The latter days of Edward the Confessor were embittered by the prospect of those evils which he saw were coming upon England. On the Easter day before he died he held his court at Westminster. William of Malmesbury tells us that “While the rest were greedily eating, and making up for the long fast of Lent by the newly-provided viands, he was absorbed in the contemplation of some divine matter, when presently he excited the attention of the guests by bursting into profuse laughter.” On earnest enquiry being made of him as to this unusual circumstance, he said “that the seven sleepers in Mount Coelius, who had lain for two hundred years on their right side, had now turned upon their left; that they would continue to lie in this manner for seventy-four years, which would be a dreadful omen to wretched mortals. Nation would rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; earthquakes would be in divers places; pestilence and famine, terrors from heaven, and great signs; changes in kingdoms; wars of the gentiles against the Christians, and also victories of the Christians over the pagans.”[59]

This was not the only vision he had. On one occasion he had lain two days speechless; on the third, sadly and deeply sighing as he awoke from his torpor, he said, that two monks from Normandy whom he had known in his youth had appeared to him, and had spoken to the following effect:—“Since the chiefs of England, the dukes, bishops, and abbots, are not the ministers of God, but of the devil, God, after your death, will deliver this kingdom, for a year and a day into the hands of the enemy, and devils shall wander over all the land.”[60]

Borne down by these painful anticipations, Edward rapidly sank. Feeling death approach, he hastened the completion of the abbey church of Westminster, in which he designed that his body should be laid. He lived to realize this his last care. Roger of Wendover says, “Edward King of England, held his court at Christmas (1065) at Westminster; and, on the blessed Innocents’ day, caused the church which he had erected from its foundations, outside the city of London, to be dedicated with great pomp in honour of St. Peter, the prince of the apostles; but both before and during the solemn festival of this dedication, the King was confined with severe illness.” At length “the pacific King Edward, the glory of England, the son of King Ethelred, exchanged a temporal for an eternal kingdom, in the fourth indiction, on the vigil of our Lord’s Epiphany, being the fifth day of the week. The day after his death the most blessed King was buried at London, in the church which he himself had built in a new and costly style of architecture, which was afterwards adopted by numbers.”[61]

The Tapestry exhibits to us the church of St. Peter at Westminster, and the funeral procession of the recently departed monarch. The church is a building of the Norman style in its greatest simplicity. As is usual in cathedrals and conventual churches of the first class, it has its tower in the centre, and is provided with transepts. The weathercock may perhaps excite attention, as proving that this appendage of our churches is no novelty. It appears in the Saxon illustrations of CÆdmon. But what is particularly worthy of our notice is, that a workman appears to be in the act of affixing it. By this, the designer of the Tapestry means to show that the church was but just completed when the interment of the Confessor took place. A hand appears over the western end of the church to denote the finger of Providence, and to indicate that it was the will of God that the remains of the departed King should be deposited in that building. A similar hand appears on the coins of some of the Roman emperors, and in several of the sculptures of the catacombs at Rome. This is another indication that the artist was acquainted with the Roman method of treating such subjects.

We next meet with the funeral of the King. The circumstance which chiefly strikes us in it is its simplicity. No gilded cross is borne before the body. No candles, lighted or unlighted, are carried in procession. The attendants, clerical and lay, wear their ordinary dresses. Two youths go by the side of the bier, ringing bells. That the persons who follow the bearers are ecclesiastics is evident from their shaven crowns. Two of them have books, from

which they chant some requiem. Only one of them has a mantle, betokening him to be a person of importance. The body, agreeably to the Saxon custom, has been wound up in a cloth, fastened with transverse bandages.[62] It is carried head-foremost. At a date not long subsequent to the Conquest it was usual to carry the bodies of princes to the grave fully exposed to view, dressed in all the habiliments of state. The body, on arriving at the place of sepulture, would be deposited in the stone coffin that was prepared to receive it.[63] The legend here is, HIC PORTATUR CORPUS EADWARDI REGIS AD ECCLESIAM SANCTI PETRI APOSTOLI—Here the body of King Edward is carried to the church of St. Peter the Apostle.

On proceeding to the next compartment we are surprised at being introduced into the chamber of the dying King, whose remains we have already seen conducted to the grave. Some writers think that here the artist has been guilty of an oversight, or that the fair ladies who carried out his design have been very inattentive to their instructions. The seeming inconsistency is very easily explained. A new subject is now entered upon, and that subject is the right of succession. One important element in it is the grant of the King. The historian of the Tapestry, in discussing this very important part of his design, found it necessary to revert to the scenes which preceded the death of the Confessor, and to the directions which in his last moments he had given.

