ANCIENT ENGLAND UNDER THE EARLY SAXONS
The Romans had scarcely gone away from Britain, when the Britons began
to wish they had never left it. For, the Romans being gone, and the
Britons being much reduced in numbers by their long wars, the Picts and
Scots came pouring in, over the broken and unguarded wall of Severus,
in swarms. They plundered the richest towns, and killed the people; and
came back so often for more booty and more slaughter, that the
unfortunate Britons lived a life of terror. As if the Picts and Scots
were not bad enough on land, the Saxons attacked the islanders by sea;
and, as if something more were still wanting to make them miserable,
they quarrelled bitterly among themselves as to what prayers they ought
to say, and how they ought to say them. The priests, being very angry
with one another on these questions, cursed one another in the
heartiest manner; and (uncommonly like the old Druids) cursed all the
people whom they could not persuade. So, altogether, the Britons were
very badly off, you may believe.
They were in such distress, in short, that they sent a letter to Rome
entreating help—which they called the Groans of the Britons; and in
which they said, ‘The barbarians chase us into the sea, the sea throws
us back upon the barbarians, and we have only the hard choice left us
of perishing by the sword, or perishing by the waves.’ But, the Romans
could not help them, even if they were so inclined; for they had enough
to do to defend themselves against their own enemies, who were then
very fierce and strong. At last, the Britons, unable to bear their hard
condition any longer, resolved to make peace with the Saxons, and to
invite the Saxons to come into their country, and help them to keep out
the Picts and Scots.
It was a British Prince named Vortigern who took this resolution, and
who made a treaty of friendship with Hengist and Horsa, two Saxon
chiefs. Both of these names, in the old Saxon language, signify Horse;
for the Saxons, like many other nations in a rough state, were fond of
giving men the names of animals, as Horse, Wolf, Bear, Hound. The
Indians of North America,—a very inferior people to the Saxons,
though—do the same to this day.
Hengist and Horsa drove out the Picts and Scots; and Vortigern, being
grateful to them for that service, made no opposition to their settling
themselves in that part of England which is called the Isle of Thanet,
or to their inviting over more of their countrymen to join them. But
Hengist had a beautiful daughter named Rowena; and when, at a feast,
she filled a golden goblet to the brim with wine, and gave it to
Vortigern, saying in a sweet voice, ‘Dear King, thy health!’ the King
fell in love with her. My opinion is, that the cunning Hengist meant
him to do so, in order that the Saxons might have greater influence
with him; and that the fair Rowena came to that feast, golden goblet
and all, on purpose.
At any rate, they were married; and, long afterwards, whenever the King
was angry with the Saxons, or jealous of their encroachments, Rowena
would put her beautiful arms round his neck, and softly say, ‘Dear
King, they are my people! Be favourable to them, as you loved that
Saxon girl who gave you the golden goblet of wine at the feast!’ And,
really, I don’t see how the King could help himself.
Ah! We must all die! In the course of years, Vortigern died—he was
dethroned, and put in prison, first, I am afraid; and Rowena died; and
generations of Saxons and Britons died; and events that happened during
a long, long time, would have been quite forgotten but for the tales
and songs of the old Bards, who used to go about from feast to feast,
with their white beards, recounting the deeds of their forefathers.
Among the histories of which they sang and talked, there was a famous
one, concerning the bravery and virtues of King Arthur, supposed to
have been a British Prince in those old times. But, whether such a
person really lived, or whether there were several persons whose
histories came to be confused together under that one name, or whether
all about him was invention, no one knows.
I will tell you, shortly, what is most interesting in the early Saxon
times, as they are described in these songs and stories of the Bards.
In, and long after, the days of Vortigern, fresh bodies of Saxons,
under various chiefs, came pouring into Britain. One body, conquering
the Britons in the East, and settling there, called their kingdom
Essex; another body settled in the West, and called their kingdom
Wessex; the Northfolk, or Norfolk people, established themselves in one
place; the Southfolk, or Suffolk people, established themselves in
another; and gradually seven kingdoms or states arose in England, which
were called the Saxon Heptarchy. The poor Britons, falling back before
these crowds of fighting men whom they had innocently invited over as
friends, retired into Wales and the adjacent country; into Devonshire,
and into Cornwall. Those parts of England long remained unconquered.
And in Cornwall now—where the sea-coast is very gloomy, steep, and
rugged—where, in the dark winter-time, ships have often been wrecked
close to the land, and every soul on board has perished—where the winds
and waves howl drearily and split the solid rocks into arches and
caverns—there are very ancient ruins, which the people call the ruins
of King Arthur’s Castle.
