THE COMIC HISTORY OF ENGLAND
By Gilbert Abbott A'Beckett
With Reproductions of the 200 Engravings by JOHN LEECH
And Twenty Page Illustrations
London
George Routledge And Sons, Limited
Broadway, Ludgate Hill Manchester and New York
[Illustration: 011]
[Illustration: frontispiece]
[Illustration: 014]
PREFACE.
In commencing this work, the object of the Author was, as he stated in
the Prospectus, to blend amusement with instruction, by serving up,
in as palatable a shape as he could, the facts of English History. He
pledged himself not to sacrifice the substance to the seasoning; and
though he has certainly been a little free in the use of his sauce, he
hopes that he has not produced a mere hash on the present occasion. His
object has been to furnish something which may be allowed to take its
place as a standing dish at the library table, and which, though light,
may not be found devoid of nutriment. That food is certainly not the
most wholesome which is the heaviest and the least digestible.
Though the original design of this History was only to place facts in
an amusing light, without a sacrifice of fidelity, it is humbly presumed
that truth has rather gained than lost by the mode of treatment that
has been adopted. Persons and tilings, events and characters, have
been deprived of their false colouring, by the plain and matter-of-fact
spirit in which they have been approached by the writer of the "Comic
History of England." He has never scrupled to take the liberty of
tearing off the masks and fancy dresses of all who have hitherto been
presented in disguise to the notice of posterity. Motives are treated in
these pages as unceremoniously as men; and as the human disposition was
much the same in former times as it is in the present day, it has been
judged by the rules of common sense, which are alike at every period.
Some, who have been accustomed to look at History as a pageant, may
think it a desecration to present it in a homely shape, divested of its
gorgeous accessories. Such persons as these will doubtless feel offended
at finding the romance of history irreverently demolished, for the sake
of mere reality. They will-perhaps honestly though erroneously-accuse
the author of a contempt for what is great and good; but the truth is,
he has so much real respect for the great and good, that he is desirous
of preventing the little and bad from continuing to claim admiration
upon false pretences.
THE COMIC HISTORY OF ENGLAND.
BOOK I.
CHAPTER THE FIRST. THE BRITONS--THE ROMANS--INVASION BY JULIUS CÆSAR.
IT has always been the good fortune of the antiquarian who has busied
himself upon the subject of our ancestors, that the total darkness
by which they are overshadowed, renders it impossible to detect the
blunderings of the antiquarian himself, who has thus been allowed to
grope about the dim twilight of the past, and entangle himself among its
cobwebs, without any light being thrown upon his errors.
[Illustration: 028]
But while the antiquarians have experienced no obstruction from others,
they have managed to come into collision among themselves, and have
knocked their heads together with considerable violence in the process
of what they call exploring the dark ages of our early history. We are
not unwilling to take a walk amid the monuments of antiquity, which we
should be sorry to run against or tumble over for want of proper light;
and we shall therefore only venture so far as we can have the assistance
of the bull's-eye of truth, rejecting altogether the allurements of
the Will o' the Wisp of mere probability. It is not because former
historians have gone head oyer heels into the gulf of conjecture, that
we are to turn a desperate somersault after them. *
* Some historians tell us that the most conclusive evidence
of things that have happened is to be found in the reports
of the _Times_. This source of information is, however,
closed against us, for the _Times_, unfortunately, had no
reporters when these isles were first inhabited.
The best materials for getting at the early history of a country are its
coins, its architecture, and its manners. The Britons, however, had not
yet converted the Britannia metal--for which their valour always made
them conspicuous--into coins, while their architecture, to judge from
the Druidical remains, was of the wicket style, consisting of two or
three stones stuck upright in the earth, with another stone laid at
the top of them; after the fashion with which all lovers of the game
of cricket are of course familiar. As this is the only architectural
assistance we are likely to obtain, we decline entering upon the subject
through such a gate; or, to use an expression analogous to the pastime
to which we have referred, we refuse to take our innings at such a
wicket. We need hardly add, that in looking to the manners of our
ancestors for enlightenment, we look utterly in vain, for there is no
Druidical Chesterfield to afford us any information upon the etiquette
of that distant period. There is every reason to believe that our
forefathers lived in an exceedingly rude state; and it is therefore
perhaps as well that their manners--or rather their want of
manners--should be buried in oblivion.
[Illustration: 029]
It was formerly very generally believed that the first population of
this country descended from Æneas, the performer of the most filial act
of pick-a-back that ever was known; and that the earliest Britons
were sprung from his grandson--one Brutus, who, preserving the family
peculiarity, came into this island on the shoulders of the people. *
Hollinshed, that greatest of antiquarian _gobemouches_, has not only
taken in the story we have just told, but has added a few of his own
ingenious embellishments. He tells us that Brutus fell in with the
posterity of the giant Albion, who was put to death by Hercules, whose
buildings at Lambeth are the only existing proofs of his having ever
resided in this country.
* The story of Brutus and the Trojans has been told in such
a variety of ways, that it is difficult to make either head
or tail of it. Geoffrey of Monmouth says that Brutus found
Britain deserted, except by a few giants--from which it is
to be presumed that Brutus landed at Greenwich about the
time of the fair. Perhaps the introduction of troy-weight
into our arithmetic may be traced to the immigration of the
Trojans, who were very likely to adopt the measures--and why
not the weights--with which they had been familiar.
Considering it unprofitable to dwell any longer on those points, about
which all writers are at loggerheads, we come at once to that upon which
they are all agreed, which is, that the first inhabitants were a tribe
of Celtæ from the Continent: that, in fact, the earliest Englishmen were
all Frenchmen; and that, however bitter and galling the fact may be,
it is to Gaul that we owe our origin. We ought perhaps to mention
that Cæsar thinks our sea-ports were peopled by Belgic invaders, from
Brussels, thus causing a sprinkling of Brussels sprouts among the native
productions of England.
The name of our country--Britannia--has also been the subject of
ingenious speculation among the antiquarians. To sum up all their
conjectures into one of our own, we think they have succeeded in
dissolving the word Britannia into Brit, or Brick, and tan, which would
seem to imply that the natives always behaved like bricks in tanning
their enemies. The suggestion that the syllable tan, means tin, and that
Britannia is synonymous with tin land, appears to be rather a modern
notion, for it is only in later ages that Britannia has become
emphatically the land of tin, or the country for making money.
The first inhabitants of the island lived by pasture, and not by trade.
They as yet knew nothing of the till, but supported themselves by
tillage. Their dress was picturesque rather than elegant. A book of
truly British fashions would be a great curiosity in the present day,
and we regret that we have no _Petit Courier des Druides_, or Celtic
_Belle Assemblée_, to furnish _figurines_ of the costume of the period.
