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.
PICTURE AND TAPESTRY IN THE SANCTUARY.
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.

On the news that Rufus had been found dead in the new royal forest he had himself appropriated, his younger brother Henry arrived in hot haste at Westminster, to urge that he should be chosen and crowned king before his eldest brother, Robert, could get over from Normandy. He was better known, and therefore better liked, than Robert, so it came about as he wished; but as delay was thought to be dangerous, the ceremony was quite simple, "good swords being more thought of than costly robes." The fact, however, that Henry came to the council, asking for their support, gave them a power over him which they were ready to seize, and before the deed was finally done they obtained several important pledges from him as they met him in Westminster Hall. This partly explains, too, the reason why Henry sought to win the goodwill of the English nobles and the English people, for if Robert had come over from Normandy to fight for the crown, the Norman nobles could not all have been counted on. And so, to please the English, he determined to marry a princess of their race, the Princess Matilda, daughter of Malcolm of Scotland, and great-grand-daughter of King Edmund Ironside. Only one obstacle stood in the way, Matilda was a nun in the Abbey of Ramsey, but a nun against her will, forced to take the veil by her aunt Christina. "In her presence I wore the veil with grief and indignation," she said, "but as soon as I could get out of her sight I did snatch it from my head, fling it on the ground, and trample it under foot. That was the way, and none other, in which I was veiled."

Anselm, the large-hearted Archbishop of Canterbury, declared that a vow so taken was not binding, and to the great joy of the nation it was decided that she should be married and crowned on the same day in the Abbey. It was an English crowd which gathered to Westminster on that great Sunday of November 11, and the shouts of Englishmen resounded the heartfelt "Yea, yea," when Anselm from the pulpit asked them if they would that this marriage should take place.

Matilda, who was "a very mirror of piety and humility," and who was, moreover, shy at the sight of the "prodigious multitude" assembled to gaze on her, blushed a rosy red, the colour of her crimson robes, and was greatly overcome. She took up her residence at Westminster Palace, and the fame of her good deeds cemented still more closely the affection felt for her by her subjects. Henry loyally redeemed the promise he had made before his coronation, and this was put down entirely to the influence of his queen.

"Many are the good laws that were made in England through Matilda, the good queen, as I understand," wrote the monk Robert of Gloucester.

To the Abbey adjoining her palace she was a generous benefactress. Each day in Lent she went thither barefoot clothed in hair-cloth, and herself waited on the poorest beggars who sought the charity of the monks, even washing their feet.

"Madam, for Godde's love, is this well ado?" asked a courtier.

"Sir," answered the Queen, "our Lord Himself example gave for so to do."

Both Henry and his eldest son William were away in Normandy when this good queen died at Westminster in the year 1115, after eighteen years of happy married life "withouten strife," and she was buried close to her great-uncle, Edward the Confessor, all people mourning her with sad tears.

Henry died in the year 1135, leaving no son, as Prince William had been drowned in making an heroic effort to save his sister Mary, and England was still so much under foreign influence, that instead of his being succeeded by his daughter Matilda or Maud, his nephew, Stephen of Blois, was chosen king and crowned on St. Stephen's Day. In spite of this, a constant struggle went on against the supporters of Maud, who were many, and the whole reign was one of misery and misrule for England.

"King Henry had given peace to the realm and had been as a father to his people, but now was the whole kingdom thrown into trouble and confusion."

Westminster suffered many things at the king's hands, for he forced on the monastery an Abbot, Gervase de Blois, who "managed very ill, disposing of many Abbey lands, and being so lavish with the goods of the monastery, that the monks were afraid he would have made away even with the regalia," while many Abbey lands were ravished and laid bare as the result of the civil warfare between the Empress Maud and Stephen.