Kent is the most famous of the seven Saxon kingdoms, because the
Christian religion was preached to the Saxons there (who domineered
over the Britons too much, to care for what _they_ said about their
religion, or anything else) by Augustine, a monk from Rome. King
Ethelbert, of Kent, was soon converted; and the moment he said he was a
Christian, his courtiers all said _they_ were Christians; after which,
ten thousand of his subjects said they were Christians too. Augustine
built a little church, close to this King’s palace, on the ground now
occupied by the beautiful cathedral of Canterbury. Sebert, the King’s
nephew, built on a muddy marshy place near London, where there had been
a temple to Apollo, a church dedicated to Saint Peter, which is now
Westminster Abbey. And, in London itself, on the foundation of a temple
to Diana, he built another little church which has risen up, since that
old time, to be Saint Paul’s.
After the death of Ethelbert, Edwin, King of Northumbria, who was such
a good king that it was said a woman or child might openly carry a
purse of gold, in his reign, without fear, allowed his child to be
baptised, and held a great council to consider whether he and his
people should all be Christians or not. It was decided that they should
be. Coifi, the chief priest of the old religion, made a great speech on
the occasion. In this discourse, he told the people that he had found
out the old gods to be impostors. ‘I am quite satisfied of it,’ he
said. ‘Look at me! I have been serving them all my life, and they have
done nothing for me; whereas, if they had been really powerful, they
could not have decently done less, in return for all I have done for
them, than make my fortune. As they have never made my fortune, I am
quite convinced they are impostors!’ When this singular priest had
finished speaking, he hastily armed himself with sword and lance,
mounted a war-horse, rode at a furious gallop in sight of all the
people to the temple, and flung his lance against it as an insult. From
that time, the Christian religion spread itself among the Saxons, and
became their faith.
The next very famous prince was Egbert. He lived about a hundred and
fifty years afterwards, and claimed to have a better right to the
throne of Wessex than Beortric, another Saxon prince who was at the
head of that kingdom, and who married Edburga, the daughter of Offa,
king of another of the seven kingdoms. This Queen Edburga was a
handsome murderess, who poisoned people when they offended her. One
day, she mixed a cup of poison for a certain noble belonging to the
court; but her husband drank of it too, by mistake, and died. Upon
this, the people revolted, in great crowds; and running to the palace,
and thundering at the gates, cried, ‘Down with the wicked queen, who
poisons men!’ They drove her out of the country, and abolished the
title she had disgraced. When years had passed away, some travellers
came home from Italy, and said that in the town of Pavia they had seen
a ragged beggar-woman, who had once been handsome, but was then
shrivelled, bent, and yellow, wandering about the streets, crying for
bread; and that this beggar-woman was the poisoning English queen. It
was, indeed, Edburga; and so she died, without a shelter for her
wretched head.
Egbert, not considering himself safe in England, in consequence of his
having claimed the crown of Wessex (for he thought his rival might take
him prisoner and put him to death), sought refuge at the court of
Charlemagne, King of France. On the death of Beortric, so unhappily
poisoned by mistake, Egbert came back to Britain; succeeded to the
throne of Wessex; conquered some of the other monarchs of the seven
kingdoms; added their territories to his own; and, for the first time,
called the country over which he ruled, England.
And now, new enemies arose, who, for a long time, troubled England
sorely. These were the Northmen, the people of Denmark and Norway, whom
the English called the Danes. They were a warlike people, quite at home
upon the sea; not Christians; very daring and cruel. They came over in
ships, and plundered and burned wheresoever they landed. Once, they
beat Egbert in battle. Once, Egbert beat them. But, they cared no more
for being beaten than the English themselves. In the four following
short reigns, of Ethelwulf, and his sons, Ethelbald, Ethelbert, and
Ethelred, they came back, over and over again, burning and plundering,
and laying England waste. In the last-mentioned reign, they seized
Edmund, King of East England, and bound him to a tree. Then, they
proposed to him that he should change his religion; but he, being a
good Christian, steadily refused. Upon that, they beat him, made
cowardly jests upon him, all defenceless as he was, shot arrows at him,
and, finally, struck off his head. It is impossible to say whose head
they might have struck off next, but for the death of King Ethelred
from a wound he had received in fighting against them, and the
succession to his throne of the best and wisest king that ever lived in
England.