Читать книгу The Bayeux Tapestry Elucidated - J. Collingwood Bruce - Страница 7

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“There she weaves, by night and day, A magic web with colours gay.” Tennyson.

Master Wace, to whom we are indebted for “the most minute, graphic, and animated account of the transactions”[1] of the Norman Conquest, thus exalts the art of the chronicler—“All things hasten to decay; all fall; all perish; all come to an end. Man dieth, iron consumeth, wood decayeth; towers crumble, strong walls fall down, the rose withereth away; the war-horse waxeth feeble, gay trappings grow old; all the works of men perish. Thus we are taught that all die, both clerk and lay; and short would be the fame of any after death if their history did not endure by being written in the book of the clerk.”[2]

The pen of the writer of romance is not the only implement which confers immortality upon man. The chisel of the sculptor, the pencil of the painter, and the needle of the high-born dame, can confer a lasting renown upon those whose deeds are worthy of being remembered. The work which we are about to consider was effected by the simplest of these implements—the needle.

One of the earliest modes of transmitting the history of important transactions to posterity was by recording them in long lines of pictorial representation. In the temples of Nimroud, in the sepulchres of Egypt, in the sculptures which entwine the columns of Trajan and Antonine at Rome, we have familiar examples of the practice. The Bayeux record is a large roll of historic drawings rather than a piece of tapestry; and it is remarkable as being the last example of this species of representation which antiquity has handed down to us.

In the days of the Conqueror, and of some of his Saxon predecessors, the ladies of Engle-land were famous for their taste and skill in embroidery; and this species of lady-like manufacture was known throughout Europe as English work.[3]

One effect of the Conquest was to bring the people of England and Normandy into closer alliance than before. On the first occasion on which William returned to Normandy, after the battle of Hastings, he took with him, “in honourable attendance,” a considerable number of the Saxon nobles,[4] who were doubtless accompanied by their wives and daughters. Assisted by English ladies, as well as by those of her own court, Matilda, the wife of the Conqueror, probably at this time constructed the Tapestry which for many ages was preserved in the Cathedral of Bayeux.

Never, perhaps, was so important a document written in worsted. It is a full and a faithful chronicle of an event on which the modern history of the world has turned. It is referred to as an historical authority by nearly every writer who discusses the period. The way in which the subject is treated, the spirit shown in its design, and the harmony of its colouring, warrant us in pronouncing it to be a monument worthy of its reputed author, and of the event which it is designed to commemorate.

It is, however, a double memorial; it is a record of the love and duty of William’s consort, as well as of the skill and valour of the great hero himself. A loving wife sympathizes with her husband in all his tastes. She takes an enthusiastic interest in his favourite pursuits; and she had “lever far,” to use an expression of Lady Payson’s, that success attended his efforts—that another leaf were added to his laurel crown—“than that she should have a new gown, though it were of scarlet.” Matilda could not bestride the war-horse, and do battle in the field by her husband’s side; but she could commit his exploits to the Tapestry. Surrounded by her ladies, all adroitly using their many-coloured threads, she—

Fought all his battles o’er again;

And thrice [she] routed all his foes, and thrice [she] slew the slain.

Matilda was, during the greater part of her life, a loving wife. William, too, was a devoted and faithful husband; though in one case he cannot be recommended as a model to enamoured swains. It is said that for seven long years he courted Matilda of Flanders, but in vain. Her affections were set upon a Saxon nobleman, but were not reciprocated. At length the Duke resolved to bring matters to a crisis. He repaired to Bruges, and met the high-bred damsel as she returned from church through the streets of her father’s gay capital. Having reproached her for her long-continued scorn and cruelty, he seized her, and coolly rolled her in the mud, to the no small injury of her trim and costly attire. Then, after a few more striking proofs of his regard, which she must have sensibly felt from such a hand, the lover rode away at full speed, leaving her to account for this novel mode of courtship as best she could. Strangely enough, she put a charitable construction upon his actions; she regarded his blows as so many proofs of the violence of his affection; she felt sorry for him; and then—all was over—in a very brief space the nuptial ceremonies were solemnized with a splendour becoming the greatness of the occasion.[5]

Thus did William win the hand of a lady who was to give to England a race of monarchs more renowned than those of any other dynasty. She herself, let it be observed, had the blood of Alfred in her veins.

