Coronation: From the 8th to the 21st Century

SYMBOLIC SHOW

So much connected with a Coronation depended on moveables. The Abbey with its soaring architecture, its army of statuary, its wall-paintings, stained glass and bejewelled shrine was, when it came to staging a late medieval Coronation, like a theatre awaiting the arrival of the scenery, props and costumes, not to mention the actors and musicians. Only at the beginning of the fourteenth century do we begin to learn something about items like the great stage which was erected at the crossing and just how extraordinary it was. An entry in the accounts of the royal Office of Works for 1307–11 reads as follows: ‘Concerning the royal seat ordained and made in the monks’ church in the midst of the choir in which the king and queen were crowned: note these seats were wainscoted all round and so high that men at arms, namely earls, barons, knights and other nobles could ride beneath them.’27

This matter-of-fact entry conjures up an astonishing picture, that the stage occupying the crossing must have been at least thirteen feet high and probably more to enable those on horseback to ride beneath it as though it were some kind of bridge. The arrangement was the reverse of that of a modern Coronation where tiered seats are erected in the transepts to look down on the action at the crossing.

The medieval Coronation stage was one both looked up to and down upon. Those at floor level gazed up, glimpsing the king as he was presented to each side at the opening of the ceremony. Later in the proceedings they could surely see the king enthroned above them as the throne, at least later, was approached by a flight of steps and therefore must have been very high. But onlookers could also look down on the action. In the corners of each terminal wall of the transepts there are newel staircases leading to the galleries in the triforium. The Liber Regalis constantly refers to the great concourse of people who could hinder the action and, indeed, these events could be densely crowded, so much so that in 1308 the king was forced to enter the Abbey another way and a wall was pushed over, killing a knight.28 These must have been occasions when the whole medieval establishment came together, producing a crush, which made it essential for the regalia to be already on the high altar at the opening or otherwise there was no way of getting it there.

Once the stage was established as a feature the Royal Works would have stuck more or less to a formula. We have, in fact, to wait until the Household Ordinances of Henry VII (1494) to get a far fuller description of one of these Coronation stages, a structure which had to support one if not two thrones, plus a throng of officiating clergy and nobility. Then it is described as being railed and covered in red cloth with, at ground level, part if not all of it walled in, creating a room beneath which housed drink for the king and to which access could only be had by doors guarded by the royal ushers. This would suggest that by the late fifteenth century it had ceased to be a bridge-like construction. We learn far more, too, about the staircase approaches, both of which seem to have been as wide as the stage itself, approaching from the west and descending towards the high altar from the east.29 Considerable improvisation as to the decoration of these stages must have occurred for on to them could be bestowed the riches of the Royal Wardrobe. Even though barely a week elapsed between Edward II’s deposition and his son’s Coronation, the stage was not only erected but hung around with 21 tapestries, 6 pieces of cloth of gold having diaper work of silk and 22 pieces of cloth of gold on linen, and the whole floor covered with lawn cloth on to which was laid the same ray cloth as lined the path from the palace. The throne on this occasion was covered in cloth of gold, with five cushions acting as a footrest, and above it there was a canopy.30

Much of the drama of the ritual must have lain in the choreographed descent and ascent of the king with attendants both down and up the great staircase leading to the sanctuary and the high altar. There, too, in 1327 both the king’s chair and that for the archbishop were covered with cloth of gold. These stood on the celebrated Cosmati pavement which was probably the gift of the pope and for which Abbot Richard de Ware had brought from Rome both the craftsmen and some of the materials. It is an abstract spelt out in Purbeck marble, porphry, onyx, various limestones, alabaster and opaque glasses in a kaleidoscope of sophisticated colours: purple, green, golden yellow, blue, turquoise, white and red. What is depicted is an image of the cosmos in terms of the Greek Platonic tradition in which geometry and pure number linked the tangible world of the senses and the divine world approached through the intellect.31

