Westminster Abbey | Page 8

our heads, and thence along
the clustered columns and arches straight in front. The whole resembles
that magnificent and peculiarly English beauty, an ancient beech
avenue with its arching and interlacing boughs reaching up to heaven.
Except to the student of architecture, the church might have risen from
the ground in a single night, so harmonious and perfectly proportioned
are the lines, so carefully did the old builders follow out the ideas of the
thirteenth-century designers. Henry the Third himself probably
supervised the plans, and we know that the King had already seen and
admired Salisbury Cathedral, then quite a new building, before {25} he
arranged to rebuild Westminster in the same style. As a fact, no less
than two and a half centuries passed from the year 1245, when Henry
gave orders for the demolition of the whole of the eastern end--the
same part which the Confessor had watched grow up and had caused to
be consecrated before his death,--till the reign of his collateral
descendant, the first Tudor king, when the last bay was quite finished.
Only an observant eye can detect the slight differences, chiefly in the
vaultings of the roof, which mark the different stages of the western
part, and it is difficult to realise that the old Norman nave, divided by a
wall from the new Gothic church, existed long after Henry's death, and
was taken down bit by bit as the building slowly proceeded. Edward
the First's period is marked by metal rings round the columns, and only
extended one bay west of the present screen, where formerly the Jesus
altars and rood loft stood, with a stone wall behind, which is now
concealed by the wooden casing of the modern screen. Services for the
ordinary worshippers, the parishioners so to speak, were held by the
monks at these altars, above and below the rood screen, but the lesson,
which was read from above, was the only part of the High Mass
celebrated in the choir intended for {26} the congregation in the nave.

With the early fourteenth century the beautiful diaper work which
decorated the triforium arcades ceased, and this helps us to fix the date
of the later part. During the century which followed, the building
practically stood still for a long time. Edward II. gave the monks no
help, and Edward III. was too poor and too busy with his numerous
wars to occupy himself with pious donations. But at the end of his reign
Archbishop Langham, formerly the Abbot here, left a large bequest,
primarily intended for the completion of the nave, which was diverted
by his successor Litlington to more pressing needs, such as the
rebuilding of the monastery, enlarging the cloisters, and, with the help
of gifts from Richard II., the addition of a rich porch outside the north
front. Henry IV. died in the precincts, but we have no record of any
generosity on his part; his son Henry V., however, gave an annual sum
to the work on the nave, which during his short reign progressed well.
The pious Henry VI., who loved the Abbey and often walked here with
the Abbot and Prior, no doubt helped as long as he had the power, but
the civil wars soon put a stop to his aid. We know that he presented the
wrought-iron gates which divide his father's {27} mortuary chapel from
the shrine, and the stone screen to the west of the shrine probably
belongs to his time. His supplanter, Edward IV., when settled on the
throne, granted oaks and lead for the roof, while his wife, and the little
son who was born in the Abbot's house, gave thank-offerings of money.
Another gap followed during the troublous reign of Richard III., but by
the end of the fifteenth century, when Henry VII. felt his title
absolutely secure, and his dynasty established, the west end was quite
finished, within and without, while then, and then only, the last remains
of the old nave were cleared away.
We have thus briefly sketched the building of the church in which we
stand, and now must turn our attention to the historic names which are
all around us on the walls and pavement. The very earliest monument,
the only tolerably artistic one in the nave, was put up in 1631 to a
certain Mistress Jane Hill, and till nearly the end of the seventeenth
century few others were added. But unfortunately from that time the
custom grew apace of covering the wall space, even the floor itself,
with memorials of soldiers, sailors, statesmen, physicians, men of
science, and, in fact, a truly miscellaneous collection of people, till not

a vacant spot is left, and {28} the ancient arcading is completely or
partially covered up, in some cases even cut away. The