THE COMING OF AUGUSTINE.
During the two centuries in which Britain had been forgotten by the
rest of Europe, great events, most of them disastrous events, had been
happening in the world. The imperial city, Rome, had been four times
captured and plundered by barbarian armies. After the third of these
captures (that by Totila in 546), we are told that the mighty city
remained for six weeks absolutely empty of inhabitants, neither man nor
beast being left therein. During these two centuries the vast empire
of Attila the Hun which seemed likely at one time to be a universal
monarchy had risen into greatness and had fallen into ruin; so, too,
had risen and fallen the fair fabric raised in Italy by the converted
barbarian Theodoric; Clovis the Frank had become, from chief of a petty
principality, lord of a mighty realm, which under his sons had spread
over the greater part of the two countries which we now call France and
Germany; Justinian had framed his imperishable code, and the Bishop of
Rome had become the unquestioned patriarch of the west.
Two references to our island made by the greatest historian of the
period serve to emphasise its utter seclusion from the world of
civilisation and culture. Procopius in his immortal history of the
Gothic siege of Rome,[40] tells us that at a certain period of the
blockade (537) when the Gothic leaders began to despair of taking the
city they opened negotiations with Belisarius, the imperial general,
and endeavoured to persuade him to retire from Italy on condition of
receiving a formal cession of the island of Sicily. The absurdity of
the suggestion consisted in this, that Sicily, which was the natural
prize of the greatest sea power in the Mediterranean, was already
hopelessly lost to the Gothic kingdom; and this fact gave point to the
sarcastic reply of Belisarius: “And we, too, will allow the Goths to
possess the whole island of Britain which is much larger than Sicily
and which _once_ belonged to the Romans, as Sicily once belonged to
you. For when any one has received a favour it is fitting that he
should repay it in kind.” So utterly had Britain fallen out of the
orbit of the empire that a heroic Roman general could even afford to
joke over its disappearance.
Again, towards the end of his history,[41] Procopius, who evidently
wishes to follow the example of Herodotus in supplying his readers with
the best information in his power about strange and savage lands, gives
a detailed description of Britain. “It is divided into two parts by a
wall built by ‘the men of old’. On the eastern side of that wall all
is fresh and fair; neither heat nor cold excessive; fruits, harvests,
men abound; a fertile soil is blessed with abundance of water. But on
the western side things are altogether different, so that no man can
live there even for half an hour. Numberless vipers and serpents and
other venomous beasts abound there, and so pestilent is the air that
the moment a man crosses the wall he dies.” Furthermore, a strange
story was told concerning this island, for the truth of which Procopius
does not vouch, but which he repeats lest he should be thought to be
ignorant of a matter of common notoriety. “On the shore of the Channel
opposite to Britain are many villages inhabited by fishermen who are
exempt from the usual tribute ‘payable to the Kings of the Franks’ on
condition of their undertaking in rotation the duty of rowing over
to Britain the spirits of the dead. The boatman whose turn it is to
undertake this duty lies down at nightfall to snatch a brief slumber.
At dead of night a knock is heard at the door of his hut and a muffled
voice calls him and his fellows forth to their duty. They see ships,
not their own, anchored in the harbour. Embarking on these they seize
the oars and push off from land; at once the ships, though apparently
empty, are pressed down to the water’s edge by an unseen cargo. When
they reach the shore of Britain a disembarkation as invisible as the
embarkation takes place. They see no man; only a voice proclaims the
names of the invisible passengers, the offices they held in life, the
husbands of the dead wives, if any such should be among the number.
Quickly do they return to the Gaulish shore, and now the ship is not
sunk deeper than her keel.” Gladly would we learn in whose interest
and at what period of the great struggle this wild story was put in
circulation concerning a country which had been for at least three
centuries in the full prosaic daylight of Roman civilisation.
It was probably about the year 553 that Procopius of Cæsarea wrote
this strange story, worthy of the age of Orpheus and the Argonauts,
concerning our ghostly island. Some twenty years later, the celebrated
scene between Gregory and the fair-haired Yorkshire lads was enacted
in the Roman forum.[42] We cannot avoid listening once more to the
thousand times quoted words of Bede:--[43]
“I may not pass by in silence the event which according to the
tradition of the elders was the cause of Gregory’s abiding interest
in the salvation of our people. They say that on a certain day the
news of the arrival of some merchants caused a concourse of intending
purchasers to assemble in the forum where their goods were displayed.