Skins, however, were much worn, for morning as well as for evening
dress; and it is probable that even at that early age ingenuity may
have been exercised to suggest new patterns for cow cloaks and other
varieties of the then prevailing articles of the wardrobe.
The Druids, who were the priests, exercised great ascendancy over
the people, and often claimed the spoils of war, together with other
property, under the plea of offering up the proceeds as a sacrifice to
the divinities. These treasures, however, were never accounted for; and
it is now too late for the historians to file, as it were, a bill in
equity to inquire what has become of them.
Cæsar, who might have been so called from his readiness to seize upon
everything, now turned his eyes and directed his arms upon Britain.
According to some he was tempted by the expectation of finding pearls,
which he hoped to get out of the oysters, and he therefore broke in upon
the natives with considerable energy.
[Illustration: 031]
Whatever Caesar looking for the Pearls for which Britain was formerly
celebrated, may have been Caesar's motives the fact is pretty well
ascertained, that at about ten o'clock one fine morning in August--some
say a quarter past--he reached the British coast with 12,000 infantry,
packed in eighty vessels. He had left behind him the whole of his
cavalry--the Roman horse-marines--who were detained by contrary winds
on the other side of the sea, and though anxious to be in communication
with their leader, they never could get into the right channel. At about
three in the afternoon, Cæsar having taken an early dinner, began to
disembark his forces at a spot called to this day the Sandwich Flats,
from the people having been such flats as to allow the enemy to effect a
landing. While the Roman soldiers were standing shilly-shallying at the
side of their vessels, a standard-bearer of the tenth legion, or, as we
should call him, an ensign in the tenth, jumped into the water, which
was nearly up to his knees, and addressing a claptrap to his comrades
as he stood in the sea, completely turned the tide in Caesar's favour.
After a severe shindy on the shingles, the Britons withdrew, leaving
the Romans masters of the beach, where Cæsar erected a marquee for the
accommodation of his cohorts. The natives sought and obtained peace,
which had no sooner been concluded, than the Roman horse-marines were
seen riding across the Channel. A tempest, however, arising, the horses
were terrified, and the waves beginning to mount, added so much to the
confusion, that the Roman cavalry were compelled to back to the point
they started from. The same storm gave a severe blow to the camp of
Cæsar, on the beach, dashing his galleys and transports against the
rocks which they were sure to split upon. Daunted by these disasters,
the invaders, after a few breezes with the Britons, took advantage of
a favourable gale to return to Gaul, and thus for a time the dispute
appeared to have blown over.
Cæsar's thoughts, however, still continued to run in one, namely, the
British, Channel. In the spring of the ensuing year, he rigged out 800
ships, into which he contrived to cram 32,000 men, and with this
force he was permitted to land a second time by those horrid flats at
Sandwich. The Britons for some time made an obstinate resistance in
their chariots, but they ultimately took a fly across the country, and
retreated with great rapidity. Cæsar had scarcely sat down to breakfast
the next morning when he heard that a tempest had wrecked all his
vessels. At this intelligence he burst into tears, and scampered off to
the sea coast, with all his legions in full cry, hurrying after him.
[Illustration: 032]
The news of the disaster turned out to be no exaggeration, for there
were no penny-a-liners in those days; and, having carried his ships a
good way inland, where they remained like fish out of water, he set out
once more in pursuit of the enemy. The Britons had, however, made
the most of their time, and had found a leader in the person of
Gassivelaunus, _alias_ Caswallon, a quarrelsome old Gelt, who had so
frequently thrashed his neighbours, that he was thought the most likely
person to succeed in thrashing the Romans. This gallant individual was
successful in a few rough off handed engagements; but when it came
to the fancy work, where tactics were required, the disciplined Roman
troops were more than a match for him. His soldiers having been driven
back to their woods, he drove himself back in his chariot to the
neighbourhood of Chertsey, where he had a few acres of ground, which he
called a Kingdom. He then stuck some wooden posts in the middle of the
Thames, as an impediment to Cæsar, who, in the plenitude of his vaulting
ambition, laid his hands on the posts and vaulted over them.
The army of Cassivelaunus being now disbanded, his establishment was
reduced to 4000 chariots, which he kept up for the purpose of harassing
the Romans. As each chariot required at least a pair of horses, his 4000
vehicles, and the enormous stud they entailed, must have been rather
more harassing to Cassivelaunus himself than to the enemy.
This extremely extravagant Celt, who had long been the object of the
jealousy of his neighbours, was now threatened by their treachery. The
chief of the Trinobantes, who lived in Middlesex, and were perhaps the
earliest Middlesex magistrates, sent ambassadors to Cæsar, promising
submission. They also showed him the way to the contemptible cluster of
houses which Cassivelaunus dignified with the name of his capital. It
was surrounded with a ditch, and a rampart made chiefly of mud, the
article in which military engineering seemed to have stuck at that early
period. Cassivelaunus was driven by Cæsar from his abode, constructed of
clay and felled trees, and so precipitate was the flight of the Briton,
that he had only time to pack up a few necessary articles, leaving
everything else to fall into the hands of the enemy.
The Roman General, being tired of his British campaign, was glad to
listen to the overtures of Cassivelaunus; but these overtures consisted
of promissory notes, which were never realised. The Celt undertook to
transmit an annual tribute to Cæsar, who never got a penny of the money;
and the hostages he had carried with him to Gaul became a positive
burden to him, for they were never taken out of pawn by their
countrymen. It is believed that they were ultimately got rid of at a
sale of unredeemed pledges, where they were put up in lots of half a
dozen, and knocked down as slaves to the highest bidder.
[Illustration: 033]
Before quitting the subject of Caesar's invasion, it may be interesting
to the reader to know something of the weapons with which the early
Britons attempted to defend themselves. Their swords were made of
copper, and generally bent with the first blow, which must have greatly
straitened their aggressive resources, for the swords thus followed
their own bent, instead of carrying out the intentions of the persons
using them. This provoking pliancy of the material must often have made
the soldier as ill-tempered as his own weapon. The Britons carried also
a dirk, and a spear, the latter of which they threw at the foe, as
an effectual means of pitching into him. A sort of reaping-hook was
attached to their chariot wheels, and was often very useful in reaping
the laurels of victory.
For nearly one hundred years after Cæsar's invasion, Britain was
undisturbed by the Romans, though Caligula, that neck-or-nothing tyrant,
as his celebrated wish entitles him to be called, once or twice had
his eye upon it. The island, however, if it attracted the Imperial eye,
escaped the lash, during the period specified.
CHAPTER THE SECOND. INVASION BY THE ROMANS UNDER
CLAUDIUS--CARACTACUS--BOADICEA--AGRICOLA---GALGACUS--SEVERUS--VORTIGERN
CALLS IN THE SAXONS.
