Westminster Palace "to proclaim without further halt of time the Lady
Elizabeth as queen of this realm." Shouts of "God save Queen Elizabeth"
resounded through the walls, and outside the cry "Long live our Queen
Elizabeth" was taken up with heartfelt intensity by the people, who
believed, and not in vain, that with her their deliverance had come.
She had suffered, they had suffered, both in the same great cause, and
now together they were standing in the dawn of a day which promised to
be fair and radiant. The Spanish influence, which they hated
passionately, as Englishmen have ever been wont to hate foreign
interference, had received its death-blow, for here was a queen, "born
mere English, here among us, and therefore most natural to us," who
understood them, and whom they could freely trust. No wonder that there
were no signs of mourning for the dead queen, only irrepressible joy and
relief at the accession of the new sovereign they were prepared to love
so loyally. But no wonder either that the echoes of the cheers which
reached the Abbey fell on some hearts which could not respond to them.
To Fakenham, with his handful of monks, those shouts of joy were as a
death-knell, though the Abbot himself may have had some hopes that
Elizabeth would remember how he had pleaded with Mary for her freedom.
The coronation festivities, which began January 15, put London in a
delirium of rejoicings, and though the royal exchequer was so low that
there was no money available for costly preparations, the people more
than compensated for this by the pageants and decorations they organised
out of the fulness of their hearts. "The queen," says an officer who
followed the procession, "as she entered the city was received with
prayers, welcomings, cries and tender words, with all those signs which
argue the earnest love of subjects towards their sovereign. She, by
holding up her hands and glad countenance to such as stood afar off, and
most tender language to those that stood near, showed herself no less
thankful to receive the people's goodwill than they to offer it, and to
such as bade 'God save her Grace,' she said in return, 'God save you
all,' so that the people were wonderfully transported at the loving
answers and gestures of the queen."
Only one bishop could be found to read the coronation service, as those
few Protestants who had escaped with their lives across the seas had not
yet returned from their exile, and the Roman Catholics refused to
assist, though no alterations were introduced into the service,
excepting that the Litany, the Gospel, and the Epistle were ordered to
be read in English. This bishop, with the singers, met the queen at
Westminster Hall on the following day, a Sunday, and to the fine old
hymn, "Hail, Festal Day," the procession wended its way into the Abbey,
and the solemn ceremony took place.
Nor did Elizabeth at first make any changes in the Abbey services. It
was her desire, she declared at the opening of her Parliament ten days
later, "to unite the people of the realm in one uniform order," and
though she was determined that the English Church should be utterly
severed from Roman control, and that the Bible should be an open book,
she understood the bulk of her people well enough to know that, as
Bishop Creighton has so clearly put it, "what they wished for was a
national church, independent of Rome, with simple services, not too
unlike those to which they had been accustomed." So, at the state
service in the Abbey on this occasion, the Mass was celebrated with the
usual ritual, though the sermon was preached by a certain Doctor Cox,
who was a vigorous Protestant.
Elizabeth's first Parliament gave over to her all the religious houses
revived by her sister, and she decided to once more make Westminster a
Cathedral church, though without a bishopric. Possibly if Fakenham had
been a more time-serving man, he might have managed to stay on under the
new regime as Dean, but he was uncompromisingly true to his principles;
he refused to acknowledge any one but the Pope as head of the Church,
and in the House of Lords he made a strong speech against the English
Prayer-Book. His reign at Westminster had been a short one, but he had
not failed in his duty towards the precious trust committed to his care.
The Confessor's Chapel, shrine of the English saint, was still the
greatest treasure of the Abbey, and to this he had caused the body of
the king, hidden, you will remember, by the monks at the first threat of
dissolution, to be carried back "with the most goodly singing and
chanting ever heard," after he had repaired the shrine itself to the
best of his ability, assisted by Queen Mary, who had sent him some
jewels. Moreover, in Parliament he successfully defended the right of
sanctuary, so that this remained for some time longer at least an Abbey
privilege, and altogether it is pleasant to remember this last Abbot as
one who was true to the light as he saw it, a kindly, moderate, honest
man, a firm friend, a fair enemy, a fine solitary figure standing out
among his fellows. It is said that when in 1560 the bill was passed in
Parliament which decided the fate of Westminster and the other remaining
monasteries, a messenger who came to bring the news to Abbot Fakenham
found him busy planting young elms in the Dean's yard.
