The foundation-stone was laid one afternoon in the January of 1502 by Islip, "that wise and holy man who was Abbot of the Westminster monks," and the building was solemnly dedicated to the Blessed Virgin Mary by order of Henry VII., king of England and France and Lord of Ireland. The work went on quickly, for money was not lacking. Abbot Islip was a man of action, and Henry was feverishly anxious that the building should be completed in his lifetime. Here it was that he meant to be buried, for just because his claim to the throne was not a very good one, he was doubly anxious to link himself on by many different ways to the kings of the past. Everywhere in his chapel, round his tomb, on the roof, and on the doorways, you will find his different badges set up, as if to say, "Each one of these badges gave me the right to be king of England." You will see over and over again the York and Lancaster roses; the portcullis and the greyhound, both of them Beaufort badges, which had come to him through his mother, Margaret Beaufort, the direct descendant of John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster; the red dragon of Cadwallader of Wales, the last British king, whom Henry alone of all the English kings proudly claimed as his ancestor, through Owen Tudor, his father; and the lion, which always figured in the royal arms of England. These badges, everywhere carved, were Henry's challenge to any one who might dispute his claim."We will," said Henry, "that this chapel be wholly and perfectlie fynished with all spede; and the windows glazed with stories, imagies, badgies, and cognoisants; that the walles, doors, archies, windows, vaults, and imagies, within and without be painted, garnished, and adorned in as goodly and rich manner as such a work requireth and as to a king's work appertaigneth."But in spite of all the speed the king died before the work was finished, and never saw his chapel in all its costly beauty. Only a few days before his death he gave the Abbot £5000 more, "in redy money by the hande," for the carrying on of the work, and his will showed how deep his interest lay, for he solemnly charged his executors to advance whatever money was needful, and to choose for the high altar "the greatest Image of our Lady we have in our Juel house; a Crosse of plate of gold upon tymber, chalices, altar suits, vestments, candlesticks, and ornaments," all of them to bear the royal badges. "And for the price and value of them," he concluded, "our mynde is, that thei bei of suche as appertaigneth to the gifte of a prynce; and therefore we wol that our executours in that partie have a special regarde to the lawe of God, the weal of our soule and our honour royal."Queen Elizabeth had died some years before her husband, and had been impressively laid in some side chapel of the Abbey. Now, on Henry's death, both were buried together in the tomb which the king had ordered should be in the middle of the Chapel by the high altar, and about which he had left minute instructions as to the images of himself and the queen, the inscription, the tabernacles round the tomb with the images of saints and angels, and the grating of copper and gilt for its protection.Certainly the tomb was made worthy of the exquisite chapel which enshrined it, and Henry's wishes were faithfully carried out in this respect. An Italian, Torregiano, made the images of the king and queen in gilt bronze, and Torregiano was something of a genius, for all his images have a wonderful life of their own. Yet he must have been anything but a pleasant visitor to the monastery precincts, for he was a bold man, with a loud voice, frowning eyebrows, and fierce gestures, who daily boasted of his feats among the beasts of Englishmen, and told how he had broken the nose of his rival Michael Angelo; or how he had shattered to pieces an image of the Virgin, because there was some dispute about the price to be paid him. However, we must forgive him his violent temper out of gratitude for his beautiful work.The grating round the tomb was made by English workmen, and here again you will see everywhere the king's badges. And I want you to notice, too, the little angels who stand round the king and queen, for they look as if they had just flown there for a moment, so lightly are they poised. Then you must look at the carvings round the tomb, those Saints whom the king had chosen to be his guardians: the Virgin Mary with Christ in her arms and St. Michael at her side; St. John the Baptist pointing to a picture of the Lamb of God; St. John the Evangelist holding his Gospel in his hand, an eagle standing at his feet; St. George of England standing on the vanquished Dragon, and with him St. Anthony dressed as a monk; Mary Magdalene with her box of precious ointment; St. Barbara holding a three-windowed tower; St. Christopher bearing on his shoulder the Christ Child, and St. Edward the Confessor crowned in glory.Just outside the screen must have stood a beautiful altar, also the work of Torrigiano, an altar of white marble, gilded with fine gold, enriched by inlay and carving, the central figure being "an image, erth coloured of Christ dead;" but this was wrecked by a fanatic named Marlow in the time of the Commonwealth, whose "ignorant zeal was such that he brake it into shivers, though it was a raritie not to be matched in any part of the world."As you stand in the chapel I want you to gaze up at the vaulted roof, which seems as though it hung in mid air, so wonderful is the design with its fairy grace and lightness; for here you see a beautiful example of that fan-tracery vaulting which was peculiarly English in its style, and which in this case was probably the work of two English masons, John Hyharn and William Vertue. Then you must look around at the army of Saints and Martyrs who guard the walls; king, apostle, saint confessor, all are here, and the niches in which they stand are delicately carved and decorated. And you must try to imagine the glory of the windows in those early days when, filled with "goode, clene, sure, and perfyte glasse of oryent colours, and the imagery of the story of the olde lawe and the new lawe," they reflected their rich hues around. Now only one little part of those many painted windows remains, but that is a figure of Henry VII., who looks down over the chapel which he raised.The carved oaken stalls intended for the monks were not all finished at this time, and as is so often the case with such stalls, there is nothing sacred about the character of the ornaments carved on them. On the contrary, they aim at being amusing; and you will find quaint figures of monkeys winnowing corn; of foxes in armour riding on the backs of cocks; of fiends seizing a miser; of turkeys chasing a boy; a bear playing on bagpipes, and so on. In the year 1725 George I. reconstructed the old order of Knights of the Bath, and as from the days of Richard II. it had been the custom only to create such knights at a coronation and when a Prince of Wales was created, the Order had many associations with Westminster. So this Chapel of Henry VII. was set apart as the Chapel of the Order, just as the Chapel of St. George's, Windsor, was set apart for the Order of the Garter; and here for nearly a hundred years every knight was installed; here was hung his banner; and here was fastened up over his stall the plate on which was emblazoned his coat of arms. But gradually the Order became so large that the many ceremonies connected with it had to cease, and now only the banners which hang here tell us of bygone days.