At last a compact was made that Stephen should reign for his lifetime, and that Maud's son, Henry of Anjou, should succeed him; and one year after this had been agreed upon, Stephen died, lamented by no one. Henry was a strong character, a great lover of justice and order; indeed, he may be called the father of English law, and to him we owe the system of trial by jury. He found two great powers in the land, the Church and the Barons, and he determined to hold in check the influence of both.

Westminster was fortunate in having for Abbot, Lawrence, a man of much learning, and what was even more important, of much tact, for he managed to keep on excellent terms with the king, whom he persuaded to repair and cover with lead the roofs of the building. It was he who gained for the Abbey the great honour for which the whole nation had been longing, and as the result of a sermon he preached before the king, the nobles, and a great assembly of people, an embassy was sent to Rome, praying that Edward the Confessor might be raised to the honour of a saint. More than once had this appeal been made and refused, but now the Pope, who feared Henry and had a great regard for Lawrence, decreed that "this glorious light was to be no more hid from the world."

Perhaps, too, the large sum of money, willingly offered by pious Englishmen, carried some little weight.

At midnight on October 13, 1163, Abbot Lawrence with the Archbishop Thomas à Beckett opened the grave of Edward, and the "body of the glorious king, who was henceforth to be honoured on earth as he was glorified in heaven," was removed into a "precious coffin," made ready by the order of Henry II. The celebrated "pilgrim ring" Lawrence drew from his finger to keep in the monastery as a precious relic, and the anniversary of this day was solemnly kept for many a long year.

The king was so anxious to make safe the succession of his eldest son, Prince Henry, that he insisted on his being crowned during his lifetime. But Prince Henry did not live to succeed to the throne, and it was Richard Coeur de Lion who was crowned as the next English king. A very vivid account has come down to us through the Chronicle of De Hoveden describing the doings on this day, telling how from the Palace to the Abbey the ground was covered with woollen cloth over which walked the long procession as it wended its way to the ringing of bells, the swinging of censers, lighted tapers shining everywhere. Then before the altar Duke Richard swore that he would all the days of his life observe peace, honour, and reverence towards God and the Holy Church, that he would put an end to any bad laws or customs that were in his kingdom, and confirm all good laws, in token of which Baldwin of Canterbury anointed him with oil on his head, his breast, and his limbs to signify glory, valour, and knowledge, afterwards placing the crown on his head.

But the people who were gathered together for the ceremony were filled with great forebodings of evil at the sight of a bat who fluttered round the king, though it was the bright part of the day, and at the sound of a peal of bells which rang mysteriously. And when some among them caught sight of a party of Jews, whose curiosity had overcome their prudence, Jews and witches having been commanded by a royal proclamation not to come near the Abbey or Palace lest they should work evil to the king, they fell upon them and beat them to death, thus laying the train for a series of horrible Jewish massacres throughout the country.

Richard, as you know, devoted himself to fighting the battles of the Cross in Palestine, and England was left to the mercy and the conflicts of the Barons.

When he fell in battle, his brother John succeeded in getting himself elected king, though by this time a right of inheritance had been established, and there was living Arthur, the son of John's elder brother, and therefore the lawful heir. Never perhaps has a king been crowned in Westminster who was so false to God, to man, and to his people. Even on his coronation day he jeered and mocked during the celebration of the Mass, and through the years which followed no gleam of light breaks through his deeds of treachery, cruelty, and crime. "Hell itself is defiled by his presence," wrote the uncompromising chronicler of his reign.

Although the desperate Barons had forced him to sign the Great Charter, they had no belief that he would abide by it, and certain of them therefore entered into treaty with Louis, the Dauphin of France, who came over to England prepared to accept the crown. Just at this moment, however, John died, and the French Prince was too hasty in assuming that the throne was his, for he began to divide up the kingdom and give lands to his French followers in a manner which roused the indignation of the stalwart Barons. John had left a little son of ten. Why not make him king, they reasoned? The Council could rule the land, and for adviser to the little Prince, who would be more likely to carry out the spirit of the Great Charter than that wise and trusted noble, William, Earl of Pembroke? So after a short struggle, Louis, who had taken possession of the Abbey and many other places in London, went back to France, and the boy king, who had been hurriedly crowned at Gloucester to make him secure, was crowned again in Westminster with great rejoicings on the Whit-Sunday of 1220. Once more the people of London felt that peace and prosperity would now be theirs, and never before had a coronation day been kept with such spontaneous joy.

