATE, S.W.
_February_ 1902.
*CONTENTS*
*PART I*
_WITH KINGS AND QUEENS IN THE ABBEY_
I. In the Misty Past
II. The Hallowing of the Abbey
III. Saxons and Normans at Westminster
IV. Through Seven Reigns
V. With Kings and Queens in Edward's Shrine
VI. Edward III. and Queen Philippa
VII. Richard II. and Queen Anne
VIII. Henry V. and his Chantry
IX. The Wars of the Roses and the Third Royal Builder
X. The Abbey and the Reformation
XI. In the Chapel of Henry VII.
XII. From the Stuarts to Our Own Times
*PART II*
_AMONG THE MONUMENTS_
XIII. Puritans and Cavaliers in the Abbey
XIV. Chaucer
XV. Spenser, Addison, and the Poets' Corner
XVI. Garrick, Doctor Johnson, and Sheridan
XVII. The Musicians in the Abbey
XVIII. Wilberforce and his Fellow-Workers
XIX. Pitt and the Statesmen's Corner
XX. Lawrence and the Indian Heroes
XXI. Dickens, Browning, and Tennyson
XXII. A Last Wander Around
*LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS*
Henry VII.'s Chapel . . . . . . Frontispiece
Vaulting in Henry VII.'s Chapel
The Confessor's Funeral, from the Bayeux Tapestry
St. Edmund's Chapel
Picture and Tapestry in the Sanctuary
The Confessor's Chapel
Tombs of Edward I. and Henry III.
Entrance to the Chapter House
The Coronation Chair
Pyx Chapel
Tombs of Richard II. and Edward III.
Henry of Lancaster Crowned at Westminster
Henry V.'s Tomb
Plan of Tombs in the Chapel of the Kings
Gates of Henry VII.'s Chapel
Plan of Chapel of Henry VII.
Tomb of Queen Elizabeth
Interior, Looking East
Jerusalem Chamber
Prince Rupert
Oliver Cromwell
Chaucer's Tomb
Poets' Corner
Dr. Samuel Johnson
George Frederick Handel
David Livingstone
Charles Darwin
William Pitt, First Earl of Chatham
Rt. Hon. Warren Hastings
West Transept
Lord Tennyson
The High Altar
ERRATUM.
Page 99, line 1, for 1388 read 1399.
[Transcriber's note: the above erratum has been applied to this text.]
*PART I*
*WITH KINGS AND QUEENS IN
THE ABBEY*
[Illustration: VAULTING IN HENRY VII.'s CHAPEL.]
*THE STORY OF
WESTMINSTER ABBEY*
*CHAPTER I*
*IN THE MISTY PAST*
"Without the walles of London, uppon the river Thames, there was in
Times past, a little monasterie, builded to the honour of God and St.
Peter, with a few Benedict monkes in it, under an Abbote serving
Christe. Very poore they were, and little was given them for their
reliefe. Here the king intended, for that it was near to the famous
citie of London, and the river of Thames, that brought in all kinds of
merchandizes, from all partes of the worlde, to make his sepulchre: he
commanded that of the renters of all his rentes the work should be
begunne, in such a sorte, as should become the Prince of the Apostles."
These are the words which gather up the early story of Westminster
Abbey.
Try to forget for a few moments that pile of splendid and richly
decorated buildings, majestic and dignified in its beauty, which to-day
stands out so clearly against the grey of London skies as if conscious
of its right to be regarded as the most wondrous treasure belonging to
London City, and come back with me a journey of many hundred years, to
make the acquaintance of the Abbey as it appeared to the boys and girls
who lived under Saxon and Danish, English and Norman, Plantagenet and
Tudor kings. For only so will you come to understand how the history of
the Abbey has been interwoven with the history of England; how, in days
gone by, kings and nobles, commons and people gathered beneath its
shadow, making it not only the centre of the nation's life and activity,
but also the starting-point from which set out every English sovereign
called to the throne, the resting-place to which so many of them were
borne back, when they had received their summons to the high court of
the Great King.