[image]GATES OF HENRY VII.'s CHAPEL.As you come out, take a last look at the massive gates of oak and metal serried with badges, and then stand once more in the middle of the sixteenth century, when that mass of carving was made yet more rich and beautiful by the colours which blazed everywhere, from the crimson, blue, and purple of the windows; the gold and silver vessels on the altar; the gleaming brass of the images; the gorgeous vestments of the priests; the dazzling whiteness of the marble; the glitter of the tapers round the tomb. Think of how Abbot Islip must have gloried in this new gem of dazzling beauty now added to the Abbey, already so rich in treasure; for Islip was of "a wakeful conscience" and held himself the steward of the house of God, so that he too did some building to this place, and evidently won the confidence of the king, who made him paymaster of the workmen.As for Henry himself, the chapel has become a far greater memorial of him than he can ever have deemed possible. It matters little to us now what was his real motive in raising it, even if it were possible to point to any one unmixed motive which inspired him. For us it is enough that the chapel stands, and though we need not, with Fabyan the chronicler, wax enthusiastic over "the excellent wysdome, sugared eloquence, wonderfull dyscression, the exceedynge treasure and rychesse innumerabyll" of this silent, almost gloomy king, let us with the same chronicler "remember his beautyfull buildyngs and his liberell endowments at Westminster, and pray that he may attain that celestyall mansion whych he and all trew Christen soules are inheritors unto, the whyche God hym graunt."[image]CHAPEL OF HENRY VII.CHAPTER XTHE ABBEY AND THE REFORMATIONA few months after the death and burial of Henry VII., another royal funeral took place in this beautiful chapel of the Tudors, the funeral of his mother, Margaret, the "venerable lady," whose influence was far-reaching, and whose holiness had won for her such universal love and reverence."It would fill a volume to recount her good deeds," says her biographer, and he goes on to tell how she lived a life of prayer and simplicity, being a member of no leas than five religious houses; how she herself waited on the poor, the sick, the dying, and how she freely gave of her wealth for the encouragement of learning. "Her ears were spent in hearing the word of God, her tongue was occupied in prayer, her feet in visiting holy places, her hands in giving alms." She provided an almshouse for poor women near Westminster Abbey, and another at Hatfield, and besides founding schools and colleges, she maintained many poor scholars at her own expense. She also translated many works in the English tongue. It was in Westminster that she desired to be buried, and she made many gifts to the place which her son was so richly beautifying, stipulating in return that prayers should always be said here for herself and all her family. She was destined to outlive son, daughter-in-law, and grandson, and it was not till 1509 that her useful life of close on three-score years and ten came to an end, and she passed peacefully away, "the almoner of God, the friend of the poor, the supporter of true religion, the patroness of learning, the comforter of the sorrowing, the beloved of all." As you stand by her monument in the south aisle of Henry VII.'s Chapel, look at her strong, noble face, beautiful in its calm old age, her hands clasped in prayer as was their wont; and while you are lost in wonder at the skill of the sculptor, probably Torrigiano, I think you will realise something of the goodness and purity of Margaret Richmond, which this sleeping figure makes so vivid, and will understand how "every one that knew her loved her, for everything she said or did became her." It was well for her that she did not live long enough to see her clever imperious grandson seeking to destroy so many of the things which she had loved and guarded.Henry VIII. came to the throne with splendid opportunities. He was gifted far above the average: his manners were genial and taking; he could talk many languages; he was devoted to sport, a good musician, an admirable wrestler; fond of amusement, but fond also of more serious things; and the people were prepared to love their King Hal, for he was in every way a contrast to his father, who had never won their affections. Henry was a strong man, who resolved to be no puppet in the hands of any party or minister. Yet it was his will which ruined his character, for it was a will entirely bent on gaining its own ends, unchecked by any sense of duty, untouched by any appeal to high or noble motives. What he desired he must have, and all that stood in his way must be swept aside: he would spare no one who thwarted him; nothing weighed in the balance against the gratification of his own whims and fancies.You will remember that he was not the eldest son of Henry VII. His brother Arthur, Prince of Wales, had died in 1501, a few months after he had married Katherine, the Infanta of Spain, and chiefly because the idea was at first strongly opposed, Henry made up his mind to marry his widowed sister-in-law. When he came to the throne, he at once carried out his will in this matter, and brushed aside all the objections that were raised on account of the close relationship existing between the two. The marriage took place at Greenwich, and the double coronation followed at Westminster on Midsummer Day in the year 1509, "amid all the rejoicings in the world." Katherine made a beautiful queen, dressed in white with cloth of gold, her long hair hanging down to her feet, and little dreamt any of those who cheered her on her way of all that was to spring out of that marriage, for Henry seemed to be the most devoted of husbands. In 1511 their son was born, and had such an elaborate christening that he took a cold from which he never recovered. "His soul returned to among the Holy Innocents of God," says a Westminster manuscript, and we are told how "the queen made much lamentation, but by the king's persuasion she was at last comforted." The baby prince was certainly buried in the Abbey, though exactly where is unknown. But his death, unimportant as it must have seemed at the moment to those who took part in the funeral, had in reality a deep significance. Henry was incapable of loving any one for long, and as he began to grow weary of Katherine, he made it a grievance that her other child was a daughter and not a son. Furthermore, he argued to himself that he had done wrong in marrying his brother's widow, so that the death of his son was the sign of God's wrath, and then he began to devise how he could dissolve his marriage with her, to wed instead her fascinating maid of honour, Anne Boleyn. Only the Pope could grant him the divorce that he desired, and accordingly Henry sent his all-powerful favourite, Wolsey, to Rome to get this consent. But the Pope, much as he feared Henry, feared the Emperor Charles V., the nephew of Queen Katherine, much more, and Wolsey, on his side, was anxious not to offend the Pope, as his ambition was to succeed him, so it all ended in his going back to Henry without having the desired permission. Henry was furious, and Wolsey, disgraced, died broken-hearted. The king's next step was to defy the Pope, and to send round to all the ministers in Europe, asking them whether in their opinion his marriage with Katherine had been a legal one. But their answer in almost every case was the opposite answer to what Henry had determined on, and their opposition only increased his determination, till at last, urged thereto by Thomas Cromwell, Wolsey's successor in his favour, he took the bold step of declaring that he himself was the head of the Church in England, the defender of the faith, and that therefore the Pope had no power to forbid the divorce. He was clever enough to know that for many a long day the independent spirit of the English nation had rebelled against the power of the Pope in the land; that the revival of learning had set men thinking for themselves; that the teaching of Luther and the other reformers had prepared the way for a great change in England, and that he could count on his Parliament to support him in declaring himself supreme head of the Church in this land. Thus whilst pretending to cleanse and purify the Church, and reform the many errors which had crept in, Henry really was true to his general policy of sweeping out of the way any obstacle to his wishes. The Pope had opposed him, so from henceforward he would deprive the Pope