It was not until ninety-seven years after Cæsar had seized upon the
island that it was unceremoniously clawed by the Emperor Claudius. Kent
and Middlesex fell an easy prey to the Roman power; nor did the brawny
sons of Canterbury--since so famous for its brawn--succeed in repelling
the enemy. Aulus Plautius, the Roman general, pursued the Britons under
that illustrious character, Caractus. He retreated towards Lambeth
Marsh, and the swampy nature of the ground gave the invaders reason to
feel that it was somewhat too
"Far into the bowels of the land
They had march'd on without impediment."
Vespasian, the second in command, made a tour in the Isle of Wight, then
called Vectis, where he boldly took the Bull by the horns, and seized
upon Cowes with considerable energy. Still, little was done till
Ostorius Scapula--whose name implies that he was a sharp blade--put his
shoulder to the wheel, and erected a line of defences--a line in
which he was so successful that it may have been called his peculiar
_forte_--to protect the territory that had been acquired.
After a series of successes, Ostorius having suffocated every breath
of liberty in Suffolk, and hauled the inhabitants of Newcastle over the
coals, drove the people of Wales before him like so many Welsh rabbits;
and even the brave Caractacus was obliged to fly as well as he could,
with the remains of one of the wings of the British army. He was taken
to Rome with his wife and children, in fetters, but his dignified
conduct procured his chains to be struck off, and from this moment we
lose the chain of his history.
Ostorius, who remained in Britain, was so harassed by the natives that
he was literally worried to death; but in the reign of Nero (a.d. 59),
Suetonius fell upon Mona, now the Isle of Anglesey, where the howlings,
cries, and execrations of the people were so awful, that the name of
Mona was singularly appropriate. Notwithstanding, however, the terrific
oaths of the natives, they could not succeed in swearing away the lives
of their aggressors. Suetonius, having made them pay the penalty of so
much bad language, was called up to London, then a Roman colony; but he
no sooner arrived in town, than he was obliged to include himself among
the departures, in consequence of the fury of Boadicea, that greatest
of viragoes and first of British heroines. She reduced London to ashes,
which Suetonius did not stay to sift; but he waited the attack of
Boadicea a little way out of town, and pitched his tent within a modern
omnibus ride of the great metropolis. His fair antagonist drove after
him in her chariot, with her two daughters, the Misses Boadicea, at her
side, and addressed to her army some of those appeals on behalf of "a
British female in distress," which have since been adopted by British
dramatists. The valorous old vixen was, however, defeated; and rather
than swallow the bitter pill which would have poisoned the remainder of
her days, she took a single dose and terminated her own existence.
Suetonius soon returned with his suite to the Continent, without having
finished the war; for it was always a characteristic of the Britons,
that they never would acknowledge they had had enough at the hands of an
enemy. Some little time afterwards, we find Cerealis engaged in one of
those attacks upon Britain which might be called serials, from their
frequent repetition; and subsequently, about the year 75 or 78, Julius
Frontinus succeeded to the business from which so many before him had
retired with very little profit.
The general, however, who cemented the power of Rome--or, to speak
figuratively, introduced the Roman cement among the Bricks or
Britons--was Julius Agricola, the father-in-law of Tacitus, the
historian, who has lost no opportunity of puffing most outrageously his
undoubtedly meritorious relative.
[Illustration: 035]
Agricola certainly did considerable havoc in Britain. He sent the Scotch
reeling oyer the Grampian Hills, and led the Caledonians a pretty dance.
Portrait of Julius Agricola. He ran UP a kind of rampart between the
Friths of Clyde and Forth, from which he could come forth at his
leisure and complete the conquest of Caledonia. In the sixth year of his
campaign, a.d. 83, he crossed the Frith of Forth, and came opposite to
Fife, which was played upon by the whole of his band with considerable
energy. Having wintered in Fife, upon which he levied contributions to
a pretty tune, he moved forward in the summer of the next year, a.d.
84, from Glen Devon to the foot of the Grampians. He here encountered
Galgacus and his host, who made a gallant resistance; but the Scottish
chief was soon left to reckon without his host, for all his followers
fled like lightning, and it has been said that their bolting came upon
him like a thunderbolt.
Agricola having thoroughly beaten the Britons--on the principle,
perhaps, that there is nothing so impressible as wax--began to think of
instructing them. He had given them a few lessons in war which they
were not likely to forget, and he now thought of introducing among
their chiefs a tincture of polite letters, commencing of course with the
alphabet. The Britons finding it as easy as A, B, C, began to cultivate
the rudiments of learning, for there is a spell in letters of which few
can resist the influence. They assumed the toga, which, on account of
the comfortable warmth of the material, they very quickly cottoned;
they plunged into baths, and threw themselves into the capacious lap of
luxury.
For upwards of thirty years Britain remained tranquil, but in the reign
of Hadrian, a.d. 120, the Caledonians, whose spirit had been "scotched,
not killed," became exceedingly turbulent. Hadrian, who felt his
weakness, went to the wall of Agricola, * which was rebuilt in order to
protect the territory the Romans had acquired. Some years afterwards the
power of the empire went into a decline, which caused a consumption
at home of many of the troops that had been previously kept for the
protection of foreign possessions. Britain took this opportunity of
revolting, and in the year 207, the Emperor Severus, though far advanced
in years and a martyr to the gout, determined to march in person against
the barbarians. He had no sooner set his foot on English ground than
his gout caused him to feel the greatest difficulties at every step,
and having been no less than four years getting to York, he knocked
up there, a.d. 211, and died in a dreadful hobble. Caracalla, son and
successor to the late Emperor Severus, executed a surrender of land
to the Caledonians for the sake of peace, and being desirous of
administering to the effects of his lamented governor in Rome, left the
island for ever.
* The remains of this wall are still in existence, to
furnish food for the Archeologians who occasionally feast on
the bricks, which have become venerable with the crust of
ages. A morning roll among the mounds in the neighbourhood
where this famous wall once existed, is considered a most
delicate repast to the antiquarian.
[Illustration: 036]
The history of Britain for the next seventy years may be easily written,
for a blank page would tell all that is known respecting it. In the
partnership reign of Dioclesian and Maximian, a.d. 288, "the land we
live in" turns up again, under somewhat unfavourable circumstances, for
we find its coasts being ravaged about this time by Scandinavian and
Saxon pirates. Carausius, a sea captain, and either a Belgian or Briton
by birth, was employed against the pirates, to whom, in the Baltic
sound, he gave a sound thrashing. Instead, however, of sending the
plunder home to his employers, he pocketed the proceeds of his own
victories, and the Emperors, growing jealous of his power, sent
instructions to have him slain at the earliest convenience. The wily
sailor, however, fled to Britain, where he planted his standard, and
where the tar, claiming the natives as his "messmates," induced them
to join him in the mess he had got into. The Roman eagles were put to
flight, and both wings of the imperial army exhibited the white feather.