The inscription on it ends with these words: ‘Here is the perfectly rounded sphere which reveals the eternal pattern of the universe.’ In it are mapped out the three levels of existence ascending up and through the sensible and intelligible worlds to the spiritual sphere symbolised in the single round stone at the centre as the eternal archetype. It is difficult not to believe that this sacred space with its complex cosmic imagery on which the kings of England were henceforth to be anointed was laid out with the Coronation in mind. For that of Edward I it was covered with a rich cloth, and yet the pavement’s schema in one sense is only completed when the king has been anointed and crowned as an image of the ninth sphere, the boundary between the created universe and the divine reality beyond. Indeed, every argument for kingship through into the seventeenth century works from this premise, that a king rules over the hierarchy of his subjects as God rules over the hierarchy of the universe. The one is a mirror-image of the other.

Such an image would conjure up, too, the music of the spheres, for in that scheme of things the cosmos was constructed according to the proportions of the musical scale. Terrestrial music was but an earthly counterpart of the celestial music of the spheres. Music played a major part in the Coronation rite which moved from speech to chant, not forgetting the important part which silence could play in such great rituals. For the first time, in 1308, we are able to shed some light on the role played by music in Coronations. On that occasion there were significant changes to what was used. The antiphon Confortare, for instance, was deliberately moved in order to highlight the act of crowning, but even more significant was the alteration of the antiphon Unxerunt Salomonem which traditionally accompanied the anointing. For that there was composed a totally new tune which borrowed part of the melody of the Magnificat antiphon for the feast of St Edmund, king and martyr. In doing this those present would have been reminded of Edward II’s descent from a second Anglo-Saxon royal saint. The new composition drew on pre-Advent antiphons in which Christ is described as ascending his throne and which also celebrated his baptism. The parallel offered is between Christ’s baptism and the king’s reception of unction. To further elevate the monarchy the Coronation Mass borrowed music from that used for the Coronation of a pope.32

If the Abbey’s interior was transformed for the occasion so, too, was the palace. The Coronation of Edward II had a six-month lead time and the palace, which was in a run-down state, was completely cleaned and put in order. As winter drew on and the evenings darkened candles were supplied so that the work would not be impeded. There is mention also of the construction of a temporary second great hall, the duplicate of the one in stone. This was over five hundred feet long and in it was staged the prefatory secular enthronement of the king. Above the throne, in an arch, stood a gilded copper statue of a king. The first occasion on which such a temporary hall went up that we know about was in 1274 for Edward I. In addition, in 1308, there was a fountain in the lesser domestic hall which spouted red and white wine and a spiced drink called pimento.33

There was a similar rush to spruce up things in 1327. This time the great chamber was hung with tapestries adorned with shields with the royal arms, the bench coverings were patterned with coats of arms and the royal seat was covered with cloth of gold and provided with cushions. Westminster Hall itself was adorned with hangings and its floor covered with linen cloth. The king’s seat glittered with the usual cloth of gold and Turkey silk.34

What all of this tells us is that the guest list must have run into thousands, and inevitably not all of the guests had London residences. In 1308 there were fourteen lesser halls built parallel to the temporary great hall. The Coronation now consisted not only of the rite itself and the feast which followed, but went on to include several days of tilts, tourneys and further feasting. Edward I’s festivities lasted for fourteen days in emulation of Solomon. In the case of Edward II we know that 40 ovens had to be built, calling for a small army of cooks, not to mention vast quantities of fuel.35 In the case of Edward I we get a glimpse of the huge quantities of provisions sent for from all over the kingdom. In February 1274 orders went out to the county of Gloucestershire alone to provide 60 oxen and cows, 60 swine, 2 fat boars, 40 pigs and 3,000 capons and hens. Bishops, abbots and priors were asked to procure as many swans, peacocks, cranes, rabbits and kids as they could.36

In these fragmentary pieces of information we witness the Coronation expanding as an event far beyond what happened in the Abbey. In fact, a Coronation had become the greatest festivity of any reign. While in the Abbey the Church might reign triumphant as lay deferred to clerical power, outside a deliberate riposte was staged in which the whole pyramid of medieval feudal society was displayed in witness to a revival of royal power. By the middle of the fourteenth century the secular aspect had developed into a massive display of rank and power, one which inevitably, as happened in 1308 over Piers Gaveston, led to clashes of interest and conflicting claims among the king and his assembled magnates.