of all authority in England. He divorced Katherine, and married Anne Boleyn, while those few men who refused to go against their conscience by declaring the king to be in the right on this question of his marriage, when they felt him to be in the wrong, did so at the cost of their lives.But the king had not yet finished with the Pope; urged thereto by Cromwell, who earned for himself the name "The Hammer of the Monks," he proceeded to attack all the monasteries and religious houses in England, and there were many hundreds of them, which were under the immediate jurisdiction of Rome. To these religious houses England owed no small debt of gratitude: the monks had been teachers, scholars, chroniclers, architects, carvers, painters, translators, and illuminators; they had nursed the sick, they had relieved the needy; they had been the great employers of labour, the tillers of the soil, and, untouched by the ebb and flow of the tide outside, they had gone quietly on with their daily round of work and prayer, keeping their lights ever burning before the altar to signify that their house was "always watchynge to God." But, as they became rich and powerful, they fell away from their high ideals; the threefold vow of poverty, obedience, and purity ceased to sanctify their lives; luxury took the place of plain, frugal living; the monks no longer laboured with their own hands, but kept great retinues of servants, and the money that should have been spent for the glory of God and the church was squandered in extravagant living. The abbots were under no control save that of Rome, and Rome was far away, so that there was no power from outside to correct, to reform, and to purify. Gradually, too, the monasteries had lost their hold over the people; resting on their past, they made no effort to keep pace with the present; they bitterly opposed any education save that which they held in their own hands; they resented progress and enlightenment; they were no longer centres of light and learning; their fire had burnt out, quenched by covetousness, by wrong-doing and by luxurious living.Cromwell saw in them an opportunity which Henry was all too ready to grasp. A Commission was formed to visit and report on the universities and all religious houses; and when the visitors had finished their work, which they had done carefully and thoroughly, they laid their verdict before the House of Commons in the famous Black Book, which was destroyed some years later by order of Queen Mary. Much of what it contained is therefore lost to us, but as the Commons, who sat, remember, in the Chapter-Room at Westminster, heard clause after clause read out, which told, with a few honourable exceptions, a terrible story against the monasteries, they could not restrain themselves, and over and over again shouts of "Down with the monks" rang through the vaulted building. Generally speaking, the largest of the monasteries had come well out of the inquiry, and Parliament therefore began by only dissolving the smaller houses, at the same time ordering that the lands and incomes of these latter should be handed over to the king, as head of the Church, to be spent in the "high and true interests of religion." Certainly the Commons had none but high motives in passing this Act, and never dreamt of a general dissolution, or the appropriation of all that immense wealth for anything but religious or educational purposes. They had not realised Henry's greed, "which no religion could moderate, or the force of his will, against which nothing, however sacred, seemed able to stand."The monks at Westminster naturally heard very quickly all the particulars of the deliberations which had taken place inside the Chapter-Room. How they must have lingered about the cloisters that day; how eagerly and excitedly must they have talked during those hours when talking was allowed, wondering in what way all these things would end; how they must have speculated as to their own future, and that of the few other large monasteries in which the Commissioners had declared that "thanks be to God, religion had been right well kept and observed." They had not long to wait.A general order issued shortly afterwards, ordering the removal of all shrines, images, and relics, made it clear that Henry and his ministers had other ideas beyond the reformation of religious houses; and the monks, who gauged the character of the king, hastily moved the body of St. Edward to some sacred spot, that, at least, this holy possession of the Abbey might not be lost to it. They managed, too, to hide some of the treasures which beautified Edward's shrine, but much of the gold and many of the jewels became the property of the king. Altogether nearly 800 monasteries fell into the hands of Henry, and without any compunction he appropriated their lands and their wealth, giving away to his favourites of the moment what he did not desire to keep for himself. Inside the religious houses the greatest excitement prevailed, and much diversity of opinion; for some there were among the abbots and monks who were prepared to lose their lives rather than willingly surrender themselves to the king's will, while others, more the children of this world than the children of light, deemed that by submission could they best hope to save something in this overwhelming deluge.At Westminster, under Abbot Benson, the monks chose a prudent course, the abbot being one, as an old writer severely remarks, "whose conscience was not likely to stand in his way on any occasion," and in the January of 1540 the Abbey with all its wealth was voluntarily handed over to the king.Partly perhaps on account of this absolute submission, but much more because even Henry had still reverence for a place which was peculiarly royal in all its associations, Westminster was in some degree saved. The old order indeed was destined to pass away; its wealth was to be a thing of the past, save for the wealth of beauty in sculptured stone which could not easily be taken from it, and which still remained unrivalled even when all the gold and jewels and plate excepting a silver pot, two gilt cups, three hearse clothes, twelve cushions and some other clothes, had been carried away to satisfy greedy courtiers, "leaving the place very bare."But Henry converted the building into a cathedral, giving it a bishop, a dean, prebendaries, minor canons, all these offices with the exception of the Bishopric being filled by the monks belonging to the establishment. The Bishop, Thirleby, was ordered to make the abbot's house his palace; Abbot Benson, now Dean, took up his residence in humble quarters, and all the old glory of the monastery departed for ever, while Henry was quite £60,000 a year richer in our money. Those of the monks for whom no place could be found under the new system were pensioned off, and many of the buildings, such as the refectory and the smaller dormitory, no longer needed for the cowled figures who for so many generations had used them, were pulled down or put to fresh uses.Nor was the monastery the only part of Westminster which fell from its greatness. Earlier in the reign of Henry a fire had destroyed much of the old Palace, and the king, who cared but little for it, set his heart on York House close by, at Whitehall, once the London house of the Bishops of York, afterwards the residence of Wolsey.The Cardinal lived in state; indeed Westminster was but a humble dwelling compared to this magnificent palace, and on his disgrace, Henry took possession of it. For more than a hundred and fifty years it was the royal palace, with fine courts, halls and chambers, its own chapel and offices, its bowling-green, tent yard, cock-pit, and tennis courts, and meanwhile the gabled, sculptured Westminster Palace, the home of Saxon, Norman, and Plantagenet kings, fell to pieces. For us, both are now but phantom palaces, with hardly a trace of either remaining to recall the glories of the past.But in the story of the Abbey, this change from Westminster to Whitehall had more than a passing effect; from henceforth the