making passionately at the robber, and seizing him by his long
hair, tried to throw him down. But the robber had a dagger
underneath his cloak, and, in the scuffle, stabbed the King to
death. That done, he set his back against the wall, and fought so
desperately, that although he was soon cut to pieces by the King’s
armed men, and the wall and pavement were splashed with his blood,
yet it was not before he had killed and wounded many of them. You
may imagine what rough lives the kings of those times led, when one
of them could struggle, half drunk, with a public robber in his own
dining-hall, and be stabbed in presence of the company who ate and
drank with him.
Then succeeded the boy-king EDRED, who was weak and sickly in body,
but of a strong mind. And his armies fought the Northmen, the
Danes, and Norwegians, or the Sea-Kings, as they were called, and
beat them for the time. And, in nine years, Edred died, and passed
Page 17
Dickens, Charles – A Child’s History of England
away.
Then came the boy-king EDWY, fifteen years of age; but the real
king, who had the real power, was a monk named DUNSTAN – a clever
priest, a little mad, and not a little proud and cruel.
Dunstan was then Abbot of Glastonbury Abbey, whither the body of
King Edmund the Magnificent was carried, to be buried. While yet a
boy, he had got out of his bed one night (being then in a fever),
and walked about Glastonbury Church when it was under repair; and,
because he did not tumble off some scaffolds that were there, and
break his neck, it was reported that he had been shown over the
building by an angel. He had also made a harp that was said to
play of itself – which it very likely did, as AEolian Harps, which
are played by the wind, and are understood now, always do. For
these wonders he had been once denounced by his enemies, who were
jealous of his favour with the late King Athelstan, as a magician;
and he had been waylaid, bound hand and foot, and thrown into a
marsh. But he got out again, somehow, to cause a great deal of
trouble yet.
The priests of those days were, generally, the only scholars. They
were learned in many things. Having to make their own convents and
monasteries on uncultivated grounds that were granted to them by
the Crown, it was necessary that they should be good farmers and
good gardeners, or their lands would have been too poor to support
them. For the decoration of the chapels where they prayed, and for
the comfort of the refectories where they ate and drank, it was
necessary that there should be good carpenters, good smiths, good
painters, among them. For their greater safety in sickness and
accident, living alone by themselves in solitary places, it was
necessary that they should study the virtues of plants and herbs,
and should know how to dress cuts, burns, scalds, and bruises, and
how to set broken limbs. Accordingly, they taught themselves, and
one another, a great variety of useful arts; and became skilful in
agriculture, medicine, surgery, and handicraft. And when they
wanted the aid of any little piece of machinery, which would be
simple enough now, but was marvellous then, to impose a trick upon
the poor peasants, they knew very well how to make it; and DID make
it many a time and often, I have no doubt.
Dunstan, Abbot of Glastonbury Abbey, was one of the most sagacious
of these monks. He was an ingenious smith, and worked at a forge
in a little cell. This cell was made too short to admit of his
lying at full length when he went to sleep – as if THAT did any
good to anybody! – and he used to tell the most extraordinary lies
about demons and spirits, who, he said, came there to persecute
him. For instance, he related that one day when he was at work,
the devil looked in at the little window, and tried to tempt him to