CORONATION OFFICES

The Red Book of the Exchequer suddenly records in 1236 the Coronation of Henry III’s queen, Eleanor of Provence.37 The reason for this was that ‘Great disputes arose about the services of the officers of the king’s household, and about the rights belonging to their offices.’ This was eventually to lead to the establishment at each Coronation of a Court of Claims whose role was to sort out and pronounce upon the bids by rival contenders to perform this or that service for the king on the day. The earliest records that we have for one of these courts in action are for the Coronation of Richard II in 1377, but it is possible that they existed earlier.

The emergence of such a court must have been the eventual consequence of the clashes and claims which caused someone to put pen to paper in 1236. On that occasion Earl Warenne claimed the right to carry the sword ‘Curtana’. The Earl of Chester and Huntingdon claimed that right as his own on the grounds that it was a service which descended with the earldom of Chester. In that case the king intervened and we are told ‘the strife subsided’. The two sceptres were carried by two knights ‘because that service does not fall to any one by right, but only those to whom the king is pleased to entrust it’. The list runs through claims as varied as the right to be steward at the feast for the day to being the person who presented the king with his napkin. In every instance those who petitioned did so on the basis that it was ‘his of old’, ‘comes from old time’ or ‘by old-established right’.

The truth of the matter was that the grounds for these claims were often flimsy, and ‘old’ could mean little more than a generation back.38 The links argued on precedent and from association with land tenure could be dubious in the extreme, but they were fought hard and often became fact. For those who won there was not only the glamour of the occasion and the opportunity to be in proximity to the king, but perks to be had ranging from pieces of plate to cloths of estate. Some, like the queen’s chamberlain in 1236, could do extremely well out of such an event, for he left the richer by the queen’s bed as well as basins and other items. Most of this had begun to be systematised by the middle of the thirteenth century, when the grant of a particular piece of land was made in return for a certain Coronation service, a transaction known as serjeanty. The earliest traceable instance of this comes in 1212 and was for holding the queen’s towel at her Coronation. Already by the twelfth century many of the nobles acted on state occasions such as Coronations and crown-wearings as almoner, steward, marshal, seneschal, butler and chamberlain. Some of these posts were less onerous than others. The almoner, for example, distributed the leftovers from the feast to the poor and exercised jurisdiction over all comers, settling the disputes which could arise at such distributions. The marshal had to maintain order within the palace and also arrange hostelry for the small army of guests. In return he claimed a saddled palfrey from every earl and baron knighted on the day. Bearing in mind the hordes of guests, he will have earned them.

Such services drew in not only the aristocratic and knightly classes but also townspeople. The Cinque Ports sent canopy bearers for the king and queen, sixteen in all, four to each stave.39 They first appear in 1189 at the Coronation of Richard I quod de consuetudine antiqua in coronationis regis habuerunt. The ports involved were Hastings, Romney, Hythe, Dover and Sandwich, to which were later added Winchelsea and Rye. Together they occupied a crucial geographical position in terms of the defence of the realm, as well as in those of trade and commerce. Each year they supplied the crown with 57 ships. The canopy bearers were barons for the day and their perquisite was the fabric of the canopy itself, which was generally sold off and the money divided between the towns involved. Although the Cinque Ports had already ceased to be of any importance by 1500, they were to continue to render this service until the reign of George IV. It was William IV who, disgusted at the extravagance of his predecessor, abolished it. Nevertheless, the barons were to resurface in 1901 before a Court of Claims and attain a place as standard bearers at the Coronation of Edward VII.

