The Norman chroniclers, for the most part, agree with the Tapestry in stating that Harold was crowned by Stigand, archbishop of Canterbury. Florence of Worcester and Roger of Hoveden state, that the solemn ceremony was performed by Aldred, Archbishop of York. Roger of Wendover says that the King “placed the diadem on his own head.”
The dress of the archbishop nearly resembles that of a Roman Catholic prelate of the present day. The stole will be observed. The pallium, which subsequently was made of pure white wool, is in Stigand’s case purple.[66] The maniple which, at a later period was worn upon the arm of the priest, is in the Tapestry, and other contemporaneous drawings, placed on the wrist. But the circumstance most observable in the costume of Stigand is the absence of the mitre. This distinctive decoration of the episcopal office seems not to have been known at this period. It is not met with in the Catacombs of Rome. In the illustrations of the Benedictional of St. Æthelwold we have priests and apostles in great numbers, but none of them wear a mitre, unless the circle round the head of St. Benedict be one. The same remark applies to the illustrations of the metrical Paraphrase of Cædmon. The bishops of the Lewes chess-men, which seem to have been executed about the middle of the twelfth century, probably furnish us with the earliest British examples of a mitre. The mitres worn by the ecclesiastics who support the head of the sovereign on the tomb of King John, at Worcester, are also early examples.[67]
In an apartment next to that in which the ceremonies of the coronation are being solemnized several spectators are assembled, expressing by their gestures surprise and apprehension. In the spring of the year 1066 an event occurred which filled the minds of men with alarm. At Easter a comet appeared, which is noticed by nearly all the chroniclers. Wace thus describes it:—“Now while these things were doing a great star appeared, shining for fourteen days, with three long rays streaming towards the earth; such a star as is wont to be seen when a kingdom is about to change its king. I have seen many men who saw it, men of full age at the time, and who lived many years after. Those who would discourse of the stars call it a comet.” Our worsted astronomers have produced a very brilliant meteor, with more than twice three streams of fire issuing from it. Fear doubtless proved a multiplying glass in their hands. This drawing is, however, remarkable, as furnishing us with the earliest representation that we have of these erratic bodies.
The discoveries of modern science have attached a peculiar degree of interest to this comet. Halley, the astronomer, having noticed that a brilliant comet had been seen in the years 1531, 1607 and 1682, conceived the idea that it was the same body which had appeared on these several occasions, and ventured to affirm that comets, like the other heavenly objects with which we are acquainted, obeyed the laws of gravitation. The reappearance of this comet in 1759 established his position, and proved that its periodic time was about seventy-seven years. These facts, together with the subsequent accurate calculation of the orbit of the body, enable us to carry back our reckonings, so as to render it highly probable that the comet which alarmed our ancestors is that which bears the name of Halley, and whose return in the year 1835 was looked forward to by the civilized world with so much delightful anticipation. Mr. Hinde, in his recently published book on Comets, says, “There is considerable probability in favour of the appearance of the comet in the year of the Norman conquest, or in April 1066. This famous body, which astonished Europe in that year, is minutely, though not very clearly, described in the Chinese annals, and its path, there assigned, is found to agree with elements which have great resemblance to those of Halley’s comet.... It was equal to the full moon in size, and its train, at first short, increased to a wonderful length. Almost every historian and writer of the eleventh century bears witness to the splendour of the comet of 1066, in which we are disposed to recognise the comet of Halley.”[68] The legend to this part of the Tapestry is, ISTI MIRANT STELLAM—These men wonder at the star.
The minds of men were not long kept in suspense. The next compartment exhibits King Harold seated on his throne, bending down his ear very eagerly to a messenger who has arrived with important intelligence. The nature of it is explained by the dreamy-like flotilla which is shown in the lower border.
Harold, on succeeding to the throne, neglected to dispossess of their offices the Norman favourites whom Edward left behind him. He no doubt thought, by conciliation, to procure their good will. He was mistaken. A ship is immediately fitted out, and messengers sent to Normandy to acquaint the Duke with the important events which had just transpired. This is shown in the Tapestry ([Plate VIII.]) in a scene which is superscribed, HIC NAVIS ANGLICA VENIT IN TERRAM WILLELMI DUCIS—Here an English ship came to the territory of Duke William.
William takes the news in terrible dudgeon. We see him in the next compartment sitting erect upon his ducal throne wearing an air of great indignation. His mantle seems to have partaken of the passion of its wearer, and is expanded to its full dimensions.
Wace tells us, “The Duke was in his park in Rouen. He held in his hand a bow, which he had strung and bent, making it ready for the arrow ... when, behold!... a serjeant appeared, who came journeying from England ... who went straight to the Duke, and told him privily that King Edward was dead, and that Harold was raised to be king. When the Duke had listened to him ... he became as a man enraged, and left the craft of the woods. Oft he tied his mantle, and oft he untied it again; and spoke to no man, neither dared any man speak to him. Then he crossed the Seine in a boat, and came to his hall and entered therein; and sat down at the end of a bench, shifting his place from time to time, covering his face with his mantle, and resting his head against a pillar. Thus he remained long, in deep thought, for no one dared to speak to him; but many asked aside, ‘what ails the Duke? why makes he such bad cheer?’”
Once, in more recent history, a man standing on the shores of France was similarly agitated. Napoleon had ordered his fleets to the West Indies, in order that they might lead Nelson into a pursuit, and suddenly returning gain possession of the English Channel. Long and anxiously did he watch the signals which were to tell him that his point was gained—but he saw them not. When it was hinted that Villeneuve, instead of forcing his way to Brest, might possibly have steered for Cadiz, he gave way to successive gusts of passion, and read and re-read the despatches of Villeneuve and of Lauriston. When told, at last, that beyond a doubt Villeneuve was at Cadiz, strong excesses of passion again ensued, and the Army of England was transferred from the heights of Boulogne to the plains of Austerlitz.