had a warm place in all hearts, and of Edward all had high hopes. "In
face and form he is comely. By a head and shoulders he outstrips most
every man," the citizens said as they marked his white determined face,
his eyes, which, though soft, could flash like fire, his hair the colour
of burnished gold, and his well-knit figure straight as a dart.
And throughout his reign the nation understood Edward. His was a great
simple character which appealed to them. His faults were the faults of
a strong man who will not be turned aside from his purpose; his
ambitions were bound up in England only. To make her a strong united
kingdom was the dream of his life, and though in this cause, he fought
relentlessly, alike against Llewellyn of Wales and Wallace of Scotland,
he strove with equal vigour to give his people good laws, fair taxation,
and just representation. "That which touches all should be approved by
all," was his creed, and it was he who developed the Parliaments of
Simon de Montfort, until, under his guidance, what was called the Model
Parliament was assembled at Westminster in 1295. So large was this new
assembly, that it was no longer an easy matter for all to sit together
in the hall of Westminster Palace, and a division was made, the Barons
remaining in the Palace, and the Commons, or representatives of the
people, using the wonderful new Chapter-House, which formed part of
Henry III.'s work in the cloisters of the Abbey. This Chapter-House was
the place in which the monks, with the Abbot and all the other
dignitaries of the Abbey, met once a week for conference. Here
complaints were listened to, here misdeeds were inquired into, here,
tied to the central pillar, those older monks who had offended were
publicly flogged. It was designed for a meeting-place, with its rows of
stone benches and its stall at the east end for the high officials; and
what more natural than that the Abbot should offer it to the king as the
place where the Parliament should assemble?
[Illustration: ENTRANCE TO THE CHAPTER HOUSE.]
The story goes that the prudent Abbot made one condition with the offer,
and stipulated that the Chapter-House, being lent to the king for the
use of the Commons, the Crown should keep it in repair. No doubt the
story is true, nor can we blame Abbot Wace for making the best terms he
could. Can you not see the knights and the burgesses making their way
up the cloisters, where the monks were working or walking, through the
door, with its wealth of gold and of carving, past the graves of
Chamberlain Hugelin, with his wife and daughter, Abbot Eadwyn, and the
chronicler Seculdus, into that "incomparable building" which Henry had
determined should be unequalled in beauty? Handsome indeed had been
their old meeting-place, but this exceeded anything they had ever seen.
"In the centre rose a slender pillar of grey marble, or rather a group
of shafts held together by moulded bauds, from which seemed to spring
the vaulted roof; the building was eight-sided, in itself a new idea;
the walls were richly painted with frescoes setting forth the glories
revealed to St. John in his vision of that New Jerusalem, the city not
built with hands; the large windows had glass of wondrous colours;
saints stood in their niches, and from within and without the Virgin
Mother watched over the place."
Edward I., throughout his life, held the Abbey in great reverence, and
besides carrying on his father's work and completing the choir stalls,
he caused several magnificent tombs to be set up there. Always a
devoted son, he resolved that the tomb of Henry III. should lack nothing
in beauty; so he sent to Purbeck for the marble, to Rome for the gold
and glass mosaics, and to these he added the precious stones of jasper
to be brought from France, while to a certain William Torrel he
entrusted the work of carving in gilt bronze the fine effigy of the dead
king, which, save that it has been robbed of its jewels, is still in
perfect preservation, stately in its simplicity. To this tomb the body
of Henry was removed; only his heart, as he had himself desired, was
carried to the Abbey of Fontrevault in France, there to be placed near
to where his mother, his uncle, Richard Coeur de Lion, and others of his
race lay buried.
In the same year the greatest blow of his life fell on Edward, for after
thirty-five years of the happiest married life, Queen Eleanor, "the good
merciful lady beloved of all the English," died of slow fever near
Lincoln.