old intimate association between the Palace and Abbey ceased to exist, and Henry thus broke one more link with the traditions of his ancestors. Not even the chapel of his father, now no longer called the Lady Chapel, but instead St. Saviour's Chapel, had any attractions for one in whose nature reverent affection for old associations was entirely absent, and at his own desire, Henry was buried at Windsor, by his "true and loving wife, Jane Seymour," who had kept in his good graces by giving him a son, and then dying before he had time to grow weary of her. Of all his wives, only the plain and placid Anne of Cleves was buried in the Abbey, on the south side of the Altar, and "she had but half a monument," says Fuller, though her funeral was an elaborate one, by order of Mary, who was then queen.King Edward VI., just ten years old, succeeded his father; and the members of his council, especially his uncle, the Duke of Somerset, strongly in favour of the Reformed Church, were determined that the Pope should not win back any of his old authority. In this, all the thinking people were of their opinion, but some of the poor people, who had formerly received much in charity from the monks, were very bitter, and there was more than one rebellion in favour of the monasteries. However, these were put down, and the reformers went on with their work. Edward was crowned as Head of the Church in England, and, for the first time, a Bible, translated into the English tongue, was set in his hands at the coronation service. For only within the last ten years had the Bible been read to the people in a language they could understand, and you will remember how first Wycliffe, and then Tyndale, had failed in their attempts to place this book in the hands of all, that all might read and learn of God's teachings, by the light of the understanding which God had given them. Two years after the coronation a Prayer-Book was published, also in English, not exactly the same Prayer-Book as we use now, for as time went on the spirit of the people changed in favour of a still simpler service than that which found favour with the early reformers in England, and in the reign of Charles II. a revised Prayer-Book was issued, as in the reign of James I. our present translation of the Bible was authorised. But it was in Edward's reign that an English Bible and Prayer-Book first found their way into the Abbey.The plan of having a Bishop at Westminster does not seem to have succeeded. Thirleby was removed to Norwich, and Richard Cox became the Dean. But he remained in the simple quarters, near the Little Cloister, which had been assigned to Dean Boston, and the Abbot's house passed into the possession of a layman for the time being. Protector Somerset had certainly no feeling of veneration for the grand old pile of buildings. Not only did he put the Abbey under the Bishop of London, and insist on cart-loads of stone, which once had formed part of the solid monastery buildings, being used for his own palace, Somerset House, but of the few lands which still remained to the Abbey, he took some and made them over to St. Paul's, from time immemorial the rival of Westminster. You have often heard the saying "robbing Peter to pay Paul;" now you know its origin. And as if to cut off every possible association with the past, the House of Commons moved from the Chapter House to St. Stephen's Chapel, part of the old Westminster Palace, and there met until the great fire in 1834, after which the present Houses of Parliament were built.But with the death of Edward, who had reigned seven years, and the defeat of the Protestant party, who had tried to set Lady Jane Grey on the throne, there came a flicker of prosperity to the Abbey, a dim reflection, as it were, of its bygone greatness. For Queen Mary was a devout Roman Catholic, and so soon as it lay in her power, she dissolved the chapter or cathedral body, restored the monastery, and gave the post of Abbot to Fakenham, who was "a person of learning, good-natured, and very charitable to the poor."Edward was buried at Westminster, close to his grandfather, Henry VII., and underneath the altar of Torrigiano, of which I have already told you, so that the last Roman Catholic and the first really Protestant king of England lay side by side, under the same exquisite roof, a striking commentary on the fact that the Reformation was not a complete wrench with the past, but a transition from old to new according to the unchangeable law of progress.Mary was crowned on October 10, and on the coronation morning she journeyed in the royal barge from Whitehall to the private waterstairs of old Westminster Palace, and from thence went into the Parliament chamber, where she robed. Blue cloth covered the ground all the way from Westminster Hall to the choir in the Abbey, but here the altar blazed with cloth of gold, and rich covers hung all around, while the floor was strewn with fresh rushes, a quaint contrast to everything else. The Archbishops of Canterbury and York and the Bishop of London were already in the Tower as prisoners, so it was Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, who met the queen and performed the service, at which there was much dismay among the people, for they said it had ever boded ill for England when the Archbishop did not crown the sovereign. The old coronation service with its full ceremonial was used, and the queen was very devout, kneeling long in silent prayer.Four days later, the queen again rode to the Abbey, this time to open her Parliament. But the occasion did not pass by without some disturbances, for some who refused to kneel while the Mass was being celebrated were turned out by force.The restoration of her religion was the object dearer than all others to Mary's heart, and her unfaltering belief that in so doing she was working the will of God, added to her passionate enthusiasm for her faith, are the only excuses we can plead for her, when we shudder at the cruel persecutions which made England a land of terror during the next few years. Here it is only necessary to say that, as always, persecution purified and strengthened the very cause it was destined to destroy, and Mary, during her five years' reign, made her people hate her so bitterly, that nothing but her death prevented a general rebellion.She died a wretched, lonely woman, conscious of her utter failure."My oppressed heart is pierced by many wounds," she said bitterly at the last.Her funeral took place with much state, but the only real mourners were the priests and monks, who feared for their own fate. Mary had entreated that she might not be buried in royal array. Her crown had brought her no happiness, she said, and she did not wish to be encumbered by it now. Behind her coffin rode her ladies, with black trains so long that they swept the ground. Mass was said before the High Altar for the last time, while Fakenham, the last Abbot of Westminster, as he himself well knew, preached a great sermon on the dead queen, and, in a voice trembling with deep feeling, told how she was too good for earth, a veritable angel, who had found the realm poisoned with heresy, and had purged it.But his words found no echo in the heart of those around, and the funeral ended in a scene of disorder, for the people had no respect for the dead, and plucked down all the hangings and draperies, while the Archbishop of York, "in the midst of the hurly-burly, pronounced that a collation was prepared," whereupon the lords, ladies, and knights, with the bishops and Abbot Fakenham, hurried to another part of the building for dinner.And no monument was erected to the memory of her who was the last queen of the old faith to be buried in the Abbey.CHAPTER XIIN THE CHAPEL OF HENRY VII.On November 17, 1558, Mary died, and that very day Parliament met in old 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."[image]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 springsOur 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 foundThe 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.
