Guide to the Bayeux tapestry

by Francis Birrell

In the first scene ([Plate I.]) King Edward the Confessor is giving instructions to Harold, who immediately, with a large cavalcade of men, horses, dogs and falcons (2), sets off in the direction of the coast. He passes Bosham, where he enters the church and prays (3), conduct that is, perhaps, intended to appear hypocritical in the light of future events. After these religious exercises Harold and his company repair to a neighbouring house and refresh themselves with food before setting out again on their journey. They then cross the sea (4, 5, 6). No storm is shown and the Tapestry has the inscription “HIC HAROLD MARE NAVIGAVIT ET VELIS VENTO PLENIS VENIT IN TERRA WIDONIS COMITIS” (“Here Harold set sail upon the sea and with sails full of wind came to the land of Count Guy”). This cannot well mean a storm but a favourable voyage. Harold had always intended to come in to France. He had in the first scene had an interview with Edward in which he is presumably intrusted with a message to William, which he crosses the sea to deliver. If this message were to state Edward’s wish that William should succeed him on the Throne of England, how treacherous becomes Harold’s conduct. Yet this is what the Tapestry silently suggests. On landing he is immediately seized (7) by Count Guy of Ponthieu, into whose territory he is come, and is carried off by him to his castle of Beaurain (8, 9).

Harold and Guy then converse together (10), Harold presumably explaining the reasons for his arrival in the latter’s territories. The messengers of William arrive at Guy’s castle (11), one of them, Turold, being mentioned by name. He is portrayed as a dwarf, either in an attempt at perspective or merely owing to the exigencies of space.[3] The story here becomes somewhat obscure, but the envoys go back to William (12, 13) and in 14, 15 Harold is brought to him by Guy in person. William’s treatment of Harold is here surely intended to bring out the excellence of the Duke’s character, for he behaves towards Harold with magnificent urbanity and takes him to his palace at Rouen (16, 17). In 18 appears the mysterious incident of “a certain clerk and Ælfgyva,” which will be mentioned later. After this interval Harold and William, now apparently on the best of terms, start off together for a warlike expedition. They reach Mont Saint Michel (19), cross the River Couesnon (20), where Harold drags some Norman soldiers out of a quicksand (21) into which they had fallen. In 22 they arrive at Dol, and Conan[4] evacuates the town. They then pass Rechnes (Rennes), which is stitched small, and is only there to show the course of their march. A strenuous fight takes place at Dinan till Conan gives up the keys (23, 24), and in (25) William presents Harold with arms as a sign of gratitude for his services. In this high amity with each other they repair to Bayeux (26), where takes place the crucial incident in the history of Harold (27). Here there is again a great discrepancy between the Norman version and that usually taught in England. According to the English story Harold was tricked into swearing fealty to William on a box, in which, unknown to him, were concealed the bones of saints. This fact, if true, is suppressed in the Tapestry. Here, Harold’s two hands are resting on altars supporting chests of the kind used expressly for containing relics ([Plate II.]). The oath is made as ostentatiously solemn as possible. Perhaps Harold might be able to urge compulsion as invalidating this oath; his whole position had been from the beginning little better than that of a prisoner. The plea of trickery was out of the question, and his future conduct makes him appear, to Norman eyes, a perjurer and a blasphemer.

After this Harold returns to England (28) and proceeds at once to Edward the Confessor (29), with whom he has an interview ([Plate III.]).

We are next shown (30, 31) the coffin of Edward the Confessor being carried in mourning to its interment in the Church of St. Peter at Westminster ([Plate IV.]). The order of events has been here slightly transposed, as in 32 we see Edward still alive though on his death-bed addressing his “fideles” or vassals. The reason for the transposition of scenes will soon become clear; Harold is present, with Edward’s wife, Queen Eadgyth, an ecclesiastic, and two other persons. What may have been the nature of the communications passing between Edward and his “fideles” at this solemn moment cannot be said with certainty, but it is likely that even then the question of the succession was being agitated. Immediately below Edward has fallen into the sleep of death (ET HIC DEFUNCTUS EST), and the crown is offered to Harold, who sits enthroned, with Archbishop Stigand by his side (33) ([Plate V.] and Frontispiece). The reason why the funeral of the Confessor was represented before his death has now become apparent. The swift change from the death-bed of the saintly Edward to the triumph of his unscrupulous successor leaves behind it a feeling which must have been highly agreeable to Norman admirers of the Tapestry. In 34 ([Plate VI.]) is recorded an interesting event. The inscription reads: “ISTI MIRANT STELLA” (“They,” i.e. the English, “wonder at a star”), and this unusual star is portrayed curiously in the border. The English are right to be afraid. The heavens themselves blaze forth their disapproval at the conduct of Harold. A messenger is seen bringing tidings to the King, which he seems to hear with great agitation. It is likely that this message is connected with the strange apparition of the preceding scene. In 35 an English ship is shown on its way to France, bearing to William news of events in England.

