hearts. Then Harold, on his oath, swore to protect the Church of God
and all Christian people, to forbid wrong and robbery to men of every
rank, to strive after justice and mercy in all his judgments; and first
the Bishop and afterwards Eldred prayed that the God who had wrought
such mighty works, would pour down His best gifts on him chosen to be
king of the Angles and Saxons, that he might be faithful as Abraham,
gentle as Moses, brave as Joshua, humble as David, wise as Solomon, so
that he might protect both the Church and his nation from all visible
and invisible foes.
So the oath was taken and the prayers were ended. But there was yet to
follow that sacred rite of mystic meaning, which was enacted as Eldred
poured the holy oil on the head of the king, beseeching God, that as of
old, kings, priests, and prophets were anointed, so now the oil poured
on the head of His servant might be a true sign of the sanctifying of
his heart, a means of grace for His glory and the welcome of His people.
The crown was placed on his head; the sword was handed to him; sceptre
and rod were given one after the other into his hands; while with each
act the solemn voice of the Archbishop rose in prayer that a yet
brighter crown in the heavenly country might be his, that he might ever
with the sword defend the Church and the people against all adversaries,
that his sceptre might be a sceptre of righteousness, and that he who
had been anointed with the holy oil might stand fast in the strength of
God.
Thus was Harold set upon the royal throne; on his head was the crown, in
his hand the sceptre, his sword was borne by two chiefs, "while all the
people saw him with wonder and delight."
Directly the coronation ceremony was over, the Mass was celebrated.
Then all adjourned to the Palace hard by, and a great banquet was held
on this Twelfth Night, the last day of the Christmas festival, into
which so many and varied scenes had been crowded.
Little had those members of the Witan dreamt when they set out from
their homes, of all that would have have happened ere they
returned--Christmas festivities and meetings of the Council; the
consecration of the new church; the death of King Edward; the choosing
of King Harold; the burying of the old king and the crowning of the new,
all had followed one after the other in those short wintry days.
And the Abbey itself had been the centre round which all these events
had taken place.
It could never sink back into being a mere Benedictine monastery of
seventy monks, attached to the Church King Edward had built. A greater
future lay before it, and I doubt not that the Abbot Eadwine, shrewd man
that he was, conscious of the charter which gave him and his successors
a peculiar independence, rested well satisfied on that old Christmas
night.
*CHAPTER III*
*SAXONS AND NORMANS AT WESTMINSTER*
"Cynge Harold lytel stilnesse gehed."
King Harold, like King Edward, spent much more time in London, and
consequently at Westminster, than any of his predecessors had done,
though not for the same reason. Edward was reluctant to leave the
building in which he took so deep an interest; Harold, knowing full well
the unsettled state of the kingdom he had to defend, held that London,
"guarded alike by strong walls and the strong hearts of its citizens,"
was the best starting-point for any expedition he might be called on to
undertake. So instead of spending the Easter Feast at Winchester, as
had been a long-established custom, he came to Westminster and there
assembled the Witan Gemot. He had faithfully carried out every request
made to him by the dying King Edward. In every way his position was
stronger than it had been three months before, and this Easter festival
saw him at the zenith of his power. Suddenly a sign appeared from
Heaven, which brought terror and desolation to the hearts of men. The
Easter hymns were still being sung in the Abbey, when "the sky became
ablaze with a mighty mass of flame, which some called a comet." This
appearance brought about a state of panic in those days of superstition.
First one interpreter and then another stood up to declare what it might
portend, and to prophesy of terrible events about to be accomplished.
One and all said the same, the sword of the Lord was drawn by this
token, and who should tell where it was destined to fall?
Over the seas in Normandy, William had heard in simple but sufficient
language of all that had taken place at Westminster in those first days
of the year 1066. A messenger, who had come on an English ship, brought
the news, "King Edward has ended his days, and Earl Harold is raised to
the kindom."