The foundation-stone was laid one afternoon in the January of 1502 by Islip, "that wise and holy man who was Abbot of the Westminster monks," and the building was solemnly dedicated to the Blessed Virgin Mary by order of Henry VII., king of England and France and Lord of Ireland. The work went on quickly, for money was not lacking. Abbot Islip was a man of action, and Henry was feverishly anxious that the building should be completed in his lifetime. Here it was that he meant to be buried, for just because his claim to the throne was not a very good one, he was doubly anxious to link himself on by many different ways to the kings of the past. Everywhere in his chapel, round his tomb, on the roof, and on the doorways, you will find his different badges set up, as if to say, "Each one of these badges gave me the right to be king of England." You will see over and over again the York and Lancaster roses; the portcullis and the greyhound, both of them Beaufort badges, which had come to him through his mother, Margaret Beaufort, the direct descendant of John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster; the red dragon of Cadwallader of Wales, the last British king, whom Henry alone of all the English kings proudly claimed as his ancestor, through Owen Tudor, his father; and the lion, which always figured in the royal arms of England. These badges, everywhere carved, were Henry's challenge to any one who might dispute his claim.
"We will," said Henry, "that this chapel be wholly and perfectlie fynished with all spede; and the windows glazed with stories, imagies, badgies, and cognoisants; that the walles, doors, archies, windows, vaults, and imagies, within and without be painted, garnished, and adorned in as goodly and rich manner as such a work requireth and as to a king's work appertaigneth."
But in spite of all the speed the king died before the work was finished, and never saw his chapel in all its costly beauty. Only a few days before his death he gave the Abbot £5000 more, "in redy money by the hande," for the carrying on of the work, and his will showed how deep his interest lay, for he solemnly charged his executors to advance whatever money was needful, and to choose for the high altar "the greatest Image of our Lady we have in our Juel house; a Crosse of plate of gold upon tymber, chalices, altar suits, vestments, candlesticks, and ornaments," all of them to bear the royal badges. "And for the price and value of them," he concluded, "our mynde is, that thei bei of suche as appertaigneth to the gifte of a prynce; and therefore we wol that our executours in that partie have a special regarde to the lawe of God, the weal of our soule and our honour royal."
Queen Elizabeth had died some years before her husband, and had been impressively laid in some side chapel of the Abbey. Now, on Henry's death, both were buried together in the tomb which the king had ordered should be in the middle of the Chapel by the high altar, and about which he had left minute instructions as to the images of himself and the queen, the inscription, the tabernacles round the tomb with the images of saints and angels, and the grating of copper and gilt for its protection.
Certainly the tomb was made worthy of the exquisite chapel which enshrined it, and Henry's wishes were faithfully carried out in this respect. An Italian, Torregiano, made the images of the king and queen in gilt bronze, and Torregiano was something of a genius, for all his images have a wonderful life of their own. Yet he must have been anything but a pleasant visitor to the monastery precincts, for he was a bold man, with a loud voice, frowning eyebrows, and fierce gestures, who daily boasted of his feats among the beasts of Englishmen, and told how he had broken the nose of his rival Michael Angelo; or how he had shattered to pieces an image of the Virgin, because there was some dispute about the price to be paid him. However, we must forgive him his violent temper out of gratitude for his beautiful work.
The grating round the tomb was made by English workmen, and here again you will see everywhere the king's badges. And I want you to notice, too, the little angels who stand round the king and queen, for they look as if they had just flown there for a moment, so lightly are they poised. Then you must look at the carvings round the tomb, those Saints whom the king had chosen to be his guardians: the Virgin Mary with Christ in her arms and St. Michael at her side; St. John the Baptist pointing to a picture of the Lamb of God; St. John the Evangelist holding his Gospel in his hand, an eagle standing at his feet; St. George of England standing on the vanquished Dragon, and with him St. Anthony dressed as a monk; Mary Magdalene with her box of precious ointment; St. Barbara holding a three-windowed tower; St. Christopher bearing on his shoulder the Christ Child, and St. Edward the Confessor crowned in glory.
Just outside the screen must have stood a beautiful altar, also the work of Torrigiano, an altar of white marble, gilded with fine gold, enriched by inlay and carving, the central figure being "an image, erth coloured of Christ dead;" but this was wrecked by a fanatic named Marlow in the time of the Commonwealth, whose "ignorant zeal was such that he brake it into shivers, though it was a raritie not to be matched in any part of the world."
As you stand in the chapel I want you to gaze up at the vaulted roof, which seems as though it hung in mid air, so wonderful is the design with its fairy grace and lightness; for here you see a beautiful example of that fan-tracery vaulting which was peculiarly English in its style, and which in this case was probably the work of two English masons, John Hyharn and William Vertue. Then you must look around at the army of Saints and Martyrs who guard the walls; king, apostle, saint confessor, all are here, and the niches in which they stand are delicately carved and decorated. And you must try to imagine the glory of the windows in those early days when, filled with "goode, clene, sure, and perfyte glasse of oryent colours, and the imagery of the story of the olde lawe and the new lawe," they reflected their rich hues around. Now only one little part of those many painted windows remains, but that is a figure of Henry VII., who looks down over the chapel which he raised.
The carved oaken stalls intended for the monks were not all finished at this time, and as is so often the case with such stalls, there is nothing sacred about the character of the ornaments carved on them. On the contrary, they aim at being amusing; and you will find quaint figures of monkeys winnowing corn; of foxes in armour riding on the backs of cocks; of fiends seizing a miser; of turkeys chasing a boy; a bear playing on bagpipes, and so on. In the year 1725 George I. reconstructed the old order of Knights of the Bath, and as from the days of Richard II. it had been the custom only to create such knights at a coronation and when a Prince of Wales was created, the Order had many associations with Westminster. So this Chapel of Henry VII. was set apart as the Chapel of the Order, just as the Chapel of St. George's, Windsor, was set apart for the Order of the Garter; and here for nearly a hundred years every knight was installed; here was hung his banner; and here was fastened up over his stall the plate on which was emblazoned his coat of arms. But gradually the Order became so large that the many ceremonies connected with it had to cease, and now only the banners which hang here tell us of bygone days.
[image]GATES OF HENRY VII.'s CHAPEL.
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GATES OF HENRY VII.'s CHAPEL.
As you come out, take a last look at the massive gates of oak and metal serried with badges, and then stand once more in the middle of the sixteenth century, when that mass of carving was made yet more rich and beautiful by the colours which blazed everywhere, from the crimson, blue, and purple of the windows; the gold and silver vessels on the altar; the gleaming brass of the images; the gorgeous vestments of the priests; the dazzling whiteness of the marble; the glitter of the tapers round the tomb. Think of how Abbot Islip must have gloried in this new gem of dazzling beauty now added to the Abbey, already so rich in treasure; for Islip was of "a wakeful conscience" and held himself the steward of the house of God, so that he too did some building to this place, and evidently won the confidence of the king, who made him paymaster of the workmen.