Before proceeding further, it may be well to give a brief reply to the question which will naturally arise in the minds of most—Has the Bayeux Tapestry descended to us from a period so remote as that of the Conquest? A minute examination of the work supplies the best answer to this question. Montfaucon, whose knowledge of antiquities no one will dispute, and who was the first to describe the Tapestry as a whole, was quite satisfied that popular tradition was correct in ascribing it to the wife of the Conqueror; and Thierry, the last and ablest writer upon the Norman Conquest, though he hesitates to ascribe the work to Matilda, has no doubt that it is contemporaneous with the Conquest, and constantly refers to it as a document of unquestionable authenticity.[6]

Not, however, to settle the question by authorities, it may be observed:—1st. That the fulness and correctness of its historical details prove that it is a contemporaneous chronicle. Wace, as has already been observed, treats more largely of the Norman invasion than any of the writers of the Norman period; and, such is the general agreement between the verses of the one and the delineations of the other, that the Tapestry may be pronounced to be what in these latter days would be called the “illustrations,” and the narrative of the chronicler the “letter-press,” of an elaborate history of the Norman Conquest.[7] And yet the one does not follow the other slavishly. Whilst they agree in all the general facts, they differ in many minute details, as all independent narratives will.

2. Again, the architecture, the dresses, the armour, the furniture, of the Tapestry are those which prevailed at the period of the Conquest, and at no other. It is at all times exceedingly difficult, whether by writing or painting, to portray accurately the manners, language, and modes of thought, of an anterior period. In mediæval times, however, the attempt was seldom made. The draftsmen represented the manners “living as they rose.” “It was the invariable practice with artists in every country,” says Mr. Charles Stothard,[8] “excepting Italy, during the middle ages, whatever subject they took in hand, to represent it according to the manners and customs of their own time. Thus we may see Alexander the Great, like a good Catholic, interred with all the rites and ceremonies of the Romish church. All the illuminated transcripts of Froissart, although executed not more than fifty years after the original work was finished, are less valuable on account of the illuminations they contain not being accordant with the text, but representing the customs of the fifteenth century instead of the fourteenth. It is not likely that in an age far less refined this practice should be departed from. The Tapestry, therefore, must be regarded as a true picture of the time when it was executed.” The testimony of an earlier authority, Strutt, is to the same effect:—“To a total want of proper taste in collecting of antiquities, and application to the study of them, are owing the ignorant errors committed by the unlearned illuminators of old MSS.; and so far were they from having the least idea of any thing more ancient than the manners and customs of their own particular times, that not only things of a century earlier than their own era, are confounded together, but even representations of the remotest periods in history. The Saxons put Noah, Abraham, Christ, and King Edgar, all in the same habit, that is, the habit worn by themselves at that time; and in some MSS., illuminated in the reign of Henry the Sixth, are exhibited the figures of Meleager, Hercules, Jason, &c., in the full dress of the great lords of that prince’s court. At the latter end of one of these MSS., indeed, the illuminator, reading something about a lion’s skin, has covered the shoulders of the beau Hercules with that kingly animal’s hide over his courtly load of silk and gold embroidery. Yet this is a lucky circumstance in the present want of ancient materials; for though these pictures do not bear the least resemblance of the things they were originally intended to represent, yet they nevertheless are the undoubted characteristics of the customs of that period in which each illuminator or designer lived.”[9] A comparison of Master Wace with the Bayeux Tapestry will furnish us with an illustration in point. Wace, after alluding to the negotiations which took place before the armies closed at the decisive field of Hastings, says, “As the Duke said this, and would have said more, William Fitz Osbern rode up, his horse all covered with iron; Sire, said he to his lord, we tarry too long, let us arm ourselves. Allons! Allons!”[10] Now, if we look at the Tapestry, we shall find that not a single horse is equipped in steel armour; and if we refer to the authors who lived at that period, we shall find that not one of them mentions any defensive covering for the horse. Wace, who flourished in the days of Henry I. and Henry II., is the first writer who mentions horse-armour, and, excepting from the passage which has just been quoted, it could not be proved that it had been introduced even in his day. Wace is therefore probably guilty of an anachronism, and describes what happened at the close of his own time as having occurred in that of his immediate predecessors.[11] This example shows how exceedingly difficult it is to portray customs with accuracy a few years after the period in which they prevailed. Had the Tapestry been made by Matilda the Empress, as some contend, numerous similar anachronisms must have occurred.

