NOTES.

Transcriber's Note.

Title: A History of Mourning

Author: Richard Davey

Language: English

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P ERHAPS the most curious funeral on record occurred just at the dawn of the Renaissance—that of the ill-fated Inez de Castro—"the Queen crowned after death"—who was murdered in the 14th Century by three assassins in her own apartment at Coimbra. "Being conveyed," says the Chronicle of Fray Jao das Reglas, "to the chapel of the neighbouring convent, her body was arrayed in spotless white and decked with roses. The nuns surrounded the bier, and the Queen-mother of Portugal, Brittes, sat in state—her crown upon her head and her royal robes flowing around her—as chief mourner, having given an order that the body should not be buried until after the return of her son Don Pedro. When he did come back, he was transported with grief and anger at the foul murder of his consort; and, throwing himself upon the corpse, clasped it to his heart, covered its pale lips, its hands, its feet with kisses, and, refusing all consolation, remained for thirty hours with the body clasped in his embrace! At last, being overcome with fatigue, the unhappy Prince was carried away senseless from the piteous remains of his most dear Inez, and they were consigned to the grave. It was his father who had instigated the murderers to commit their foul deed, and this determined Pedro to take up arms against him; and Portugal was desolated by civil war. Eventually the reasoning of the Queen (Brittes) prevailed, and peace was restored. Pedro, however, never spoke to his father again until the hour of his death, when he forgave the great wrong he had done him. He now ascended the throne, and his first act was to hunt down the three murderers, two of whom were put to death, with tortures too awful to describe, and the other escaped into France, where he died a beggar. After this retributive act, Don Pedro assembled the Cortes at Cantandes, and, in the presence of the Pope's Nuncio, solemnly swore that he had secretly married Inez de Castro at Braganza, in the presence of the bishop and of other witnesses." "Then occurred an event unique in history," continues this naive contemporary chronicle. "The body of Inez was lifted from the grave, placed on a magnificent throne, and crowned Queen of Portugal. The clergy, the nobility, and the people did homage to her corpse, and kissed the bones of her hands. There sat the dead Queen, with her yellow hair hanging like a veil round her ghastly form. One fleshless hand held the sceptre, and the other the orb of royalty. At night, after the coronation ceremony, a procession was formed of all the clergy and nobility, the religious orders and confraternities—which extended over many miles—each person holding a flaring torch in his hand, and thus walked from Coimbra to AlcobaÇa, escorting the crowned corpse to that royal abbey for interment. The dead Queen lay in her rich robes upon a chariot drawn by black mules and lighted up by hundreds of lights."

The scene must indeed have been a weird one. The sable costumes of the bishops and priests, the incense issuing from innumerable censers, the friars in their quaint garments, and the fantastically-attired members of the various hermandades, or brotherhoods—some of whom were dressed from head to foot entirely in scarlet, or blue, or black, or in white—with their countenances masked and their eyes glittering through small openings in their cowls; but above all, the spectre-like corpse of the Queen, on its car, and the grief-stricken King, who led the train—when seen by the flickering light of countless torches, with its solemn dirge music, passing through many a mile of open country in the midnight hours—was a vision so unreal that the chronicler describes it as "rather a phantasmagoria than a reality." In the magnificent abbey of AlcobaÇa the requiem mass was sung, and the corpse finally laid to rest.

The monument still exists, with the statue, with its royal diadem and mantle, lying thereon. The tomb of Don Pedro is placed foot to foot with that of Inez, so—the legend runs—that at the Judgment Day they may rise together and stand face to face.

In 1810 the bodies of Don Pedro I. and Dona Inez de Castro were disturbed by the French, at the sack of AlcobaÇa. The skeleton of Inez was discovered to be in a singular state of preservation—the hair exceedingly long and glossy, and the head bound with a golden crown set with jewels of price. Singularly enough, this crown, although very valuable, was kicked about by the men as a toy and thrown behind the high altar, whence, as soon as the troops evacuated the monastery, it was carefully taken and laid aside by the Abbot. Shortly afterwards it again encircled the unhappy Queen's head, when, by order of the Duke of Wellington, the remains were once more replaced in the tomb, with military honours.