Among the rest came Gregory who saw there, beside the other market
wares, certain boys set up for sale, with fair skins and beautiful
faces, noticeable for their golden hair and comely shapes. When he
beheld them, he asked from what part of the world they came. The
merchant told him that they came from the island of Britain, whose
inhabitants all presented the same appearance. Again he asked whether
they were Christians, or still involved in the errors of Paganism.
‘They are Pagans,’ was the reply. Hereupon he heaved a sigh from his
inmost heart, and said: ‘Alas! the pity of it! that the Prince of
Darkness should own as his subjects men of such shining countenance,
and that such grace of outward form should veil minds destitute of
heavenly grace within’. Again he asked what was the name of that
nation. The merchant answered: ‘They are called Angles’. ‘Well named,’
said he, ‘for they have angelic faces and ought to be co-heirs with
the angels in heaven. What is the name of that province from which
they have been brought?’ ‘The inhabitants of that province are called
Deiri.’ ‘Well again: rescued _de ira_ and called out of wrath into the
mercy of Christ. How is their king named?’ ‘Aelle.’ Playing on the
name he said: ‘Alleluia. It must needs be that the praises of God the
Creator resound in those regions.’”
It has been conjectured that the lads who stood on that fateful morning
for sale in the Roman forum had lost their liberty owing to the wars
waged between their lord, Aelle of Deira, and Ethelfrith of Bernicia.
The grave and reverend ecclesiastic who spoke to them in that historic
forum which still doubtless showed the senate-house and rostra of the
republic, and was overlooked by the palaces of the empire, was a man
who himself was sprung of a senatorial family and had worn the purple
of the prefect of the city. A year or two, however, before the dialogue
in the forum, about 575, he had laid aside that splendid robe and
donned the coarse scapular of a Benedictine monk. His stately palace
on the Cælian he had turned into a monastery, which still exists and
bears his name, though originally dedicated to St. Andrew. Such was the
man who, intensely Roman at heart as well as Christian, brought Britain
once again within the attraction of Rome.
In the first fervour of his missionary zeal, Gregory himself started on
the northward road, but was recalled by the command of the pope.[44]
Then came the years which he spent as papal nuncio (_apocrisiarius_)
at the splendid but not altogether friendly court of Constantinople;
his return to Rome; his rule as abbot in his monastery; and lastly his
election in 590 by the enthusiastic and unanimous voices of the people
to the office of pope, vacant by the death of Pelagius II. Still the
vision of the conversion of Britain remained dear to his heart; but in
the distracted state of Italy, living, as he said, “between the swords
of the Lombards,”[45] he was for some time unable to take any steps
towards its fulfilment. In September, 595, he wrote to the steward of
the papal estates in Gaul, directing him to buy as many English slaves
as he could, of the age of seventeen or eighteen, that they might be
distributed to various monasteries and there taught the elements of
the Christian faith. The terms of this commission give us a strong
impression of the regularity of the export of slaves from Britain to
Gaul. And where such a regular slave-trade exists we may generally
infer the prevalence of a chronic state of war.
At last, in 596, he sent forth his friend Augustine, prior of his
monastery of St. Andrew’s, with a company of monks, upon the great
enterprise. Augustine himself, a somewhat timorous and small-souled
man, who lacked the great qualities of his patron, when he had reached
the south of Gaul and heard from the bishops of that province dire
stories of Saxon barbarism, turned faint-hearted, and conversation
with his companions increased rather than allayed his fears. At last
they came to the inglorious conclusion “that it would be safer to
return home than to visit a barbarous, fierce and unbelieving nation,
of whose very language they were ignorant”. Augustine himself started
on the return journey, bearer of the unanimous request that they might
be excused from undertaking so perilous and laborious a mission, and
one of such doubtful issue. Probably he had not reached Rome when he
received a letter (dated July 23, 596) in which the pope informed the
whole company that it would have been better never to have begun a
good work than to turn back disheartened from its accomplishment. He
exhorted them not to be daunted by the difficulties of the journey,
nor discouraged by the words of evil-speaking men, but to press on
with zeal to finish the work which God had given them to do; knowing
that the greater the labour the richer would be the eternal recompense
of reward. At the same time a letter of commendation to Etherius,
Archbishop of Arles, probably smoothed their labours and did something
to allay their fears.
