e cross. It was precisely Alfred's religious exaction that
remained unalterable. And Canute himself is actually now only remembered
by men as a witness to the futility of merely pagan power; as the king
who put his own crown upon the image of Christ, and solemnly surrendered
to heaven the Scandinavian empire of the sea.

V

ST. EDWARD AND THE NORMAN KINGS

The reader may be surprised at the disproportionate importance given to
the name which stands first in the title of this chapter. I put it there
as the best way of emphasizing, at the beginning of what we may call the
practical part of our history, an elusive and rather strange thing. It
can only be described as the strength of the weak kings.

It is sometimes valuable to have enough imagination to unlearn as well
as to learn. I would ask the reader to forget his reading and everything
that he learnt at school, and consider the English monarchy as it would
then appear to him. Let him suppose that his acquaintance with the
ancient kings has only come to him as it came to most men in simpler
times, from nursery tales, from the names of places, from the
dedications of churches and charities, from the tales in the tavern, and
the tombs in the churchyard. Let us suppose such a person going upon
some open and ordinary English way, such as the Thames valley to
Windsor, or visiting some old seats of culture, such as Oxford or
Cambridge. One of the first things, for instance, he would find would
be Eton, a place transformed, indeed, by modern aristocracy, but still
enjoying its mediaeval wealth and remembering its mediaeval origin. If he
asked about that origin, it is probable that even a public schoolboy
would know enough history to tell him that it was founded by Henry VI.
If he went to Cambridge and looked with his own eyes for the college
chapel which artistically towers above all others like a cathedral, he
would probably ask about it, and be told it was King's College. If he
asked which king, he would again be told Henry VI. If he then went into
the library and looked up Henry VI. in an encyclopaedia, he would find
that the legendary giant, who had left these gigantic works behind him,
was in history an almost invisible pigmy. Amid the varying and
contending numbers of a great national quarrel, he is the only cipher.
The contending factions carry him about like a bale of goods. His
desires do not seem to be even ascertained, far less satisfied. And yet
his re