As for Henry himself, the chapel has become a far greater memorial of him than he can ever have deemed possible. It matters little to us now what was his real motive in raising it, even if it were possible to point to any one unmixed motive which inspired him. For us it is enough that the chapel stands, and though we need not, with Fabyan the chronicler, wax enthusiastic over "the excellent wysdome, sugared eloquence, wonderfull dyscression, the exceedynge treasure and rychesse innumerabyll" of this silent, almost gloomy king, let us with the same chronicler "remember his beautyfull buildyngs and his liberell endowments at Westminster, and pray that he may attain that celestyall mansion whych he and all trew Christen soules are inheritors unto, the whyche God hym graunt."
[image]CHAPEL OF HENRY VII.
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CHAPEL OF HENRY VII.
CHAPTER X
THE ABBEY AND THE REFORMATION
A few months after the death and burial of Henry VII., another royal funeral took place in this beautiful chapel of the Tudors, the funeral of his mother, Margaret, the "venerable lady," whose influence was far-reaching, and whose holiness had won for her such universal love and reverence.
"It would fill a volume to recount her good deeds," says her biographer, and he goes on to tell how she lived a life of prayer and simplicity, being a member of no leas than five religious houses; how she herself waited on the poor, the sick, the dying, and how she freely gave of her wealth for the encouragement of learning. "Her ears were spent in hearing the word of God, her tongue was occupied in prayer, her feet in visiting holy places, her hands in giving alms." She provided an almshouse for poor women near Westminster Abbey, and another at Hatfield, and besides founding schools and colleges, she maintained many poor scholars at her own expense. She also translated many works in the English tongue. It was in Westminster that she desired to be buried, and she made many gifts to the place which her son was so richly beautifying, stipulating in return that prayers should always be said here for herself and all her family. She was destined to outlive son, daughter-in-law, and grandson, and it was not till 1509 that her useful life of close on three-score years and ten came to an end, and she passed peacefully away, "the almoner of God, the friend of the poor, the supporter of true religion, the patroness of learning, the comforter of the sorrowing, the beloved of all." As you stand by her monument in the south aisle of Henry VII.'s Chapel, look at her strong, noble face, beautiful in its calm old age, her hands clasped in prayer as was their wont; and while you are lost in wonder at the skill of the sculptor, probably Torrigiano, I think you will realise something of the goodness and purity of Margaret Richmond, which this sleeping figure makes so vivid, and will understand how "every one that knew her loved her, for everything she said or did became her." It was well for her that she did not live long enough to see her clever imperious grandson seeking to destroy so many of the things which she had loved and guarded.
Henry VIII. came to the throne with splendid opportunities. He was gifted far above the average: his manners were genial and taking; he could talk many languages; he was devoted to sport, a good musician, an admirable wrestler; fond of amusement, but fond also of more serious things; and the people were prepared to love their King Hal, for he was in every way a contrast to his father, who had never won their affections. Henry was a strong man, who resolved to be no puppet in the hands of any party or minister. Yet it was his will which ruined his character, for it was a will entirely bent on gaining its own ends, unchecked by any sense of duty, untouched by any appeal to high or noble motives. What he desired he must have, and all that stood in his way must be swept aside: he would spare no one who thwarted him; nothing weighed in the balance against the gratification of his own whims and fancies.
You will remember that he was not the eldest son of Henry VII. His brother Arthur, Prince of Wales, had died in 1501, a few months after he had married Katherine, the Infanta of Spain, and chiefly because the idea was at first strongly opposed, Henry made up his mind to marry his widowed sister-in-law. When he came to the throne, he at once carried out his will in this matter, and brushed aside all the objections that were raised on account of the close relationship existing between the two. The marriage took place at Greenwich, and the double coronation followed at Westminster on Midsummer Day in the year 1509, "amid all the rejoicings in the world." Katherine made a beautiful queen, dressed in white with cloth of gold, her long hair hanging down to her feet, and little dreamt any of those who cheered her on her way of all that was to spring out of that marriage, for Henry seemed to be the most devoted of husbands. In 1511 their son was born, and had such an elaborate christening that he took a cold from which he never recovered. "His soul returned to among the Holy Innocents of God," says a Westminster manuscript, and we are told how "the queen made much lamentation, but by the king's persuasion she was at last comforted." The baby prince was certainly buried in the Abbey, though exactly where is unknown. But his death, unimportant as it must have seemed at the moment to those who took part in the funeral, had in reality a deep significance. Henry was incapable of loving any one for long, and as he began to grow weary of Katherine, he made it a grievance that her other child was a daughter and not a son. Furthermore, he argued to himself that he had done wrong in marrying his brother's widow, so that the death of his son was the sign of God's wrath, and then he began to devise how he could dissolve his marriage with her, to wed instead her fascinating maid of honour, Anne Boleyn. Only the Pope could grant him the divorce that he desired, and accordingly Henry sent his all-powerful favourite, Wolsey, to Rome to get this consent. But the Pope, much as he feared Henry, feared the Emperor Charles V., the nephew of Queen Katherine, much more, and Wolsey, on his side, was anxious not to offend the Pope, as his ambition was to succeed him, so it all ended in his going back to Henry without having the desired permission. Henry was furious, and Wolsey, disgraced, died broken-hearted. The king's next step was to defy the Pope, and to send round to all the ministers in Europe, asking them whether in their opinion his marriage with Katherine had been a legal one. But their answer in almost every case was the opposite answer to what Henry had determined on, and their opposition only increased his determination, till at last, urged thereto by Thomas Cromwell, Wolsey's successor in his favour, he took the bold step of declaring that he himself was the head of the Church in England, the defender of the faith, and that therefore the Pope had no power to forbid the divorce. He was clever enough to know that for many a long day the independent spirit of the English nation had rebelled against the power of the Pope in the land; that the revival of learning had set men thinking for themselves; that the teaching of Luther and the other reformers had prepared the way for a great change in England, and that he could count on his Parliament to support him in declaring himself supreme head of the Church in this land. Thus whilst pretending to cleanse and purify the Church, and reform the many errors which had crept in, Henry really was true to his general policy of sweeping out of the way any obstacle to his wishes. The Pope had opposed him, so from henceforward he would deprive the Pope of all authority in England. He divorced Katherine, and married Anne Boleyn, while those few men who refused to go against their conscience by declaring the king to be in the right on this question of his marriage, when they felt him to be in the wrong, did so at the cost of their lives.