In truth the mission upon which the trembling monks were despatched,
though of immense importance, was one of no great danger, and it would
probably be safe to say that the missionaries of all the Christian
Churches have in the last two centuries cheerfully faced greater perils
and undergone greater hardships in the service of the Gospel of Christ,
than were the portion of Augustine and his friends. Ethelbert, the
king of Kent, whose court was the objective of their campaign, was far
the most powerful of the English kings, and in his reign, which had
now lasted more than thirty years, he had, we are told, “stretched
the bounds of his empire as far as the river Humber”.[46] His wife,
Bertha, daughter of Charibert, king of the Franks, and grand-daughter
of Clovis, was allowed to worship after the Christian manner without
let or hindrance, having her own private chaplain, Bishop Liudhard, and
we may fairly suppose that the messengers who came to preach the same
faith, bringing introductions from Frankish kings and prelates as well
as from the great Bishop of Rome, were safe from insult or molestation
in the wide region included in the over-lordship of her husband, the
limits of which they probably never overstepped.
At last after long and leisurely journeyings, visits to the courts
of Frankish kings, and the formation of a staff of interpreters,
Augustine and his companions, forty in number, landed, apparently in
the spring of 597, on the shores of Britain. Their landing-place was in
that extreme north-eastern corner of Kent which still bears the name
of the Isle of Thanet, though it has lost its insular character. In
the seventh century the little stream of the Stour, which flows round
this region and which then emptied itself into the channel called the
Wantsum, was a considerable river, probably tidal, 600 yards broad and
fordable only in two places. Thus Thanet was then a genuine island, and
here Augustine and his little band took up their temporary quarters.
Sending some of their Frankish interpreters to Ethelbert they informed
him that they had come from Rome, the bearers of the best of all good
news, and that if he would hearken to their counsels they could without
any doubt promise him eternal happiness in heaven and a future kingdom
without end in the presence of the living and true God. The king
replied with words courteous but cautious: “Remain in that island in
which you now are, while I consider what I shall do with you. Meanwhile
I will supply you with the necessaries of life.” After certain days
Ethelbert crossed the Wantsum and held a conference with the strangers.
The place of meeting was fixed in the open air, for the old king,
notwithstanding his life-long intercourse with Christians, feared that
he should be fascinated by magical arts if he met the missionaries
within doors. Soon Augustine and his forty companions were seen to
approach, bearing on high a silver cross by way of banner and a painted
picture of the Saviour, and chanting litanies, in which they prayed the
Lord to grant eternal life to themselves and to those for whose sake
they had come from far. At the king’s command they took their seats,
and then one of their number, probably Augustine himself, through the
medium of an interpreter, set forth to the king “how the mild-hearted
Saviour by His own throes of suffering redeemed this guilty world and
opened the kingdom of heaven to believing men”. The king replied: “Fair
are the words which you speak and the promises which you make to me,
but since they are new and vague I cannot give my assent to them, nor
leave those rites which I, together with the whole English nation,
have so long practised. But since you have come from so far, and, as
I perceive, desire to share with us that which you hold to be best
and truest, we will not be grievous unto you, but rather receive you
with friendly hospitality and make it our business to supply you with
needful food; nor will we forbid you to attach to yourselves all whom
you can, by your preaching, win over to your faith.”
Herewith, permitting them to leave the Isle of Thanet, he assigned them
quarters in the capital of his kingdom. This was the once insignificant
town of Durovernis, situated at the point where the Roman road to
Richborough diverged from the road between London and Dover. As the
capital of the Jutish kingdom this roadside station had already
attained to some importance under the name of Cantwaraburh, but showed
little promise of the world-wide fame which it was to achieve under its
more modern name of Canterbury. As the missionary band approached their
destined home they raised aloft the silver crucifix and the picture,
chanting with one accord a litany which may be thus translated:--
From this city, Lord! we pray
May Thy wrath be turned away.