Peace with Carausius was purchased by conceding to him the government of
Britain and Boulogne, with the proud title of Emperor.
The assumption of the rank of Emperor of Boulogne seems to us about as
absurd as usurping the throne of Broadstairs, or putting on the imperial
purple at Herne Bay; but Carausius having been originally a mere pirate,
was justly proud of his new dignity. Having swept the seas, he commenced
scouring the country, and his victories were celebrated by a day's
chairing, at which he assisted as the principal figure in a procession
of unexampled pomp and pageantry. The throne, however, is not an easy
_fauteuil_, and Carausius had scarcely had time to throw himself back
in an attitude of repose, when he was murdered at Eboracum (York)
(a.d. 297), by one Alectus, his confidential friend and minister. In
accordance with the custom of the period, that the murderer should
succeed his victim, Alectus ruled in Britain until he, in his turn, was
slain at the instigation of Constantius Chlorus, who became master
of the island. That individual died at York (a.d. 306), where his son
Constantine, afterwards called the Great, commenced his reign, which was
a short and not a particularly merry one, for after experiencing several
reverses in the North, he quitted the island, which, until his death in
337, once more enjoyed tranquillity.
Rome, which had so long been mighty, was like a cheese in the same
condition, rapidly going to decay, and she found it necessary to
practise what has been termed "the noble art of self-defence," which
is admitted on all hands to be the first law of Nature. Britain they
regarded as a province, which it was not their province to look after.
It was consequently left as pickings for the Picts, * nor did it come
off scot free from the Scots, who were a tribe of Celtæ from Ireland,
and who consequently must be regarded as a mixed race of Gallo-Hibernian
Caledonians. They had, in fact, been Irishmen before they had been
Scotchmen, and Frenchmen previous to either. Such were the translations
that occurred even at that early period in the greatest drama of
all--the drama of history.
* "The Picts," says Dr. Henry, "were so called from Pictich,
a plunderer, and not from _picti_, painted." History, in
assigning the latter origin to their name, has failed to
exhibit them in their true colours.
Britain continued for years suspended like a white hart--a simile
justified by its constant trepidation and alarm--with which the Romans
and others might enjoy an occasional game at bob-cherry. Maximus (a.d.
382) made a successful bite at it, but turning aside in search of the
fruits of ambition elsewhere, the Scots and Picts again began nibbling
at the Bigaroon that had been the subject of so much snappishness.
The Britons being shortly afterwards left once more to themselves,
elected Marcus as their sovereign (a.d. 407); but monarchs in those days
were set up like the king of skittles, only to be knocked down again.
Marcus was accordingly bowled out of existence by those who had raised
him; and one, Gratian, having succeeded to the post of royal ninepin,
was in four months as dead as the article to which we have chosen to
compare him. After a few more similar ups and downs, the Romans, about
the year 420, nearly five centuries after Cæsar's first invasion,
finally cried quits with the Britons by abandoning the island.
In pursuing his labours over the few ensuing years, the author would
be obliged to grope in the dark; but history is not a game at
blind-man's-buff, and we will never condescend to make it so. It is
true, that with the handkerchief of obscurity bandaging our eyes, we
might turn round in a state of rigmarole, and catch what we can; but
as it would be mere guesswork by which we could describe the object of
which we should happen to lay hold, we will not attempt the experiment.
It is unquestionable that Britain was a prey to dissensions at home
and ravages from abroad, while every kind of faction--except
satisfaction--was rife within the island.
Such was the misery of the inhabitants, that they published a pamphlet
called "The Groans of the Britons" (a.d. 441), in which they invited
Ætius, the Roman consul, to come over and turn out the barbarians,
between whom and the sea, the islanders were tossed like a shuttlecock
knocked about by a pair of battledores. Ætius, in consequence of
previous engagements with Attila and others, was compelled to decline
the invitation, and the Britons therefore had a series of routs, which
were unattended by the Roman cohorts.
The southern part of the island was now torn between a Roman faction
under Aurelius Ambrosius, and a British or "country party," at the head
of which was Vortigern. The latter is said to have called in the Saxons;
and it is certain that (a.d. 449) he hailed the two brothers Hengist
and Horsa, * who were cruising as Saxon pirates in the British Channel.
These individuals being ready for any desperate job, accepted the
invitation of Vortigern, to pass some time with him in the Isle of
Thanet. They were received as guests by the people of Sandwich, who
would as soon have thought of quarrelling with their bread and butter as
with the friends of the gallant Vortigern. From this date commences the
Saxon period of the history of Britain.
* Horen, means a horse; and the white horse, even now,
appears as the ensign of Kent, as it once did on the shield
of the Saxons. It is probable that when Horsa came to
London, he may have put up somewhere near the present site
of the White Horse Cellar. Vide "Palgrave's Rise and
Progress of the English Commonwealth."
CHAPTER THE THIRD. THE SAXONS--THE HEPTARCHY.
In obedience to custom, the etymologists have been busy with the word
Saxon, which they have derived from _seax_, a sword, and we are left to
draw the inference that the Saxons were very sharp blades; a presumption
that is fully sustained by their fierce and warlike character. Their
chief weapons were a battleaxe and a hammer, in the use of which they
were so adroit that they could always hit the right nail upon the head,
when occasion required. Their shipping had been formerly exceedingly
crazy, and indeed the crews must have been crazy to have trusted
themselves in such fragile vessels. The bottoms of the boats were of
very light timber, and the sides consisted of wicker, so that the fleet
must have combined the strength of the washing-tub with the elegant
lightness of the clothes' basket. Like their neighbours the wise men of
Gotham, or Gotha, who went to sea in a bowl, the Saxons had not scrupled
to commit themselves to the mercy of the waves, in these unsubstantial
cockle-shells. The boatbuilders, however, soon took rapid strides, and
improved their craft by mechanical cunning.
Another fog now comes over the historian, but the gas of sagacity is
very useful in dispelling the clouds of obscurity. It is said that
Hengist gave an evening party to Vortigern, who fell in love with
Bowena, the daughter of his host--a sad flirt, who, throwing herself
on her knee, presented the wine-cup to the king, wishing him, in a neat
speech, all health and happiness. Vortigern's head was completely turned
by the beauty of Miss Bowena Hengist, and the strength of the beverage
she had so bewitchingly offered him.