"Cease thy labours, my lord Abbot," he said. "This planting of trees
will avail thee nothing now."
But the old Abbot was not so mean-spirited.
"I verily believe," he made answer, "that so long as this church
endureth, it shall be kept for a seat of learning."
And he went on contentedly with his work.
He lived for twenty-five years after he left the Abbey, under a certain
amount of restraints, and great efforts were made to induce him to
change his faith. But he never wavered, and so far as possible withdrew
from all controversy, spending his time and his substance among the
poor. "Like an axil tree, he stood firm and fixed in his own
judgments," says Fuller, "while the times, like the wheels, turned
backwards and forwards round him."
Westminster stood aloof from the keen religious controversies which
raged around, and quietly stepped into its new position. It was now
neither a monastery nor a cathedral, but a "collegiate church," as it is
to-day, with its Dean and Chapter and its school. Very little, if
anything, happened to disturb the peace of the Abbey under the rule of
its three excellent Deans appointed by Elizabeth--Bill, Goodman, and
Andrewes; the only sign of the times which deserves noticing being that
more and more it became the custom to bury distinguished people not of
royal blood within these honoured walls. Otherwise we may well quote
the words of Widmore, who in summing up this epoch in Westminster
history, concludes--"It may here be remarked that though misfortunes and
disturbances in a place give opportunity to an historian to make
observations and show his eloquence, while they also entertain the
reader, yet peace and quietness are good proofs both of the happiness of
the times and the discretion of those who govern."
On the 24th of March 1603, Elizabeth died after a reign of forty-four
years, during which she had never lost her hold over the hearts and
minds of her people. As a woman she had her failings and weaknesses, but
as a queen she had done right well for England, and "round her, with all
her faults, the England we know grew into the consciousness of its
destiny.... She saw what England might become, and nursed it into the
knowledge of its power."
The outburst of grief at her death was her people's acknowledgment of
the debt they owed her. They had trusted her, and not in vain; she had
understood them, had served them, and had loved them. On the day of her
burying at Westminster "the city was surcharged with multitudes of all
sorts, in the streets, houses, windows, leads, and gutters, and when
they beheld her statue lying on the coffin, set forth in royal robes,
having a crown upon the head thereof, a ball and sceptre in either hand,
there was such a general sighing, weeping, and groaning as the like hath
not been seen or known in the memory of man, neither doth any history
mention any people, time, or state to make the like lamentation for the
death of their sovereign."
Nor did her memory fade away with her life, for her tomb, which you will
find in the north aisle of Henry VII.'s Chapel, became familiar to her
people throughout the length and breadth of the land, "a lovely draught
of it being pictured in the London and country churches."
The monument raised to her memory by James I. is a fine one of its kind,
and the sculptor has given us an impression of her strength and power as
she lies sleeping there in royal state, guarded by lions, though I think
we cannot help missing the exquisite little figures of saints and angels
banished in deference to the increasingly severe views of the English
Churchmen. Here is the translation of the Latin inscription round the
monument, which certainly described, and in no way exaggerated, the
feelings of the nation towards her:--
"To the eternal memory of Elizabeth, Queen of England, France, and
Ireland, Daughter of Henry VIII., Grand-daughter of Henry VII.,
Great-Grand-Daughter of Edward IV. Mother of her Country. A Nursing
Mother of religion and all liberal Sciences, skilled in many languages,
adorned with excellent adornments both of body and mind, and excellent
for princely virtues beyond her sex. Religion to its primitive purity
restored; peace settled; Money restored to its just value; Domestic
Rebellions quelled; France relieved when involved with internal
divisions; The Netherlands supported, the Spanish Armada vanquished;
Ireland, almost lost by rebels, eased by routing the Spaniards; the
Revenues of both Universities much enlarged; and lastly, all England
enriched. Elizabeth, during forty-five years, a very prudent Governor,
a victorious and triumphant Queen, most pious and most happy, at her
calm death in her seventieth year, left her remains to be placed in this
Church which she preserved, until the hour of her Resurrection in
Christ."