F UNERAL services of great magnificence entered largely into the customs of this pageantic epoch; and to this day, in Catholic countries, no religious ceremonies are conducted with more pomp than those intended to commemorate the departed. Besides the religious orders, there were numerous confraternities, guilds, and brotherhoods devoted to the burying and praying for the deceased. As no newspapers existed in those days, when a person of distinction died, the "Death Crier,"—in some parts of England called the "Death Watch,"—dressed in black, with a death's-head and cross-bones painted on the back and front of his gown, and armed with a bell, went the round of the town or village, as the case might be, shouting "Of your charity, good people, pray for the soul of our dear brother, [or sister] who departed this life at such and such an hour." Upon this the windows and doors of the houses were opened, and the "good people" said an ave or a pater for the "rest" of the dead, and at the same time the passing bell was tolled. In London, when the King or Queen died, the crier, or "Death Watch," who paraded our principal thoroughfares was, of course, a very important personage. Attended by the whole brotherhood, or guild, of the Holy Souls, with cross-bearer, each carrying a lighted candle, he proceeded processionally through the streets, notably up and down Cheapside and the Strand, solemnly ringing his bell, and crying out in a lugubrious voice his sad news. These criers, both in England and France, were paid, as officials, by the civic corporation so much per day, and were obliged, in addition to their usual mournful occupation, to inspect and report on the condition of low taverns and places of ill-fame. In the course of time they added to their "cry" news of a more miscellaneous character, and after the Reformation, became, we may well imagine, those rather musty folks the "Watch," who only disappeared from our midst as late as the early half of this century.

Shakespeare, whose knowledge of Catholicism of course came to him from immediate tradition, possibly remembered a very ancient custom when, in Richard III., he makes the Duke of Glo'ster command the attendants who follow the body of Henry VI. to set it down,—an order which they obey reluctantly enough,—thereby giving him an opportunity to make love to Lady Anne in the presence of her murdered father-in-law's remains. In Catholic times the streets were adorned not only by many fine crosses, such as those at Charing and Cheapside, but also by numerous chapels and wayside shrines. Funerals, when they passed these, were in the habit of stopping, and the assistants, kneeling, prayed for the dead person whom they were carrying to the grave. They likewise stopped, also, and very frequently too, at certain well-known public-houses or taverns, the members of the family of the deceased being obliged by custom to "wet the lips" of the "thirsty souls" who carried the corpse. Sometimes very disorderly scenes ensued. The hired mourners and more unruly members of the guilds got drunk; and it is on record that on more than one occasion the body was pulled out of its coffin by these rascals and outraged, to the horror and indignation of honest people. It has frequently occurred to the writer, that if the attendants in the curious scene in the tragedy just mentioned, were to convey the body of the dead King to the side or back of the stage, in front of some shrine or cross, and occupy themselves with prayer, they would render the astonishing dialogue between Glo'ster and Lady Anne much more intelligible than when we hear it spoken, as is usually the case, before a number of persons for whose ears it was certainly never intended.

I MPORTANT personages in olden times in this country were usually embalmed. The poor, on the contrary, were rarely furnished even with a decent coffin, but were carried to the grave in a hired one, which, in villages, often did duty for many successive years. Once the brief service was said, the pauper's body, in its winding-sheet, was placed reverently enough in the earth, and covered up—a fact which doubtless accounts for the numerous village legends of ghosts wandering about in winding-sheets. Charitable people paid for masses to be said by the friars for their poorer brethren, and the guilds paid all expenses of the funeral, which were naturally not very considerable. On the other hand, the funeral of great personages, from king to squire, was a function which sometimes lasted a week. The bell tolled—as it still does—the moment the death became known to the bell-ringer. Then the body was washed, embalmed with spices and sweet herbs, wrapped in a winding-sheet of fine linen,—which, by the way, was often included among the wedding presents—and taken down into the hall of the palace or manor, which was hung with black, and lighted by many tapers, and even by waxen torches—sometimes as many as 300 and 400 of them—an immense expense, considering the cost of wax in those days. After three days' exposition—if the body remained incorrupt so long—the corpse was sealed up in a leaden coffin, and taken to the church, where solemn masses were sung. The clothes—we may presume the old and well-worn ones only—were then formally distributed to the poor of the parish. Finally came the funeral banquet of "baked meats," to which all those, including the clergy, who had taken part in the funeral service and procession were invited.

