Historical Tales, Vol. 4 | Page 2

and
other stately edifices of the imperial city came within the circle of
vision. Rome had ceased to be the mistress of the world, but it was not
yet in ruins, and many of its noble edifices still stood almost in
perfection. But paganism had vanished. The cross of Christ was the
dominant symbol. The march of the warriors of the legions was
replaced by long processions of cowled and solemn monks. The
temporal imperialism of Rome had ceased, the spiritual had begun;
instead of armies to bring the world under the dominion of the sword,
that ancient city now sent out its legions of priests to bring it under the
dominion of the cross.
Gregory resolved to be one of the latter. A fair new field for missionary
labor lay in that distant island, peopled by pagans whose aspect
promised to make them noble subjects of Christ's kingdom upon earth.
The enthusiastic youth left Rome to seek Saxon England, moved
thereto not by desire of earthly glory, but of heavenly reward. But this
was not to be. His friends deemed that he was going to death, and
begged the pope to order his return. Gregory was brought back and
England remained pagan.

Years went by. The humble deacon rose to be bishop of Rome and head
of the Christian world. Gregory the Great, men named him, though he
styled himself "Servant of the servants of God," and lived in like
humility and simplicity of style as when he was a poor monk.
The time at length came to which Gregory had looked forward.
Ethelbert, king of Kentish England, married Bertha, daughter of the
French king Charibert, a fervent Christian woman. A few priests came
with her to England, and the king gave them a ruined Christian edifice,
the Church of St. Martin, outside the walls of Canterbury, for their
worship. But it was overshadowed by a pagan temple, and the worship
of Odin and Thor still dominated Saxon England.
Gregory took quick advantage of this opportunity. The fair faces of the
English slaves still appealed to his pitying soul, and he now sent
Augustine, prior of St. Andrew's at Rome, with a band of forty monks
as missionaries to England. It was the year of our Lord 597. The
missionaries landed at the very spot where Hengist the Saxon
conqueror had landed more than a century before. The one had brought
the sword to England, the others brought the cross. King Ethelbert
knew of their coming and had agreed to receive them; but, by the
advice of his priests, who feared conjuration and spells of magic, he
gave them audience in the open air, where such spells have less power.
The place was on the chalk-down above Minster, whence, miles away
across the intervening marshes, one may to-day behold the distant
tower of Canterbury cathedral.
The scene, as pictured to us in the chronicles of the monks, was a
picturesque and inspiring one. The hill selected for the meeting
overlooked the ocean. King Ethelbert, with Queen Bertha by his side,
awaited in state his visitors. Around were grouped the warriors of Kent
and the priests of Odin. Silence reigned, and in the distance the monks
could be seen advancing in solemn procession, singing as they came.
He who came first bore a large silver crucifix. Another carried a banner
with the painted image of Christ. The deep and solemn music, the
venerable and peaceful aspect of the strangers, the solemnity of the
occasion, touched the heart of Ethelbert, already favorably inclined, as

we may believe, to the faith of his loved wife.
Augustine had brought interpreters from Gaul. By their aid he
conveyed to the king the message he had been sent to bring. Ethelbert
listened in silence, the queen in rapt attention, the warriors and priests
doubtless with varied sentiments. The appeal of Augustine at an end,
Ethelbert spoke.
"Your words are fair," he said, "but they are new, and of doubtful
meaning. For myself, I propose to worship still the gods of my fathers.
But you bring peace and good words; you are welcome to my kingdom;
while you stay here you shall have shelter and protection."
His land was a land of plenty, he told them; food, drink, and lodging
should be theirs, and none should do them wrong; England should be
their home while they chose to stay.
With these words the audience ended. Augustine and his monks fell
again into procession, and, with singing of psalms and display of holy
emblems, moved solemnly towards the city of Canterbury, where
Bertha's church awaited them. As they entered the city they sang:
"Turn from this city, O Lord, thine anger and wrath, and turn it from
Thy holy house, for we have sinned." Then Gregory's joyful cry of