You actually have to look very closely to discover the climax of the whole story: that arrow in the royal eye. It is quite faint and it appears that King Harold is holding it in his right hand.
However, there are two clues that this is the epicentral moment in the Bayeux Tapestry. The first is the Latin caption above it: ‘Hic Harold Rex Interfectus Est‘ (‘Here King Harold was murdered’).
The second is the smear of fingerprints on the glass case directly above, left by previous visitors who excitedly poked and said, “There it is!”
Considering the last visitors before me were the King and Queen, the Macrons and the Burnhams at the previous evening’s VIP preview, I think these are very illustrious flings.
However, they also illustrate how extraordinarily intimate the British Museum’s astonishing new Bayeux Tapestry exhibition really is, as I learned during a preview of my own exhibition ahead of next week’s public opening.
Every visitor – from monarch to student – can come within striking distance of the most famous comic strip in history. We’re so close that we can see every stitch and stain – and even nail holes – the entire length of 200 feet and 1 inch.
How the Bayeux Tapestry is set up in the British Museum for its grand return to these shores
People like Andy Burnham, French President Emmanuel Macron and Charles saw it this week
The museum and its French partners would like to say it is 68.3 meters long, but its creators had never heard of meters. They sewed and sewed in feet and inches centuries before the metric system.
But the Bayeux Tapestry is neither Bayeux nor a tapestry. As the King noted on Wednesday evening, we might as well call it ‘the Canterbury embroidery’. Embroidery uses needle and thread (while a tapestry is woven). It is now also believed that this was made by expert seamstresses in Kent after William the Conqueror’s invasion of England in 1066.
Only then was it sent across the Channel. Where and how is unclear, as the first real mention of its existence is in a 1476 inventory of cathedral treasures at Bayeux. And there it has remained ever since, apart from a few short trips to Paris.
So this week’s return to Britain after the best part of a millennium is historic.
Before those of jingoistic football persuasions start crowing that ‘it’s coming home’, it’s worth remembering that this is only a year away before it returns to Bayeux, where the museum house is being revamped.
Rather than leave it in storage while construction work took place, the curators were convinced to loan it to the British Museum, thanks to intense lobbying and the personal intervention of President Emmanuel Macron.
And it turns out to be a masterclass in cultural diplomacy.
For the French emerge as generous benefactors and also remind the English of who defeated whom in 1066.
The two heads of state even found time for a laugh and a joke while inspecting the artifact
It is the first time in almost a thousand years that the tapestry has returned to England
The British, meanwhile, can say they really know how to put on a show, hanging the ‘tapestry’ in dramatic style from start to finish (the British Museum’s ticket sales are on track to reduce the annual Bayeux visitor base of 200,000 in just a few months). Here is also the very first image of our national church, Westminster Abbey. And audiences in both countries are reminded of the age-old ties that bind us.
They too are now enjoying a souped-up experience. The allotted visitor time in Bayeux is 25 minutes, while George Osborne, chairman of the British Museum, says it is 40 minutes here.
The latest audiovisual tricks provide a more atmospheric show (with seagulls, wood chopping sounds and a low, somber soundtrack).
Most people regard the ‘tapestry’ as a pictorial record of the Norman invasion. There’s so much more to it than that, as you soon discover once you get halfway through the 58 scenes and you realize that Harold and William are still the best of friends.
The story actually begins in the village of Bosham in Sussex, from where the childless King of England, Edward the Confessor, sends Harold, Earl of Wessex, to Normandy for reasons that are not made clear (much of this is unclear, such as the beautiful decorative borders with eels, nudity, birds and grave-robbing).
Harold arrives across the Channel and is captured by Count Guy, who is later forced to hand him over to William.
Harold then joins William’s victorious campaign against Brittany and is later rewarded with new armor before taking an oath to William (commonly understood as a promise to support William’s claim to the throne of England).
Harold goes home to find King Edward on his deathbed, after which Harold is crowned in Westminster Abbey. It is striking that the caption does not state that he has seized power. Rather, it says, “Here they gave Harold the king’s crown.”
His reign begins inauspiciously, however, when a mysterious shooting star (later known as Halley’s Comet) pursues the new monarch.
Word of Harold’s betrayal reaches William, who orders the construction of a huge navy.
Loaded with armor, horses and wine (the French won’t drink the local stuff), the fleet sails to England, lands in Pevensey and the rest is history. It’s only as you stand alongside the artwork here that you feel the real sense of movement, as the Norman cavalry moves from massed ranks to a full charge. The last words translate as: ‘And the English have fled.’
The ‘carpet’ was occasionally exhibited in Bayeux Cathedral for centuries, with little fanfare. It was even about to be used as a canvas covering for chariots during the French Revolution, until a local lawyer saved the day.
Napoleon later appreciated its propaganda value when he plotted an invasion of England and displayed it for a time in Paris before returning to Bayeux.
It became a popular tourist attraction in the 19th century when curators created a new gallery to display the embroidery.
They also added the numbers that marked each scene. During the Second World War it was kept in a castle near Le Mans until the Allied invasion of Normandy in June 1944.
The Germans ordered the vehicle to be safely stored at the Louvre in Paris, where it would survive a 150-mile journey in a military truck, next to a 200-liter barrel of gasoline, under the constant threat of air attack. After its liberation by British and American troops, it was again put on public display at the Louvre.
Interestingly, with an impending visit from Winston Churchill, the hosts diplomatically decided not to show that final scene (in which the English ran away).
As remarkable as anything is the story of embroidery’s survival. For centuries it was literally nailed to planks. Lately it has been hanging like a curtain, putting heavy pressure on the top edges. With the temporary closure of the Bayeux Museum, it was decided that from now on it would remain flat forever – as we are seeing here for the first time in London.
If you look closely you will see little orange marks that indicate the places where the curators need to be extra careful when folding it back up.
Most powerful of all is the feeling of timelessness. Look at scene 43 – Bishop Odo blesses the feast before the battle – and it is Christ’s last supper. Then look at scene 30, Harold’s coronation. As the king noted on Wednesday evening: ‘That looks exactly like my coronation.’ As that is indeed the case.
The Bayeux Tapestry experience opens from September 10, see britsmuseum.org
- Click here to listen to Robert Hardman discuss the Bayeux Mysteries on the Queens, Kings, and Dastardly Things podcast