[Illustration: 040]
A story is also told of a Saxon _soirée_ having been given by Hengist
to the Britons, to which the host and his countrymen came, with short
swords or knives concealed in their hose, and at a given signal drew
their weapons upon their unsuspecting guests. Many historians have
doubted this dreadful tale, and it certainly is scarcely credible that
the Saxons should have been able to conceal in their stockings the short
swords or carving-knives, which must have been very inconvenient to
their calves. Stonehenge is the place at which this cruel act of the
hard-hearted and stony Hengist is reported to have occurred; and as
antiquarians are always more particular about dates when they are most
likely to be wrong, the 1st of May has been fixed upon as the very day
on which this horrible _réunion_ was given. It has been alleged, that
Vortigern, in order to marry Bowena, settled Kent upon Hengist; but it
is much more probable that Hengist settled himself upon Kent without the
intervention of any formality.
It is certain that he became King of the County, to which he affixed
Middlesex, Essex, and a part of Surrey; so that, as sovereigns went in
those early days, he could scarcely be called a petty potentate. The
success of Hengist induced several of his countrymen, after his death,
to attempt to walk in his shoes; but it has been well and wisely said,
that in following the footsteps of a great man an equally capacious
understanding is requisite.
The Saxons who tried this experiment were divided into Saxons proper,
Angles, and Jutes, who all passed under the common appellation of Angles
and Saxons. The word Angles was peculiarly appropriate to a people so
naturally sharp, and the whole science of mathematics can give us no
angles so acute as those who figured in the early pages of our history.
In the year 447, Ella the Saxon landed in Sussex with his three sons,
and drove the Britons into a forest one hundred and twenty miles long
and thirty broad, according to the old writers, but in our opinion just
about as broad as it was long, for otherwise there could have been no
room for it in the place where the old writers have planted it. Ella,
however, succeeded in clutching a very respectable slice, which was
called the kingdom of South Saxony, which included Surrey, Sussex, and
the New Forest; while another invading firm, under the title of Cerdic
and Son, started a small vanquishing business in the West, and by
conquering Hampshire and the Isle of Wight, founded the kingdom of
Wessex. Cerdic was considerably harassed by King Arthur of fabulous
fame, whose valour is reported to have been such, that he fought twelve
battles with the Saxons, and was three times married. His first and
third wives were carried away from him, but on the principle that no
news is good news, the historians tell us that as there are no records
of his second consort, his alliance with her may perhaps have been a
happy one. The third and last of his spouses ran off with his nephew
Mordred, and the enraged monarch having met his ungrateful kinsman in
battle, they engaged each other with such fury, that, like the Kilkenny
cats, they slew one another.
About the year 527, Greenwine landed on the Essex flats, which he had no
trouble in reducing, for he found them already on a very low level.
In 547, Ida, with a host of Angles, began fishing for dominion off
Flamborough head, where he effected a landing. He however settled on a
small wild space between the Tyne and the Tees, a tiny possession, in
which he was much teased by the beasts of the forest, for the place
having been abandoned, Nature had established a Zoological Society of
her own in this locality. The kingdom thus formed was called Bernicia,
and as the place was full of wild animals, it is not improbable that the
British Lion may have originally come from the place alluded to.
Ella, another Saxon prince, defeated Lancashire and York, taking the
name of King of the Deiri, and causing the inhabitants to lick the dust,
which was the only way they could find of repaying the licking they had
received from their conqueror. Ethelred, the grandson of Ida, having
married the daughter of Ella, began to cement the union in the
old-established way, by robbing his wife's relations of all their
property. He seized on the kingdom of his brother-in-law, and added it
to his own, uniting the petty monarchies of Deiri and Bemicia into the
single sovereignty of Northumberland.
[Illustration: 042]
Such were the several kingdoms which formed the Heptarchy.
Arithmeticians will probably tell us that seven into one will never go;
but into one the seven did eventually go by a process that will be shown
in the ensuing chapter.
CHAPTER THE FOURTH. THE UNION OF THE HEPTARCHY UNDER EGBERT.
If it be a sound philosophical truth, that two of a trade can never
agree, we may take it for granted that, _à fortiori_, seven in the same
business will be perpetually quarrelling. Such was speedily the case
with the Saxon princes; and it is not improbable that the disturbed
condition, familiarly known as a state of sixes and sevens, may have
derived its title from the turmoils of the seven Saxon sovereigns,
during the existence of the Heptarchy. Nothing can exceed the
entanglement into which the thread of history was thrown by the battles
and skirmishes of these princes. The endeavour to lay hold of the thread
would be as troublesome as the process of looking for a needle, * not
merely in a bottle of hay, but in the very bosom of a haystack. Let us,
however, apply the magnet of industry, and test the alleged fidelity
of the needle to the pole by attempting to implant in the head of the
reader a few of the points that seem best adapted for striking him.
* "A needle in a bottle of hay," is an old English phrase,
of which we cannot trace the origin. Bottled hay must have
been sad dry stuff, but it is possible the wisdom of our
ancestors may have induced them to bottle their grass as we
in the present day bottle our gooseberries.
We will take a run through the whole country as it was then divided,
and will borrow from the storehouse of tradition the celebrated pair
of seven-leagued boots, for the purpose of a scamper through the seven
kingdoms of the Heptarchy.
We will first drop in upon Kent, whose founder, Hengist, had no worthy
successor till the time of Ethelbert. This individual acted on the
principle of give and take, for he was always taking what he could, and
giving battle. He seated himself by force on the throne of Mercia, into
which he carried his arms, as if the throne of Kent had not afforded him
sufficient elbow-room. This, however, he resigned to Webba, the rightful
heir: but poor Webba (_query_ Webber) was kept like a fly in a spider's
web, as a tributary prince to the artful Ethelbert. This monarch's reign
derived, however, its real glory from the introduction of Christianity
and the destruction of many Saxon superstitions. He kept up a friendly
correspondence with Gregory, the punster pope, and author of the
celebrated _jeu de mot_ on the word Angli, in the Roman market-place.*
* The pun in question is almost too venerable for
repetition, but we insert it in a note, as no History of
England seems to be complete without it. The pope, on seeing
the British children exposed for sale in the market-place at
Rome, said they would not be Angles but Angels if they had
been Christians. _Non Angli sed Angeli forent si fuissent
Christiani._
[Illustration: 044]
Ethelbert died in 616, having been not only king of Kent, but
having filled the office of Bretwalda, a name given to the most
influential--or, as we should call him, the president or chairman--of
the sovereigns of the Heptarchy. His son, Eadbald, who succeeded, failed
in supporting the fame of his father. It would be useless to pursue the
catalogue of Saxons who continued mounting and dismounting the throne
of Kent--one being no sooner down than another came on--in rapid
succession. It was Egbert, king of Wessex, who, in the year 723, had
the art to seat himself on all the seven thrones at once; an achievement
which, considering the ordinary fate of one who attempts to preserve his
balance upon two stools, has fairly earned the admiration of posterity.