In arranging for this lengthy epitaph, James could not fail to be
reminded that Queen Mary, who lay in the same tomb as Elizabeth, was
passed over in cold silence, so he added a simple sentence pathetic in
its restraint, almost an appeal on behalf of the one whose life had been
such a failure.
"Here rest we two sisters Elizabeth and Mary, fellows both in throne and
grave, in the hope of one resurrection."
[Illustration: TOMB OF QUEEN ELIZABETH.]
In life everything had tended to separate them, but in death they lay
together at peace.
James erected another monument in this chapel, on the southern side, and
this was to the memory of his mother, the ill-fated Mary Queen of Scots.
She had been buried at Peterborough, but her son, when he came into the
inheritance which was his, through her, very rightly caused her to be
buried among the kings and queens of England. Here again death
reconciled two implacable foes, so that Mary Queen of Scots lies
opposite to Elizabeth in this chapel of the Tudors. The marble figure,
with its sweet, finely-cut face and its graceful draperies and its
delicate lacework, is full of charm, and makes familiar to us one whose
fascinating beauty was her own undoing.
And now we come to a new phase in the history of the Abbey; for though
after the days of Queen Elizabeth several kings and queens of England
were buried within its walls, to none of them was a monument raised, not
so much even as an inscription was cut on the stones over their graves.
With the Stuarts began a new race of kings, and under their rule there
grew up a new set of relations between king and subjects. They preached
the doctrine of the divine right of kings, declaring themselves to be
above any laws which their people might desire to make through
Parliament, so the battle had to be fought out between king and
Parliament, a battle so fierce that it brought once more civil war to
England, cost Charles the First his life, and caused James II. to flee
to foreign lands. But from that struggle with its many errors there at
last developed
"That sober freedom out of which there springs
Our loyal passion for our temperate kings,"
which holds together to-day the throne and the nation as never before in
our island story.
So you will see how, as the people became more and more the ruling force
in England, it was the representatives of the people--statesmen,
soldiers, sailors, writers, musicians, travellers, thinkers,
discoverers, and benefactors--who stepped into the foremost places, and
who were thought worthy of a resting-place among the great kings of old
in the Abbey, while, with a few exceptions, the sovereigns of England
were buried at Windsor, now the most important of all the royal palaces.
It is in Henry VII.'s Chapel that James I. himself was buried in the
founder's tomb, and his wife Anne of Denmark lay close to him. Near at
hand you will see a beautiful little monument of a baby in a cradle,
which marks the grave of Princess Sophia, a baby daughter of James I.
The king gave orders at her death that she should be buried "as cheaply
as possible, without any solemnity," but in spite of this, and although
she was only two days old, a great number of lords, ladies, and officers
of state attended, followed the little coffin, which was brought up on a
black draped barge from Greenwich, and which was met at the Abbey by the
heralds, the dean and prebends, with the choir, while an antiphon was
sung to the organ. The royal sculptor, Nicholas Pourtian, was allowed
the sum of one hundred and forty pounds for her monument, and he must
have been a great lover of children or he could not have thought out
anything so charming as this yellow-tinted, lace-covered cradle with its
tiny baby occupant.
Nor is the inscription less pretty in idea than the monument, for it
tells us how Sophia, "Royal Rosebud, snatched away from her parents,
James, King of Great Britain, Ireland and France, and Queen Anne, that
she might flourish again in the Rosary of Christ, was placed here."