But the king had not yet finished with the Pope; urged thereto by Cromwell, who earned for himself the name "The Hammer of the Monks," he proceeded to attack all the monasteries and religious houses in England, and there were many hundreds of them, which were under the immediate jurisdiction of Rome. To these religious houses England owed no small debt of gratitude: the monks had been teachers, scholars, chroniclers, architects, carvers, painters, translators, and illuminators; they had nursed the sick, they had relieved the needy; they had been the great employers of labour, the tillers of the soil, and, untouched by the ebb and flow of the tide outside, they had gone quietly on with their daily round of work and prayer, keeping their lights ever burning before the altar to signify that their house was "always watchynge to God." But, as they became rich and powerful, they fell away from their high ideals; the threefold vow of poverty, obedience, and purity ceased to sanctify their lives; luxury took the place of plain, frugal living; the monks no longer laboured with their own hands, but kept great retinues of servants, and the money that should have been spent for the glory of God and the church was squandered in extravagant living. The abbots were under no control save that of Rome, and Rome was far away, so that there was no power from outside to correct, to reform, and to purify. Gradually, too, the monasteries had lost their hold over the people; resting on their past, they made no effort to keep pace with the present; they bitterly opposed any education save that which they held in their own hands; they resented progress and enlightenment; they were no longer centres of light and learning; their fire had burnt out, quenched by covetousness, by wrong-doing and by luxurious living.
Cromwell saw in them an opportunity which Henry was all too ready to grasp. A Commission was formed to visit and report on the universities and all religious houses; and when the visitors had finished their work, which they had done carefully and thoroughly, they laid their verdict before the House of Commons in the famous Black Book, which was destroyed some years later by order of Queen Mary. Much of what it contained is therefore lost to us, but as the Commons, who sat, remember, in the Chapter-Room at Westminster, heard clause after clause read out, which told, with a few honourable exceptions, a terrible story against the monasteries, they could not restrain themselves, and over and over again shouts of "Down with the monks" rang through the vaulted building. Generally speaking, the largest of the monasteries had come well out of the inquiry, and Parliament therefore began by only dissolving the smaller houses, at the same time ordering that the lands and incomes of these latter should be handed over to the king, as head of the Church, to be spent in the "high and true interests of religion." Certainly the Commons had none but high motives in passing this Act, and never dreamt of a general dissolution, or the appropriation of all that immense wealth for anything but religious or educational purposes. They had not realised Henry's greed, "which no religion could moderate, or the force of his will, against which nothing, however sacred, seemed able to stand."
The monks at Westminster naturally heard very quickly all the particulars of the deliberations which had taken place inside the Chapter-Room. How they must have lingered about the cloisters that day; how eagerly and excitedly must they have talked during those hours when talking was allowed, wondering in what way all these things would end; how they must have speculated as to their own future, and that of the few other large monasteries in which the Commissioners had declared that "thanks be to God, religion had been right well kept and observed." They had not long to wait.
A general order issued shortly afterwards, ordering the removal of all shrines, images, and relics, made it clear that Henry and his ministers had other ideas beyond the reformation of religious houses; and the monks, who gauged the character of the king, hastily moved the body of St. Edward to some sacred spot, that, at least, this holy possession of the Abbey might not be lost to it. They managed, too, to hide some of the treasures which beautified Edward's shrine, but much of the gold and many of the jewels became the property of the king. Altogether nearly 800 monasteries fell into the hands of Henry, and without any compunction he appropriated their lands and their wealth, giving away to his favourites of the moment what he did not desire to keep for himself. Inside the religious houses the greatest excitement prevailed, and much diversity of opinion; for some there were among the abbots and monks who were prepared to lose their lives rather than willingly surrender themselves to the king's will, while others, more the children of this world than the children of light, deemed that by submission could they best hope to save something in this overwhelming deluge.
At Westminster, under Abbot Benson, the monks chose a prudent course, the abbot being one, as an old writer severely remarks, "whose conscience was not likely to stand in his way on any occasion," and in the January of 1540 the Abbey with all its wealth was voluntarily handed over to the king.
Partly perhaps on account of this absolute submission, but much more because even Henry had still reverence for a place which was peculiarly royal in all its associations, Westminster was in some degree saved. The old order indeed was destined to pass away; its wealth was to be a thing of the past, save for the wealth of beauty in sculptured stone which could not easily be taken from it, and which still remained unrivalled even when all the gold and jewels and plate excepting a silver pot, two gilt cups, three hearse clothes, twelve cushions and some other clothes, had been carried away to satisfy greedy courtiers, "leaving the place very bare."
But Henry converted the building into a cathedral, giving it a bishop, a dean, prebendaries, minor canons, all these offices with the exception of the Bishopric being filled by the monks belonging to the establishment. The Bishop, Thirleby, was ordered to make the abbot's house his palace; Abbot Benson, now Dean, took up his residence in humble quarters, and all the old glory of the monastery departed for ever, while Henry was quite £60,000 a year richer in our money. Those of the monks for whom no place could be found under the new system were pensioned off, and many of the buildings, such as the refectory and the smaller dormitory, no longer needed for the cowled figures who for so many generations had used them, were pulled down or put to fresh uses.
Nor was the monastery the only part of Westminster which fell from its greatness. Earlier in the reign of Henry a fire had destroyed much of the old Palace, and the king, who cared but little for it, set his heart on York House close by, at Whitehall, once the London house of the Bishops of York, afterwards the residence of Wolsey.
The Cardinal lived in state; indeed Westminster was but a humble dwelling compared to this magnificent palace, and on his disgrace, Henry took possession of it. For more than a hundred and fifty years it was the royal palace, with fine courts, halls and chambers, its own chapel and offices, its bowling-green, tent yard, cock-pit, and tennis courts, and meanwhile the gabled, sculptured Westminster Palace, the home of Saxon, Norman, and Plantagenet kings, fell to pieces. For us, both are now but phantom palaces, with hardly a trace of either remaining to recall the glories of the past.