3. But the design of the Tapestry shows its early date. Its manifest object is to prove the right of William to the throne of England, to exhibit in strong colours the undutifulness and ingratitude of Harold in attempting the usurpation of the crown, and to record the punishment with which that disloyal and sacrilegious act was visited.[12] In the latter days of the Conqueror such an undertaking would have been valueless. He had planted his foot firmly upon the necks of the native population; the barons, too, by whom he achieved the Conquest, had been brought into subjection. He was king of England by the power of his sword; he cared not then about the will of Edward the Confessor, the oath of Harold, or the election of the nobles—he was king de facto, and let them who durst deny it! These remarks, made with reference to the close of the Conqueror’s reign, apply with still greater force to the time of the Empress Matilda, to whom, as some conceive, we are indebted for the Tapestry.[13] She would not have thought it necessary to establish in so elaborate a manner her deceased grandfather’s right to the throne, and to display at such length the obligations under which Harold lay to him. The Brittany campaign would not have been given in such detail excepting it had been quite a recent event. The Tapestry, it will be observed, ends with the battle of Hastings. It does not even include the subsequent coronation of William. It represents the first act in the drama of the Conquest of England, and was doubtless intended to prepare for the scenes which were to follow. It is difficult to conceive that the Tapestry was designed at any period save that immediately subsequent to the battle of Hastings. William had not then assumed the character of an arbitrary monarch, which he subsequently did. The Saxon ladies, full of reverence for the character of their lately deceased monarch, Edward the Confessor, might naturally resent the attempt of Harold to resist the evident wish of that monarch to bequeath his crown to William, and, imbued with the superstition of an ignorant age, regard the fatal results of the battle of Hastings as a just judgment from God for the violation of an oath taken upon the relics of the saints. Taking this view of it there was nothing unpatriotic in their entering zealously into the views of their queen. But if, after England had reaped the bitter fruits of the conquest; if, after their fathers had been slain, their husbands driven into exile, their children made to herd with the dogs of the Conqueror’s flock, they had lent their skill to commemorate the desolation of their country and their homes, they would have dishonoured their lineage and their name. On these general grounds, therefore, we may conceive the Tapestry to be of the era of the Conqueror, and to date from an early period in his reign. Many opportunities of reverting to this subject will afterwards occur.

But although it be admitted that the Tapestry is of the age of the Conquest, it does not necessarily follow that it was wrought by the Queen and her court. The opinion that Matilda presided over its execution has been strongly controverted, chiefly by those, however, who deny its early antiquity. The Abbé de la Rue, as formerly observed, ascribes it to Matilda the Empress. Mr. Bolton Corney, in an able paper entitled Researches and Conjectures on the Bayeux Tapestry, contends that it was not executed until the year 1205, and that it was then done at the expense of the Chapter. Dr. Lingard adopts Mr. Corney’s views, and in a note appended to the first volume of his History of England condenses his arguments. If, however, the Tapestry bear internal evidence of an earlier date, these arguments are of little value.

No contemporary historian indeed tells us that the Tapestry was made by Matilda. It is not mentioned in her will, or the Conqueror’s. The inventory of the treasures of the church at Bayeux, bearing date 1369, and which is the earliest document mentioning the Tapestry, contains no allusion to Matilda. Another inventory, made in 1476, and professing to be a descriptive catalogue of the jewels, ornaments, books, and other valuables of the church, mentions the Tapestry, describes its form and subject, and names the period of its public exhibition; but gives no hint that it was made at the command of Matilda. It is difficult, it may even be impossible, satisfactorily to account for the absence of all allusion to the Queen in these documents, but negative arguments prove little. Besides, the case is by no means singular. The compilers of ancient documents seem to have left much to be taken for granted. Sir Henry Ellis, in his General Introduction to Domesday, says, “Of Queen Matilda’s gifts to foreign monasteries, two only are particularly specified in the Survey; the land at Deverel in Wilts, which she gave to St. Mary at Bee; and two hides at Frantone in Dorset, which she gave to the Conqueror’s foundation of St. Stephen at Caen. No mention occurs of the Conqueror and his Queen having founded the monasteries of St. Stephen and the Holy Trinity in that city: although their lands in England are specified.”[14] It is scarcely less difficult to account for these omissions in the Domesday Book, than it is to account for the absence of all allusion to the framer of the Tapestry by contemporary writers. In the absence of direct evidence, we are thrown upon probabilities. And what is more likely than that the opinion which Montfaucon found prevailing at Bayeux when he discovered the Tapestry is the correct one? As the Abbé de la Rue himself argues, “To have undertaken this Tapestry would have required a considerable degree of interest in the subject of it, and to have possessed the necessary powers for its execution.”[15] Who can be supposed to have had so great an interest in the establishment of the Conqueror’s right to the throne of England as Matilda of Flanders, and who but herself would have been at the trouble of asserting it in such full detail? Would any one but an immediate connexion of the Duke’s have taken such prominent notice of the rescue of Harold from his captivity in Ponthieu, and of his subsequent friendly intercourse with William in Brittany; and would even Matilda herself have done this if the Tapestry had been prepared after the stupendous results of the battle of Hastings had fully developed themselves?