Next to her is her sister Mary who lived to be two, and then died of
fever, saying many times over in her wanderings these same words, "I go,
I go, away I go." Hers too is a very natural little figure, in spite of
the stiff straight clothes and the quaint cap; and the carver has put a
great deal of life into the weeping cherubs, to whom surely not the most
rigid Puritan could have objected. In this same corner were laid, some
years later, the bones found by some workmen under the stairs at the
Tower of London, supposed to be those of the little princes who had been
murdered there, so that at last King Edward the Fifth and his brother
were honourably buried near their more fortunate sister Elizabeth of
York.
The tomb of Mary Queen of Scots is really a Stuart vault, and it might
almost be called the vault of Royal Children, for more than thirty are
buried under it. Here, without any monument, but an inscription on the
floor, lies Henry, Prince of Wales, the eldest son of James, who gave
such high promise both of character and ability, that he had won the
hearts of the people, and more especially of the Puritans, in a
remarkable degree. James, though holding very unsatisfactory views as to
the rights and duties of a king, had nevertheless brought up his son
wisely and had educated him most carefully. Before he was six he had
been instructed "how to behave towards God, how to behave when he should
come to be king, and how to behave in all those matters which were right
or wrong according as they were used;" and when he was only nine he
wrote in Latin to his father giving an account of the books he had been
reading, which included Cicero's Epistles.
According to the law of Scotland, the heir to the throne was not allowed
to be brought up by his parents, but was sent to Stirling Castle, to be
under the care of the Earl of Mar, who held the right to be the
hereditary guardian, and this accounts for the many letters which passed
between the little prince and the king and queen. When Elizabeth died
and James became king of Great Britain, he had to go hastily to London,
but about a year later he sent for the queen to come "with the bairns to
Windsor, where he prayed God they should all have a blyth meeting." As
they arrived there during the festival of St. George, Prince Henry was
at once made a Knight of the Garter, and his "princely carriage and his
learned behaviour" on that occasion greatly impressed every one who saw
him. The coronation of James was fixed for St. James's Day, but because
of the plague raging in London, all the fair pageants and the public
rejoicings were hastily countermanded, so that the ceremony was almost a
private one, even the usual procession through the city being left out.
Great was the disappointment of the Londoners, though they were promised
that so soon as the plague had disappeared the king, with the queen and
their children, would visit the city with all the state of a coronation
procession.
One part of this coronation service was of special interest; and to many
people it meant the fulfilment of an old prophecy. For more than eight
hundred years before these words had been roughly carved on the sacred
stone of Scone--
If Fates go right, where'er this stone is found
The Scots shall monarchs of that realm be crowned.
And now, seated on the Coronation Chair which held that stone, James VI.
of Scotland was crowned as James I. of England.
Prince Henry was still brought up away from home, first in company with
his sister, the merry and witty little Princess Elizabeth, who
afterwards married the Elector Palatine. Brother and sister were
devoted to each other: both were full of the highest spirits, ready for
any adventure; both loved riding and games, and would "mount horses of
prodigious mettle;" and it was a great grief to them when they were
parted, though, woman-like, Elizabeth fretted the longer. Prince Henry
was more of a philosopher.
"That you are displeased to be left in solitude I can well believe," he
wrote to her; "you women and damsels are sociable creatures. But you
know those who love each other best cannot always be glued together."
Meanwhile Henry took up his residence at Hampton Court. The Gunpowder
Plot left a deep impression on him, for had it succeeded he would have
lost his life, and he became still more serious and thoughtful, making
friends only with those who could teach him something about the many
things in which he took an interest, ships, guns, fortifications, books,
foreign lands, politics and so on. For Sir Walter Raleigh, that
adventurous sailor and treasure-hunter, now a prisoner in the Tower, he
had the greatest affection, and spent many hours walking up and down the
terrace with him talking of ships and the sea, to the great delight of
the old man, who found him an enthusiastic and intelligent companion and
at one with him in his opinion that a strong navy meant peace for
England. In vain Henry pleaded with his father to set free this
prisoner who had committed no crime save that of offending Spain. But
James and his son were of very different natures, and James was always
doggedly obstinate. "No one but the King would shut up such a bird in a
cage," said the boy sadly.