William's wrath was intense. "Oft times he laced, and as oft unlaced
his mantle; he spake to no man, and no man dared speak to him." The
crown of England he declared was his and his alone, promised to him by
Edward years before, when he went on a visit to the English court, and
Harold, shipwrecked on the coast of Normandy, had sworn to support his
claim. At once he sent a message, or probably several messengers to
Harold, demanding from him the crown. The Englishman's answer was given
with no uncertain sound. Had William really been chosen king by Edward
and the Witan, he would have supported him, but things were all changed
now, and he, Harold, could not give up a crown set on his head by the
will of the nation, except at the nation's will. William then decided
on an appeal to force. His people, bold and adventurous, rallied to his
side, and set about preparing a fleet in which to cross the seas, and
his chief counsellor, the Abbot Lanfranc, obtained for him from Rome the
sanction and blessing of the Church on his undertaking, representing
that it would be for the spiritual welfare of England. For even in
those early days England had shown an independence and a restiveness
under Roman control which could not be allowed to continue unrebuked.
William was indeed a formidable foe, and he was not the worst or only
foe, for Harold was suddenly called on to face his own brother, Tostig,
who had turned against him, demanding half the kingdom, and who to
enforce this claim had enlisted on his side Harald Hardrada, the warrior
king of Norway, whose fame as a fighter was known from Iceland to
Africa. With an army, these two landed in the North and moved on to
York, fighting their way victoriously. But from London Harold was
marching at the head of his house-carls, drawing into his train ready
volunteers. As they came along the Roman road with a speed almost
incredible, their hearts beating high at the thought of an encounter
with traitors and a foreign foe, they told one another how King Edward
had appeared to Harold on the night before their start, bidding him be
strong and very courageous, for the victory would be surely his. On the
25th of September the armies faced each other, and there came a
messenger from the enemy's camp offering terms. Harold's answer was
characteristic. To his brother he promised peace and forgiveness, "for
he is an Englishman. But to Harald Hardrada, who is a foreigner and an
enemy, I will give him six feet of English ground; or, as I hear he is
taller than most men, I will give him seven feet. But this is all the
English ground he will get from me."
The battle was a fierce one and bravely fought, but the Norsemen were
utterly vanquished, and Harald Hardrada was left sleeping on that seven
feet of ground which the king had offered him. As was his wont, Harold
of England showed nothing but generosity to those of the conquered
Norsemen who remained, and sent them back in four-and-twenty ships to
their own shores. Then with the remnants of his own army he set out by
the way he had come to London, having first summoned a hasty Witan Gemot
where he was, to tell them that the Normans had landed in the South. He
told them of the work which lay before them, and they answered him with
a shout, "The heart of Harold failed not, and the hearts of the
Englishmen beat with their king."
October the 5th found him in London at his palace of Westminster, and
here to his standard flocked brave and trusty men from the shires of the
east, the south, and the west, impelled by a passionate patriotism.
Even from the cloisters there came willing soldiers, for many of the
monks refused to stay and pray in safety when they could strike a blow
for England on the battle-field.
[Illustration: S. EDMUND'S CHAPEL. SHEWING TOMB OF JOHN OF ELTHAM,
YOUNGER SON OF EDWARD II.]
There was much coming and going of armed men round Westminster during
those days of preparation, and it was to Westminster Palace that Huon
Margot, a monk, came, bearing a message to the king from Duke William.
The message was a demand for submission, a challenge, and Harold proudly
sent back the answer, "Tell the Duke I will seek him out and do battle
with him." Then Gurth, the brother of Harold, found him in the Palace,
and thus besought him--
"Fair brother, remain here, but give me your troops; I will take the
adventure upon me and will fight William. And while I fight the
Normans, do you scour the country, burn the houses, destroy the
villages, and carry away all the swine, goats, and cattle, that they may
not find food or anything wherewith to subsist."
All the men who stood round in the chamber said--
"This is good counsel. Let the king follow it."
But Harold sturdily refused to hold back from danger which he was called
upon to face, neither would he allow the country to be harried.
