No, he wasn’t. That was a sensationalized title. But I figure that it’s more likely to grab your attention than something like “Chesterton pays possibly unconscious homage to poet you’ve never heard of.”
There have been some fanciful stories about the composition of Chesterton’s epic Ballad of the White Horse, but the most unlikely of them is the oft-repeated saw about him composing the whole thing in a fortnight after a particularly vivid dream. The image of Chesterton hunkered down over his desk, scribbling furiously as he passes the untidy leaves to his patient wife, Frances, could well be taken as emblematic of his entire authorial career, but in the case of the Ballad it seems not have happened like this. There are signs that he began composing the thing as early as 1903, as attested to by the recollections of Fr. John O’Connor, who remembers being shown fragments of “the epic in contemplation” at that time by Frances. The inspiration for the Ballad in the first place could likely be traced to the celebrations of the thousandth anniversary of Alfred the Great’s death, running from 1899 to 1901 (in deference to competing traditions surrounding the date of his death).
By the time the Ballad was published in the late summer of 1911, Chesterton had been researching and writing about his subject for almost a decade. His brother, Cecil, refers to the Ballad in progress in his 1908 treatise G.K. Chesterton: A Criticism, and there are journalistic essays from 1910 and earlier on congenial topics, like “The White Horse” and “Ethandune” (see Alarms and Discursions). It is very likely that one element of his research would have been to familiarize himself with the previous literary treatments of Alfred the Great, if he were not familiar with them already (which is also quite likely). These are many and interesting, in their own right, from James Thomson’s Alfred: A Masque (from whence comes “Rule Britannia!”) to G.A. Henty’s 1886 boys’ adventure novel, The Dragon and the Raven. As the former was a work of national import and the latter was both right up Chesterton’s alley (he was a great proponent of boys’ adventure stories) and had been released when Chesterton was himself at the perfect age (12 years old) to enjoy it, his familiarity with both works could be safely assumed.
But there is another work that I think might warrant our attention as well, and that is the little-known John Sterling’s 1839 poem “Alfred the Harper.” Sterling (1806-1844; pictured at left) was never what one could call a great success. He died young, his output was small, and he is famous now primarily as a correspondent of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s and a subject of a biography by Thomas Carlyle. His Poems (1839) seems to have made little impression, and one would be hard-pressed today to find him discussed anywhere.
And yet, for all that, “Alfred the Harper” is a fine little poem. Sterling takes as his subject the legend concerning Alfred’s infiltration of the Danish camp disguised as a poor minstrel, during which time he find himself before Guthrum, war-king of the Danes and Alfred’s would-be conquerer. The legend goes that Alfred played the Danish commanders a song of some sort, and what this event entailed has been a ripe subject for fiction. Chesterton makes it a sort of philosophical debate in which all of the Danish earls are permitted to sing about their own worldviews before being refuted by Alfred’s gutsy musical defence of the Christian creed. In Sterling’s case it becomes rather a militant and provocative act, with Alfred singing songs of the glory of battle and so on while underscoring how many Danes have already achieved the honour of a good death, and how many more of them will die so yet.
Both treatments end with Alfred storming out of the Danish camp, though they differ in how this goes. In the third book of the Ballad it runs thus:
“Therefore your end is on you,
Is on you and your kings,
Not for a fire in Ely fen,
Not that your gods are nine or ten,
But because it is only Christian men
Guard even heathen things.“For our God hath blessed creation,
Calling it good. I know
What spirit with whom you blindly band
Hath blessed destruction with his hand;
Yet by God’s death the stars shall stand
And the small apples grow.”And the King, with harp on shoulder,
Stood up and ceased his song;
And the owls moaned from the mighty trees,
And the Danes laughed loud and long.
In Sterling’s treatment things become far more ominous (and, I might say, pretty badass), as Guthrum, pleased with Alfred’s song (but not knowing it is indeed Alfred) offers the faux-minstrel a draught from the golden chalice that Guthrum had stolen from Alfred’s own stores after the Wessex king’s retreat. But:
Then stern the minstrel rose, and spake,
And gazed upon the King,–
“Not now the golden cup I take,
Nor more to thee I sing.
Another day, a happier hour,
Shall bring me here again:
The cup shall stay in Guthrum’s power,
Till I demand it then.”The Harper turned and left the shed,
Nor bent to Guthrum’s crown;
And one who marked his visage said
It wore a ghastly frown.
The Danes ne’er saw that Harper more,
For soon as morning rose,
Upon their camp King Alfred bore,
And slew ten thousand foes.
Oh hell yes.
But I seem to have drifted away from my purpose. Apart from the similarity in subject matter and ballad style, there is no reason to think from the Ballad itself that Chesterton had Sterling’s work in mind at all while writing it–but, I maintain, he very likely did. Why?
The answer to that comes from another poem of Chesterton’s entirely, dating back to 1901. “The Last Hero” is one of my favourites of his early period, evoking the “great gusto” of the pagan hero as well as his work ever has. It’s a fine poem, to be sure, but is all of it his own? Writing of the almost prophetic insight granted by impending death, Chesterton’s hero declares:
To see this fair earth as it is to me alone was given,
The blow that breaks my brow to-night shall break the dome of heaven.
A worthy sentiment. But wait; there’s also this, from “Alfred the Harper”:
“This land has graves by thousands more
Than that where Regnar lies.
When conquests fade, and rule is o’er,
The sod must close your eyes.
How soon, who knows? Not chief, nor bard;
And yet to me ’tis given,
To see your foreheads deeply scarred,
And guess the doom of Heaven.”
The identical rhymes and references to the cleaving of the head make for a most uncanny resemblance. I doubt very much that, if Chesterton did “copy” Sterling, he did it both consciously and sneakily. It is far more likely that it was either unconscious or an homage. And yet, whatever the case may be, there it is.
The implications of this are certainly quite slight, but I think it’s likely enough to be worth considering. I fully intend to do a more thorough comparison of “Alfred the Harper” and The Ballad at a later day, as well as a search through Chesterton’s works for any other references to John Sterling, but for the moment this instance stands for itself. Perhaps I flatter myself in thinking it interesting, but here we are.
Those interested in reading the entirety of “Alfred the Harper” (and it’s certainly worth your time to do so) will not have to look far. That will be my next post.