We have sinned: but let Thy pity
Spare Thy house in yonder city.
Alleluia! Alleluia!
This litany was one which had been sung for more than a century on
Rogation days in the churches of Gaul, and we must not, therefore,
seek in its words for any special application to the little Saxon city
towards which the missionaries were gazing. As it happened, however,
there was already in that city a Christian church, erected probably
in the very last years of the Roman occupation of Britain,[47] and
dedicated to St. Martin of Tours. Here Ethelbert’s queen had since her
marriage been allowed to attend a Christian service, celebrated by
her Frankish chaplain, Liudhard. It was the opinion of Pope Gregory
that the Frankish ecclesiastics of Gaul had been somewhat neglectful
of their duties in reference to their heathen neighbours of Britain,
and probably the court chaplain Liudhard was not altogether exempt
from this reproach. However this may be, the church of St. Martin,
now handed over to the Roman mission, became a centre of religious
activity. The preaching and the prayers, the vigils and the fasts
of the white-robed strangers, their patient and self-denying life,
their professed willingness to suffer death itself on behalf of the
Christian faith, produced a great impression on the minds of the men
of Kent, rough doubtless and barbarous, but able to appreciate that
which they beheld of noble and godlike. They began to flock to the
church and crave the administration of baptism; and at last even the
king presented himself at the sacred font and received baptism at the
hands of Augustine. From that day the process of conversion went on
rapidly, but we are assured that no pressure was put by the king on his
subjects to compel them to follow his example, “since he had learned
from his teachers that the service of Christ must be a voluntary
matter and not a thing of compulsion”. He at once, however, provided
the missionaries with a residence in Canterbury suitable to their
dignity, and notwithstanding their life of abstinence and renunciation
he made to them grants of lands in various districts, thus beginning
that series of donations to the Church by Anglo-Saxon kings which was
continued by them for near five centuries with splendid liberality, and
the carefully preserved records of which constitute one of our most
valuable sources of information on the social condition of England
before the Norman conquest.
The mission having thus far met with such marvellous success Augustine
felt that the time was come for him to assume a regular ecclesiastical
position, and accordingly he journeyed to Arles, where the archbishop
of that see, in accordance with orders received from Gregory,
consecrated him as archbishop of the English nation.[48] Divers doubts
and questionings having occurred to the soul of the new metropolitan he
despatched, about 600, two of his brethren, Laurentius and Peter, to
lay his difficulties before his Roman patron. The questions asked are
of an extraordinary kind, and startle us by their strange juxtaposition
of things momentous and things indifferent. Thus a question whether
it is permissible for two brothers to marry two sisters, to whom they
themselves stand in no kind of relationship, is followed by another,
whether a man may be permitted to many his father’s widow. It is
difficult to believe that the framer of such a question can have even
read St. Paul’s letters to the Christians of Corinth. However, if the
archbishop’s questions seem to us rather surprising, the pope’s answers
are noble and statesmanlike. Especially memorable is his answer to the
inquiry: “The faith being one, what can I say as to the diverse customs
of the Churches, as, for instance, where the mass is celebrated in one
way in the Holy Roman Church and in another way in the Churches of
Gaul?” Pope Gregory replied, “You, my brother, know well the custom
of the Roman Church in which you were reared. But my pleasure is that
you should anxiously select whatever custom you may find, whether in
the Roman or in the Gaulish or any other Church, which is pleasing to
Almighty God, and teach the customs which you have thus gathered from
many Churches to the Church of the Angles, which is yet new to the
faith. For things are not to be prized according to the places from
which they originate, but places are to be loved according to the good
things to which they give birth.”
The letter containing these answers was carried, not by the returning
messengers of Augustine, but by a fresh mission from Rome, consisting
of Mellitus, Justus, Paulinus, and Rufinianus. They brought with
them also a woollen _pallium_ for Augustine, the symbol of his
archiepiscopal dignity, many relics of saints and ornaments for the
churches and the precious gift of a large number of manuscripts.