Of all of these offices the most legendary is that of King’s Champion. That office was certainly in existence by 1327 and was attached to the manor of Scrivelsby, Lincolnshire. The terms of the land tenure or serjeanty specified that the tenant should at each Coronation proffer: ‘to defend with his body against any man who may assert that the king is not rightful king, that he speak not good nor truth, and for the execution of this proffer our Lord the King shall give him the best charger he has save one and his best armour save one’.40

This office may well have originally been held by the Marmion family, lords of Tamworth Castle and Scrivelsby, whose last co-heir died about 1292, after which Scrivelsby passed to the Dymokes. In 1377 this office was further defined. The Champion was to ride ahead of the procession and if anyone actually challenged him he would get both the horse and the armour which the king provided, otherwise not. On that occasion he turned up at the north door of the Abbey and was sent away and told to perform his challenge at the feast, which he did. Challenges were a feature of late medieval feasts, and so there it stayed until the last occasion when this was enacted, the Coronation of George IV. Under William IV the Champion went the same way as the Cinque Ports canopy bearers, but also returned in a banner-bearing guise in 1902.41

The rivalry over Coronation services is a keen index of a highly stratified society where rank was measured in both the duty performed and proximity to the monarch. In spite of so many posts being assigned by descent, either through land tenure or title, there was always at any Coronation a large pool of patronage at the king’s disposal. The choice of this or that person to bear a sceptre or a crown or to fasten on the spurs or redeem the sword was looked upon as a benchmark in terms of royal favour. In 1308 Edward II’s decision that the crown, in the words of the Annales Paulini, was ‘to be carried in the filthy hands of Piers Gaveston’ added fuel to fires already burning brightly enough in the minds of the assembled magnates.42 In the makeup of the chivalrous mind such marks of favour were of signal importance. In a feudal society such events should be public manifestations of the immutable ordo of society, and not be soiled by upstarts.

Thirteen hundred and eight is interesting for another reason in this context, for the magnates made a bid to carry articles of the regalia of St Edward, items which, in the words of the same chronicler, ‘they ought not to have touched, for they are relics; only the king’s own [i.e. personal] Coronation regalia, in which he will return to the palace after the mass and then sit at the feast do they have the right to bear’.43 The magnates, in fact, got their way on that occasion, for only the chalice and paten were borne by clerics.

These great processions, increasingly spectacular to watch, took the Coronation out to a wider public. They moved in and out of the great internal spaces of both the Abbey and the palace but, more importantly, made their way in the open along the ray-cloth path linking the one building to the other. Those who lined the route would have seen their future ruler, bare-headed, devoid of his robes of state and walking in his stockinged feet, a bishop guiding him by either hand. He would be framed by the silver staves of the canopy borne by the Barons of the Cinque Ports, and the onlookers would have been alerted to his imminence by the tinkling of the silver-gilt bells and the chant of the monks. Several hours later they would have seen the same figure re-emerge transformed, dazzling in his robes of state, no longer led but triumphant, clasping orb and sceptre, and on his head a crown of gold and precious jewels. For an age whose mental premise was the image rather than the word the impact must have been overwhelming.

PICTURING THE CORONATION

It is only at this period that for the first time we begin to get some impression of what these events must have looked like. England, however, produces nothing comparable to the magnificent Coronation Book of Charles V of France prompted by his Coronation on 19 May 1364. This contains no less than 38 miniatures closely related to the text ordo but expanding it in terms of showing setting, dress, gesture and action.44 As a reflection of its English equivalent it must be discounted, although it does include a record, albeit a diagrammatic one, of a Coronation stage. A narrow flight of steps leads down to the high altar. The enclosure floats on narrow wooden pillars painted with golden fleur de lys and the rails of the stage have been draped with rich fabrics as we know happened at Westminster. That at least provides an impression of what went up in the abbey, although reduced in the miniature to toy-town proportions.