"Never," he declared, "will I burn an English village or an English
house; never will I harm the lands or goods of any Englishman. How
could I injure the people I should govern? How could I harass those I
would fain see thrive under my rule?"
And a few hours later, the king at the head of his army marched through
Kent and Sussex to the high ground of Senlac, where he pitched his camp,
within seven miles of the Norman invaders.
I am trying to tell you of scenes in history which are linked with the
Abbey or Palace of Westminster, so I must not dwell on the days that
followed. Harold, the fearless soldier, lay dead beneath the standard
he had so gallantly defended, and around him lay the flower of his race,
faithful to the end. The men who remained were leaderless and hopeless;
they could no more offer resistance to the ruthless Norman soldiers, and
at last they gave way.
William did not immediately march on London. Tidings came that the
citizens of London were eager to fight again. So he first subdued the
country around, and forced Dover, Winchester, and Canterbury into
submission. Then harrying and burning wherever he was opposed, he made
his way through Surrey, Hampshire, and Berkshire, purposing to lay waste
the north and east of London, as he had done the south and west. He did
his work all too well; even the stout hearts of the Londoners quailed,
and at Berkhamstead a deputation came to him owning him as conqueror,
laying the crown at his feet. It was a bitter moment for the men who
undertook this shameful errand, but no other way was open to them in
that dark hour, and immediately arrangements were made for the
coronation ceremony. William, who consistently professed the deepest
respect for the memory of King Edward, his "predecessor," declared that
he would only be crowned in Westminster, "which peculiar respect," says
Dart, "seems not only to arise from the pretence of his title from him,
but the better to ingratiate himself with the people, with whom he stood
but indifferent, by expressing extraordinary reverence for their buried
favourite."
On Christmas Day, in the year 1066, the Abbey once again saw a great
gathering. A guard of Norman soldiers waited without; inside mingled
together wise men of two races, Saxon and Norman. Before the high
altar, on the gravestone of the Confessor, stood the Conqueror, on one
side a Norman Bishop, on the other, Eldred, Archbishop of York. Once
again the monks chanted the _Te Deum_, and then followed an innovation.
For half that multitude assembled there knew not the English language,
and the question as to whether they would have this man to be their king
had to be twice asked, once in English, once in Norman.
"Yea, yea, King William," was the answer, given with a shout which so
startled the Norman soldiers outside, that at once they imagined some
disturbance was being made, or some insult was intended to their king.
In their wild anger, they began to set fire to the buildings near at
hand, and as the flames dashed upwards, the astonished people rushed out
of the Abbey to see what all this might portend. So the body of the
great church was empty, and in dramatic solitude the Archbishop went on
with the service, surrounded only by the monks. William was greatly
overcome as he stood thus alone before the altar; there was something
terrible in the loneliness and the stillness of the deserted church. He
trembled exceedingly, and could scarce command his voice. It seems as
if he had shrunk from wearing the crown of Edward, or still older crown
of Alfred, "made of gould wyer works, sett with slight stones and two
little bells," for he had caused to be brought a new crown, very heavy
with gems, and this was the diadem set on his head by Eldred, after he
had made the usual vows, with one specially added, in which he solemnly
undertook to rule his people as well as the best of the kings who had
gone before him.
Still from without came the sounds of tumult and excitement, still
within the gleaming choir the solemn service was continued to the end,
and thus was William the Norman crowned and anointed, made king indeed
of England, but never king of the English people.
Westminster did not fare ill under the new king. Abbot Eadwine was
discreet and wise, with much of the courtier in him, and he managed to
preserve himself and his house in the good graces of the Conqueror. The
building went steadily on, for money was not wanting, it was no part of
William's policy to hinder any of the work undertaken by the Confessor.
On the contrary, he confirmed all the charters, and when Abbot Eadwine
gracefully yielded to him the lands of Windsor, which the king desired
to enjoy, it being very convenient; for his retirement to hunting, he
gave in exchange many other lands, besides making rich offerings.