At this point the story as told in the Tapestry falls quite naturally into two parts. So far the unscrupulous conduct of Harold has been crowned with success. His ambitions are realised, and he sits on the throne of England. Omens, however, are not wanting to foreshadow the shortness of his reign. The second part of the story will show how William came into his own.

In 36 William has heard the news and promptly determines on revenge. With Bishop Odo at his side, he gives orders that a fleet shall be made ready; the trees are hewn (37, 38), and the ships built ([Plate VII.]); they are dragged down to the sea (39), arms are carried on board (40), carts with wine and arms are dragged down to the beach, William crosses in a great ship (41, 42, 43), he arrives at Pevensey (44, 45), the horses are disembarked (46), and the knights push on to Hastings (47). The whole story moves along with admirable speed, till the spectator seems to partake in the hurry and bustle of the great expedition. William’s determination is as sure as Harold’s. The difference is that his cause is just. After the arrival at Hastings, the story continues more slowly to its appointed end. That other side of military life is now shown, as necessary as, if less dignified than, the former glimpses. We see the victualling of William’s army. In 47 the soldiers are seizing the neighbouring cattle for food. In 48 is a knight on horseback bearing the name Wadard. He is thought by the designer to be well enough known to need no explanation, but at this distance of time his appearance seems irrelevant. 49, however, carries on the story from 47. The food taken then is now being cooked, the servants serve up the meats which they lay before the soldiery, and Bishop Odo blesses the meat (50). This scene is worked in with real humour; the soldiers are hardly able to restrain their appetite till grace has been said ([Plate VIII.]). Immediately afterwards (51) are seen Bishop Odo, the Conqueror and his eldest son, Count Robert, the three most distinguished ornaments of the war, seated together in a tent ([Plate IX.]).

In (52) it is ordered that a rampart be thrown up: the camp is shown. A messenger arrives giving news of Harold, and a house is burned (53). Then the army leaves Hastings (54) to go in to battle against Harold (55, 56), and Duke William questions one Vital (57, 58) concerning Harold and his army. Not till 59 is news of William brought to Harold. That Harold should not have been kept more fully informed of his opponent’s movements and only have heard particulars when the enemy were at his very gates seems to suggest a certain incompetence or, at any rate, to show that he had been completely surprised by the rapidity of William’s movements. His other difficulties, caused by rivals to his throne and foreign enemies, which had only just been relieved by the glorious victory of Stamford Bridge, and the deaths of Tostig and Harold Hardrada, are omitted by the Norman chronicler. In 60 William exhorts his men to be brave and prudent, and they advance gaily into battle (61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66), the whole course of events being splendidly exhibited. At last full justice is done to the English enemy. They fight valiantly, and the celebrated “packed-shield” formation is clearly shown ([Plate XI.]). Bad luck, however, pursues the English; Leofwyne and Gyrth, brothers of the King, are slain (67, 68, 69), but the fighting still remains even, Normans and English falling together (70, 71). The Normans are being pressed hard when Bishop Odo, armed with a club, exhorts the young recruits and saves a panic (72). A cry then goes up that Duke William has been killed; he shows himself, however (73), and confidence is restored. On the left of the Duke is seen Eustace (E ... TIUS is all that remains of the inscription) carrying a standard. According to the mediæval historian Benoît de Saint Maur[5] the Duke’s standard-bearer Eustace, Count of Boulogne, had urged the Duke to leave the field, believing the day to be lost. This moment proves to be the turning point of the battle; the French fight with renewed vigour (73, 74, 75), and beat their way up to Harold, who is killed by an arrow (76) ([Plate XII.]). The English army is discouraged and flies (77, 78, 79).

Here the Tapestry ends, and it is not quite clear if it had been intended to pursue the subject further. According to Dr. Ducarel the tapestry, when hung, exactly filled the nave of the Cathedral; so that very likely no more was ever designed.

The borders that run above and below well repay study. They not only make an admirable framework for the main narrative, but have an object of their own in keeping up a kind of running commentary on the events portrayed within their boundaries; strange birds and beasts, the subjects of fable, hybrids, and human forms, sometimes pursuing their ordinary avocations, sometimes engaged in battle or lying dead, form these borders, teaching by their actions, attitudes or expressions, the import of each scene. They express the hopes and fears of the rival factions and perform almost the functions of a Greek Chorus. They are delightful, too, in themselves, and there is in them something truly expressive of the mediæval mind.