Then you will feel something more than a sense of wonder as your eyes
rest on its beauties. It will speak to you in a language of its own, as
it tells you of that past which you must learn to know aright if you are
to play your part nobly in present or in future days. It will open your
ears so that you will catch echoes of the melodies which float down the
ages. It will bring to your heart a thrill of reverence and a thrill of
pride, as you realise that this treasure-house of memories is a national
inheritance in which you have a share. It will make you familiar with
that company of men and women who, by reason of their goodness or their
greatness, or their many gifts, so won the respect of their fellows,
that in death they were deemed worthy to lie within walls "paved with
princes and a royal race." And it will teach you, as no book can teach
you, the story of the land we love, the land which all the great men of
history--kings, soldiers, statesmen, poets, workers, and thinkers have
helped to build up, that it might be ours to inherit and then to pass on
to coming generations in unsullied greatness.
Now if we wish to trace back to its first commencement that "little
monasterie without the walles of London," we must frankly admit that
concerning its earliest history any information we possess is of a very
shadowy character. Certain it is that for some centuries a religious
building had existed on Thorn-ea, one of those many little islands
standing above the reach of the floods which rose at high tide in that
part of the Thames where it broadened out into a great marsh. Possibly
the Romans had a station at Thorn-ea, as Roman bricks and pieces of
mosaic and such remains as a fine Roman coffin have been discovered from
time to time, and Bede, our first English historian, states that Lucius,
king of Britain, himself a Christian, built a church on Thorney Island
about the year A.D. 178. For nearly four hundred years England had
remained the conquered province of the Roman Empire. Then the greatness
of that power began to wane; Rome was threatened at her own doors by the
Goths, and to defend herself she had to call back her legions from
Britain and leave the island to its fate. Picts, Scots, and Saxons bore
down on it, and the Saxons, "fierce beyond other foes, cunning as they
are fierce, the sea-wolves that live on the pillage of the world, to
whom the sea is their school of war and the storm their friend," swept
all before them. Wherever they went on their victorious way they
slaughtered and shattered, and whatever Christian church existed on
Thornea they razed to the ground. For awhile the curtain falls, then it
rises to show us Sebert, a Christian king of the East Saxons, who lived
at the beginning of the seventh century. He was converted and baptized
by Mellitus, the Bishop of London, and founded the Minster of St. Paul
on the east side of London. But in years to come, when Thornea was no
longer a desolate "Isle of Thorns overrun and wild," but the spot above
which there towered the Abbey, the Palace and the Monastery all grouped
together under the name of the West Minster Foundation, the monks
declared that King Sebert had raised a second church in this very place,
dedicated to St. Peter, the Prince of the Apostles. Furthermore they
told how one dark and stormy Sunday night, the eve of the day set apart
by Bishop Mellitus for the consecration of the new church, Edric, a
fisherman busy at his craft, heard a voice calling him from the opposite
side of the river. He went across in his boat, and found there a
stranger, who begged to be rowed over to the island. This Edric did
with some difficulty, as the waters were rough, and raised with
"prodigious rains," and the stranger, landed safely on the island, at
once went towards the newly builded church. "Watch well this night,
Edric," he said as he left the astonished fisherman. So Edric waited
and watched, and in the space of a few moments he saw the empty church
ablaze with light, standing out without darkness or shadow in the wild
night. Voices, such as he had never heard before, sang chants and
hymns:--
"Yonder swelled that strain,
And still the Bride of God, that Church late dark,
Glad of her saintly sponsors laughed and shone,
The radiance ever freshening....
The fisher knew that hour
That with vast concourse of the sons of God
That Church was thronged."--AUBREY DE VERE.
Then the lights faded, the music died away, and once more the stranger
stood at Edric's side.
"Give me to eat," he asked of him.
But Edric had as yet caught nothing.
"Cast forth thy nets, for the Fisherman of Galilee hath blessed thee,"
said the stranger, and then he added, "Tell Mellitus on the morrow what
you have seen, and show him the token that I, Peter, have consecrated
mine own church at Westminster. For yourself, go out into the river; of
fish you shall catch plenty, and many salmon. But the tenth of all you
take, you shall pay to my church, and never again shall you seek to
catch fish on any Sunday."
With these words the stranger vanished, leaving Edric to ponder on the
wonderful things he had seen and heard.
On the morrow, when Bishop Mellitus, accompanied by his priests and
singing-boys, arrived to dedicate with all such honour as he could the
Minster of Thorney, he was met by Edric, who held in his hand a salmon,
and gave the message which had been delivered to him. Furthermore, he
pointed out to him the marks of the twelve crosses of consecration, in
memory of the twelve Apostles, on the church within and without. And
the Bishop believed his words, for he saw everywhere the signs; so he
went from the church saying: "The dedication had been performed
sufficiently, better and in a more saintly fashion than he could have
done." So he held a service of thanksgiving for this token of heavenly
favour, and then made his way back to London, to enjoy with a good
conscience the fish which Edric had presented to him.