When the Sovereign or any person of royal rank deceased, a waxen presentment was immediately made of him as he was seen in life under the influence of sleep. This figure, dressed in the regal robes, was exposed upon the catafalque in the church, instead of the real body—a custom doubtless inspired originally by hygienic motives, for frequently the funeral rites of a king or prince of the blood were prolonged for many days. In Westminster Abbey there are still several of these grim ancient waxen effigies to be seen, by special permission of the Dean, very faded and ghastly, but interesting as likenesses, and for the fragments which time has spared of their once gorgeous attire. This custom lasted with us until the time of William and Mary. In France it disappeared in the middle of the 17th Century, the last mention of it being on the occasion of the death of Anne of Austria; for we read in a curious letter from Guy Patin to his friend Falconet, "The Queen-Mother died to-day [Jan. 21, 1666]. She was immediately embalmed, and by noon her waxen effigy was on view at the Louvre. Thousands are pressing in to see it."

In France, so long as the wax effigy was exposed in the church or palace, sometimes for three weeks, the service of the royal person's table took place as usual. His or her chair of state was drawn up to the table, the napkin, knife and fork, spoon and glass, were in their usual places, and at the appointed time the dinner was served to the household, and "the meats, drinks, and all other goodly things" were offered before the dead prince's chair, as if he were still seated therein. When, however, the coffin took the place in the church of the wax figure, and the body was put into the grave, then the banqueting-hall was hung with black, and for eight days no meals were served in it of any kind.

We still possess some curious details concerning the funeral of Henry V., who died at Vincennes in 1422. Juvenal des Usines tells us that the body was boiled, so as to be converted into a perfect skeleton, for better transportation into England. The bones were first taken to Notre Dame, where a superb funeral service was said over them. Just above the body they placed a figure made of boiled leather, representing the king's person "as well as might be desired," clad in purple, with the imperial diadem on its brow and the sceptre in its hand. Thus adorned, the coffin and the effigy were placed on a gorgeous chariot, covered with a "coverture" of red velvet beaten with gold. In this manner, followed by the King of Scots, as chief mourner, and by all the princes, lords, and knights of his house, was the body of the illustrious hero of Agincourt conveyed from town to town, until it reached Calais and was embarked for England, where it was finally laid at rest in Westminster Abbey, under a new monument erected by Queen Katherine de Valois, who eventually caused a silver-plated effigy of her husband, with a solid silver gilt head, to be placed on the tomb, which was unfortunately destroyed at the time of the Reformation.

The funeral of Eleanor of Castile, the adored consort of Edward I., was exceptionally sumptuous. This amiable Queen died at Hardbey, near Grantham, of "autumnal" fever, on November 29, 1290. The pressing affairs of Scotland were obliterated for the time from the mind of the great Edward, and he refused to attend to any state duty until his "loved ladye" was laid at rest at Westminster. The procession, followed by the King in the bitterest woe, took thirteen days to reach London from Grantham. At the end of every stage the royal bier surrounded by its attendants, rested in some central place of a great town, till the neighbouring ecclesiastics came to meet it in solemn procession, and to place it upon the high altar of the principal church. A cross was erected in memory of King Edward's chÈre reine at every one of these resting-places. Thirteen of these monuments once existed; now only two of the originals remain, the crosses of Northampton and Waltham. The fac-simile at Charing Cross, opposite the Railway Station, though excellent, is of course modern, and does not occupy the right spot, which was, it is said on good authority, exactly where now stands the statue of Charles II. The Chronicler of Dunstable thus describes the ceremony of marking the sites for these crosses: "Her body passed through Dunstable and rested one night, and two precious cloths were given us, and eighty pounds of wax. And when the body of Queen Eleanor was departing from Dunstable, her bier rested in the centre of the market-place till the King's Chancellor and the great men there present had marked a fitting place where they might afterwards erect, at the royal expense, a cross of wonderful size,—our prior being present, who sprinkled the spot with holy water."