While entrusting Augustine with the precious _pallium_, a gift which
he was somewhat chary of bestowing, Pope Gregory at the same time
provided for the erection of an archiepiscopal see at Eburacum. In
future, after Augustine’s own death, the archiepiscopate of the south
was to be placed at Lundonia; and thereafter London and York, the two
archiepiscopal centres of their respective provinces, were to have
equal power, priority of dignity being assigned to whichever prelate
might happen to have been first ordained. The messengers brought also
letters specially directed to the King and Queen of Kent. In the
letter to Ethelbert, Gregory struck a note which was often heard in
his correspondence: “Moreover, we wish your Glory to know that, as we
are assured in Holy Scripture by the words of Almighty God, the end of
this present world is nigh at hand and the unending reign of the Saints
is about to begin. Before that day comes many things must come to pass
such as have not yet been seen: changes in the air, terrors in the
sky, tempests out of season, wars, famines, pestilences, earthquakes.
All these things, it is true, will not happen in our own day, but
after our days they will follow.” In the letter to Bertha, the pope,
while gently hinting that one so well grounded in the true faith ought
long ago to have effected the conversion of her husband, praises her
for what she has done in protecting and befriending the missionaries;
exhorts her to use all her influence in order to keep her husband
steadfast in the faith. He assures her that her memory will be revered
like that of Helena who turned her son Constantine to Christianity, and
that the fame of her great work has reached not only to Rome but even
to Constantinople (delightful thought for the daughter of barbarian
kings), and that its completion will bring joy to the angels in heaven.
In a letter addressed to the messenger Mellitus, containing some
thoughts which had come into the pope’s mind during his long musings
after the departure of his legation, Gregory desires him to direct
Augustine on no account to destroy the temples of the idols, but
to sprinkle them with holy water, construct altars and enrich them
with relics. The old pagan sacrifices of animals to their false gods
are, of course, to cease, but as a sort of concession to the festive
propensities of the converts, on the day of the dedication of the
church or on the birthday of the martyr whose relics were there
deposited, the people were to be encouraged to make little huts of
boughs all round the newly consecrated church, and therein, after
slaying animals for feasting, not for sacrifice, to express with joy
and gladness of heart their gratitude to the Giver of every good
gift. A remembrance of the Jewish feast of tabernacles seems to cross
the mind of the pontiff as he thus ordains the conversion of pagan
sacrifices into Christian festivities.
The story of the conversion of the English nation to Christianity is an
interesting one, and if at this point of our narrative religious topics
seem to claim too large a share of our attention, it must be remembered
that our chief, almost our only authority for this period is the
_Historia Ecclesiastica_ of Bede, a splendid piece of historical work,
but still one which, by the law of its being, concerns itself rather
with the Church than with the State. Church affairs, however, sometimes
throw an important light on political changes. We should be in entire
ignorance as to the time and manner of the conquest of London by the
invaders but for Bede’s information that: “Augustine ordained Mellitus
as bishop (604), and sent him to preach in the province of the East
Saxons, who are separated from Kent by the river Thames and are close
to the eastern sea. Their metropolis is the city of Lundonia, situated
on the banks of the aforesaid river and itself the mart of many nations
flocking thither by land and sea: over which people [the East Saxons]
at that time Saberct reigned, nephew of Ethelbert through his sister
Ricula. He was, however, in a subordinate position to Ethelbert, who,
as has been already said, ruled all the races of the English up to the
river Humber. When, therefore, that province [Essex] had received the
word of truth from the preaching of Mellitus, Ethelbert built in the
city of Lundonia a church to the holy apostle Paul, in which was fixed
the episcopal seat of Mellitus and his successors.”
At the same time Augustine consecrated Justus, who, as we have seen,
was a colleague of Mellitus in the Roman legation, Bishop of Dorubrevi,
“which from an old chieftain of theirs named Hrof the English nation
calls Hrofaescaestre” (Rochester). These two bishoprics, Canterbury and
Rochester, both founded in the one kingdom of Kent, seem to represent a
certain political duality in that region,[49] as if it were the normal
state of affairs that East and West Kent should have separate rulers.
