No saint he who now strides by—a thrice-crowned king, with the Viking blood surging tumultuously in his veins. England, Norway, and Denmark own his sway; but though Denmark is the land of his birth, England is the land of his love and pride. Dane he is in form and feature, but his lust of strife and fierce Berserk rage are controlled by cool judgment and the generous instincts of a good but wayward heart, so that in his later days he grows wise and temperate. His father, Sweyn, “lighting his war-beacons in blazing homestead and town,” has harried the realm of England in revenge for a cruel massacre of his kinsmen by a weak and ruthless king, and Canute, ere his beard has grown, has entered into a glorious heritage.

Not without fierce strife has this kingdom of England come to him. He has met his match in Edmund Ironside, true hero and true Englishman. But Edmund is dead, and the young Dane is unchallenged master of the land. And now, secure in the possession of three kingdoms, he sets himself to win the confidence of his new subjects. The armed bands with which he has conquered his new realm are sent home, save for a stalwart bodyguard. He will trust his Englishmen, and will link his fortunes with theirs. He marries the beautiful widow of the late king, and labours to hold the balance even between Dane and native. As the years go by his new subjects come to be his best supporters, and England is England still, though a Dane sits on the throne.

A pagan born, he nevertheless becomes a zealous Christian, and many a fair monastery is reared and endowed by him. He strives to do justice to all men, and he pledges himself to rule according to the old and cherished law of the realm. One day, however, the fierce spirit within him suddenly flames up, and he slays with his own hand a soldier of his guard. When his wrath has died down he bitterly repents of the deed, and deplores the evil example which he has set to others. Then he descends from his throne and bids the Witan judge him and punish him, regardless of his rank and power. Flinging himself prostrate on the ground, he awaits the verdict which his judges dare not give, despite his promise of free pardon. They bid him appoint his own judgment. The fine for slaying a man is forty talents of silver. Canute sentences himself to pay nine times the sum, and nine talents of gold in addition. Some see in this act a mere theatrical display, a crafty method of re-enforcing the law which he, the lawgiver, had violated. Let us be charitable, and believe that he was sincere and honest in desiring to atone for his crime.

Better known is the story of the rebuke which he administered to the flattering courtiers who crowded round his throne. They, recounting his mighty deeds of valour, his conquests, his glories, were not ashamed to say, “Great lord, even the sea obeys you. The rising tide dare not wet the hem of your garment.” On the seashore Canute set up his throne, and as the waters rolled in and splashed about his feet he cried, “Confess ye now how frivolous and vain is the might of an earthly king compared with the Great Power who rules the elements, and can say unto the ocean, ‘Thus far shalt thou go, and no farther.’”

An old chronicler tells us a pleasing story of his love of minstrelsy. It was on the eve of a feast which he desired to keep in the abbey at Ely. As his barge sped through the maze of waters by which the island was approached, the voices of the chanting monks were borne faintly on the breeze. Bidding the rowers cease their work, Canute listened with unfeigned delight to the strain, rendered all the more harmonious by distance and the intervening waters. Then as the boat shot forward once more he composed the following verse, keeping time with the beat of the oars:——

In Rome, the heart of Christendom, the Viking was still regarded as a heathen pirate, a deadly enemy alike of civilization and true religion. Canute was eager to remove this impression, and to bring his empire into union with the greatest spiritual power of the world. He therefore undertook a pilgrimage to Rome. West Saxon kings for three hundred years past had visited the Pope and the tombs of the saints, but now, for the first time, a Dane set out on the pious journey. A long train of attendants accompanied him, but he himself wore a pilgrim’s robe and carried a pilgrim’s staff in his hand. As he journeyed along the pilgrims’ route, he bethought him of those who should hereafter follow him, and made treaties with the masters of the Alpine passes, so that his subjects should come and go unmolested. Arrived in Rome, he prayed before the altars, placed rich gifts on every shrine, and purchased relics for the churches at home.

From Rome he wrote to the Witan a letter which reveals him in a most favourable light. Ere Canute passes by and our pageant knows him no more, let us extract one passage from the message which he sent to his people: “I would have you know that I have made a vow to Almighty God to regulate my life by the dictates of virtue, and to govern my people with judgment. If during the rashness of youth I have done anything contrary to justice, I will for the future, with the help of God, amend this to the best of my power. Wherefore I require and command all my counsellors to lend themselves to no injustice, either in fear of me or to favour the powerful. I recommend them, if they prize my friendship and their own lives, to do no harm or violence to any man, rich or poor. Let every one, in his place, enjoy that which he possesses, and not be disturbed in that enjoyment, either in the king’s name or in the name of any other person, nor under pretext of levying money for my treasury, for I need no money obtained by unjust means.”

Truly a kingly resolve! Looking down the long avenue of time, we recognize Canute as a “conscious creator of England’s greatness.” His empire was destined to fall to pieces at his death, and ere seven years had sped his line was extinct. A brief space more, and another tide of conquest swept over his beloved England. Another king of Viking breed held the sceptre which had fallen from his hand. Once more the English bowed their necks to a foreign lord; but Canute’s work was never undone, and the England of to-day acclaims him as her benefactor.