Perhaps the most magnificent funeral which took place before the Reformation was that of Elizabeth of York, consort of Henry VII. It was one of the last great Roman Catholic state funerals in England, for the obsequies of Henry VII. himself were conducted on a much diminished scale; and those of the wives of Henry VIII., and of that monster himself, were not accompanied by so much pomp, owing to the religious troubles of the time. Queen Elizabeth of York was the last English Queen who died at the Tower. Her obsequies took place in the chapel of St. Mary, which was, until quite lately, the Rolls Office, and which was magnificently hung on this occasion with black brocade. The windows were veiled with crape. The Queen's body rested on a bed of state, in a chapelle ardente, surrounded by over 5,000 wax candles. High Mass was said during the earlier hours of the morning, and in the afternoon solemn Vespers were sung. When the Queen's body was nailed up in its coffin, the usual waxen effigy took its place. The procession left St. Mary's, in the Tower, at noon, for Westminster Abbey, and was of exceeding length. At every hundred yards it was met by the religious corporations, fraternities, and guilds, and by the children attached to sundry monastic and charitable foundations, some of them dressed as angels, with golden wings, and all of them singing psalms. There were over 8,000 wax tapers burning between Mark Lane and the Temple; and the fronts of all the churches were hung with black, and brilliantly illuminated. The people in the streets held candles, and repeated prayers. At Temple Bar the body was received by the municipal officers of the City of Westminster, who accompanied it to the Abbey, where the Queen's effigy was exhibited with great state for two days, and on the morning of the third she was buried in what is since known as "Henry VII.'s Chapel."

The funeral of the unfortunate Katherine of Arragon took place, as all the world knows, in Peterborough Cathedral.

In a recently discovered contemporary Spanish chronicle, translated by Mr. Martin Sharpe Hume, it seems that the servants of the "Blessed lady" (Queen Katherine) were all dressed in mourning, and the funeral was a fairly handsome one. More than three hundred masses were said during the day at Peterborough, for all the clergy for fifteen miles round came to the various services. Chapuy, the Spanish Ambassador to the Court of King Henry, in a letter to his master Charles V., however, informs him that the funeral of Queen Katherine was mean and shabby in the extreme, quite unworthy even of an ordinary baroness. Jane Seymour fared better after death than any other of the wives of Henry VIII., and was buried with considerable solemnity at Windsor. The first royal Protestant state funeral mentioned as taking place in this country was that of Queen Catherine Parr, at Sudeley Castle. The ceremony was of the simplest description: psalms were sung over the remains, and a brief discourse pronounced. The Lady Jane Grey was chief mourner.

The author of the Spanish chronicle just mentioned, who evidently witnessed the interment of Henry VIII., assures us that the waxen effigy of the King was carried in a chair to Windsor, and was an astonishing likeness. It was followed by 1,000 gentlemen on horseback, the horses all being draped with black velvet. Many masses were said in St. George's Chapel for the rest of the King's soul, but the obsequies do not appear to have been exceptionally splendid.

The funeral of Anne of Cleves, who had become a Catholic, took place at Westminster, under the special supervision of Queen Mary. It was a plain but handsome function, conducted with good taste, but without ostentation. The unpopular Mary Tudor's funeral was the last Catholic state ceremony of the kind which ever took place in Westminster Abbey. Queen Elizabeth attended her sister's funeral, which was a simple one, and listened attentively to the funeral oration preached by Dr. White Bailey, of Winchester, who, when he spoke of poor Mary's sufferings, wept bitterly, and exclaimed, looking significantly at her successor, Melior est canis vivis leone mortuo. Elizabeth understood her Latin too well not to be fired with indignation at this elegant simile, which declared a "living dog better than a dead lion," and ordered the bishop to be arrested as he descended from the pulpit, and a violent scene occurred between him and the Queen, which, Her Majesty prudently permitted him to have the best of, by withdrawing with her train from the Abbey.

