One of the earliest modes of transmitting the history of important transactions to posterity was by recording them in long lines of pictorial representation. In the temples of Nimroud, in the sepulchres of Egypt, in the sculptures which entwine the columns of Trajan and Antonine at Rome, we have familiar examples of the practice. The Bayeux record is a large roll of historic drawings rather than a piece of tapestry; and it is remarkable as being the last example of this species of representation which antiquity has handed down to us.
In the days of the Conqueror, and of some of his Saxon predecessors, the ladies of Engle-land were famous for their taste and skill in embroidery; and this species of lady-like manufacture was known throughout Europe as English work.[3]
One effect of the Conquest was to bring the people of England and Normandy into closer alliance than before. On the first occasion on which William returned to Normandy, after the battle of Hastings, he took with him, “in honourable attendance,” a considerable number of the Saxon nobles,[4] who were doubtless accompanied by their wives and daughters. Assisted by English ladies, as well as by those of her own court, Matilda, the wife of the Conqueror, probably at this time constructed the Tapestry which for many ages was preserved in the Cathedral of Bayeux.
Never, perhaps, was so important a document written in worsted. It is a full and a faithful chronicle of an event on which the modern history of the world has turned. It is referred to as an historical authority by nearly every writer who discusses the period. The way in which the subject is treated, the spirit shown in its design, and the harmony of its colouring, warrant us in pronouncing it to be a monument worthy of its reputed author, and of the event which it is designed to commemorate.
It is, however, a double memorial; it is a record of the love and duty of William’s consort, as well as of the skill and valour of the great hero himself. A loving wife sympathizes with her husband in all his tastes. She takes an enthusiastic interest in his favourite pursuits; and she had “lever far,” to use an expression of Lady Payson’s, that success attended his efforts—that another leaf were added to his laurel crown—“than that she should have a new gown, though it were of scarlet.” Matilda could not bestride the war-horse, and do battle in the field by her husband’s side; but she could commit his exploits to the Tapestry. Surrounded by her ladies, all adroitly using their many-coloured threads, she—
Fought all his battles o’er again;
And thrice [she] routed all his foes, and thrice [she] slew the slain.
Matilda was, during the greater part of her life, a loving wife. William, too, was a devoted and faithful husband; though in one case he cannot be recommended as a model to enamoured swains. It is said that for seven long years he courted Matilda of Flanders, but in vain. Her affections were set upon a Saxon nobleman, but were not reciprocated. At length the Duke resolved to bring matters to a crisis. He repaired to Bruges, and met the high-bred damsel as she returned from church through the streets of her father’s gay capital. Having reproached her for her long-continued scorn and cruelty, he seized her, and coolly rolled her in the mud, to the no small injury of her trim and costly attire. Then, after a few more striking proofs of his regard, which she must have sensibly felt from such a hand, the lover rode away at full speed, leaving her to account for this novel mode of courtship as best she could. Strangely enough, she put a charitable construction upon his actions; she regarded his blows as so many proofs of the violence of his affection; she felt sorry for him; and then—all was over—in a very brief space the nuptial ceremonies were solemnized with a splendour becoming the greatness of the occasion.[5]
Thus did William win the hand of a lady who was to give to England a race of monarchs more renowned than those of any other dynasty. She herself, let it be observed, had the blood of Alfred in her veins.
Before proceeding further, it may be well to give a brief reply to the question which will naturally arise in the minds of most—Has the Bayeux Tapestry descended to us from a period so remote as that of the Conquest? A minute examination of the work supplies the best answer to this question. Montfaucon, whose knowledge of antiquities no one will dispute, and who was the first to describe the Tapestry as a whole, was quite satisfied that popular tradition was correct in ascribing it to the wife of the Conqueror; and Thierry, the last and ablest writer upon the Norman Conquest, though he hesitates to ascribe the work to Matilda, has no doubt that it is contemporaneous with the Conquest, and constantly refers to it as a document of unquestionable authenticity.[6]
Not, however, to settle the question by authorities, it may be observed:—1st. That the fulness and correctness of its historical details prove that it is a contemporaneous chronicle. Wace, as has already been observed, treats more largely of the Norman invasion than any of the writers of the Norman period; and, such is the general agreement between the verses of the one and the delineations of the other, that the Tapestry may be pronounced to be what in these latter days would be called the “illustrations,” and the narrative of the chronicler the “letter-press,” of an elaborate history of the Norman Conquest.[7] And yet the one does not follow the other slavishly. Whilst they agree in all the general facts, they differ in many minute details, as all independent narratives will.