Moreover William set a rich pall over Edward's grave, presented a cloth
of great splendour with two caskets of gold for the altar, and attended
Mass in the Abbey Church most diligently.
Eadwine, the last Saxon Abbot, died in 1071, and was buried in the
cloisters; he lay near to the very centre of all the life in the
monastery which had so developed under his wise rule. Here in the
cloisters the monks walked and talked, studied and transcribed; here the
novices and the boy scholars sought their recreation; here was the great
refectory, and close by the infirmary and St. Catherine's Chapel;
overhead was the long bare dormitory. Surely it was fitting that the
Abbots of Westminster should be laid in the cloisters, and so they
continued to be till the year 1222. You will find the names of many of
them recut on the stone benches in the south cloister, if you look for
them, only unfortunately this was very carelessly done, and in many
cases the names are put over the wrong graves. It seems, too, that
Eadwine's body was moved from the south cloister and laid in the passage
leading to the Chapter-House, close to the faithful Hugolin, who was the
Chamberlain and close friend of the Confessor.
William appointed in Eadwine's place Geoffrey, a Norman, but so evil
were his ways that at the end of four years, "having been first
admonished by the king and Archbishop Lanfranc, but not amending upon
the admonition," he was deprived and sent back to Normandy in disgrace,
where he died. He was followed by Vitelus, Abbot of Bernay, held by
William to be wise and a man of business, as indeed it was necessary the
ruler of a large monastery should be, and among other things "being a
stirring man, he let the monk Sulcardus, the best pen they had belonging
to the Abbey, draw up the history of the place to give it a figure in
the world."
During the rule of Geoffrey, the Lady Eadgytha, widow of Harold, died at
Winchester, and was buried with great honour in the tomb of her husband,
a tomb which each year became more and more of a holy place to the
people of England. Under the hard rule of William, who, in the words of
that honest chronicler Master Richard Wuce, "was eke so stark a man and
wroth that no man durst do anything against his will, beyond all metes
stark to those who withstood his will," the hearts of the people turned
to that tomb of an English king, as the source from which they might
hope for deliverance, as the spot of comfort from whence came signs from
heaven that the saintly king still watched over his sorely tried people.
On one day, a council of Norman clergy was assembled in St. Catherine's
Chapel at Westminster, their object being to deprive the holy Wulstan,
Bishop of Worcester, of his see, on the ground that "he was a very
idiot, being unacquainted with the French language." Lanfranc ordered
him to deliver up his staff and ring. But Wulstan was before all else an
Englishman.
"Truly, my Lord Bishop," said he, "you claim from me the pastoral staff
which it was not you who crave me. In deference to your judgment I
resign it, though not to you, but to Saint Edward, by whose authority I
received it."
Then he walked to the tomb of the glorious king.
"Thou knowest," he said in Saxon, "how reluctantly I undertook this
burden. Only to thee can I resign the charge of those thou didst
entrust to my care. Receive thou my staff; give it to whomsoever thou
mayest choose."
Thus speaking, he struck his staff into the stone tomb, and behold it
sank in and stood erect, so that they who stood by could not move it
neither to the right nor the left. Word was sent to Lanfranc, who had
remained with the council in St. Catherine's Chapel, and he indignantly
sent Gundulph, Bishop of Rochester, to put an end to this foolish story
and carry the staff away. But Gundulph was powerless to move it, and on
his evidence Lanfranc himself came with the king. Still every effort
was in vain, and at last Lanfranc commanded Wulstan to take back the
staff.
"My Lord and king," entreated the Bishop, "I pray thee give now thy
decision." And the staff yielded itself into his hands.
So the king and the Archbishop, frightened at what they had seen, ran up
to Wulstan, begging his forgiveness, and he, having learned from the
Lord to be meek and humble of heart, threw himself in his turn upon his
knees.
I need not tell you that this is but a legend, and between legend and
history there is a great gulf fixed. But it is through legends that we
often learn the beliefs and ideas held by the mass of the people, and
this story is one of many which explains how the tomb of Edward became a
holy shrine.