Q UEEN ELIZABETH died in the seventieth year of her age and the forty-fourth of her reign, March 24, on the eve of the festival of the Annunciation, called Lady Day. Among the complimentary epitaphs which were composed for her, and hung up in many churches, was one ending with the following couplet:—

It is stated by Lady Southwell that directions were left by Elizabeth that she should not be embalmed; but Cecil gave orders to her surgeon to open her. "Now, the Queen's body being cered up," continues Lady Southwell, "was brought by water to Whitehall, where, being watched every night by six several ladies, myself that night watching as one of them, and being all in our places about the corpse, which was fast nailed up in a board coffin, with leaves of lead covered with velvet, her body burst with such a crack that it splitted the wood, lead, and cere-cloth; whereupon, the next day she was fain to be new trimmed up."

Elizabeth was most royally interred in Westminster Abbey on the 28th of April, 1603. We subjoin a rare contemporary engraving of the funeral procession, by which it will be seen with what pomp and ceremony the remains of the great Queen were escorted to their last resting-place. "The city of Westminster," says Stow, "was surcharged with multitudes of all sorts of people, in the streets, houses, windows, leads, and gutters, who came to see the obsequy. And when they beheld her statue, or effigy, lying on the coffin, set forth in royal robes, having a crown upon the head thereof, and a ball and a sceptre in either hand, there was such a general sighing, groaning, and weeping as the like hath not been seen or known in the memory of man; neither doth any history mention any people, time, or state to make such lamentation for the death of a sovereign." The funereal effigy which, by its close resemblance to their deceased sovereign, moved the sensibility of the loyal and excitable portion of the spectators at her obsequies in this powerful manner, was no other than the faded waxwork effigy of Queen Elizabeth preserved in Westminster Abbey.

Elizabeth was interred in the same grave with her sister and predecessor in regal office, Mary Tudor. Her successor, James I., has left a lasting evidence of his good feeling and good taste in the noble monument he erected to her memory in the Abbey, and she was the last sovereign of this country to whom a monument has been given.

We have very minute details of how royal personages were buried in France, in a curious book published in the 17th Century, from a MS. of the time of Louis XI. In it we learn that King Louis XI. wore scarlet for mourning on the death of his father, Charles VII. Up to the time of Louis XIV. the Queens of France, if they became widowed, wore white; and this is the reason that Mary Tudor was called "La Reine Blanche," when she clandestinely married the Duke of Suffolk in the chapel of that most interesting place, the Maison Cluny, now a museum, which still retains its name of La Reine Blanche. The Queen had been but a very short time the widow of Charles VIII., and still wore her weeds when she gave her hand to the lusty English duke. Mary Stuart wore white for her husband, Francis II. of France; and when she arrived in Scotland she still retained, for some months, her white robes, and was called the "White Queen" in consequence. But this illustrious and ill-fated princess throughout the greater part of her life wore black, and we have many minute details of her dresses, especially of the stately one she wore on the day of her execution, which was of brocaded satin, having a train of great length; a ruffle of white lawn, edged with lace; and a veil (which still exists) made of drawn threads, in a check-board pattern, and edged with Flemish lace. From her girdle was suspended a rosary, and in her hand she carried a crucifix. Her under garments, we know, were scarlet; for, when she removed her dress upon the scaffold, the bodice at least, all contemporaries agree, was flame-coloured. Queen Elizabeth ordered her Court to go into mourning for the Queen of Scots, whose sad and "accidental" death she hypocritically decreed should be regarded as a very great misfortune.

King James ordered the deepest mourning to be worn for his royal mother—a requisition with which all his nobles complied, except the Earl of Sinclair, who appeared before him clad in steel. The King frowned, and inquired if he had not seen the order for a general mourning. "Yes," was the noble's reply; "this is the proper mourning for the Queen of Scotland." James, however, whatever his inclinations might have been, was unprovided with the means of levying war against England, and his Ministers were entirely under the control of the English faction, and, after maintaining a resentful attitude for a time, he was at length obliged to accept Elizabeth's "explanation" of the murder of his mother.

Early in March, 1587, the obsequies of Mary Stuart were solemnised by the King, nobles, and people of France, with great pomp, in the Cathedral of Notre Dame at Paris, and a passionately eloquent funeral oration was pronounced by Renauld de Beaulue, Archbishop of Bourges and Patriarch of Acquitaine, which brought tears to the eyes of every person in the congregation.