Quaint and picturesque as is the legend, it is clearly nothing but a
legend, told by the monks of St. Peter's for various reasons, the most
probable being that they were anxious to prove their superiority over
the monks of St. Paul's. It is not even a certainty that King Sebert
played any part at all in the history of Thorney Island, for in several
of the oldest chronicles we are told about "a dweller or citizen of
London by name Sebert who was excyted to make a church in the worship of
St. Peter in the West End of London, which that time was foregrowen with
bushes and bryeres exceedynglye." But, on the whole, I think we may
allow the monks to keep King Sebert as their founder, and accept the
story that he and his queen were buried in leaden coffins in this early
church, that their bodies were removed to the restored church more than
four hundred years later, and once again, in the reign of Henry III.,
were taken from their resting-place to be laid with great ceremony in
the tomb which now you can see just inside the south ambulatory of the
Abbey.
A century later we find something tangible concerning the Church and
Monastery of St. Peter; for Offa, the wise and strong king of Mercia,
made certain gifts to it, and in the charter of 785 A.D. confirming
these, he spoke of Thorney Island as a "locus terribilis," by which he
probably meant "a sacred spot." But after this again there is silence.
Once more Britain lay at the mercy of the invaders, this time the fierce
Danes, who, as the Saxons had done, swept ruthlessly over the land,
devastating and destroying as they went. The church at Thorney was in
far too conspicuous a position to escape their notice; they fell upon it
in all their fury, and only a few of the monks managed to reach London
alive. So were the buildings "reduced to a very mean and low
condition."
In time, however, the hand of the Dane was stayed. For a hundred years
indeed had they held their sway of terror, till at last they were
decisively beaten by Alfred of Wessex, that ideal warrior-king, who
first freed his people from their oppressors, and afterwards, laying
aside all personal ambition, devoted himself to the task of ruling them
wisely and well.
The Peace of Wedmore was signed in 875, and probably the church and
monastery of St. Peter were rebuilt soon after, but we know nothing till
we come to the days when Dunstan was made Bishop of London, and
"prevailed easily with King Edgar (as indeed he did, and ordered all in
Church matters during the reign of that Prince), to have the monastery,
then in ruins, restored, and that too at the king's expense; that is,
the walls and what else remained of the ruins repaired and the place
made habitable. And he brought hither from Glastonbury twelve monks to
make it a small monastery of the Benedictine Order." Dunstan had grown
up from childhood under the shadow of that famous monastery at
Glastonbury, where he had been the pupil of the well-learned and deeply
religious men who had come over there from Ireland, and when at last,
after many years of varied fortunes, he found himself all-powerful, he
made it his first object to introduce the strict Benedictine rule
wherever it was possible in religious houses. For during the time when
the Danes held the upper hand the people had fallen back into many
heathen ways, and the priests no longer held the torch of Christ's
religion on high, or sought to lead men from darkness to light. Dunstan
was full of zeal, and under his strong influence King Edgar made many
grants of lands and provisions to the Abbey of St. Peter, in which place
Wulsinus, also a monk from Glastonbury, reigned as Abbot.
But once again the monks of Thorney Island were driven forth from their
cells and their cloisters, this time also at the hands of the Danes,
who, led by Sweyn, "marched through the land, lighting war beacons" as
they went on their way, avenging the treacherous massacre of their
fellow-countrymen in Wessex.
King Ethelred, the Unready, offered no resistance to the Danes, but let
every city save London fall into their hands, and then fled from his
kingdom, leaving Sweyn on the throne. However, in Canute, the son of
Sweyn, there arose a friend to what remained of the religious house on
Thorney, for he, "of a usurper being none of the worst," as an old
writer cautiously admits, conceived a great affection for a good monk,
Wulnoth, who had been brought up in the monastery there. When he became
king, Canute raised Wulnoth to the position of Abbot, granted many
favours to him and his house, and there is little doubt that he built
for himself a dwelling-place at Thorney so as to be near Wulnoth, whose
conversation pleased him, the Abbot being a man of singular sincerity.
It was a rest to him to turn from the cares and responsibilities of his
kingdom to the peaceful simple life of the Benedictine house. God had
called him to the camp and the court, and he had vowed never to spare
himself in what was good or needful for his people. But in his latter
days it was the calm of the cloister that he loved. Nothing remains of
the palace he built there, save the record that it was burned down in a
later reign, but it is probable that the well-known incident of the
courtiers and the tide took place on Thorney Isle.