Let us now take a skip into Northumberland--formed by Ethelred in the
manner we have already alluded to, out of the two kingdoms of Deiri and
Bemicia--which, though not enough for two, constituted for one a very
respectable sovereignty. The crown of Northumberland seems to have been
at the disposal of any one who thought it worth his while to go and take
it; provided he was prepared to meet any little objections of the owner
by making away with him. In this manner, Osred received his _quietus_
from Kenred, a kinsman, who was killed in his turn by another of the
family: and, after a long series of assassinations, the people quietly
submitted to the yoke of Egbert.
The kingdom of East Anglia presents the same rapid panorama of murders
which settled the succession to all the Saxon thrones; and Mercia,
comprising the midland counties, furnishes all the materials for a
melodrama. Offa, one of its most celebrated kings, had a daughter,
Elfrida, to whom Ethelbert, the sovereign of the East Angles, had made
honourable proposals, and had been invited to celebrate his nuptials at
Hereford. In the midst of the festivities Offa asked Ethelbert into a
back room, in which the latter had scarcely taken a chair when his head
was unceremoniously removed from his shoulders by the father of his
intended.
Offa having extinguished the royal family of East Anglia, by snuffing
out the chief, took possession of the kingdom. In order to expiate his
crime he made friends with the pope, and exacted a penny from every
house possessed of thirty pence, or half-a-crown a year, which he sent
as a proof of penitence to the Roman pontiff. Though at first intended
by Offa as an offering, it was afterwards claimed as a tribute, under
the name of Peter's Pence, which were exacted from the people; and the
custom may perhaps have originated the dishonourable practice of robbing
Paul for the purpose of paying Peter.
After the usual amount of slaughter, one Wiglaff mounted the throne,
which was in a fearfully rickety condition. So unstable was this
undesirable piece of Saxon upholstery that Wiglaff had no sooner sat
down upon it than it gave way with a tremendous crash, and fell into the
hands of Egbert, who was always ready to seize the remaining stock of
royalty that happened to be left to an unfortunate sovereign on the eve
of an alarming sacrifice.
The kingdom of Essex can boast of little worthy of narration, and in
looking through the Venerable Bede, we find a string of names that are
wholly devoid of interest.
The history of Sussex is still more obscure, and we hasten to Wessex,
where we find Brihtric, or Beortric, sitting in the regal armchair that
Egbert had a better right to occupy. The latter fled to the court of
Offa, king of Mercia, to whom the former sent a message, requesting
that Egbert's head might be brought back by return, with one of Offa's
daughters, whom Beortric proposed to marry. The young lady was sent
as per invoice, for she was rather a burden on the Mercian court; but
Egbert's head, being still in use, was not duly forwarded.
Feeling that his life was a toss up, and that he might lose by heads
coming down, Egbert wisely repaired to the court of the Emperor
Charlemagne. There he acquired many accomplishments, took lessons in
fencing, and received that celebrated French polish of which it may be
fairly said in the language of criticism, that "it ought to be found on
every gentleman's table."
Mrs. Beortric managed to poison her husband by a draft not intended for
his acceptance, and presented by mistake, which caused a vacancy in the
throne of Wessex. Egbert having embraced the opportunity, was embraced
by the people, who received him with open arms, on his arrival from
France, and hailed him as rightful heir to the Wessexian crown, which he
had never been able to get out of his head, or on to his head, until the
present favourable juncture. In a few years he got into hostilities
with the Mercians, who being, as we are told by the chroniclers, "fat,
corpulent, and short-winded," soon got the worst of it. The lean and
active droops of Egbert prevailed over the opposing cohorts, who were at
once podgy and powerless. As they advanced to the charge, they were met
by the blows of the enemy, and as "it is an ill wind that blows nobody
good," so the very ill wind of the Mercians made good for the soldiers
of Egbert, who were completely victorious.
[Illustration: 046]
Mercia was now subjugated; Kent and Essex were soon subdued; the East
Angles claimed protection; Northumberland submitted; Sussex had for some
time been swamped; and Wessex belonged to Egbert by right of succession.
Thus, about four hundred years after the arrival of the Saxons, the
Heptarchy was dissolved, in the year 827, after having been in hot water
for centuries. It was only when the spirit of Egbert was thrown in, that
the hot water became a strong and wholesome compound.
CHAPTER THE FIFTH. THE DANES--ALFRED.
[Illustration: 047]
SCARCELY had unanimity begun to prevail in England, when the country was
invaded by the Danes, whose desperate valour there was no disdaining.
Some of them, in the year 832, landed on the coast, committed a series
of ravages, and escaped to their ships without being taken into custody.
Egbert encountered them on one occasion at Char-mouth, in Dorsetshire,
but having lost two bishops--who, by the bye, had no business in a
fight--he was glad to make the best of his way home again.
The Danes, or Northmen, having visited Cornwall, entered into an
alliance with some of the Briks, or Britons, of the neigh-bourhood,
and marched into Devonshire; but Egbert, collecting the cream of
the Devonshire youth, poured it down upon the heads of his enemies.
According to some historians, Egbert met with considerable resistance,
and it has even been said that the Devonshire cream experienced a severe
clouting. It is certainly sufficient to make the milk of human kindness
curdle in the veins when we read the various recitals of Danish
ferocity. Egbert, however, was successful at the battle of Hengsdown
Hill, where many were put to the sword, by the sword being put to them,
in the most unscrupulous manner. This was the last grand military drama
in which Egbert represented the hero. He died in 836, after a long
reign, which had been one continued shower of prosperity.
Ethelwolf, the eldest son of Egbert, now came to the throne, but
misunderstanding the maxim, _Divide et impera_, he began to divide his
kingdom, as the best means of ruling it, and gave a slice consisting of
Kent and its dependencies to his son Athelstane.
The Scandinavian pirates having no longer an opponent like Egbert,
ravaged Wessex; sailed up the Thames, which, if they could, they would
have set on fire; gave Canterbury, Rochester, and London a severe dose,
in the shape of pillage; and got into the heart of Surrey, which lost
all heart on the approach of the enemy. Ethelwolf, however, taking
with him his second son Ethelbald, met them at Okely--probably in the
neighbourhood of Oakley Street--and at a place still retaining the name
of the New Cut, made a fearful incision into the ranks of the enemy.
The Danes retired to settle in the isle of Thanet, to repose after
the settling they had received in Surrey, at the hands of the Saxons.
Notwithstanding the state of his kingdom, Ethelwolf found time for an
Italian tour, and taking with him his fourth son, Alfred the Great--then
Alfred the Little, for he was a child of six--started to Rome, on that
very vague pretext, a pilgrimage. He spent a large sum of money abroad,
gave the Pope an annuity for himself, and another to trim the lamps of
St. Peter and St. Paul, which has given rise to the celebrated _jeu
de mot_ that, "instead of roaming about and getting rid of his cash
in trimming foreign lamps, he ought to have remained at home for the
purpose of trimming his enemies."