After Mary's body had remained for nearly six months apparently forgotten by her murderers, Elizabeth considered it necessary, in consequence of the urgent and pathetic memorials of the afflicted servants of the unfortunate princess and the remonstrances of her royal son, to accord it not only Christian burial, but a pompous state funeral. This she appointed to take place in Peterborough Cathedral, and, three or four days before, sent some officials to make the necessary arrangements for the solemnity. The place selected for the interment was at the entrance of the choir from the south aisle. The grave was dug by the centogenarian sexton, Scarlett. Heralds and officers of the wardrobe were also sent to Fotheringay Castle to make arrangements for the removal of the royal body, and to prepare mourning for all the servants of the murdered Queen. Moreover, as their head-dresses were not of the approved fashion for mourning in England, Elizabeth sent a milliner on purpose to make others, in the orthodox mode, proper to be worn at the funeral, and to be theirs afterwards. However, these true mourners coldly, but firmly declined availing themselves of these gifts and attentions, declaring "that they would wear their own dresses, such as they had got made for mourning immediately after the loss of their beloved Queen and mistress."

On the evening of Sunday, July 30, Garter King of Arms arrived at Fotheringay Castle, with five other heralds and forty horsemen, to receive and escort the remains of Mary Stuart to Peterborough Cathedral, having brought with them a royal funereal car for that purpose, covered with black velvet, elaborately set forth with escutcheons of the arms of Scotland, and little pennons round about it, drawn by four richly-caparisoned horses. The body, being enclosed in lead within an outer coffin, was reverently put into the car, and the heralds, having assumed their coats and tabards, brought the same forth from the castle, bare-headed, by torchlight, about ten o'clock at night, followed by all her sorrowful servants.

The procession arrived at Peterborough between one and two o'clock on the morning of July 30, and was received ceremoniously at the minster door by the bishop and clergy, where, in the presence of her faithful Scotch attendants, she was laid in the vault prepared for her, without singing or saying—the grand ceremonial being appointed for August 1. The reason for depositing the royal body previously in the vault was, because it was too heavy to be carried in the procession, weighing, with the lead and outer coffin, nearly nine hundredweight. On Monday, the 31st, arrived the ceremonial mourners from London, escorting the Countess of Bedford, who was to represent Elizabeth in the mockery of acting as chief mourner to the poor victim. At eight in the morning of Tuesday the solemnities commenced. First, the Countess of Bedford was escorted in state to the great hall of the bishop's palace, where a representation of Mary's corpse lay on a royal bier. Thence she was followed into the church by a great number of English peers, peeresses, knights, ladies, and gentlemen, in mourning. All Mary's servants, both male and female, walked in the procession, according to their degree—among them her almoner, De PrÉau, bearing a large silver cross. The representation of the corpse being received without the Cathedral gate by the bishops and clergy, it was borne in solemn procession and set down within the royal hearse, which had been prepared for it, over the grave where the remains of the Queen had been silently deposited by torchlight on the Monday morning. The hearse was 20 feet square, and 27 feet high. On the coffin—which was covered with a pall of black velvet—lay a crown of gold, set with stones, resting on a purple velvet cushion, fringed and tasselled with gold.

All the Scotch Queen's train—both men and women, with the exception of Sir Andrew Melville and the two Mowbrays, who were members of the Reformed Church—departed, and would not tarry for sermon or prayers. This greatly offended the English portion of the congregation, who called after them and wanted to force them to remain. After the prayer and a funeral service, every officer broke his staff over his head and threw the pieces into the vault upon the coffin. The procession returned in the same order to the bishop's palace, where Mary's servants were invited to partake of the banquet which was provided for all the mourners; but they declined doing so, saying that "their hearts were too sad to feast."