Dr. Lingard, in appealing to the roll itself, says, “Nor does the costliness of the work bespeak a royal benefactor.” “There is in it no embroidery of gold, none of silver, none of silk, nothing worthy the rank or the munificence of the supposed donor.” Had the article in question been a royal robe, or sacerdotal vestment, the omission of the precious metals might have been unaccountable; but in a piece of embroidery of such extent, it is nothing wonderful. Neither should the artistic value of the document be overlooked. Its figures may appear uncouth in our eyes, but they are done in the very best style of the period. A person of ordinary resources could not have commanded, to the extent required, the services of the ablest artists of the day. The preparation of the Tapestry must have been a costly and laborious process, not at all unworthy of the wife of the victor of Hastings.[16] What is more likely, then, than that the traditional opinion which Montfaucon found prevailing in his day at Bayeux is well founded, and that to the first of our Norman Queens we are indebted for this most wonderful piece of needle-work?

Although the actual execution of the Tapestry devolved upon the ladies of Matilda’s court, there can be no doubt that they wrought from a design prepared by some draftsman. The priests were the principal artists of that day. The Latin inscriptions prove that in that part of their work, at least, the ladies had the assistance of some educated person. The name of the designer has not come down to us; unless indeed there be truth in the following statement made by Miss Agnes Strickland:—“This pictorial chronicle of her mighty consort’s achievements appears to have been, in part at least, designed for Matilda by Turold, a dwarf artist, who moved by a natural desire of claiming his share in the celebrity which he foresaw would attach to the work, has cunningly introduced his own effigies and name,[17] thus authenticating the Norman tradition, that he was the person who illuminated the canvas with the proper outlines and colours.”[18] Though ignorant of the individual who designed the Tapestry, the style of the work induces us to believe that the artist was an Italian. The postures into which many of the figures are thrown are not English or French, but Italian.[19] The cordiality subsisting at the time of the Conquest between the courts of Normandy and Rome, and the successful exhibition of Norman prowess for some time previously on the plains of the Italian peninsula, sufficiently account for the introduction of the peculiarities of southern Europe into the Tapestry.

Perhaps, however, we have acted rashly in having ventured even thus cursorily to touch upon the antiquity of the Tapestry. Miss Agnes Strickland, who, in her Lives of the Queens of England, shows how vigorously she can wield the pen, is rather indignant that any one who is not learned in cross-stitch, should venture to discuss the subject. Before we argue, she wants to know if we can sew. She says, “With due deference to the judgment of the lords of the creation on all subjects connected with policy and science, we venture to think that our learned friends, the archæologists and antiquaries, would do well to direct their intellectual powers to more masculine objects of inquiry, and leave the question of the Bayeux Tapestry (with all other matters allied to needle-craft) to the decision of the ladies, to whose province it belongs. It is matter of doubt to us whether one, out of the many gentlemen who have disputed Matilda’s claims to that work, if called upon to execute a copy of either of the figures on canvas, would know how to put in the first stitch.”[20] Few of the rougher sex would like to be put to theexperimentum acus, and therefore it may be as well at once to exercise the best part of valour, and beat a hasty retreat.

The attention of the learned world was first, in modern times, called to the Bayeux Tapestry by M. Lancelot, who in 1724 found a drawing of a portion of it in the Cabinet of Antiquities at Paris. He was struck with its appearance, and at once pronounced it to be of the age of William the Conqueror, and intended to commemorate his exploits; but he was unable to conjecture whether the drawing represented a bass-relief, a piece of sculpture surrounding a choir of a church or a tomb, a painting in fresco or upon a glass window, or even, he adds, if it be a piece of tapestry. He conceived that the original would be found at Caen. In consequence of his suggestion, Father Montfaucon made diligent inquiries, and, after some trouble, found the Tapestry, not at Caen, but at Bayeux. He ascertained that it was there popularly ascribed to Queen Matilda.[21] M. Lancelot further informs us that it was ordinarily called in the country La Toilette de Duc Guillaume. At that period, and for long afterwards, it was kept in a side chapel of the cathedral, rolled upon a kind of winch, and was exposed to public view only once a year, on the festival of the relics (July 1), and during the octave. On these occasions it was hung up in the nave of the church, which it completely surrounded.

In the autumn of 1803, when Bonaparte, then First Consul of France, contemplated the invasion of England, the Tapestry was brought from its obscurity at Bayeux, and exhibited in the National Museum at Paris, where it remained some months. The First Consul himself went to see it, and affected to be struck with that particular part (Plate VII.) which represents the appearance of a meteor presaging the defeat of Harold: affording an opportunity for the inference, that the meteor which had then been lately seen in the south of France was the prelude to a similar event. The exhibition was popular; so much so, that a small dramatic piece was got up at the Theatre du Vaudeville, entitled La Tapisserie de la Reine Mathilde, in which Matilda was represented passing her time with her women in embroidering the exploits of her husband, never leaving their work, except to put up prayers for his success.

