Harold : the Last of the Saxon Kings — Complete by Lytton (an ebook reader TXT) 📖

The time of year customary for the National Assembly; the recent consecration of Westminster, for which Edward had convened all his chief spiritual lords, the anxiety felt for the infirm state of the King, and the interest as to the impending succession—all concurred to permit the instantaneous meeting of a Witan worthy, from rank and numbers, to meet the emergency of the time, and proceed to the most momentous election ever yet known in England. The thegns and prelates met in haste. Harold’s marriage with Aldyth, which had taken place but a few weeks before, had united all parties with his own; not a claim counter to the great Earl’s was advanced; the choice was unanimous. The necessity of terminating at such a crisis all suspense throughout the kingdom, and extinguishing the danger of all counter intrigues, forbade to men thus united any delay in solemnising their decision; and the august obsequies of Edward were followed on the same day by the coronation of Harold.

It was in the body of the mighty Abbey Church, not indeed as we see it now, after successive restorations and remodellings, but simple in its long rows of Saxon arch and massive column, blending the first Teuton with the last Roman masonries, that the crowd of the Saxon freemen assembled to honour the monarch of their choice. First Saxon king, since England had been one monarchy, selected not from the single House of Cerdic—first Saxon king, not led to the throne by the pale shades of fabled ancestors tracing their descent from the Father-God of the Teuton, but by the spirits that never know a grave—the arch-eternal givers of crowns, and founders of dynasties-Valour and Fame.

Alred and Stigand, the two great prelates of the realm, had conducted Harold to the church 219, and up the aisle to the altar, followed by the chiefs of the Witan in their long robes; and the clergy with their abbots and bishops sung the anthems—“Fermetur manus tua,” and “Gloria Patri.”

And now the music ceased; Harold prostrated himself before the altar, and the sacred melody burst forth with the great hymn, “Te Deum.”

As it ceased, prelate and thegn raised their chief from the floor, and in imitation of the old custom of Teuton and Northman—when the lord of their armaments was borne on shoulder and shield—Harold mounted a platform, and rose in full view of the crowd.

“Thus,” said the arch-prelate, “we choose Harold son of Godwin for lord and for king.” And the thegns drew round, and placed hand on Harold’s knee, and cried aloud, “We choose thee, O Harold, for lord and for king.” And row by row, line by line, all the multitude shouted forth, “We choose thee, O Harold, for lord and king.” So there he stood with his calm brow, facing all, Monarch of England, and Basileus of Britain.

Now unheeded amidst the throng, and leaning against a column in the arches of the aisle, was a woman with her veil round her face; and she lifted the veil for a moment to gaze on that lofty brow, and the tears were streaming fast down her cheek, but her face was not sad.

“Let the vulgar not see, to pity or scorn thee, daughter of kings as great as he who abandons and forsakes thee!” murmured a voice in her ear; and the form of Hilda, needing no support from column or wall, rose erect by the side of Edith. Edith bowed her head and lowered the veil, as the King descended the platform and stood again by the altar, while clear through the hushed assembly rang the words of his triple promise to his people:

“Peace to His Church and the Christian flock.”

“Interdict of rapacity and injustice.”

“Equity and mercy in his judgments, as God the gracious and just might show mercy to him.”

And deep from the hearts of thousands came the low “Amen.”

Then after a short prayer, which each prelate repeated, the crowd saw afar the glitter of the crown held over the head of the King. The voice of the consecrator was heard, low till it came to the words “So potently and royally may he rule, against all visible and invisible foes, that the royal throne of the Angles and Saxons may not desert his sceptre.”

As the prayer ceased, came the symbolical rite of anointment. Then pealed the sonorous organ 220, and solemn along the aisles rose the anthem that closed with the chorus which the voice of the multitude swelled, “May the King live for ever!” Then the crown that had gleamed in the trembling hand of the prelate, rested firm in its splendour on the front of the King. And the sceptre of rule, and the rod of justice, “to sooth the pious and terrify the bad,” were placed in the royal hands. And the prayer and the blessings were renewed,—till the close; “Bless, Lord, the courage of this Prince, and prosper the works of his hand. With his horn, as the horn of the rhinoceros, may he blow the waters to the extremities of the earth; and may He who has ascended to the skies be his aid for ever!”

Then Hilda stretched forth her hand to lead Edith from the place. But Edith shook her head and murmured “But once again, but once!” and with involuntary step moved on.

Suddenly, close where she paused, the crowd parted, and down the narrow lane so formed amidst the wedged and breathless crowd came the august procession;—prelate and thegn swept on from the Church to the palace; and alone, with firm and measured step, the diadem on his brow, the sceptre in his hand, came the King. Edith checked the rushing impulse at her heart, but she bent forward, with veil half drawn aside, and so gazed on that face and form of more than royal majesty, fondly, proudly. The King swept on and saw her not; love lived no more for him.