Canute was but forty when he died, and with him died the peace which had
been such a blessing to his people while he reigned. For he left three
sons, and between two of these, Harold and Hardicanute, there was sharp
strife as to who should become king of England. First they divided the
land, then Harold became sole king. But three years later he died, and
was buried in the Church of St. Peter, under the shadow of the walls his
father had loved so well. From thence, however, his fierce brother
Hardicanute dragged forth his body and had it thrown into the Thames
hard by.
Such a deed as this stamps the man, and shows him as he was, cruel,
revengeful, and fierce. His people suffered many things at his hands,
and when he died of hard drinking at the end of two years, there was a
great longing throughout the land to shake off the last trace of a
Danish yoke and to have for king one of their own race. Their hearts
turned towards Edward, the younger son of Ethelred the Unready, whose
life hitherto had been chiefly spent in Normandy, whither he with his
mother, Emma of Normandy, afterwards the wife of Canute, had taken
refuge when Sweyn had conquered England. Little did they know of him,
save that he was of their blood, and had been exiled from his land and
his birthright by a foreign foe. But his face was gentle, like that of
a woman, with white skin, pink cheeks, blue eyes and golden hair; his
voice was low, his manner serious and kind, his ways were simple and he
had a reputation for great holiness.
Earl Godwine, the all-powerful noble who had served under Canute and had
vainly endeavoured to restrain his sons, was at one with the people of
England in this matter, and so it came to pass that "before King
Hardicanute buried were, all folk chose Edward to king at London." For
awhile Edward hesitated. A throne had no attractions for him, and he
was almost a stranger to English manners and English life. But Godwine,
who had gone out to Normandy as the bearer of the message from the
people, over-persuaded him and brought him back. The Witan met at
Gillingham in Dorset to confirm the choice of the citizens of London,
and Edward was crowned in Winchester Cathedral on Easter Day with great
ceremony, many foreign princes and ambassadors being present to do him
honour.
Almost the first work of the new king was to build himself a palace, and
the site he chose was one close to the little Benedictine monastery at
Thorney Isle, which now was always called Westminster, a place no longer
covered with brambles, but well cultivated by the monks, who were
skilled tillers of the soil, and rendered green and fertile by the river
which flowed hard by. Of the palace as he built it no traces are left to
us, it having been all destroyed by fire, but we know it was made very
strong, guarded by outer and inner walls fashioned after the manner of a
Norman castle, probably nearly resembling the Council Chamber and
Banqueting Hall which still remain in the Tower of London, little
altered since the day when the early Norman builders completed their
work. The Abbot of Westminster at this time was Eadwine, a very prudent
man, and he soon attracted the notice of the king, who was by nature far
more fit to rule a monastery than a kingdom. Edward was troubled
somewhat in his mind, for when an exile in Normandy, he had taken a vow
that should it ever please God to restore him to his rightful
inheritance, he would go on a pilgrimage to Rome to do honour to St.
Peter there; but now that he was safely established on the throne, his
council made strong objections to his leaving the country, lest some
evil should befall him or the Danes should take advantage of his absence
to invade the land, while "the common people, publicly and with tears,
showed their concern, entreating him to desist from so dangerous a
voyage." Thus the king knew not how to act, desiring ardently to carry
out his vow, and yet being unwilling to disregard the wishes of his
people. Possibly it was Eadwine, living as he did so near to the king's
new palace as to be often consulted by him, who proposed as a way out of
the difficulty that a Bishop, with a fitting retinue, should be sent as
an ambassador to Pope Leo, to explain to him how Edward was restrained
from journeying thither himself, and to ask for a dispensation. This
proposal was quickly carried into action.
Pope Leo readily absolved the king from his vow, desiring that instead
he should build or restore some monastery to the honour of St. Peter,
and make over to the relief of the poor such a sum of money as his
journey would have cost him.
Edward was wonderfully pleased at the Pope's message, and resolved to
begin at once a building worthy of the great Apostle. What more natural
than that he should choose the little monastery at Westminster, which
was very poor? It lay near to the city of London, and to that great
river up and down which there was so much coming and going of ships. It
lay near also to his own palace, and if the present humble buildings
gave place to such an edifice as he intended to raise, where could a
more suitable burying-place for himself be found when the time came for
God to call him hence? Then, too, Abbot Eadwine found great favour in
his eyes; and the monks there, under the strict rule of St. Benedict,
had won for themselves a good report concerning the simplicity and
holiness of their lives. So it seemed fitting that Westminster should
be raised from its lowly state and be refashioned in a manner worthy of
the saint whose name it bore.