"I loved her with a great love while she lived; I cannot cease to love
her while she is no more," said Edward. And his people loved him all
the more for his deep grief. He came straight away from his journey to
Scotland, to follow that sad funeral procession which slowly made its
way to Westminster, and at each place where they paused to rest, he
caused a cross to be erected to the memory of the "Chere Reine," one of
which, as you know, stood close to Charing Cross station. She was buried
in King Edward's Chapel at the feet of Henry III., and once more the
skilful hands of William Torrel, "goldsmith and citizen of London,"
fashioned in gilt copper a wonderfully wrought figure, "the finest in
any country" a great authority has declared, which shows us a sweet
strong face at peace with God, a sleeping form, queenly and beautiful.
Another English workman, Master Thomas of Leghton, made the screen of
wrought-iron which protects this monument, round which run the words--
"Ici Gost Alinor, jadis Reine de Engleterre
Femme Al Rey Edward, Fiz le Rey Henri
E Fille Al Rey de Espagne, Contesse de Puntiff
Del Alme de li Dieu pur sa pitie eyt merci.
Amen."
"The king, who loved her well, as she deserved, gave to the monastery
seven or eight manors, to the yearly value of two hundred pounds, for
religious services, and for an anniversary to be performed for her, and
for wax tapers to be kept burning on her tomb both day and night."
[Illustration: THE CORONATION CHAIR.]
It being in the chapel of the Confessor that she who was dearer than all
else was laid, he brought here, as if to lay it at her feet, his
greatest trophy wrested from the Scots, the famous stone of Scone, on
which so many kings of Scotland had been crowned. This was put at his
command into a chair by a certain Walter of Durham, who was paid one
hundred shillings for his work, with an extra sum of about L2, 12s. for
carving, painting, and gilding two small leopards, for the wages of
carpenters and painters, and for colours and gold employed.
When you look at this chair, remember that on it every sovereign of
England has been crowned from the reign of Edward II.
Another trophy had been offered to the shrine of the Confessor a few
years before, and that was the golden crown of the conquered Welsh
Prince Llewellyn. The offering had been solemnly made by Edward's own
little son, Alphonso, a boy of twelve, who, dressed from head to foot in
chain-armour, and wearing a long cloak, followed by nobles and knights,
had laid it down at the feet of the blessed King Edward, the jewels
thereof being applied to adorn the tomb. In the same year the little
prince died, and was buried in this chapel of the kings.
More than one great disturbance agitated the Abbey during the later
years of Edward's reign. First a fire, which began in the Palace,
spread rapidly and caused much damage to parts of the building; then
there were several quarrels with some of the Begging Friars, a new Order
which was highly disapproved of by the regular monks, for those begging
orders got a great reputation among the people, and likewise were in
high favour with the Court of Rome. But worst of all, a terrible
scandal arose, which ended in forty of the Westminster monks being
thrown into prison.
King Edward, when he went to Scotland, left all his jewels and
treasures, with a sum of money, amounting all told to the value of
L100,000, in the care of the Abbot, who carefully put away most of this
charge in the strongly made Chapel of the Pyx, and the rest in the
Refectory. In the April of 1303 a great quantity of treasure was
stolen, and the king, very wroth, ordered a strict investigation to be
made, which ended in the discovery that a certain small merchant or
pedlar, named Roger Podlicote, had got into the Abbey during the night
on several occasions, and had carried away his booty in bags. That he
could have got in unaided was impossible; he must have had accomplices
within the Abbey. Besides, the Sacrist was found with a gold cup, which
he said he had picked up outside St. Margaret's Church. William the
Palmer, keeper of the Palace, declared he had noticed the Sacrist, the
sub-Prior, and many of the monks, coming and going unusually often,
carrying bags and hampers; while John Abbas, a workman, told how
Alexander the monk had caused him to make tools of a special design,
threatening to kill him if he spoke aught of this.
[Illustration: PYX CHAPEL.]
Podlicote, a most adventurous spirit, made a full confession, in which
he generously took all the blame upon himself, saying he knew the ways
of the Abbey and where the treasury was; and being poor, he had thought
how easily he could obtain the goods which were in the Refectory, which
he had seen. But considering that this wholesale robbery went on for
many months, it is impossible to believe that Master Podlicote's nightly
visits to the Abbey through a window in the Chapter-House were quite
unknown to the monks, and no one had much pity for them when they were
committed to the Tower for two years. Still it was a great disgrace to
fall on a monastery which held its head so high; besides, to quote
Widmore, "it was a peculiar baseness to wrong a prince who had been so
kind to their house, had readily renewed their charters, had improved
some of them, and had been very bountiful in giving them lands of great
value."