On his return through France, he fell in love with Judith, the daughter
of Charles the Bald, the king of the Franks, who probably gave a good
fortune to the bride, for Charles being known as the bald, must of
course have been without any heir apparent. When Ethelwolf arrived at
home with his new wife, he found his three sons, or as he had been in
the habit of calling them, "the boys,"--indignant at the marriage of
their governor. According to some historians and chroniclers, Osburgha,
his first wife, was not dead, but had been simply "put away" to make
room for Judith. It certainly was a practice of the kings in the middle
age, and particularly if they happened to be middle-aged kings, to "put
away" an old wife; but the real difficulty must have been where on earth
to put her. If Osburgha consented quietly to be laid upon the shelf, she
must have differed from her sex in general.
Athelstane being dead, Ethelbald was now the king's eldest son, and had
made every arrangement for a fight with his own father for the throne,
when the old gentleman thought it better to divide his crown than run
the risk of getting it cracked in battle. "Let us not split each other's
heads, my son," he affectingly exclaimed, "but rather let us split the
difference." Ethelbald immediately cried halves when he found his
father disposed to cry quarter, and after a short debate they came to a
division. The undutiful son got for himself the richest portion of the
kingdom of Wessex, leaving his unfortunate sire to sigh over the eastern
part, which was the poorest moiety of the royal property. The ousted
Ethelwolf did not survive more than two years the change which had made
him little better than half-a-sove-reign, for he died in 867, and was
succeeded by his son Ethelbald. This person was, to use an old simile,
as full of mischief "as an egg is full of meat," and indeed somewhat
fuller, for we never yet found a piece of beef, mutton, or veal, in the
whole course of our oval experience. Ethelbald, however, reigned only
two years, having first married and subsequently divorced his father's
widow Judith, whose venerable parent Charles the Bald, was happily
indebted to his baldness for being spared the misery of having his grey
hairs brought down in sorrow to the grave by the misfortunes of his
daughter. This young lady, for she was still young in spite of her two
marriages, her widowhood, and divorce, had retired to a convent near
Paris, when a gentleman of the name of Baldwin, belonging to an
old standard family, ran away with her. He was threatened with
excommunication by the young lady's father, but treating the menaces of
Charles the Bald as so much balderdash, Mr. Baldwin sent a herald to the
Pope, who allowed the marriage to be legally solemnised.
We have given a few lines to Judith because, by her last marriage,
she gave a most illustrious line to us; for her son having married the
youngest daughter of Alfred the Great, was the ancestor of Maud, the
wife of William the Conqueror.
Ethelbald was succeeded by Ethelbert, whose reign, though it lasted
only five years, may be compared to a rain of cats and dogs, for he
was constantly engaged in quarrelling. The Danes completely sacked and
ransacked Winchester, causing Ethelbert to exclaim, with a melancholy
smile, to one of his courtiers, "This is indeed the bitterest cup of
sack I ever tasted." He died in 866 or 867, and was succeeded by his
brother Ethelred, who found matters arrived at such a pitch, that he
fought nine pitched battles with the Danes in less than a twelvemonth.
He died in the year 871, of severe wounds, and the crown fell from his
head on to that of his younger brother Alfred. The regal diadem was
sadly tarnished when it came to the young king, who resolved that it
should not long continue to lack lacker; and by his glorious deeds
he soon restored the polish that had been rubbed off by repeated
leathering. He had scarcely time to sit down upon the throne when he was
called into the field to fulfil a very particular engagement with the
Danes at Wilton. They were compelled to stipulate for a safe retreat,
and went up to London for the winter, where they so harassed Burrhed the
king of Mercia, in whose dominions London was situated, that the poor
fellow ran down the steps of his throne, left his sceptre in the regal
hall, and, repairing to Rome, finished his days in a cloister.
The Danes still continued the awful business of dyeing and scouring,
for they scoured the country round, and dyed it with the blood of the
inhabitants. Alfred, finding himself in the most terrible straits,
conceived the idea of getting out of the straits by means of ships, of
which he collected a few, and for a time he went on swimmingly.
He taught Britannia her first lesson in ruling the waves, by destroying
the fleet of Guthrum the Dane, who had promised to make his _exit_ from
the kingdom on a previous defeat, but by a disgraceful quibble he had,
instead of making his _exit_, retired to Exeter. From this place he
now retreated, and took up his quarters at Gloucester, while Alfred, it
being now about Christmas time, had repaired to spend the holidays at
Chippenham. It was on Twelfth-night, which the Saxons were celebrating
no doubt with cake and wine, when a loud knocking was heard at the gate,
and on some one going to answer the door, Guthrum and his Danes rushed
in with overwhelming celerity. Alfred, who had been probably favouring
the company with a song--for he was fond of minstrelsy--made an
involuntary shake on hearing the news, and ran off, followed by a small
band, in an allegro movement, which almost amounted to a galop.
[Illustration: 050]
The Saxon monarch finding himself deserted by his coward subjects, and
without an army, broke up his establishment, dismissed every one of his
servants, and, exchanging his regal trappings for a bag of old clothes,
went about the country in various disguises. He had taken refuge as a
peasant in the hut of a swineherd or pig-driver, whose wife had put some
cakes on the fire to toast, and had requested Alfred to turn them while
she was otherwise employed in trying to turn a penny.
His Majesty being bent upon his bow, never thought of the cakes, which
were burnt up to a cinder, and the old woman, looking as black as the
cakes themselves, taunted the king with the smallness of the care he
took, and the largeness of his appetite. "You can eat them fast enough,"
she exclaimed, "and I think you might have given the cakes a turn." *
"I acknowledge my fault," replied Alfred, "for you and your husband
have done me a good turn, and one good turn, I am well aware, deserves
another."
* Though all the historians have given this anecdote, they
vary in the words attributed to the old woman, and make no
allusion to the reply of Alfred. So accomplished a monarch
would hardly have found nothing at all to say for himself;
and though he did not turn the cakes, he most probably
turned the conversation in the manner we have described.