William of Normandy was not buried in the Abbey; he did not even die in
the country it had been his great ambition to conquer and possess. For
in making war against the king of France, he set fire to the town of
Nantes, and his horse, treading on a red ember, plunged violently,
throwing him to the ground, with such injury to himself that he never
recovered, but breathed his last in a monastery at Rouen.
A hard ruler, indeed, he had been, yet Master Wace, whom "himself looked
on him and somewhile dwelt in his herd," bids us remember that he was
"mild to good men that loved God, and made such good peace in the land
that a man might travel over the kingdom with his bosom full of gold
unhurt, and no man durst stay another man."
"Wa, la wa! May God Almighty have mild-heartedness on his soul, and
give him forgiveness of his sins. And may men after their goodness
choose the good in him withal fleeing from the evil, as they go on their
way that leadeth to God's kingdom."
Such are the kindly words in which Master Wace ends his "Chronicle of
the Conquest."
*CHAPTER IV*
*THROUGH SEVEN REIGNS*
I am going to take you along very quickly through the reigns of the
Norman kings--William Rufus, Henry I, Stephen, Henry II., Richard Coeur
de Lion, and John, and not make a long pause till we come to the year
1216, when Henry III., the royal builder of the Abbey as we know it,
came to the throne. The Church of Westminster, from the days of the
Norman Conquest onwards, became, as if by right, the coronation church,
"the head, crown, and diadem of the kingdom;" and Oxford, Winchester,
and St. Paul's, which had witnessed so many coronations in the time of
the Saxon kings, were no more thought of for this purpose. But rather
curiously none of the Norman kings were buried here. Of a foreign race
they were, and some among them rested in foreign tombs--the Conqueror at
Caen, Henry II. and Coeur de Lion at Fontrevault, while Rufus, killed in
the New Forest, was carried to Winchester, Henry I. to Reading, Stephen
to Faversham, and John to Worcester, this last-named king having left
instructions that he should be dressed like a monk and laid next good
Bishop Wulstan, hoping by this subterfuge to take in the devil!
The fact, however, of the Abbey being the recognised place of coronation
gave the Abbot a somewhat unique position, for he it was who had to
prepare the king for the great ceremonial, though the actual crowning
became the right of the Archbishop of Canterbury. All the regalia, too,
such as the crown of Alfred, the sceptre, the ring of Edward the
Confessor, were kept at Westminster till the seventeenth century, when
all that remained of them after the destructive days of the Commonwealth
found a safer resting-place in the Tower of London. Yet still are they
carried to the Abbey the night before a coronation and placed for the
night in the Jerusalem Chamber, while the Dean and Canons of Westminster
still have the proud privilege of standing within the altar rails by the
Archbishop.
William Rufus had all the worst qualities of his father without his
sense of justice, and he was a cruel, selfish king, but he left his mark
on Westminster, though not on the Abbey. The Palace was not large
enough for his requirements, and he intended to rebuild it on a great
scale. However he accomplished little beyond the Great Hall, which
to-day is known as Westminster Hall, and leads to the Houses of
Parliament.
[Illustration: PICTURE AND TAPESTRY IN THE SANCTUARY.]
This hall, repaired and strengthened by Richard II. and George IV., is
in its way as full of interest as the Abbey, for here always took place
the banquet, a part of the coronation ceremony, here were councils held,
and here was the scene of many a great state trial. Thanks to the
affection felt by Rufus for Gilbert the Abbot, the monastery was not
taxed in the heavy way which had once seemed likely during a reign under
which the whole nation groaned, and indeed the king granted some new
charters to it, for the belief steadily grew that the burying-place of
King Edward was the burial-place of a saint, and this general feeling of
veneration could not be without its influence on Rufus. A new dignity,
if that were needed, became attached to the royal tomb at this time, for
on its being opened by Lanfranc, Archbishop of Canterbury, in company
with many other bishops, the king was found to be sleeping there as
peacefully as if he had been buried but a few hours, with no sign of
change on his fair white face.