One action taken by the Abbot at this time, however, greatly pleased
both the king and the people. For a certain brave knight, John de St.
John, governor for Edward in Aquitaine, having been decoyed and taken
prisoner by the French, and being too poor to pay the large ransom they
demanded, was presented with a generous offering by Abbot Wenlock, "a
commendable and charitable thing of public service," comments an old
writer, "seeing that monasteries did not always lay out their money so
well as for the liberty of a person in high command, a gallant man whom,
while fighting valiantly for his prince, the chances of war had made
prisoner." Edward's eventful reign was drawing to a close; already he
was the oldest king who had ruled England, and his life had been a hard
one. He had never spared himself in mind or body; he had never wavered
in his great aims; and his favourite motto, _Pactum serva_, "Keep
troth," words he had desired should be carved upon his tomb, was the
motto to which he had consistently been faithful. And yet over these
closing years a dark cloud hung, for his son, young Edward, showed no
signs of rising to his great responsibilities. Tall and handsome to
behold, he was weak, changeable, and careless, given to gambling and low
society, a tool in the hands of first one and then another of his
worthless friends. The old king knew all too well how useless it was to
dream that his son would carry on the work to which he had devoted
himself, but the knowledge was a veritable cup of bitterness. He had
always sought to inspire him with high thoughts, great enthusiasms, and
now, as the end loomed on the horizon, he made one more effort, and
appealed to the deepest feelings of the young prince. At the festival
of Whitsuntide in Westminster Abbey, he admitted his son, with many
other young nobles, to the order of knighthood, and throughout one long
night the Prince of Wales kept his vigil before the altar at the shrine
of the Confessor. Then at the royal banquet which followed, Edward,
though so weak he could barely stand, swore solemnly to march at once to
Scotland to crush the rebellion which had broken out afresh when all
seemed peaceful, and to avenge the death of Comyn, who had been murdered
in the church at Dumfries by Robert Bruce. The Scotsmen had not kept
troth, and the king was fierce with indignation. But to this vow Edward
added another, which was made also by the prince and all the newly
dubbed knights in the ball at Westminster; they pledged themselves that
so soon as Robert Bruce was conquered, they would no more bear arms
against Christendom, but would go to the Holy Land and conquer the
infidel, or die in the attempt to do so.
Without delay, king and army set off for Scotland, but the great triumph
for which he had longed was not to be his. His spirit was as strong as
ever, only his body failed him. He struggled bravely on, then came a
day when he could only ride two miles, and at last he had to own that he
was face to face with an enemy before whom even his strong will lay
powerless. Near Carlisle he died, knight and warrior to the end. He
entreated his son to tear himself away from his favourites, and to set
before himself the conquest of Scotland and the recovery of the Holy
Land, and he asked that his bones might be carried about with the army
till Scotland was subdued, that his heart might go with the knights to
the Holy Land. Then with a prayer for mercy on his lips he passed away.
Edward II. had not even the grace to carry out one of these dying
requests. Four months later Edward was buried in the Confessor's Chapel
near to his father, his brother, and his wife, while to his memory was
raised only the plainest tomb, in striking contrast to the beautiful
monuments around it. The new king scattered his money among his
favourites with too free a hand to have anything to spare for the
building of a costly tomb.
Yet, after all, as you stand by the grave of this "greatest of the
Plantagenets," and look at the simple unornamented monument, I think you
will feel with me that in its very simplicity and strength it is
unconsciously a truthful memorial of Edward, a striking description of
those qualities which in life he loved and strove after. He was a man of
action, not of words; a soldier, not a saint; a statesman, not a
dreamer. For Edward the Confessor there was a beautiful shrine, the
delicate work, the gold, the jewels, the angels, and the martyrs. For
Edward the First there was the uncarved block of grey marble, and the
blunt inscription--
"Here lies Edward the First, the Scourge of Scotland.