But in the story of the Abbey, this change from Westminster to Whitehall had more than a passing effect; from henceforth the old intimate association between the Palace and Abbey ceased to exist, and Henry thus broke one more link with the traditions of his ancestors. Not even the chapel of his father, now no longer called the Lady Chapel, but instead St. Saviour's Chapel, had any attractions for one in whose nature reverent affection for old associations was entirely absent, and at his own desire, Henry was buried at Windsor, by his "true and loving wife, Jane Seymour," who had kept in his good graces by giving him a son, and then dying before he had time to grow weary of her. Of all his wives, only the plain and placid Anne of Cleves was buried in the Abbey, on the south side of the Altar, and "she had but half a monument," says Fuller, though her funeral was an elaborate one, by order of Mary, who was then queen.
King Edward VI., just ten years old, succeeded his father; and the members of his council, especially his uncle, the Duke of Somerset, strongly in favour of the Reformed Church, were determined that the Pope should not win back any of his old authority. In this, all the thinking people were of their opinion, but some of the poor people, who had formerly received much in charity from the monks, were very bitter, and there was more than one rebellion in favour of the monasteries. However, these were put down, and the reformers went on with their work. Edward was crowned as Head of the Church in England, and, for the first time, a Bible, translated into the English tongue, was set in his hands at the coronation service. For only within the last ten years had the Bible been read to the people in a language they could understand, and you will remember how first Wycliffe, and then Tyndale, had failed in their attempts to place this book in the hands of all, that all might read and learn of God's teachings, by the light of the understanding which God had given them. Two years after the coronation a Prayer-Book was published, also in English, not exactly the same Prayer-Book as we use now, for as time went on the spirit of the people changed in favour of a still simpler service than that which found favour with the early reformers in England, and in the reign of Charles II. a revised Prayer-Book was issued, as in the reign of James I. our present translation of the Bible was authorised. But it was in Edward's reign that an English Bible and Prayer-Book first found their way into the Abbey.
The plan of having a Bishop at Westminster does not seem to have succeeded. Thirleby was removed to Norwich, and Richard Cox became the Dean. But he remained in the simple quarters, near the Little Cloister, which had been assigned to Dean Boston, and the Abbot's house passed into the possession of a layman for the time being. Protector Somerset had certainly no feeling of veneration for the grand old pile of buildings. Not only did he put the Abbey under the Bishop of London, and insist on cart-loads of stone, which once had formed part of the solid monastery buildings, being used for his own palace, Somerset House, but of the few lands which still remained to the Abbey, he took some and made them over to St. Paul's, from time immemorial the rival of Westminster. You have often heard the saying "robbing Peter to pay Paul;" now you know its origin. And as if to cut off every possible association with the past, the House of Commons moved from the Chapter House to St. Stephen's Chapel, part of the old Westminster Palace, and there met until the great fire in 1834, after which the present Houses of Parliament were built.
But with the death of Edward, who had reigned seven years, and the defeat of the Protestant party, who had tried to set Lady Jane Grey on the throne, there came a flicker of prosperity to the Abbey, a dim reflection, as it were, of its bygone greatness. For Queen Mary was a devout Roman Catholic, and so soon as it lay in her power, she dissolved the chapter or cathedral body, restored the monastery, and gave the post of Abbot to Fakenham, who was "a person of learning, good-natured, and very charitable to the poor."
Edward was buried at Westminster, close to his grandfather, Henry VII., and underneath the altar of Torrigiano, of which I have already told you, so that the last Roman Catholic and the first really Protestant king of England lay side by side, under the same exquisite roof, a striking commentary on the fact that the Reformation was not a complete wrench with the past, but a transition from old to new according to the unchangeable law of progress.
Mary was crowned on October 10, and on the coronation morning she journeyed in the royal barge from Whitehall to the private waterstairs of old Westminster Palace, and from thence went into the Parliament chamber, where she robed. Blue cloth covered the ground all the way from Westminster Hall to the choir in the Abbey, but here the altar blazed with cloth of gold, and rich covers hung all around, while the floor was strewn with fresh rushes, a quaint contrast to everything else. The Archbishops of Canterbury and York and the Bishop of London were already in the Tower as prisoners, so it was Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, who met the queen and performed the service, at which there was much dismay among the people, for they said it had ever boded ill for England when the Archbishop did not crown the sovereign. The old coronation service with its full ceremonial was used, and the queen was very devout, kneeling long in silent prayer.
Four days later, the queen again rode to the Abbey, this time to open her Parliament. But the occasion did not pass by without some disturbances, for some who refused to kneel while the Mass was being celebrated were turned out by force.
The restoration of her religion was the object dearer than all others to Mary's heart, and her unfaltering belief that in so doing she was working the will of God, added to her passionate enthusiasm for her faith, are the only excuses we can plead for her, when we shudder at the cruel persecutions which made England a land of terror during the next few years. Here it is only necessary to say that, as always, persecution purified and strengthened the very cause it was destined to destroy, and Mary, during her five years' reign, made her people hate her so bitterly, that nothing but her death prevented a general rebellion.
She died a wretched, lonely woman, conscious of her utter failure.
"My oppressed heart is pierced by many wounds," she said bitterly at the last.
Her funeral took place with much state, but the only real mourners were the priests and monks, who feared for their own fate. Mary had entreated that she might not be buried in royal array. Her crown had brought her no happiness, she said, and she did not wish to be encumbered by it now. Behind her coffin rode her ladies, with black trains so long that they swept the ground. Mass was said before the High Altar for the last time, while Fakenham, the last Abbot of Westminster, as he himself well knew, preached a great sermon on the dead queen, and, in a voice trembling with deep feeling, told how she was too good for earth, a veritable angel, who had found the realm poisoned with heresy, and had purged it.
But his words found no echo in the heart of those around, and the funeral ended in a scene of disorder, for the people had no respect for the dead, and plucked down all the hangings and draperies, while the Archbishop of York, "in the midst of the hurly-burly, pronounced that a collation was prepared," whereupon the lords, ladies, and knights, with the bishops and Abbot Fakenham, hurried to another part of the building for dinner.
And no monument was erected to the memory of her who was the last queen of the old faith to be buried in the Abbey.
CHAPTER XI
IN THE CHAPEL OF HENRY VII.
On November 17, 1558, Mary died, and that very day Parliament met in old 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."
[image]TOMB OF QUEEN ELIZABETH.
[image]
[image]
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 springsOur loyal passion for our temperate kings,"
"That sober freedom out of which there springsOur loyal passion for our temperate kings,"
"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 foundThe Scots shall monarchs of that realm be crowned.
If Fates go right, where'er this stone is foundThe Scots shall monarchs of that realm be crowned.
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.