Just at this time, too, Wulsinus, an aged and saintly monk at Worcester,
had a wondrous story to tell of a sacred vision vouchsafed to him, in
which St. Peter had appeared bidding him to deliver this message to the
king. "There is," declared the Apostle, "a place of mine in the west of
London, which I chose and love, the name of it being Thorney: which
having for the sins of the people been given to the power of the
barbarians, from rich is become poor, from stately low, and from
honourable is made despicable. This let the king by my command restore
and make a dwelling of monks, stately built and well endowed, for it
shall be no less than the House of God and the Gate of Heaven."
The vision was made known to Edward, and shortly afterwards he commanded
that a tenth of his entire substance, gold, silver, cattle, and all
other possessions, should be set aside for the purpose of pulling down
the old church and raising a new one from the very foundation.
So from this time the story of the Abbey passes from misty legend into
proven history, and it is with Edward, named afterwards "the Confessor,"
that the glory must rest of having called into being that great
religious house, destined in the future to be most closely linked with
all that concerned alike the crown and the country.
*CHAPTER II*
*THE HALLOWING OF THE ABBEY*
King Edward had no sooner resolved on the site for his new Abbey Church,
than he commenced the task of building it, pressing on the work with
zealous eagerness, making it indeed the object of his life. In his
character he lacked all those qualities which go to the making of a
great king. His prayers and his visions so absorbed him, that in heart
and mind he lived in the company of saints and angels, and the duties of
government were altogether irksome to him. By birth partly Norman, by
education and tastes entirely so, he knew but little of the people over
whom he was called to rule, and wherever it was possible he willingly
handed over all duties of government to others. Fortunately for himself
and for England, there were two men ever at his side, who served both
him and his people loyally and well, these being Earl Godwine and his
second son, Harold, Earl of the East Saxons. Both were related to him,
for Godwine was the father and Harold the brother of Lady Eadgytha, the
beautiful and accomplished wife of the king, and both showed themselves
to be rulers wise, just, and merciful.
Of the two, Harold was the more beloved by king and country alike;
indeed, one chronicler of that time boldly says that Edward's greatest
claim to glory lies in the fact that he called Harold to the government
of his realm. Tall of stature, beautiful in form and face, he excelled
in all things, whether in the battle-field or at the council, and to his
many gifts was added a noble and upright character, strong when the need
for strength arose, but ever inclined to show mercy and compassion. This
was the man on whose shoulders Edward virtually laid all the
responsibilities of his realm, while he spent most of his time in his
palace at Westminster, so that he might be on the spot to superintend
the progress of the building, which went on apace, and to consult with
Abbot Edwy as to the form it should take. It was on the church itself,
rather than on the buildings of the monastery, that the king lavished
his especial care. He meant it to be in the "new style," which he had
learnt to love during his exile in Normandy, that land from which came
forth those master-builders, many of them priests and scholars, whose
handiwork is still to be found alike in Norman and in English minsters,
beautiful as ever in its strength, its simplicity, and its dignity. Many
were the Norman customs and ideas which Edward brought over with his
Norman friends, and some of them were vigorously opposed by Harold, who
was passionately English.
But as we go through the country and find one after another of those
majestic buildings in grey stone, made so perfect as to defy the
centuries, we must gratefully remember that it was King Edward who first
of all set up this "new style" as a model in our midst.
One characteristic was, that every great church should be built in the
form of a cross; in the centre the nave, at the east end the High Altar,
and where the nave merged into the choir cross arms on the right and on
the left, and so it was that Westminster was the first cruciform church
in England.
This is a description of Edward's building, given to us in a French Life
of the king, written very shortly after his death:--
"Now he laid the foundations of the church
With large square blocks of grey stone.
Its foundations are deep,
The front, towards the east he makes round,
The stones are very strong and hard.
In the centre rises a tower
And two at the western front,
And fine and large bells he hangs there.
The pillars and mouldings
Are rich without and within.
At the basis and the capitals
The work rises grand and royal.
Sculptured are the stones
And storied the windows.
All are made with the skill
Of good and loyal workmanship.
And when he finished the work,
He covers the church with lead.
