Tales of English Minsters: St. Paul's

by Elizabeth W. Grierson

‘But where is the old churchyard?’ you ask, looking round in amazement. I will tell you. These gardens, and the great space in front of the church, stand to-day where St. Paul’s Churchyard stood long ago, only there is no longer a wall round them, and although the name remains, the gravestones have long since disappeared. Let us try, however, to think that we are back in the Middle Ages, and imagine ourselves standing among the graves in the old churchyard. In front would be the great church, bigger than that which now rises before us, with its square tower and wooden steeple. At the north-east corner of it we should see a curious erection like a low, eight-sided tower, with a stone cross on the top of it. That was called ‘Paul’s Cross,’ and it was almost as important a place as the Cathedral itself.

As I said at the beginning, St. Paul’s Church was the Church of the Citizens. The Monarchs of the land might be crowned or buried at Westminster, but it was to St. Paul’s that the people crowded when they wanted to meet together and stand up for their rights. So there was a great bell in the Cathedral belfry, like the bell in St. Giles’s Cathedral in Edinburgh, which was rung whenever a question arose which concerned the burghers of the city, and when its deep tones were heard, the people ran out of their houses, and thronged into the churchyard through the six gates which pierced its encircling wall, and crowded round Paul’s Cross; and the Aldermen, ascending by steps to the top of the eight-sided tower, stood under the Cross, and spoke to them. Here royal proclamations were made, quarrels were settled, grievances stated, and put to rights. Here, also, sermons were preached in the open air by famous preachers.

Indeed, I think that I may safely say that ‘Paul’s Cross’ was the centre of the public life of London. It has long since been pulled down, however; but if we go to the north-west corner of the gardens, we can still see the place where it stood, clearly marked on the pavement.

The Bishop’s Palace also stood within the wall, and two little churches, one of which was founded by Gilbert à Becket, father of Thomas of Canterbury, who was a silk-mercer in Cheapside; while the other was a parish church—the Church of St. Faith—which was pulled down in after-years, and the people who went to Service there were allowed to worship in the crypt of the Cathedral instead.

It would only weary you to attempt to describe the interior of the old church. It would be very like the other Cathedrals of that time, which were all more richly adorned before the Reformation than they are now. All the accounts which we read of it show us that it was very magnificent, with rich carvings, and stained glass, and no less than seventy side-chapels and chantries, each with its own altar, and, richer than all others, the great Shrine of St. Erkenwald, with its ornaments and jewels.

PREACHING AT ST. PAUL’S CROSS.

I think that it will be much more interesting to talk of some of the scenes that took place there in these far-off days. Let us go back, for instance, almost eight hundred years, to the day when the news arrived in London that the King of England, Henry I., lay dead in France. He and his brother, William Rufus, were, as you know, sons of the great Norman Conqueror, and during their reigns the country had been well governed and prosperous. But when Henry died, no one quite knew what to do next. For the rightful heir to the throne was Henry’s daughter Maud, who had married a French Count of Anjou, who, as you remember, was the first of his race to be called ‘Plantagenet,’ because he was in the habit, as he rode along, of plucking a piece of broom (Planta genista) and sticking it in the front of his cap. Now, the English people did not love this Geoffry of Anjou, who was a greedy and selfish man, and they had no wish to have him for their King, as they would certainly have to do if his wife became Queen. So their thoughts turned to Maud’s cousin, Count Stephen of Blois, who, although his father was a Frenchman, had an English mother, and who had been brought up in England at his uncle’s Court. Most people wished to have him as their King; but no one dare suggest it until the citizens of London took matters into their own hands.

‘The country needed a Monarch,’ they said, ‘and if the Barons would not take the responsibility of electing one, they would.’ And without more ado the Portreve (or Lord Mayor) and Aldermen caused the great bell of St. Paul’s to be rung, summoning the burghers to a ‘Folk-mote’ or council; and when they had all gathered round the Cross in the churchyard, the matter was discussed, and it was agreed that it would be better for England that Stephen should be King rather than that Maud should be Queen; and straightway the city gates were thrown open to the Count, and the citizens swore allegiance to him, and he was crowned King of England.