But let us turn aside from the pageants of kings and queens, and direct our attention for a few moments towards Stratford-upon-Avon, where, on April 23, 1616, the greatest of all Englishmen breathed his last. A vague tradition tells us that, being in the company of Drayton and Ben Johnson, Shakespeare partook too freely of the cup, and expired soon after. This may be a calumny; and, if it were not, it would not diminish our gratitude and reverence for the highest intellect our race has produced. It, however, leads us to think and hope, that at the modest funeral of the "great Bard of Avon" the illustrious Ben Johnson as well as Drayton were present with his sorrowing relatives and fellow-citizens. His remains rest under the famous slab which bears the inscription due, it is said, to his own immortal pen:

If his contemporaries have forgotten to give us details of that memorable funeral, and if for nearly two centuries his modest grave was almost neglected, ample reparation has been made to his memory in this enlightened age, and Shakespeare's tomb has become a shrine visited by countless pilgrims from all parts of the earth; and a glorious monument, more beautiful than has been generally admitted, stands not far from the church, erected to Shakespeare only last year by a nobleman, Lord Ronald Gower, whose taste and culture would have done honour to the epoch which produced not Shakespeare alone, but Sydney and Raleigh.

If we could discover all the particulars respecting Shakespeare's burial, we should possibly find that, being a "gentleman," he was wrapped in his coffin in "wool," for which privilege his survivors paid a tax of 10s. This curious habit, which we derived from our Norman ancestors, endured until the first few years of this century. By "wool" we should read flannel. Almost all the old parish registers in the country make a point of informing us that "the body" was buried in wool, and the "usual tax paid." The Normans, and their descendants in Normandy to this day, had some curious superstitions connected with "flannel," which even the industrious bibliophile Jacob has failed to discover. This custom they introduced into England, and it lasted for hundreds of years. I believe the coffin was also frequently filled up with fine sheep's wool. Another curious custom, which is now obsolete, was to put cloves, spikenard, fine herbs, and twigs of various aromatic shrubs into the coffin, in memory of the embalming of our Lord. Young girls and unmarried women were buried in white, and had their coffins covered with white flowers. All the people who accompanied the funeral wore white scarves, and before the Reformation, white dresses, and the way was strewn with box leaves, grass, and flowers. The porch of the deceased's house was decked with flowers and garlands, and especially with dog-roses and daisies.

T HE funeral ceremonies of the French kings and princes of the blood during the Middle Ages and the period of the Renaissance, were, as may well be imagined, exceedingly magnificent. As already related, the death criers announced the decease of the sovereign in the usual manner, shouting out, "Oyez! bonnes gens de Paris—listen, good people of Paris: the most high and mighty, excellent and powerful King, our sovereign Master, by the grace of God King of France, the most Christian of Princes, most clement and pious, died last night. Pray for the repose of his soul."

The first part of the ceremony took place at Notre Dame, where what is known as the lying-in-state was conducted with appropriate splendour. The procession, after a solemn mass, formed on the Pavis, or square, round the Cathedral, and began to move slowly over the bridge and through the Marais to St. Denis, some miles distant from Paris. There was a halt, however, at the convent of St. Lazaire (now covered by the railway station), and the gentlemen in attendance mounted their horses. Before the Revolution of '93, fifteen beautiful wayside crosses, or montjoies, as they were called, stood on the roadside between the Porte St. Denis and the Abbey. At each of these prayers were said and the coffin rested. Sometimes, as in the case of Charles VIII., the coffin and its waxen effigy were carried on the shoulders of a number of noblemen; but usually, since their feet were hidden by heavy black velvet draperies, very common men were charged with the "honourable burden." After the first half of the 16th Century, the royal body was conducted to the grave in a chariot drawn sometimes by as many as four-and-twenty black horses. If I err not, the last King of France whose coffin was carried by men was Francis I., whose gentlemen of the bedchamber performed this office, having each a halter round his neck, and a cord or rope.