Keep troth."
*CHAPTER VI*
*EDWARD III. AND QUEEN PHILIPPA*
"The character of the reigning Prince, King Edward II., will not give
leave to expect anything of great service to this place," wrote grimly a
chronicler of the Abbey. Indeed, beyond the fact that he was crowned
here, that a riot nearly took place at the coronation, so angered were
the people at Piers Gaveston being given the place of honour and allowed
to carry the crown, in defiance of the old king's last request, and that
he made an offering of two images to the shrine of the Confessor, there
is nothing to tell of Edward's reign in connection with Westminster
Abbey.
The country bore with the king for nearly twenty years. Then the
Parliament assembled at Westminster asserted itself. The king, all were
agreed, had shown himself unfit to rule; he had violated his coronation
oath, he had oppressed his people, and had lost Scotland. It was only
right, therefore, that he should be deposed, and his son, a boy of great
promise, be chosen in his stead. Out of that great assembly only four
voices were raised for the king, and a deputation was sent to him
telling him what his Parliament had resolved to do. To his honour, the
young Prince Edward refused to accept the crown unless with his father's
consent, but Edward II., "clad in a plain black gown," submitted without
a word to the decree of the assembly, and listened unmoved as they told
him how they "rendered and gave back to him, once king of England, their
homage and fealty, counting him henceforth as a private person, without
any manner of royal dignity."
So Edward III. was crowned on the 29th of January 1327, and the shield
with the sword of state, Scottish trophies of his grandfather's which
were carried before him, are the identical shield and sword which exist
to-day.
Only fourteen years old when he was crowned king, young Edward had
already impressed all those who came in contact with him. Men saw in
him a worthy successor of Edward I., whose great qualities stood out in
shining contrast after the second Edward's disastrous reign. He was
strong, he was brave; he, like his grandfather, passionately loved
justice and passionately loved England. Nothing could have been more
unfortunate than his boyhood or his early education. For neither his
father nor his mother could he feel the smallest respect, and the
influences about the Court were of the worst. A weaker character would
have been swamped by circumstances, and would have sunk to the level of
its surroundings; Edward fought his way through, and came out
triumphantly on the other side. When he was sixteen he married Philippa
of Hainault, and a year later a son was born to them. The delight of
the nation was intense; Edward was deeply touched at the signs of
affection everywhere shown to him by his subjects, and he resolved all
the more earnestly, with the growing strength of his young manhood, to
be a king indeed, to rule his people justly, to lead them wisely, to
live up to the great things expected of him. England in those days was a
young nation, just beginning to feel its power, rejoicing in its
strength and its freedom, ready for action, for adventure, for
enterprise, and Edward represented in the highest degree all these
enthusiasms and aspirations. He was able to lead; he grasped the spirit
of his people; king and nation were at one in their aims, so that into
the years which followed were crowded great deeds and great victories,
victories made all the more honourable by the chivalrous conduct of the
conquerors.
I should like to linger over the stories of Edward and his men-at-arms,
the knights, the hobblers, and the archers, who won such fame for
England on foreign battle-fields, but that would be to wander far away
from Westminster, so we must leave Crecy, Calais, and Poitiers, and come
back to the Abbey and the Monastery, this little world of itself, where
life went on in its own way, regardless of wars in Scotland and France.
As usual, there were several disputes in progress, and one between the
Abbot and the king's treasurer ended in a lawsuit which lasted both
beyond the Abbot's and treasurer's time. The quarrel was as to who had
the right to visit the Hospital of St. James, a hospital founded and
endowed by some citizens of London for fourteen leprous maids, on the
ground where now St. James's Palace stands. No fewer than six chaplains
were attached to this hospital, to perform divine service for the
afflicted fourteen lepers, and as the building stood within the parish,
the Abbot declared that these chaplains were under his authority. To
this the king's treasurer would not agree, and hence the dispute.
Apparently at last the verdict was given in favour of the Abbot, but the
original Abbot and treasurer being dead, and the new Abbot being
indolent, while the new treasurer was grasping, it ended in an actual
victory for the latter.