At present the Tapestry is preserved in the town’s library at Bayeux, where it is advantageously exposed to view by being extended in eight lengths from end to end of the room, and is at the same time protected from injury by being covered with glass.

The Tapestry has originally formed one piece, and measures two hundred and twenty-seven feet in length, by about twenty inches in breadth. The groundwork of it is a strip of rather fine linen cloth, which, through age, has assumed the tinge of brown holland. The stitches consist of lines of coloured worsted laid side by side, and bound down at intervals with cross fastenings; as is seen in the frontispiece, which represents a portion of the Tapestry of the original size. The parts intended to represent flesh (the face, hands, or naked legs of the men) are left untouched by the needle. Considering the age of the Tapestry, it is in a remarkably perfect state. The first portion of it is somewhat injured, and the last five yards of it are very much defaced. The colours chiefly used by the fair artists are—dark and light blue, red, pink, yellow, buff, and dark and light green. On examining this interesting relic, I was struck with nothing so much as the freshness of the colours; and can entirely subscribe to the words of Mr. Hudson Gurney, in the Archæologia, “the colours are as bright and distinct, and the letters of the superscriptions as legible, as if of yesterday.”

Perspective and light and shade are wholly disregarded. An effort is made, by varying the colours employed, to avoid the confusion arising from this circumstance: thus, while the leg of a horse which is nearest to the spectator is painted blue, the one more removed will be coloured red; or if the one be pink, the other may be a greenish yellow. The colours, owing probably to the restricted extent of them at the command of Matilda, are employed somewhat fancifully, and we have horses exhibited to us of hues which, could they be realized in living specimens in Hyde Park now-a-days, would attract the envy and admiration of all beholders. Notwithstanding the liberty thus taken, the harmony of the colouring is such, that persons may look at the Tapestry for some time without discovering that truth, in this particular, has been in any degree violated. Mr. Dawson Turner remarks, that “in point of drawing, the figures are superior to the contemporary sculpture at St. George’s and elsewhere; and the performance is not deficient in energy.”[22] As we examine the figures in detail, we shall have occasion to notice the spirit and the expression which the artist has infused into his work.

Besides the principal subject, which occupies the central portion of the Tapestry, there is an ornamental border at the top and bottom of the field, which is filled with a variety of representations. Here the artist has indulged in a considerable play of fancy. Figures of birds and beasts which certainly never came out of Noah’s ark are admitted into this menagerie. Probably many of these forms represent the griffins, centaurs, and other fabulous creatures which occupy so conspicuous a place in the romances of the period. Others clearly represent animals, such as the camel and lion, with which the people of that age could not be very familiar, but which would, on that account, furnish subjects of thought and conversation all the more exciting.

In the lower border of the roll, near the beginning, are some representations of the fables of Æsop. There is the crow and the fox, the wolf and the lamb, the crane and the wolf, the eagle and the tortoise, and some others. Besides these subjects, we have many of the operations of husbandry, such as ploughing, sowing, and harrowing. The sports of the field are not neglected. One man is seen shooting birds with a sling. At this period the sling had quite gone into disuse as a weapon of war, but was probably long afterwards retained for the purposes of the sportsman. In one compartment, a man is seen fighting, sword in hand, with a bear that is chained to a tree. In another, the huntsman summons his dogs to the chase. In some portions of the Tapestry the border has an evident reference to the main subject of the piece; towards the end of the work the whole of the lower margin is filled with the bodies of the slain, thus forming it, as it were, the foreground of the general delineation.

The whole picture is divided into seventy-two compartments or scenes, which are generally separated from one another by trees, or what are intended to represent such. The artist, very modestly mistrusting his own powers, has usually affixed an inscription, in Latin, to each subject, the more fully to explain his intention. The letters, like the figures, are stitched in worsted, and are about an inch in length.

That the Tapestry should from a period beyond all record have belonged to the church of Bayeux is nothing surprising. Odo, the uterine brother of William, who rendered the Conqueror such efficient assistance in the battle of Hastings, and in the subsequent government of the kingdom, was archbishop of that place. Matilda may, with great propriety have given it to him in acknowledgement of his services, and he with equal probability, for he was very munificent to his church, may have given it to the Chapter. There is no other period at which it could with so much probability have come into the possession of the ecclesiastics of Bayeux as during the episcopate of Odo.[23]