At St. Denis the ceremonies were very imposing. High Mass of Requiem being over, the body was removed from the catafalque and lowered into the vaults under the altar. The Grand Almoner of France recited the De profundis, all kneeling. Suddenly a voice, that of the Herald-at-Arms, was heard, crying out from the vault below, "Kings-at-Arms, come do your duty." The grand officers were now summoned by name, thus: "Monsieur le duc de Bourbon, bring your staff of command over the hundred Archers of the Guard, and break it and throw it into the grave." "Monsieur le comte de Lorges, bring your staff of office as commander of the Scotch Guard, and break it and throw it into the grave," and so forth, until some fifty of the grand dignitaries of the Court had in turn performed this lengthy ceremony. The last time it occurred was in 1824, on the occasion of the funeral of Louis XVIII., when each detail of the ancient ceremonial was punctually followed. Every staff of office was broken and thrown into the King's grave, except the banner of France, which was merely inclined three times to the very edge of the crypt.

At the conclusion of this rather tedious ceremony, everybody knelt down, and the herald shouted, "The King is dead; pray for his soul." A moment of silence ensued, which was eventually broken by a blast of trumpets. Then the organ played a lively strain, and the Herald proclaimed, "Le roi est mort, vive le roi—long live the King!" The banners waved, the cannon boomed, the bells pealed forth joyously, and the procession reformed, whilst the officiating clergy sang the Te Deum. As almost all the Kings and Queens of France, with not more than half a dozen exceptions, from the time of Clovis to that of Louis XVIII., were buried at St. Denis, the funeral rites were rarely if ever altered. But with us, although so many of our most illustrious princes are interred at Westminster, still not a few were buried at St. Paul's; many at Blackfriars and at Greyfriars, two glorious churches destroyed in the 17th Century, at Windsor, and in various Cathedrals; so that our royal funereal ceremonies were not always conducted with such punctual etiquette as were those of our neighbours.

T HE minute details of the funeral of Mary Stuart, at Westminster Abbey, prove that it was conducted on the same scale and with the same ceremonies as the one which preceded it by many years at Peterborough. King James, her son, was present, and shortly afterwards the sumptuous monument which we still admire marked the place where her mutilated remains, translated from Peterborough, found a permanent place of rest.

The great changes in religion which occurred at the time of the Reformation, although they took much longer to permeate the habits and customs of the people than is usually imagined, nevertheless were so radical, that of the ancient ritual little soon remained, and the beautiful funeral service of the Church of England, which is so full of faith and hope, and mainly selected from passages of Holy Scripture adapted to the requirements of a religion which abolished belief in an intermediary state, and therefore in the necessity of prayers for the dead, was introduced, and little by little the pompous ceremonies of the Roman Church were forgotten. The lying-in-state of the corpse, for instance, which up to the close of the reign of Mary was general, even with poor people, was now only in use among those of the very highest rank. The increase in the use of carriages, too, and of course the abolition of the monastic orders and brotherhoods, diminished the splendour of the street processions which used to follow the bier. Still, much that was quaint remained in fashion, and it is only, as already said, a few years since that ladies ceased wearing a scarf and hood of black silk, and gentlemen "weepers" on their hats and arms, which were black or white according to the sex of the deceased. In Norfolk, until the end of the first quarter of the present century, it was the custom to give the mourners at a funeral black gloves, scarves, and bunches of herbs. Indeed, it is but a short time since a very old lady told me that so rich, broad, and beautiful was the silk of the scarves presented to each lady at a funeral, when she was a girl, that ladies were wont to keep the pieces by them until they were sufficient in number to form a dress. A bill of the funeral expenses of a very rich gentleman who died at Brandon Hall, in Norfolk, early in this century,—Mr. Denn, of Norwich,—and who left over half a million of money, enables us to form some idea of the expense to which our grandfathers of the upper class were put in order to be buried with what they considered proper respect. It would seem that in those days the hearse and funeral carriages had to be hired from London, and they took three days to perform the journey from the metropolis—a distance of about three hours by rail. No fewer than 40 persons figure as accompanying these vehicles, and as they had to be put up at inns along the road, going both to and from London to Brandon Hall, their expenses were £180. The hire of horses and carriages was £106, and what with the distribution of loaves to the poor at the grave, and the expense of bringing relatives from far parts of the country, and of providing them with silk scarves, gloves, etc., and the housing and entertaining of them all, the worthy Mr. Denn's funeral cost his survivors not less than £775.

Fig. 37.—Interment in a Church in the first quarter of the 18th Century.—From Picard's great work on the Religions of all Nations.