[Illustration: INTERIOR LOOKING EAST.]
In 1610 he was created Prince of Wales and there were great festivities
in the White Chamber of Westminster Palace, as there, in the presence of
the Lords and Commons, he knelt before the king, wearing a robe of
purple velvet, to receive the crown of Llewellyn. Once again he won all
hearts, and the members of Parliament congratulated themselves that so
worthy a prince was heir to the throne. He became more and more the
idol of the people, and indeed rarely if ever since the days of Edward,
the Black Prince, had a king's son been so full of promise. But to the
utter grief of the nation he died two years later, after a short
illness.
"Are you pleased to submit yourself to the will of God?" asked the
Archbishop, when all hope was given up.
"With all my heart," the boy answered simply.
"I had written him a treatise on the 'Art of War by Sea,'" said Raleigh,
when the sad news reached him. "But God hath spared me the labour of
finishing it. I leave him therefore in the hands of God."
When the long funeral procession passed through the streets "there was a
great outcry among all people," and it was to the sounds of weeping and
wailing that the boy-prince, who had won so much love and respect, was
carried to Westminster Abbey. There, close to him, was laid more than
forty years later, his dearest sister, Elizabeth, Queen of Bohemia, who,
after a sadly adventurous life, spent her last few years peacefully in
London, cared for and watched over by Lord Craven, whose devotion to her
had been lifelong, as unchanging as it was chivalrous.
Another brother and sister are buried here, Anne, the little daughter of
Charles I., and Prince Henry, his third son. Anne died before all those
troubles began, which saddened the childhood of her brothers and
sisters, and made them prisoners in the hands of their father's enemies,
as she was only four when she fell into a fast consumption.
"I am not able," she said wearily, the night she died, "to say my long
prayer, but I will say my short one. 'Lighten mine eyes, O Lord, lest I
sleep in death.'"
Little Henry, the Duke of Gloucester, was extraordinarily like his uncle
Henry in every way, old for his age, clever, thoughtful, "with a sweet
method of talking, and a judgment much beyond his years." He was taken
from his father almost before he knew him, and was, with his sister,
also a Princess Elizabeth, kept practically a prisoner in London by the
Puritan party. But he was not unkindly treated, for so engaging was he
both in conversation and in manners, that many of the Puritans thought
he would make a good ruler for England if only he were strictly brought
up, and kept away from the influence of his mother or the court.
When the sentence of death was passed on King Charles, he asked to see
the two of his children who were in London, and after some delay the
request was granted. Awe-struck, the little couple came into his
presence, and the king seems to have grasped what was likely to happen.
He lifted the Duke of Gloucester on to his knee. "Sweetheart," he said,
"they will cut off thy father's head, and mark, child, perhaps they will
make thee a king. But you must not be a king while your brothers
Charles and James be living."
"I will be torn in pieces first," answered the white-faced child, with a
determination which made so great an impression on Charles, that even at
that sad moment he rejoiced exceedingly; while the little Duke, who up
till now had rarely seen his father, could carry away as a last memory
the picture of one whose courage was highest when the need for it was
greatest, and who, if he had faced life weakly, met death bravely.
With his sister he was taken to Carisbrooke Castle, but here his
existence was very sad, for Princess Elizabeth, like her sister Anne,
fell into a consumption, and not being properly cared for, she died. So
lonely was he now, that those who had the charge of him, still nursing
the idea that one day he might become king, sent him abroad to Leyden,
with a tutor, and here he won for himself the pleasant reputation of
being "a most complete gentleman and rarely accomplished."
With the Restoration Henry gladly returned to England, and at once
begged his brother to find him some work to do, as "he could not bear an
idle life." So he was made Lord Treasurer. He proved himself to be a
good man of business, while in his leisure hours he gathered round him
men of letters and learning, and soon became as popular in London as he
had been in Leyden. Then a sudden attack of smallpox killed him, and
once again a funeral procession wended its way to Westminster amid signs
of very real sorrow. For his fair life had won him many friends and
never an enemy.