He makes then a Cloister, and Chapter-House in front,
Towards the east, vaulted and round,
Where his ordained ministers
May hold their secret Chapter,
Prater and dorter,
And the officers round about."
Considering the size of Edward's building, for it was very little if any
smaller than the Abbey as we know it to-day, it is unlikely that all the
parts described by the French chronicler were finished during the
lifetime of the king. Indeed, the royal builder seems to have known
that his eyes would never rest on his work, perfected as he dreamt of
it. His longing therefore was that church and choir might be completed
and dedicated, and for the rest he made such munificent gifts in land
and money, plate and jewels to the Abbot, that he had no fear but that
the building of the monastery with its cloisters and dormitories,
infirmary and refectory, would be easily accomplished, even if he did
not live to see it.
Signs were not wanting to warn him that the hour of his death was near
at hand. He had ever firmly believed in dreams and visions, and of late
these had been full of solemn meaning to him. He had seen the Seven
Sleepers of Ephesus turning from their right sides to their left, and
this he judged to be an omen which told of a great upheaval, of wars,
pestilence, and famine, which should last for seventy years. Then, too,
the Christ Child had appeared to him as he stood near the High Altar in
the newly finished choir, and had told him how soon he was to be called
hence. And, most wonderful of all, two pilgrims, just returned from the
Holy Land, came to the king with a strange story.
Some time before, Edward was on his way to the dedication of a church he
had built to St. John the Evangelist, when he passed a beggar who
pleaded with him for his charity in the name of the Apostle of Love.
The king carried no money with him, and his much-loved Chamberlain,
Hugolin, was not at hand. Yet so tender-hearted was Edward that he could
not pass the beggar by, and he took from his hand a ring, "large, royal,
and beautiful." The beggar took it and vanished. But these two
pilgrims told how while they were in Syria and in great straits, having
wandered from their path, an old man with a long, white beard, carrying
two lighted tapers, stood in their pathway and questioned them. When
they spoke of their country and their king, he became very joyous, and
declared how great a love he bore to Edward. Furthermore he led them to
a hostel hard by, told them that lie was none other than St. John the
Evangelist, and gave them the ring, bidding them to take it back to the
king with the assurance that in half a year he should stand at his side
in Paradise.
Edward accepted the story with childlike simplicity. He fasted more
rigorously, he prayed more earnestly, and he decided to hasten on the
hallowing of his church.
The Feast of Christmas was at hand, and the king summoned the Witan for
the first time to Westminster, that they might take part in the great
ceremony. Little did he dream how through the centuries to come Abbey
and Parliament would be welded together.
On Christmas Day, though ill, he, wearing his crown, took part in the
services, and was present at the Christmas banquet in the palace. He
conversed with the bishops and the nobles, and appointed the feast of
the Holy Innocents as the day on which the great event for which he had
so longed should take place.
But his strength began to rapidly ebb away, and all who saw him knew him
to be a dying man. Too weak to do more than set his signature to the
charter of the foundation, he still insisted that the hallowing should
take place. Death held no terrors for him; it was but the gate through
which he must pass ere he could join that white-robed host of saints and
martyrs whose presence he had felt so near to him through life. Only,
like Simeon of old, there was one thing he desired before he could say,
"Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace." Not till his
church was consecrated would the desire of his heart be satisfied.
By his bedside stood his wife, the Lady Eadgytha, herself the founder of
a convent church at Wilton. In life he had never loved her overmuch;
like his kingdom, she occupied a very secondary place in his thoughts.
But womanlike she forgot all that in this moment, and thought only how
best she could help and comfort him. Calmly she carried out his every
wish, and, acting as his representative, went, accompanied by her two
brothers Harold and Garth, to the consecration of the Abbey Church by
Stigand, Archbishop of Canterbury.
"Magnificently finished was the church," says an old writer, and it is
not difficult for us to picture what took place there on this joyous
festival. The walls, massive and stately in their simplicity, gleamed
in their freshness, and formed a vivid contrast to the colours to be
found in the vestments of the bishops and the priests, the robes of the
acolytes and singing boys, the distinctive dress of the monks, and the
varied costumes of nobles, both Norman and Saxon, who were assembled
there. The lights shone on the High Altar, clouds of incense floated
around it, and for the first time those walls resounded with chant and
hymn and solemn antiphon.
"The work stands finished," murmured the king as the echoes of the music
floated across to him.