The Abbot of Westminster was a certain Humez, a Norman, "the last of that country," Widmore tells us with glee, and he was anxious that the Abbey should not be behind the other great churches of the day through not having a special chapel dedicated to the Virgin Mary. For everywhere cathedrals and abbeys were being enlarged, and the Lady Chapel, stretching behind the high altar, held the place of honour.

Humez had obtained the necessary money from certain pious persons, and with much wisdom begged that the boy king should lay the foundation-stone of this new chapel on his coronation day. Henry, who from his childhood was deeply religious, readily agreed; perhaps it was on that day that the dream came to him of leaving behind him some such memorial as this of King Edward. Certainly it was from watching the building of this Lady Chapel, with its light pointed arches and its graceful form, representing as it did the "new style," that his dream took shape, so that twenty-five years later he commenced the work of completely rebuilding Edward's massive Abbey on the beautiful Early English lines. His reverence for the memory of Edward almost amounted to worship, and like his ancestor—for he proudly claimed to be of Edward's stock through Queen Matilda—his religion was more to him than anything else, for he spent the greater part of his days praying or in attending masses. But he was also a great lover of all that was costly and beautiful, and having married a French Princess, he had become familiar with many of the magnificent buildings of France. So he felt that the Abbey with its stately simplicity was not splendid enough to hold the shrine of the sainted king, and he determined to raise a building which was to be "the most lovable thing in Christendom."

It is for giving us this most lovable thing that we owe to Henry III. a deep measure of gratitude, and yet heavy was the price paid for it at the time by those who, being weak and defenceless, were powerless to resist the heavy taxes laid on them. The new Abbey was paid for by the people: sometimes money was cruelly extorted from them; sometimes a great fair was arranged in the fields near Westminster, and all the shops in the neighbourhood were commanded to be closed for many days, so that the crowds would be forced to flock round the Abbey and spend their money there; sometimes large sums were extorted from the Jews; sometimes the king was driven as a last resource to pawning the Abbey jewels and treasures. At all costs money had to be found, and money in abundance, for Henry's ideas were all on the most lavish scale, and could not be carried out with less than ￡500,000 of our money.

So, in every sense of the word, the Abbey is the church of the nation, built with the gold of the people. And there is another striking fact to remember. Gradually the clear-headed and patriotic among the Barons were beginning to realise that though they had made the king swear to observe the Great Charter, they had no power of putting into laws which had to be observed the different provisions of that Charter; and though Henry was neither cruel nor tyrannical by nature, as his father had been, he was weak, impulsive, changeable, and extravagant. His idea of power lay in the carrying out of his magnificent ideas at Westminster, regardless of the cost, till, says Matthew of Paris severely, "Oh shame! his folly, by frequent repetition, came to be looked on as a matter of course."

This is not the place to tell you at length how one of the barons, Simon de Montfort by name, fought the good fight by means of which the Charter became a living power in the land; you must read of him in other books, and learn how he came to be called the father of English Parliaments. What I want you to remember now is that it was he who determined to check the unjust taxation which was being imposed by Henry in his efforts to raise the money for the building of the Abbey. "Let the king," he said, "call together the barons and citizens, and let him tell them how much money it is that he wants, and what he wants it for, and then it will be for the barons and people to say how much money they will give, and how it shall be collected. If the king asks what is right and just, then what he asks will be given to him."

There was only one way by which king and people could thus come face to face—Henry must summon to Westminster a Parliament to discuss those matters with him, and it must be a Parliament not made up of bishops and barons only; all England must be represented.