However this may be, it is well for us to bear in mind that the title
of king was one of rather vague significance. Besides the great and
powerful kings of the eight chief provinces there was many a cluster of
petty princes dignified with the name of kings, of whom the national
history can take no notice, but whose names figure royally in charters
and testamentary documents.
It was probably soon after the arrival of the messengers from Rome,
and to some extent in compliance with Gregory’s wishes, that some
important but, unhappily, resultless overtures were made by Augustine
to the rulers of the Welsh Church. Using the powerful advocacy of
Ethelbert, he invited the doctors and bishops of the British province
to meet him about the year 602 at a place in the west of England which
was known long after as “Augustine’s oak”. There Augustine addressed
the Welsh ecclesiastics and besought them to enter into the Catholic
peace, and undertake with him a common labour for the conversion of
the heathen. The chief point on which he insisted was the necessity of
their conforming to the Roman practice in the calculation of Easter,
a wearisome matter of debate as to which we shall hear more than
enough in the century of Anglian history that now lies before us.
When argument failed, the Roman advocate proposed to have recourse to
miracle: “Let some sick man be brought into our midst, and the party
whose prayers avail to heal him shall be deemed to be the advocates
of the cause approved by God”. Unwillingly the Britons consented. A
blind Englishman was introduced into the assembly. The prayers of the
Welshmen failed to restore him to sight, but the prayers of Augustine,
we are told, succeeded. Then, it is said, the Britons professed to
be convinced that the course recommended by Augustine was the way of
righteousness, but declared that they could not, without the consent of
their countrymen, abandon their ancient customs. They therefore pleaded
for a second conference, which was to be held at some place which is
not named, and was to be attended by a much larger body of clergy.
To this second conference came seven bishops from Wales, possibly
including some from Cornwall, and a whole troop of learned doctors,
most of whom hailed from the great and noble monastery of Bangor.[50]
On their way to the council they turned aside to ask the advice of a
certain holy hermit, whether they should hold fast their old traditions
or accept the teaching of Augustine. “If he is a man of God,” said
he, “of course you must follow him.” “But how can we prove whether
he be or no?” The answer showed a rare insight into the true spirit
of Christianity: “The Lord said: Take my yoke upon you and learn of
Me, for I am meek and lowly of heart. If, therefore, this Augustine
is meek and lowly of heart, it is probable that he bears the yoke
of Christ himself and offers it to you to share it with him. But if
he is proud and discourteous, he is not of God and we need not care
for his words.... Arrange therefore, that he shall first reach the
place of meeting, and if, when you draw near, he rises to receive
you, be assured that he is a servant of Christ and listen to him with
deference, but if he despises you and does not choose to rise to you
who are the larger party, then let him be despised by you.” So it came
to pass. The Britons when they arrived found Augustine seated on a
chair of state, and he made no motion to arise therefrom. His demeanour
may have been the result of shyness or absence of mind, but they set
it down to pride, and being filled with wrath they made a point of
contradicting everything that he said. Soon doubtless the dispute
waxed warm, and cries of “Quarto-deciman,” “The last quarter of the
waning moon,” “The cycle of eighty-four years,” “The cycle of eighteen
years,” “The blessed apostle John,” “The prince of the apostles,
Peter,” with every variety of intonation, from the sharp notes of the
Italian cleric to the gruff voices of the Celtic mountaineer, resounded
through the air. Augustine seems to have done his best, too late, to
calm the ruffled spirits of his hearers. “Ye do many things,” he said,
“contrary to our custom: nay, contrary to the custom of the universal
Church, but if on three points ye will hearken to me we will patiently
bear your divergence on all others. These three points are, that ye
shall celebrate Easter at its own right time: that ye shall administer
baptism according to the usage of the Apostolical Roman Church,[51]
and that ye shall join with us in preaching the word of the Lord to
the English nation.” The Cambrians, however, refused to comply with
any of these conditions or to accept Augustine as their archbishop,
muttering one to another: “He would not even rise to receive us when we
were strangers: if we once submit ourselves to his authority he will
treat us as the dust under his feet”. Before the disputants parted from
one another, Augustine raised his voice in threatening prophecy: “If
you will not accept peace with your brethren, you will have to accept
war with your enemies: and if you will not preach the way of life to
the English nation, you shall suffer from their hands the requital of
death”. A prophecy which Bede considered to have afterwards received
its fulfilment in the bloody battle of Chester.
