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Page 11
"In the centre of Westminster Abbey thus lies its Founder, and such is
the story of its foundation. Even apart from the legendary elements
in which it is involved, it is impossible not to be struck by the
fantastic character of all its circumstances. We seem to be in a world
of poetry." (I protest, No.) "Edward is four centuries later than
Ethelbert and Augustine; but the origin of Canterbury is commonplace
and prosaic compared with the origin of Westminster." (Yes, that's
true.) "We can hardly imagine a figure more incongruous to the
soberness of later times than the quaint, irresolute, wayward prince
whose chief characteristics have just been described. His titles of
Confessor and Saint belong not to the general instincts of Christendom
but to the most transitory feelings of the age." (I protest, No.) "His
opinions, his prevailing motives, were such as in no part of modern
Europe would now be shared by any educated teacher or ruler." (That's
true enough.) "But in spite of these irreconcilable differences,
there was a solid ground for the charm which he exercised over his
contemporaries. His childish and eccentric fancies have passed away;"
(I protest, No;) "but his innocent faith and his sympathy with his
people are qualities which, even in our altered times, may still
retain their place in the economy of the world. Westminster Abbey,
so we hear it said, sometimes with a cynical sneer, sometimes with
a timorous scruple, has admitted within its walls many who have been
great without being good, noble with a nobleness of the earth earthy,
worldly with the wisdom of this world. But it is a counterbalancing
reflection, that the central tomb, round which all those famous names
have clustered, contains the ashes of one who, weak and erring as he
was, rests his claims of interment here, not on any act of power or
fame, but only on his artless piety and simple goodness. He, towards
whose dust was attracted the fierce Norman, and the proud Plantagenet,
and the grasping Tudor, and the fickle Stuart, even the Independent
Oliver, the Dutch William, and the Hanoverian George, was one whose
humble graces are within the reach of every man, woman, and child
of every time, if we rightly part the immortal substance from the
perishable form."
Now I have read you these passages from Dean Stanley as the most
accurately investigatory, the most generously sympathetic, the most
reverently acceptant account of these days, and their people, which
you can yet find in any English history. But consider now, point by
point, where it leaves you. You are told, first, that you are living
in an age of poetry. But the days of poetry are those of Shakespeare
and Milton, not of Bede: nay, for their especial wealth in melodious
theology and beautifully rhythmic and pathetic meditation, perhaps
the days which have given us 'Hiawatha,' 'In Memoriam,' 'The Christian
Year,' and the 'Soul's Diary' of George Macdonald, may be not with
disgrace compared with those of Caedmon. And nothing can be farther
different from the temper, nothing less conscious of the effort, of a
poet, than any finally authentic document to which you can be referred
for the relation of a Saxon miracle.
I will read you, for a perfectly typical example, an account of one
from Bede's 'Life of St. Cuthbert,' The passage is a favourite one of
my own, but I do not in the least anticipate its producing upon you
the solemnizing effect which I think I could command from reading,
instead, a piece of 'Marmion,' 'Manfred,' or 'Childe Harold.'
... "He had one day left his cell to give advice to some visitors; and
when he had finished, he said to them, 'I must now go in again, but do
you, as you are inclined to depart, first take food; and when you have
cooked and eaten that goose which is hanging on the wall, go on board
your vessel in God's name and return home.' He then uttered a prayer,
and, having blessed them, went in. But they, as he had bidden them,
took some food; but having enough provisions of their own, which they
had brought with them, they did not touch the goose.
"But when they had refreshed themselves they tried to go on board
their vessel, but a sudden storm utterly prevented them from putting
to sea. They were thus detained seven days in the island by the
roughness of the waves, and yet they could not call to mind what fault
they had committed. They therefore returned to have an interview with
the holy father, and to lament to him their detention. He exhorted
them to be patient, and on the seventh day came out to console their
sorrow, and to give them pious exhortations. When, however, he had
entered the house in which they were stopping, and saw that the goose
was not eaten, he reproved their disobedience with mild countenance
and in gentle language: 'Have you not left the goose still hanging
in its place? What wonder is it that the storm has prevented your
departure? Put it immediately into the caldron, and boil and eat it,
that the sea may become tranquil, and you may return home.'
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