So in the year 1265 the first real Parliament assembled at Westminster—twenty-three barons, a hundred and twenty churchmen, two knights from every county, and two burgesses from every town.

To-day the Houses of Parliament and Westminster Abbey stand side by side, a truly wondrous group of carved grey stone; but as you look at them, I want you to remember how it was through the building of the Abbey that the first Parliament which at all represented the people of England came into being.

Can you not imagine some of the scenes which took place round Westminster during those days? Can you not fancy the interest and anxiety with which those knights and burghers, many of them perhaps in London for the first time, walked around the nearly completed building, struck with amazement that so fair a thing could be fashioned out of stone? How closely they must have watched the workmen, some of them foreigners of great skill, but many of them entirely English, masons, carpenters, builders, carvers, all doing their part, all carrying out the designs of that unknown architect, now held to be an English master of the work, who had been sent by the king of France to learn there the new style. How eagerly they must have chatted with the monks, who during this rebuilding were living in the most uncomfortable manner, but who nevertheless would be ready enough to take the strangers inside, and point out to them one beauty after another. How their eyes must have been dazzled by the wealth of colour and the exquisite carvings in marble, stone, and oak. How they must have marvelled at the fairy lightness of those arches, the delicate tracery of the windows, the glint and glitter of the glass mosaic, the soft colours of the marble.

For in very truth this building of King Henry's exceeded everything they had dreamt of or imagined. In every way the new Abbey was far larger than the old, though a limit was set on its length by the Lady Chapel of Abbot Humez, which is now known to you as the Chapel of Henry VII. The old form of the Cross was kept, but a ring of chapels encircled the east end, while transepts, aisles, and cloisters were all made longer and far loftier. But the central point of magnificence was the shrine of Edward the Confessor, which lay immediately behind the high altar, made to stand even higher than the altar by a mound of earth said to have been brought all the way from the Holy Land.

On the 13th of October 1269, the choir and east end being all complete, the coffin of King Edward, which had been kept during the rebuilding, first in the "quire where the monks do sing," and then in the Palace of Westminster, was solemnly carried back to the Abbey by the king and his brother, his two sons and many nobles, followed by a vast procession of clergy and citizens, and placed with great pomp and ceremony in the newly-made shrine.

The next time you go into Edward the Confessor's Chapel, you must wander back in imagination for more than six hundred years, and picture to yourself that solemn service of the "Translation of St. Edward."
THE CONFESSOR'S CHAPEL.
THE CONFESSOR'S CHAPEL.

The workmen had done their work right well, and we know at least the names of some of them; for Peter, the Roman citizen who wrought the mosaic, has left an inscription telling us that he finished the work in 1269; and among the Fabric Rolls of Westminster we can find accounts sent in by Robert de Beverley, mason; Brother Ralph, the convert; Alexander, the carpenter; and Adam Stretton, clerk of the works, "for the wages of masons serving before the shrine, carpenters, painters, plumbers, glaziers, inferior workmen, and workmen sent to divers places."

The tomb of the Confessor was in the middle of the shrine, set on high "as a light to the church," and was divided into three parts: the base, in the niches of which sick people were to be laid, that the Saint might heal them; the tomb itself, of soft Purbeck marble, rich with mosaic work of coloured gems and stones, and above this a shrine of pure gold set with all manner of costly jewels, sapphires, emeralds, and rubies, whilst images in gold and silver of the Virgin and the Holy Child, John the Evangelist and Peter, stood around as guardian spirits.

Much of the old magnificence has vanished; time has wrought its work, but more deadly than time have been the ravages of covetous men who longed to possess its treasure, or violent men who believed it to be little better than an idol set up in their midst.

Yet it has a mellow beauty of its own, a dignity enhanced rather than lessened by the traces everywhere apparent of its former glory, and we see in it not only an exquisite piece of work, but also that shrine which, like a magnet, drew so many of England's kings and queens to rest beneath its shadow.