The narrative which Wace gives us of the last hours of the King agrees well with the Tapestry. “The day came that no man can escape, and King Edward drew near to die. He had it much at heart that William should have his kingdom, if possible; but he was too far off, and it was too long to tarry for him, and Edward could not defer his hour. He lay in heavy sickness, in the illness whereof he was to die; and he was very weak, for death pressed hard upon him. Then Harold assembled his kindred, and sent for his friends and other people, and entered into the King’s chamber, taking with him whomsoever he pleased. An Englishman began to speak first, as Harold had directed him, and said, ‘Sire, we sorrow greatly that we are about to lose thee; and we are much alarmed, and fear that great trouble may come upon us. No heir of thine remains who may comfort us after thy death. ....On this account the people weep and cry aloud, and say they are ruined, and that they shall never have peace again, if thou failest them. And in this I trow they say truly; for without a king they will have no peace, and a king they cannot have, save through thee.... Behold the best of thy people, the noblest of thy friends; all are come to beseech thee, and thou must grant their prayer before thou goest hence, or thou wilt not see God. All come to implore thee that Harold may be King of this land. We can give thee no better advice, and no better canst thou do.’ As soon as he had named Harold, all the English in the chamber cried out that he said well, and that the King ought to give heed to him. ‘Sire!’ they said, ‘if thou dost it not we shall never in our lives have peace.’ Then the King sat up in his bed, and turned his face to the English there, and said, ‘Seigniors! you well know, and have oft-times heard, that I have given my realm at my death to the Duke of Normandy; and as I have given it, so have some among you sworn that it shall go.’ But Harold, who stood by, said, ‘Whatever thou hast heretofore done, sire! consent now that I shall be King, and that your land be mine. I wish for no other title, and want no one to do any thing more for me.’ So the King turned round and said, whether of his own free will I know not,—‘Let the English make either the Duke or Harold king, as they please; I consent.’ So he let the barons have their own will.”[64] This narrative bears all the marks of probability, and is quite consistent with the representations of the Tapestry. The circumstance of the dying monarch’s having been clamorously assailed, at a time when peace is most required, by the adherents of Harold, in order to induce him to alter the arrangements he had already made respecting the succession, was calculated to win for the Duke the sympathy of all right-minded persons.

Still, the question remains, why should Harold have been so anxious to be nominated the successor of the Confessor?

Three circumstances seem to have constituted a legal claim to the throne among the Anglo-Saxons—heirship, the appointment of the departed monarch, and the election of the nobles.

That heirship alone did not constitute a valid claim to the throne is plain from the will of King Alfred, which has been preserved by Asser. He there styles himself king of the whole of Wessex, by the consent of the nobility, nobilitatis consensu pariter et assensu rex; and in the same public act declares that he inherited the kingdom, after his two brothers Ethelbald and Ethelred, by the will of his father, de hereditate, quam pater meus Ethelwulphus ... delegavit. It is quite evident, therefore, that a thoroughly valid claim to the crown was of the triple nature now represented. As neither Harold nor William belonged to the royal line of England, the remaining sources of right became of the more importance to them.

Let us now revert to the Tapestry. The feeble condition of the King is well represented. An attendant is supporting him behind with a pillow, whilst he makes an attempt to speak. The blackness of death has settled upon his shrunken countenance. A priest dressed in canonicals stands by, whose uplifted hand and sorrow-stricken face seem to say that the grand climax is at hand. A lady at the foot of the bed weeps; she is doubtless the wife of the Confessor, the sister of Harold. Harold is eagerly pressing his claim. The legend here is, HIC EADWARDUS REX IN LECTO ALLOQUIT: FIDELES—Here King Edward on his bed addresses his faithful attendants. Underneath is a scene, which the inscription explains, ET HIC DEFUNCTUS EST—And here he is dead. A priest in canonicals is again present, probably the one we saw above, and two attendants wrap up the body for burial.

The compartment before us is the only one in the Tapestry in which two scenes are given in one breadth. This is probably not without design. The death and burial of Edward, and the election and coronation of Harold, all took place within eight-and-forty hours. It was of great importance to Harold to get actual possession of the crown before William could put in his claim. It was usual in these times to perform the ceremonies of coronation only at one of the great festivals of the church. Edward died on the last day but one of Christmas, and for Harold to wait till Easter, the next festival, was to throw away the important advantage which he had gained over his rival. Hence the rapidity with which the coronation of Harold followed the death of the Confessor. It is to show, that no sooner had the vital spirit fled than preparations for the burial were begun, that we have the two scenes in the same compartment.

The next pictures represent the election and coronation of Harold. William of Malmesbury says, “While the grief for the King’s death was yet fresh, Harold, on the very day of the Epiphany, seized the diadem, and extorted from the nobles their consent; though the English say, that it was granted him by the King.”

In many respects the Tapestry is more candid than the Chroniclers. It here says, HIC DEDERUNT HAROLDO CORONAM REGIS—Here they gave the crown of the King to Harold; and the next legend is, HIC RESIDET HAROLD REX ANGLORUM—Here is seated Harold, King of the English. One contemporary writer denies that Harold was anointed at all, or had any claim but his own usurpation. In the Doomsday Survey, Harold is mentioned as seldom as possible, and when his name does occur it is not as King Harold, but Harold the Earl. The Norman chroniclers, writing subsequently to the time when William had established his conquest, seldom write his name without appending some derogatory epithet to it, such as “the perfidious and perjured King Harold.” All this seems to favour the idea that the Tapestry was designed during the first visit of William to Normandy. He had not then broken faith with the Saxon nobles who thronged his court; he was not yet independent of their good will, so that in stating his own claims to the crown, he found it necessary not entirely to ignore their views. After he was firmly established, he cared not what women stitched or clerks wrote.