When the queen returned to his bedside, he lay unconscious, and she,
kneeling on the ground, tried to restore to him warmth and life. But
for many days he made no sign. Then suddenly, on the last day of the
old year, came the final flicker. In a voice clear and strong, he spoke
of two holy monks, and all that they had prophesied to him concerning
the disaster which would shortly overthrow the land. So earnest were
his words that they struck terror into the hearts of all present; only
Stigand, the Archbishop, dared declare that the king babbled in
delirium. Yet other things did Edward bequeath in those last days. To
his friend the Abbot Eadwine he gave his body with the command that it
should be laid in the Abbey Church, and to Harold, his brother-in-law,
he commended the Lady Eadgytha, who had never failed in her duty towards
him, and to whom he desired all honour should be accorded. Neither did
he forget his Norman favourites, who had, he declared, left their native
land for love of him.
Still there was one all-important bequest to be made, and in that moment
Edward seemed to have understood, as he had never understood before, the
hopes and longings of his people.
"To thee, Harold, my brother, I commit my kingdom," he said solemnly.
Then once more he became silent till near the end, when he turned to the
weeping queen.
"Mourn not, my daughter," he said. "I shall not die, but live. For
passing from the country of the dead, I verily hope to behold the good
things of the Lord in the land of the living."
So he fell asleep; and to him St. Peter opened the gate of Paradise, and
St. John, his own dear one, led him before the Divine Majesty.
The grief of the people was intense, and to it was added a wild terror
as to what might now befall the land. Hurriedly, as if in a panic, the
royal funeral took place on the Feast of the Epiphany, but one day after
the king had breathed his last, and the Abbey became the scene of the
deepest mourning. Dirges and penitential psalms filled its walls
instead of joyful hymns of praise and thanksgiving.
Edward, wrapped around in beautiful robes embroidered by Eadgytha and
her maidens, and wearing the pilgrim's ring, was laid in royal state on
a bier, and carried by eight men to the Abbey, there to be placed before
the high altar.
"Bishops, and a multitude of abbots, priests, and ecclesiastics, with
dukes and earls assembled together. A crowd of monks went thither, and
innumerable bodies of people. Here psalms resound, the sighs and tears
burst out, and in that temple of chastity, that dwelling of virtue, the
king is honourably interred in the place appointed by himself."
[Illustration: THE CONFESSOR'S FUNERAL. FROM THE BAYEUX TAPESTRY.]
So, in a halo of sanctity, ended the life and reign of Edward; and
remembering all his piety, his humility, the nights of contrition he
spent on the cold stones in spite of his wearing sickness, his deep
reverence for all things holy, and the noble gifts he made to the
Church, men spoke of him rather as a saint than as a king. And indeed
as a ruler he left but little mark on his times. Yet the Abbey Church
of Westminster is no small memorial for this last king of the Saxons to
have bequeathed to the English nation, and for that alone we owe him a
debt of gratitude which lends an unfading glory to his name.
Now, you will be wondering how much of the Abbey Church as Edward built
it, stands to-day. And alas! there is but little of it left. For when
Henry III., who had a special love for the Confessor, resolved to set up
some worthy memorial of this "glorious king," he pulled down the greater
part of the simple, stately building Edward had so loved, and set up in
its place a much more ornate and magnificent piece of work. Edward
built to the honour of St. Peter; Henry, to the memory of St. Edward.
But generous as was his motive in pulling down that solid Norman
building, which otherwise would have been standing firm as ever to-day,
we cannot help regretting those vanished Norman arches and massive
pillars.
When you stand by the altar rails, you can remember that the bases of
the pillars on either side of the altar are those belonging to Edward's
church; or if you go from the cloisters, where the south and the east
walks join, into the little cloisters, you will pass under an old
archway over the entrance, always known as the Confessor's door.
Underneath, too, what used to be the ancient dormitory, but is now the
great schoolroom of Westminster School, some very massive and solid
buildings remain which evidently date from Edward, and there is also
again the Chapel of the Pyx, or Chapel of the Chest, where treasures
belonging to the sovereign and the monastery were kept. Neither of
these latter places are shown to the general public, but when you go to
see the Chapter-House, the entrance to which is in the east cloister,
you will see to the right of it the doorway of the Pyx Chapel, which is
wonderfully strong, and is said to be lined with the skins of Danes.