Another quarrel centred round the little chapel of St. Stephen's, which
had been founded by Edward I. within the Palace at Westminster, and so
liberally endowed by Edward III. that it possessed its own dean and
canons.
In this chapel masses were said daily for past and present kings, while
altogether nearly forty priests were attached to the foundation, all of
whom lived in the Palace. Quite naturally the Abbot of Westminster was
not well pleased at this rich foundation within a stone's throw of his
Abbey, and insisted that it should be placed under his jurisdiction, a
claim which was warmly supported by the Pope. But in this "the people
of St. Stephen's," who had the Court on their side, did not acquiesce;
and at last the king, who was not greatly interested in these matters,
proposed a compromise, which was accepted. The Abbot was to have the
right of appointing the dean, and was to be paid a yearly sum of money
as a tribute to his authority; while, on the other hand, the dean and
canons were to order their own services and control their own affairs.
This chapel of St. Stephen's was very beautiful, more beautiful, we are
told, than St. George's Chapel at Windsor. But no traces remain of it
or of its cloisters and its chantry except the crypt. In the reign of
Henry VIII. Westminster Palace was seriously destroyed by fire, and the
chapel was then altered, turned from its original use, and given over to
the House of Commons as their Parliament House, another link, you see,
between the Palace, the Church, and the People.
In the year 1349 the Black Death, that most terrible plague, swept over
England, killing nearly one half of the people; fifty thousand of its
victims were buried in London, and the Abbey was not spared, for the
Abbot and twenty-six of the monks caught it and died. They were buried
in one grave in the south cloister, covered by a large stone, which you
will easily find, although it has a wrong name, that of Gervase de
Blois, carved upon it; and that vast stone, says Dean Stanley, "is the
footmark left in the Abbey by the greatest plague which ever swept over
Europe."
Abbot Bircheston, who thus died, had not been very satisfactory. "It is
well of this place that he continued no longer," says the chronicler
severely; "for he ran the house into a great deal of debt, being himself
extravagant and his relations being wasteful people." His successor was
that remarkable man Simon Langham, the only Abbot of Westminster who
ever became Archbishop of Canterbury, and he did such great things for
the monastery that he won for himself the name of the second founder.
Not only did he pay off the debts of his predecessors, but he managed
with great prudence all the estates and revenues under his care, saved
large sums of money by his frugality, and, perhaps most difficult task
of all, brought the house once more into excellent discipline. This is
what Plete, himself a monk at Westminster, has to say of Abbot Langham:
"He rectified many abuses which had crept in, truly a service as it is
most useful to any place, so commonly is it the most difficult also; and
accordingly it cost him a great deal of study, pains, and resolution to
effect it, as having many ill tempers to deal with, some being indolent,
others odd and particular, some extravagant, and others perverse."
While he was Archbishop, and afterwards when made a cardinal and living
abroad, he never forgot the Abbey where he had been educated and where
he had laid the foundation of his great career, but left to it a sum
equal to L200,000 to be spent on building, and desired that he should be
buried there. So you will find his tomb of marble and alabaster in the
little chapel of St. Benedict at the entrance to the south ambulatory,
the first monument of any importance set up to the memory of a bishop or
abbot.
He was followed by the Prior, Nicholas Litlington, "a stirring person,
very useful to the monastery," whose mind was set on improving the
buildings. This was an easy task enough, thanks to the legacy of
Langham and the good favour in which he stood with king and queen. So at
once he set to work, the monastery being the object of his care. He
built the south and west cloisters, setting his initials on the roof;
the Abbot's Palace, the College Hall, the Jerusalem Chamber, houses for
the bailiff, the cellarer, the infirmaries, and the sacrist, a
malt-house and a water-mill; and besides this he presented the Abbey
with much valuable plate and many rich vestments.
"But," remarks an old writer severely, "as he was enabled to do all this
with the money left by his predecessor Langham, he should have put some
memorial of the Cardinal upon the buildings. Instead, he has his own
arms and the initial letters of his name on the keystone of the cloister
arches."