It certainly must raise our opinion of the absolute honesty of Bede as
a historian to find him, whose sympathies are all on the side of Roman
as against British Christianity, thus faithfully describing a scene
in which his hero Augustine certainly plays an unattractive part. The
Welshmen may have erred in attributing his conduct to pride, but his
most ardent champions must admit that he showed a grievous want of
tact in this important interview. It was a golden opportunity that was
offered for the reconciliation of two great hostile races at the feet
of one Saviour, and that opportunity once lost never returned. The
wound which the Saxon invasions had caused, still comparatively fresh,
might possibly have been then healed by first intention. Unhealed
then, it went festering on for centuries; and more than once or twice
since the days of Augustine, Christianity, which ought to be the great
reconciler of men, has proved itself the great divider between Celt and
Saxon. Soon probably after this fatal interview, Augustine died (May
26, 605?), and was succeeded in his archiepiscopal see by his friend
Laurentius, a companion of his labours from the beginning, and the man
whom he had himself in his lifetime ordained to be his successor.
The death of Ethelbert of Kent, which occurred in February 24, 616,
about eleven years after that of Augustine, serves as the occasion to
our one most trusted authority for giving us some valuable information
as to the political condition of our island. It will be well therefore
to translate in full a few sentences from the _Ecclesiastical History_.
“In the year of our Lord’s Incarnation, 616, Aedilberct [Ethelbert],
King of the Cantwaras, after a glorious reign on earth of fifty-six
years, entered the eternal joys of the heavenly kingdom. He was the
third among the kings of the English nation who ruled over all their
southern provinces which are separated from the northern ones by the
river Humber, and the boundaries adjoining: but he was the first of
all to mount to the Kingdom of Heaven. [He came, as I have said, third
in the other list.] For the first to wield dominion of this kind was
Aelle, King of the South Saxons; the second Caelin, King of the West
Saxons, who was called Ceawlin in their language; the third, as we
have said, Aedilberct, King of the Cantwaras; the fourth who possessed
it was Redwald, King of the East Angles, who even in the lifetime of
Aedilberct won the leadership for that same nation of his.” Bede then
proceeds to give us the names of three more leader-kings--names which
will figure largely in the following chapters of this history--Aeduini
(Edwin), Oswald and Oswiu (Oswy), all kings of Northumbria.
The Chronicle when it has to speak of Egbert the West Saxon and his
acquisition of supreme power over the English people, remarks that
“he was the eighth king that was _Bretwalda_” (or according to a
better attested reading _Brytenwealda_), and then repeats the above
list as given by Bede, adding Egbert’s name at its close. On the
strength of this passage historians have concluded, no doubt rightly,
that _Bretwalda_ or some similar word was the title given to these
exceptionally powerful English kings whom we find from time to time
during the period of the so-called Heptarchy wielding practically the
whole power of English Britain, and this idea of a “Britain-wielder”
seems to be now generally accepted as explanatory of the name. There
has been much discussion as to the attributes of this _Bretwalda_
sovereignty of Britain, but it cannot be said that any very definite
conclusion has yet been arrived at. It was probably what the Greeks
called a “hegemony,” rather than a formal and constituted sovereignty:
a leadership and preponderating influence such as the King of Prussia
possessed in Germany even before he was formally proclaimed emperor.
It will be observed that during Ethelbert’s reign his nephew, the East
Anglian Redwald, won the leadership from him. Evidently there were some
unrecorded vicissitudes in the life of Ethelbert.
The death of Ethelbert (who had married a second wife after the decease
of Frankish Bertha) seems to have been shortly followed by that of his
nephew, Saberct the East Saxon. Now was it too plainly seen how slight
a hold the new religion, promoted as it had been by royal favour and
the fashion of a court, had upon the hearts of the people. The hegemony
of Kent, sapped as it had apparently been in the lifetime of Ethelbert,
entirely disappeared at his death. Moreover his son Eadbald, who had
set his heart on wedding his widowed stepmother, and who could by no
means induce Archbishop Laurentius to sanction such an incestuous
union, openly revolted from the Church and went back to paganism. In
the frequent fits of insanity by which he was afterwards afflicted, the
faithful saw the work of unclean spirits and the permitted chastisement
of his sin.
