The Story of Westminster Abbey

by Violet Brooke-Hunt

As you stand in the Confessor's shrine, you will see all around you the tombs of kings and queens, and in the next chapters I am going to tell you something of those who were thought worthy to lie in a place of such high honour.

Henry III. was not at first buried in this chapel, on which he had lavished so much thought and wealth. He died in the November of 1272, and was carried to Westminster, the Knights Templars, who had given some precious gifts to the Abbey, undertaking to provide the coffin and to pay all the expenses of the funeral, that it might be on a scale befitting one who had been so princely in his dealings with the Church and all matters concerning religion. There is something pathetic in the ending of Henry's life, for though he had reigned nearly sixty years, he had not won the love or trust of his people, and it has been truly said that "in his time England did nothing great except against him." The old king was alone when the end came, for his son Edward was away on a Crusade, and his brother, Richard, had died the year before, broken-hearted at the murder of his son Henry by a son of Simon de Montfort. But the Templars spared nothing that could make the funeral costly, so that, as the solemn procession passed along, men declared that "the king shone more magnificent dead than he had appeared when living."

He was laid before the altar, in the very place from which the coffin of Edward the Confessor had been removed, for it was considered that special virtues still hovered round that spot.

Very different must the new choir have looked, with its immense height, its delicate work, and its mysterious flying buttresses, to the low, simple choir of the Confessor's day. Round the High Altar itself was a blaze of colour, for all the mosaic work on the floor, which you still can see, was freshly brought from Rome by the Abbot Ware, who had gone there to do homage to the Pope, the monks of Westminster having refused to hold themselves subject to the Bishop of London, and it was dazzling in its richness. Quarrels between the monks of Westminster and other dignitaries seem to have occurred very often in those days, as the monks, somewhat elated at the royal favours showered upon their church, were inclined to be overbearing and to resent any authority; while once at least during Henry's reign there had been a serious fracas between the "citizens of London" and the "men of Westminster" on the occasion of some sports. For when the "men of London" seemed to be getting the mastery, the Baylif of Westminster, with some men, harnessed themselves and fell to fighting, so wounding the citizens that they resolved to be revenged. Spurred on by one Constantine Fitz-Henulfe, they issued forth without any order, fought a civil battle round Westminster, and pulled down as many houses as they could belonging to the Abbot and Baylif. Nor when Constantine was captured would he express any sorrow for his misdeeds. On the contrary, he affirmed gladly that "he had done it all, and had done much less than he ought to have done." The fact that King Henry, among other punishments, forced the citizens to pay many thousand marks for this raid, did not tend to soften down the ill-feeling which existed.

Even at Henry's funeral the dignity of the Abbot had to be asserted, for he refused to allow the Archbishop to read the service until he had signed a paper explaining that his so officiating was not to be made a precedent, or to rob the Abbot of any privileges.

So, with quarrels going on around him to the end, King Henry was buried, and the Earl of Gloucester, laying his hand on the coffin, solemnly swore fealty to "Lord Edward," the lawful heir, then far away in Palestine.

Edward I. was in a special sense a child of Westminster, for he had been born in the Palace there, and had been christened Edward after the Confessor. With all his faults, Henry was devoted to his wife and to his children, and the young Edward spent much more of his boyhood with his parents than was usual in those days. He was delicate too, and often his mother had greatly upset the old monks in the monastery at Beaulieu by going to nurse him there when he had fallen ill while on a visit. He was kept during his boyhood under her watchful eye at Westminster. Probably he was taught by one of the Westminster monks, and though we hear that he was "fonder of actions than of books," he learned to speak eloquently in French and English and to understand Latin. As he grew stronger he showed a great liking for all outdoor sports, riding, hawking, hunting, and sword exercises, and with his cousin Henry, the son of Richard of Cornwall, his young French uncles, who had taken up their abode at the Court, and the sons of Simon de Montfort, he played many a game and had many a boyish adventure round Westminster. His affection for the place never failed. Had not he watched it growing in grace and beauty, and was there a single corner of it with which he was not familiar? The deeply religious influence of King Henry, too, could not fail to leave its mark on his son, who, in spite of being his opposite in every other way, had always an intense reverence for sacred things. Henry was the dreamer, Edward the doer, but among the many fine qualities the young Prince possessed, one of the most charming was his loyalty and patience towards his father, which had never wavered, however sorely he had been tried by Henry's utter incapacity to hold the reins of government.

It was nearly two years after the death of Henry before Edward was able to reach England, and yet all had gone on quietly during the interval. The new king had been proclaimed; the assembly of prelates, knights of the shire and citizens had met, had solemnly bound themselves by the same oath as that taken by the Earl of Gloucester at Henry's funeral, and three men, the Archbishop of York, Robert Mortimer, Lord of the Welsh Marches, and Robert Burnell, all trusty friends of Edward, were appointed to carry on the government for the time being.

On August 1, 1272, Edward landed at Dover, and on August 19 he was crowned with his dearly loved wife Eleanor, who had been at his side through all the perilous years which were past. "Nothing ought to part those whom God has joined, and the way to heaven was as near from Palestine as from England," she had declared.

Great were the rejoicings in London that day, for the beautiful Eleanor had a warm place in all hearts, and of Edward all had high hopes. "In face and form he is comely. By a head and shoulders he outstrips most every man," the citizens said as they marked his white determined face, his eyes, which, though soft, could flash like fire, his hair the colour of burnished gold, and his well-knit figure straight as a dart.