"little fé's friend." "little fé" ([p. 218])
But it was the shrine of Edward the Confessor, with its beautiful surroundings, its grand musical services, and its abundant holy relics, that formed the chief attraction to pilgrims, and yet only the barest hints and allusions have come down to us as to what was going on for centuries in the great centre of English religious life.
Of one event that took place at the beginning of the sixteenth century we have full particulars. Islip (under whom Henry the Seventh's Chapel was completed) was abbot when the red hat of a cardinal was sent from Rome to adorn the head of Wolsey. The Pope's messenger rode through London with the hat in his hand, and with the Bishop of Lincoln riding on one side of him and the Earl of Essex on the other. A grand escort of nobles and prelates accompanied. The Lord Mayor and Aldermen on horseback and the City guilds were ranged along Cheapside. The hat was carried triumphantly at the head of the procession to Westminster, and received at the Abbey door by Abbot Islip and several other abbots, all in their robes of state. For three days the hat reposed on the high altar, and then came Wolsey with a grand retinue from his palace at Charing Cross to the Abbey, and a goodly company of archbishops, bishops, and abbots, performed a solemn service. Wolsey knelt on the altar steps, and the Archbishop of Canterbury put the hat on the new cardinal's head. "Te Deum" was sung, and then the assembled nobles and prelates rode back in state to a grand banquet at Wolsey's palace.
In 1539 the monastery was dissolved, and as the Reformation advanced, various changes took place in the Abbey services. Instead of an abbot, a dean now bore sway. Much of the property of the Abbey was transferred to the great city cathedral, which gave rise to the proverb of "robbing Peter to pay Paul." The hallowed relics disappeared, as well as Llewellyn's crown and other historic mementoes; monuments were damaged, and Edward's bones ejected from their ancient shrine. For a time the Abbey was in real danger, and some of the outlying property was given up to Protector Somerset to induce him to spare the sacred edifice. We read in the convent books of twenty tons of Caen stone being given him from some of the ruined buildings. A few years afterwards it seemed as if the old order of things were going to be restored, and the Spanish husband of Queen Mary attended a grand mass of reconciliation in the Abbey, to signalise the return of England to her ancient faith. Six hundred Spanish courtiers, in robes of white velvet striped with red, attended the king from Whitehall, and the Knights of the Garter joined the procession. The queen was absent, from indisposition. After the long mass, which lasted till two in the afternoon, the king and courtiers adjourned to Westminster Hall, where Cardinal Pole presided over a solemn reconciliation of the English Church with Rome. Soon afterwards King Edward's Shrine was restored and his body replaced therein, several altars were re-erected, and masses and processions went on as of old. But Abbot Feckenham—the last mitred abbot in England—had only ruled for a year when Queen Elizabeth came to the throne, sent Feckenham to prison, threw down the stone altars and transformed the Abbey into the "Collegiate Church of St. Peter, Westminster," which is still the lawful name of the edifice.
Henceforth the Abbey was academic as well as ecclesiastical, and Elizabeth was very proud of her Westminster College.
The old Abbey witnessed some strange scenes in the times of the Puritans. The ecclesiastical vestments had been already sold, the tapestries removed to the Houses of Parliament, the college plate melted down, and Henry VII.'s Chapel despoiled of its brass and iron, when, in 1643, the Abbey was subjected to actual desecration. The Royalist stories of soldiers smoking and singing round the communion table, and playing boisterous games about the church and chapels, have not been proved. But Sir Robert Harley, who had taken down the Eleanor crosses at Cheapside and Charing Cross, destroyed the richly-ornamented altar erected in memory of Edward VI. The crown, sceptre, and coronation robes were brought out of the treasury, and Wither, the poet, was arrayed in them for the amusement of the party engaged in the affair. Soon afterwards these historic national treasures were sold.
For nearly six years the celebrated Westminster Assembly of Divines sat in the Chapel of Henry VII. and the Jerusalem Chamber, compiling catechisms and confessions of faith, which are still of authority amongst the Presbyterians. Whilst the assembly was sitting, Bradshaw (who sentenced Charles I. to death) was living at the deanery. He used to be fond of climbing up into a solitary chamber in the south-western tower, which was long reputed to be haunted by his ghost.
At the Restoration the Protestant services, of course, replaced the Presbyterian ones, and we catch a glimpse of Charles II. conducted round the Dean's Yard by the famous Westminster schoolmaster, Dr. Busby. On this occasion, as the story goes, the doctor kept his hat on his head for fear his boys should think there was a greater man than himself in the world. The Stuarts had learned nothing from adversity, and on May 20th, 1688, an occurrence in the Abbey shows us what was the feeling of the nation. On that day Dean Sprat began to read King James's Declaration of Indulgence. Immediately, there was such a tumultuous noise in the church that nobody could hear him speak. Before he had finished, the congregation had disappeared, and only the officials and Westminster scholars remained gazing at the dean, who could scarcely hold the proclamation for trembling.
I want now to call your attention once more to the Chapel of Henry VII., in which the banners of the Knights of the Bath form a conspicuous feature. We first heard of these knights in connection with the coronation of Richard II. They rode in the coronation processions till the end of the seventeenth century. It was originally the custom at each coronation for a number of knights to be created before the royal procession started from the Tower. For a long time they were not connected with any special order, but as the bath formed a conspicuous feature in the ceremonies of their creation, they gradually assumed in consequence the name of Knights of the Bath. The king used to bathe with them, all being placed in large baths and then wrapped up in blankets. In 1725 the order was reconstructed; membership in it was henceforth to be the reward of merit. William, Duke of Cumberland, afterwards known as the "Butcher of Culloden," was the first knight under the new rules. He was only four years of age, and was accordingly excused from the bath, but presented his little sword at the altar. To suit the number of stalls in the chapel the number of knights was limited to thirty-six. After the installation ceremonies the royal cook stood by the Abbey door with a cleaver, and threatened to strike off the spurs of any unworthy member of the order. Extensive alterations were made in the order in 1839, and no banners have since been added to those hanging in the chapel. The banner of Earl Dundonald was taken down in 1814, and kicked down the chapel steps in consequence of charges of fraud brought against him. In after years these charges were disproved, and on the day of his funeral in 1860, the banner, by command of the Queen, was again placed in its ancient position.