Nor did affairs go better for Christianity in the neighbouring kingdom
of Essex. King Saberct had left three sons, joint-successors to his
kingdom, who during their father’s lifetime had yielded a sort of
fitful adherence to Christianity, but had not submitted to the rite of
baptism and remained apparently pagans at heart. Their quarrel with
Mellitus, Bishop of London, arose out of his refusal to permit them to
partake of the communion. They saw the bishop standing at the altar
administering the eucharist to the people; and “Why,” demanded they in
angry tones, “do you not give us some of that pure white bread which
you used to give to our father, and which we see you still handing
forth to the people?” Mellitus explained that it was not permitted to
give the bread except to those who had undergone the rite of baptism;
but they persisted that they had no need of baptismal purification, yet
meant to have a share of the consecrated bread. When Mellitus still
refused they said: “If you will not gratify us in so small a matter
you shall not stay in our province,” and drove him forth from their
kingdom. Mellitus, arriving in Kent, conferred with his brethren,
Laurentius and Justus, as to what should be done in the face of the
gathering storm-clouds. They unanimously came to the conclusion that
the better course was to return to their own country, and there serve
God with unharassed minds, rather than abide in that barbarous land
and carry on their fruitless labours among a population rebellious to
the faith. Mellitus and Justus accordingly left their respective sees
and betook themselves to Gaul, meaning there to abide till the hourly
expected end of the world, of which Gregory had so often warned them,
should be revealed. Shortly after their departure the three arrogant
East Saxon kings who had expelled Mellitus fell in battle against the
Gewissas or men of Wessex. But though the idolatrous rulers were gone,
their influence upon the people remained, and it was long before the
city of London could be persuaded to tolerate in its midst the votaries
of the new faith.
Thus it seemed that the seed sown by Augustine, which had sprung up
so quickly, having no deepness of earth, was about to wither away
as quickly before the parching blasts of persecution. A dream, or
a trance, or a mysterious mental struggle through which Archbishop
Laurentius passed, prevented the utter abandonment of the great
enterprise. In the night before his intended departure from Britain,
having laid him down to rest in a chamber of the monastery dedicated
by Augustine to St. Peter and St. Paul, Laurentius saw in a vision
the Apostle Peter who indignantly rebuked him for his faint-hearted
desertion of the flock committed to his care. With every sentence came
a blow from the apostolic scourge on the shoulders of the faint-hearted
archbishop, and this chastisement endured through many hours of the
secret and solitary night. In the morning Laurentius found that his
back was covered with wales from St. Peter’s lash, and going straight
to the palace he showed his wounds to the king. Eadbald asked in wrath
who had dared thus to chastise so eminent a man, and being told that
it was the long dead apostle of Christ, he was stricken with fear,
abandoned his idolatrous rites, put away his forbidden wife, received
baptism, and thenceforward promoted to the utmost of his power the
cause of the new religion.[52]
Thus then Laurentius did not take his hand from the plough. His
brethren, Mellitus and Justus, were recalled by Eadbald from Gaul,
but the newly converted king, less powerful than his father, availed
not to persuade the stubborn Londoners to receive Mellitus into their
midst. Not long after (February 2, 619) Laurentius himself died, and
was succeeded in the archiepiscopal see by Mellitus. He too died
(April 24, 624) after a five years’ tenure of office, and was succeeded
by Justus. Thus, one after another, Pope Gregory’s missionaries were
passing away, and their bodies were laid in the portico which, like
the great _atrium_ of the church of St. Ambrose at Milan, stood in
front of the slowly reared church of St. Peter and St. Paul. But the
Christianity of the Saxons in the south was still but a sickly and
shallow-rooted plant. It was left for the Angles of Northumbria to show
a genuine, hearty, popular conversion to the new faith, and to produce
that splendid series of saintly kings, bishops and princesses who have
made the seventh century for ever memorable in the history of English
Christianity.