In the case of England we are confronted from the mid-thirteenth century onwards with a series of illuminations seemingly depicting Coronations. Some, like those in the Lytlington Missal and the Liber Regalis, are actually set into copies of the Coronation ordo. Most, however, were occasioned by another circumstance, for their recurrence in chronicles reflects the fact that the accession of a new ruler measured time. Royal bureaucracy actually measured time by regnal years. The richest sequence of these Coronation scenes occurs in a Flores Historiarum on loan to the British Library. Illuminated in Westminster in the 1250s while the new church was arising, it includes no fewer than ten Coronation tableaux, starting with King Arthur. Even though they emanate from a scriptorium in the Coronation church, they cannot be relied upon in any way as accurate depictions of a late medieval Coronation.45

The grandest of the sequence, in tune with its origin, shows that of Edward the Confessor. He is seated on a regal seat with a footstool, while one bishop pours oil from a vessel on to the already crowned head of the royal saint, a reversal of the actual sequence, and the other bishop places the rod with the dove in the king’s left hand, just as prescribed in the Fourth Recension. To one side there is a throng of clerics while, on the other, a complementary assembly of magnates lifts their swords in salute, much in the way we saw done in the Coronation of Harold in the Bayeux Tapestry. This image is very similar to the one which was in the Painted Chamber at Westminster, executed probably during the 1260s. In this version, however, the laity are entirely excluded in favour of seventeen bishops and mitred abbots. The rod with the dove is placed this time in the king’s right hand in accordance with how it appears on the great seal of Henry III. Nor do the illuminations which accompany the ordines in the Liber Regalis or Lytlington Missal take us any further, beyond an incidental detail in the Liber which has a scene of a double Coronation, with the queen’s throne shown correctly as lower than the king’s.46

The most arresting of all these Coronation images is that which prefaces the ordo in Anglo-French for Edward II. It dates from about 1325–30 and the owner has been tentatively identified as Henry de Cobham.47 Lord Cobham probably participated in the Coronation of Edward II or Edward III in his role as a Baron of the Cinque Ports. It is difficult otherwise to account for the Coronation ordo appearing in a book whose main text is the Apocalypse. Opinions vary as to whether the king depicted in the illumination is Edward II or Edward III, but what we see does seem to reflect some knowledge of the Coronation. The king is seated on a chair whose back is adorned with fleurons and which resembles the Coronation chair. Although what the king wears in no way accords with the vestments listed in the regalia, it does show some semblance of knowledge as to what was actually worn. There is a white ankle-length undergarment over which comes a bright red tunic, then a dalmatic with broad yellow and golden horizontal bands, and finally a pallium in gold and peach-coloured brocade fastened in the manner of a cope with a morse. In his right hand the king holds a rod topped by a fleuron and in his left an orb arising from a series of fleurons. The king is surrounded by six bishops, two of whom support the crown, and two others, in the foreground, who proffer containers whose purpose has so far defied identification. This without doubt is some kind of composite image of the king at his enthronement.

These miniatures show that king-making was by the fourteenth century a consensual process.48 The king is no longer an isolated figure upon whose head a crown is bestowed by an angel or the hand of God. The throne in every instance is surrounded by people, the rapidly emerging estates of the realm. These miniatures spell out the great shift in climate which has taken place as we move through the thirteenth and into the fourteenth century. This is a period which witnesses the emergence of a new thinking about political systems, about the involvement of citizens and how they should participate. The monarchy is recast into a greater vision which includes the notion of consent by drawing in an enlarged constituency of those ruled. Although still in our terms narrow, in medieval understanding it was very wide. This huge change in the concept of kingship and the structure of the state was the result of the reception of Aristotelianism, a philosophy in which sense experience was established as the origin of universal knowledge. The consequence of that was that those capable of responding to reason should be brought into the consensus of kingship: males, the secular nobility and bourgeoisie, the intelligentsia and lawyers. Aristotelianism and the recognition of the powers of reason also meant a cultivation of the arts of persuasion. In the case of the coronation those arts would embrace music, visual spectacle, rhetoric and ceremonial, all aimed no longer at an ecclesiastical audience but at a lay one. In its final form the English Coronation utilised all those powers in a gigantic festival whose aim was to reconcile divine election with popular consent.