The monarch retired to a swamp, which he called AEthelingay--now
Athelney--or the Isle of Nobles, and some of his retainers, who stuck to
their sovereign through thick and thin, joined him in the morasses
and marshes he had selected for his residence. Alfred did not despair,
though in the middle of a swamp he had no good ground for hope, until
he heard that Hubba, the Dane, after making a hubbub in Wales, had
been killed by a sudden sally in an alley near the mouth of the Tau, in
Devonshire. Alfred, on this intelligence, left his retreat, and having
recourse to his old clothes bag, disguised himself as the "Wandering
Minstrel," in which character he made a very successful appearance at
the camp of Guthrum. The jokes of Alfred, though they would sound very
old Joe Millerisms in the present day, were quite new at that remote
period, and the Danes were constantly in fits; so that the Saxon king
was preparing, by splitting their sides, to eventually break up the
ranks of his enemy. He could also sing a capital song, which with his
comic recitations, conundrums, and charades, rendered him a general
favourite; and his vocal powers may be said to have been instrumental to
the accomplishment of his object.
Having returned to his friends, he led them forth against Guthrum, who
retreated to a fortified position with a handful of men, and Alfred, by
a close blockade, took care not to let the handful of men slip through
his fingers.
Guthrum, tired of the raps on the knuckles he had received, threw
himself on the kind indulgence of a British public, and appeared before
the Saxon king in the character of an apologist. Alfred's motto was,
"Forget and Forgive;" but he wisely insisted on the Danes embracing
Christianity, knowing that if their conversion should be sincere, they
would never be guilty of any further atrocities. He stood godfather
himself to Guthrum, who adopted the old family name of Athelstane,
and all animosities were forgotten in the festivities of a general
christening. A partition of the kingdom took place, and Alfred gave
a good share, including all the east side of the island, to his new
godson. The Danes settled tranquilly in their new possessions, though in
the very next year (879), a small party sailed up the Thames and landed
on the shores of Fulham; but finding the hardy sons of that suburban
coast in a posture of defence, the Northmen took to their heels, or
rather to their keels, by returning to their vessels. The would-be
invaders repaired to Ghent to try their luck in the Low Countries, for
which their ungentle-manly conduct in violating their treaties most
peculiarly fitted them.
Alfred employed the period of peace in building and in law, both of
which are generally ruinous, but which were exceedingly profitable
in his judicious hands. He restored London, over which he placed his
son-in-law, Ethelred, as Earl Eolderman or Alderman, and he established
a regular militia all over the country, who, if they resembled the
militia of modern times, must have kept away the invaders by placing
them in the position familiarly known as "more frightened than hurt."
In the year 893, however, the Danes under Hasting, having ravaged
all France, and eaten up every morsel of food they could find in that
country, were compelled to come over to England in search of a meal.
A portion of the invaders in two hundred and fifty ships, landed near
Romney Marsh, at a river called Limine, and there being no one to oppose
them in Limine, they proceeded to Appledore. Hasting, with eighty sail,
took Milton; but he was soon routed out, and cutting across the Thames,
he removed to Banfleet, which was only "over the way;" where he was
broken in upon by Alderman Ethelred at the head of some London citizens.
The cockney cohorts seized the wife and two sons of Hasting, who would
have been killed but for the magnanimity of Alfred, though it has been
hinted that in sending them back to his foe, the Saxon king calculated
that as women and children are only in the way when business is going
forward, their presence might add to the embarrassments of the Danish
chieftain. That such was really the case, may be gleaned from the fact
that on a subsequent occasion Hasting and his followers were compelled
to leave their wives and families behind them in the river Lea, into
which the Danish fleet had sailed when Alfred ingeniously drew all
the water off, and left the enemy literally aground. This manouvre was
accomplished partially by digging three channels from the Lea to the
Thames, and partially by the removal of the water in buckets, though
the bucket got very frequently kicked by those engaged in this perilous
enterprise.
The river Lea would have been sufficiently deep for the purposes of
Hasting had not Alfred been deeper still, and the fleet, which had been
the floating capital of the Danes, became a deposit in the banks for the
benefit of the Saxons. In the spring of 897 Hasting quitted England;
but several pirates remained; and two ships being taken at the Isle
of Wight, Alfred, on being asked what should be done with the crews,
exclaimed, "Oh! they may go and be hanged at Winchester!" The king's
orders having been taken literally, the marauders were carried to
Winchester, and hanged accordingly.
Alfred, having tranquillised the country, died in the year 901, after
a glorious reign of nearly thirty years, and is known to this day as
Alfred the Great, an epithet which has never yet been earned by one of
his successors.
The character of this prince seems to have been as near perfection as
possible. His reputation as a sage has not been injured by time, nor has
the mist of ages obscured the brightness of his military glory. He was
a lover of literature, and a constant reader of every magazine of
knowledge that he could lay his hands upon. An anecdote is told of his
mother, Osburgha, having bought a book of Saxon poetry, illustrated
according to the taste of our own times, with numerous drawings. Alfred
and his brothers were all exclaiming, "Oh give it me!" with infantine
eagerness, when his parent hit on the expedient of promising that he who
could read it first should receive it as a present. Alfred, proceeding
on the modern principle of acquiring "Spanish without a Master," and
"French comparatively in no time," succeeded in picking up Anglo-Saxon
in six self-taught lessons. He accordingly won the book, which was, no
doubt, of a nature well calculated to "repay perusal."
Nor were war and literature the only pursuits in which Alfred indulged;
but he added the mechanical arts to his other accomplishments. The
sun-dial was probably known to Alfred; but that acute prince soon saw,
or, rather, found from not seeing, that a sun-dial in the dark was worse
than useless. Not content with being always alive to the time of day, he
became desirous of knowing the time of night, and used to burn candles
of a certain length with notches in them to mark the hours. * These
were indeed melting moments, but the wind often blew the candles out,
or caused them to burn irregularly. Sometimes they would get very long
wicks, and, if every one had gone to bed, no one being up to snuff,
might render the long wicks rather dangerous. In this dilemma he asked
himself what could be done, and his friend Asser, the monk, having
said half sportively, "Ah! you are on the horns of a dilemma," Alfred
enthusiastically replied, "I have it; yes; I will turn the horns to my
own advantage, and make a horn lanthorn." Thus, to make use of a figure
of a recent writer, Alfred never found himself in a difficulty without,
somehow or other, making light of it.
* The practice of telling the time by burning candles was
ingenious, but could not have been always convenient. It
must have been very awkward when a thief got into one of the
candles, thus exposing time to another thief besides
procrastination. After Alfred's invention of the lanthorn,
it might have been worn as a watch, in the same manner as
the modern policeman wears the bull's-eye.
He founded the navy, and, besides being the architect of his own
fortunes, he studied architecture for the benefit of his subjects,
for he caused so many houses to be erected, that during his reign the
country seemed to be let out on one long building lease. He revised the
laws, and his system of police was so good, that it has been said any
one might have hung out jewels on the highway without any fear of their
being stolen. Much, however, depends on the kind of jewellery then in
use, for some future historian may say of the present generation, that
such was its honesty, precious stones,--that is to say, precious large
stones,--might be left in the streets without any one offering to take
them up and walk away with them.