The interior of this, with its stone altar and its solid stone arches,
can have undergone very little alteration since Edward's day. You will
get, too, what is probably a correct general idea of the whole building
as it looked from the outside in those early days if, when you are in
the Chapter-House, you look carefully at the pictures which are copied
from the Bayeux tapestries. This wonderful piece of work, which was
prepared for the rebuilt Cathedral at Bayeux in Normandy, was certainly
embroidered during the lifetime of William the Conqueror, and may even
have been the work of his wife, Queen Matilda. Most probably it was
made in England, and is in itself a valuable addition to the very
fragmentary history of those times. All its details seem to be very
accurate, copied from what the workers actually saw and knew about, so
there is no reason why the picture of the Abbey in that part of the
tapestry which shows the funeral of the Confessor should not as
accurately represent the building exactly as it stood.
You must notice the part towards the east made round, and the stones
which are "very strong and hard," with the main tower and the two
smaller towers at the side. And notice too the figure of a man, who is
standing on the roof of the Palace, and holding with one hand the
weathercock on the east end of the Abbey.
May be the worker only sought to show the buildings of the Abbey and the
Palace standing side by side, but all unconsciously that unknown hand
prophesied what should be throughout the centuries to come, and told how
Church and State should stand firmly linked together.
The members of the Witan had not departed to their homes on the
conclusion of the festivities connected with Christmastide and the
consecration of the Abbey. They knew the king was dying fast, and that
before many days a great duty would rest on them. Rumours may have
reached their ears that William of Normandy, cousin to Edward, meant to
lay claim to the throne on his death, declaring that the king had
promised to make him his heir, and that Harold himself had vowed to
support him. But the sturdy Englishmen who formed that council were
resolved that never with their consent should a Norman rule over them,
and Edward knew full well the man of their choice when he pointed to
Harold as their future king. There was an heir to the throne by right
of birth, Edgar the Atheling. Still he lived far away unknown to them
all, and the days had not yet come when men succeeded to the throne by
right of birth alone. On the spot was Harold, the man they loved and
trusted, "the shield of the kingdom, the shelter of the oppressed, the
judge of the fatherless and the widow."
Edward had done his part. "Death snatched him from the earth, angels
bore his white soul to heaven, and in his death he had been glorious,
for he had made fast his realm to the noble earl."
The Witan did not hesitate so soon as the throne was theirs to fill, but
of their number sent two, who sought out Harold where he stayed,
comforting his widowed sister, and offered to him the throne as the man
of their choice. Here again the copy of the Bayeux tapestry in the
Chapter-House will help you to picture the scene. You will see the two
nobles, one bearing the axe of office, the other holding a crown and
pointing to the room in which lay Edward, from whence the crown had been
borne. And you will see Harold--to quote the vivid words of Mr.
Freeman, "at once wistfully and anxiously half drawing back the hand
which was stretched forth to grasp the glittering gift. A path of danger
lay open before him, and duty, no less than ambition, bade him enter
upon the thorny road. And yet the risk had to be run. If he declined
the crown, to whom should England offer it? Under him alone could there
be the faintest hope that England would offer a united front to either
of the invaders who were sure to attack her. The call of patriotism
distinctly bade him not to shirk at the last moment from the post to
which he had so long looked forward, and which had at last become his
own. The first man in England, first in every gift of war and peace,
first in the love of his countrymen, first in renown in other lands, was
bound to be first alike in honour and in danger."
So Harold was virtually king of England, appointed by Edward, chosen by
the Witan. Yet "full king" he was not until before the altar he and his
people had given each other their solemn pledges, until "the blessing of
the Church and the unction of her highest ministers had made the chosen
of the people also the anointed of the Lord."
There was no time to lose. Already the members of the Witan had
lingered for a much longer period than was their wont, and they were
anxious to return to their homes. But to delay the coronation until
their next meeting was too dangerous to be dreamed of. England could
not be left without a king. The burial of Edward and the coronation of
Harold must take place at once.
So it came to pass that amid unusual sorrow Edward was buried, as I have
already described to you, in the dim light of the Epiphany morning, and
a few hours later all was in readiness for the solemn coronation rite.
There can be but little doubt that it was in Westminster Abbey that the
ceremony took place. Harold, led by two bishops, walked to the high
altar followed by a long procession, the singers chanting the prayer
that justice and judgment might be the foundations of his throne, that
mercy and truth might go before his face. Then the king elect fell on
his knees, and the grand strain of the _Te Deum_ rose to the skies.
And now Eldred, Archbishop of Northumberland, turned to the crowd and
demanded of the prelates, the Theyns, and the people of England whether
it was their will that Harold should be crowned king?