The artist has managed the election-scene very adroitly. One nobleman, in the name of the people, offers Harold the crown, which, as he intimates by the finger directed towards the death-scene of Edward, he has just taken from the head of that monarch. Harold looks most wistfully at it. He seems to say—I should like very much to have it, but I know it does not belong to me. For a moment he forbears to extend his hand to grasp it. His right elbow is towards it, but his hand remains upon his belt. On a line with the crown is an axe, held by another nobleman, somewhat significantly turned towards Harold. Harold has his own

axe in his left hand, and it too, though apparently by accident, is turned towards himself. The Norman artist, in thus managing the subject, manifestly serves the cause of William better than if he had altogether disowned the fact of Harold’s election.

That Harold should have been elected by the people is nothing wonderful. The native population had groaned under the domination of a crowd of foreigners, brought over by Edward the Confessor. They must have felt that under William, a Norman by lineage as well as education, the evil would be perpetuated and increased. Hence they gave their voices most cordially and unanimously for the Saxon. Most of the English chroniclers distinctly state, that Harold was duly elected to the office by the nobles. Thus Roger of Hoveden, following Florence of Worcester, writes, “After his burial, the Viceroy Harold, son of Earl Godwin, whom before his decease the king had appointed his successor, was elevated to the throne by all the chief men of England, and was on the same day, with due honour, consecrated king.”[65] That Harold did not thrust himself upon the people, is abundantly proved by the fact that not one man of Saxon blood deserted him upon the landing of William.

In our days the great reason which rendered a strictly hereditary succession to the crown inexpedient does not exist. The adoption of that wise maxim that a monarch can only rule by his ministers, renders the personal qualifications of the monarch of less importance than in former days. Still, even in our time, a remnant exists of the ancient form of election. In the coronation service the king is directed, after entering the church and attending to his private devotions, to take his seat, not on the throne, but on the chair before and below the throne, and there repose himself. Then the first part of the service, called the “Recognition,” is to be proceeded with. In it the archbishop, accompanied by the great officers of state, severally addresses the assembly northwards and southwards, eastwards and westwards, saying, with a loud voice, the king meanwhile standing up, “Sirs! I here present unto you —— the undoubted king of this realm: wherefore all of you who are come this day to do your homage, are you willing to do the same?” It is not until the people, thus severally addressed, have signified their assent by crying out, “God save the king!” that the ceremony is proceeded with.

Harold, though he well knew the dangers attending the step, accepted the crown. Few could have rejected the tempting offer. He was moreover a brave man, and thoroughly imbued with Saxon feeling. He was willing to peril his life for the national peculiarities of his country. He was accordingly straightway anointed, and the Tapestry next exhibits him seated upon his throne, manifesting all the pomp and dignity of a king. The throne is considerably elevated above the floor of the apartment. The sceptre is in one hand, the ball in the other. His officers present him with the sword of justice. On his left hand stands Stigand, in his archiepiscopal robes. The superscription calls him Stigant, which seems further to show that the artist was not an Englishman. Wace the chronicler, who was a Norman, usually calls Harold, Heraut. The inscription gives Stigand his title of Archbishop—Archieps, a contraction for Archiepiscopus. At a period later than that in which we have supposed the Tapestry to have been prepared, he would not have been so denominated. For a variety of reasons Stigand was distasteful to the authorities of Rome. For some years prior to the Conquest, the payment of Peter’s pence had been discontinued, and Stigand, in common with all Englishmen, was looked upon coldly. Stigand, moreover, had succeeded the Norman archbishop, Robert de Jumieges, who had been expelled the country in the rising under Godwin. The Normans were at this time better churchmen than the English. Stigand further, in common with the majority of the Saxon clergy, was an advocate of “the older doctrine of the eucharist;” Lanfranc, who superseded him, was, in common with the authorities at Rome, an ardent maintainer of the doctrine of transubstantiation. Under all these circumstances, Stigand, on being made archbishop of Canterbury by the Confessor, was not very sanguine of having the appointment confirmed by the Pope, and instead of making an immediate application to Rome, quietly took possession of the pallium, which his predecessor in his haste had left behind him. At length he did apply, and Benedict X., for reasons arising out of his own peculiar position, granted him the pallium. This, however, only made matters worse. Benedict X. was speedily dethroned by an army from beyond the mountains, and a new pope elected, who excommunicated his predecessor and annulled all his acts. Stigand, therefore, found himself once more without the pallium, accused of usurpation, and charged with a new and much more serious crime, that of having solicited the favour and countenance of a false and excommunicated pope. If the Tapestry had been constructed after Lanfranc had planted his foot upon the necks of the English clergy, Stigand would not have been denominated archbishop. When William of Malmesbury has occasion to name him, he calls him “the pretended and false archbishop.”

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.