How a Stolen Diamond Necklace Helped Destroy the French Monarchy

Forged letters, stolen jewels, a gullible cardinal, a cunning conwoman and an innocent queen left with a shattered reputation … the affair of the diamond necklace had it all. In fact, after Marie Antoinette’s guillotining, Napoleon pinned her downfall on the scandal declaring “perhaps the death of the Queen dated from that.”

Samuel Mee explains.

A presumed depiction of Jeanne de la Motte. Available here.

The root of the problem

The diamond necklace at the heart of the scandal was commissioned by King Louis XV in the early 1770s as a gift for his latest official mistress, Madame du Barry. The jewellers, Charles Boehmer and Paul Bassenge, spent years making a masterpiece with more than 600 diamonds and at enormous cost.

They took too long, though. Louis XV died of smallpox in 1774 and his grandson Louis XVI banished du Barry. Desperate to recoup their investment, they tried to sell it to Queen Marie Antoinette but she reportedly declared “we have more need of ships than of diamonds.”

By the early 1780s Boehmer and Bassenge were desperate. At this point Jeanne de Valois-Saint-Rémy, a self-styled countess known as Jeanne de la Motte, came up with an elaborate plan. 

The start of the con

Jeanne had already ingratiated herself with Cardinal Prince Louis de Rohan. He was out of favour with the Queen due to previous insults to her mother, and was desperate to restore his standing. Jeanne convinced Rohan that she was in the Queen’s inner circle as a way of getting money from him and began forging letters from Marie Antoinette. Promises of forgiveness were eventually mixed with hints that the Queen wanted to discreetly buy the diamond necklace. The letters were signed "Marie Antoinette de France" even though French royals signed with only their given names but Rohan did not realise this. (This mistake later helped convince the King that Rohan was involved, as he didn’t believe he would be unaware of this etiquette).

Rohan agreed to act as intermediary and signed a contract with the jewellers Boehmer and Bassenge to buy the necklace on the Queen’s behalf.

To persuade him the whole setup was genuine, Jeanne had arranged a night time meeting in the gardens of Versailles. She hired a prostitute, Nicole Le Guay d’Oliva, who resembled Marie Antoinette. Nicole greeted Rohan in the dark, dressed in a white gown and plumed hat, and gave him a rose as a mark of her favour. This encounter in the Queen’s private grounds, convinced Rohan he was truly back in her favour. Luckily for the conspirators, he had never had a private audience with Marie Antoinette and knew her only by sight and from a distance at court functions. He was also desperate to believe.

Once Cardinal de Rohan secured the necklace from Boehmer and Bassenge he gave it to Jeanne, who assured him she would discreetly deliver it to the Queen. Instead, she and her husband Nicolas de la Motte immediately smuggled it out of Paris. It was dismantled and the individual stones sold across Europe, many in London.

In the following months, Boehmer made repeated attempts to secure payment, first discreetly and then more forcefully.

Boehmer approached Rohan directly, pressing him for the money or confirmation that the Queen would soon pay.

Then, in desperation, he sent a letter directly to Queen Marie Antoinette in the summer of 1785, asking for payment. Unsurprisingly, the Queen demanded an investigation .Only then did Rohan realise he may have been duped - he was summoned to court on 15 August 1785 to explain himself. Up to that point, he still believed he had acted on the Queen’s behalf.

The fraud made public

Rohan turned up at Versailles in his full ecclesiastical regalia, preparing to officiate Mass in the Royal Chapel. Instead, he was confronted by King Louis XVI and Queen Marie Antoinette.

Rohan produced the forged letters from "Marie Antoinette" and described the midnight garden meeting with the woman he believed had been the Queen. She of course denounced it all as lies and fabrications and King Louis XVI ordered Rohan's arrest. This was a bold move, given Rohan’s status as a cardinal and member of one of the most powerful noble families. He was imprisoned in the Bastille that same day.

But the Queen’s insistence he be arrested in public backfired. Instead of publicly clearing her name, the arrest gave the impression that she was embroiled in plotting and intrigue.

The aftermath in court

Meanwhile, Jeanne de la Motte fled, was caught and tried. Again, the Queen thought she would be vindicated. But it quickly became a referendum on her character and fuelled anti-royalty sentiment.

Rohan was tried by the Parlement of Paris, not a royal court, which made it more sympathetic to him and less controlled by the monarchy. Sympathy shifted away from the monarchy and toward Rohan, who appeared gullible but not malicious. He was acquitted. The court found he had acted foolishly but not criminally and he was stripped of his court positions but remained free. His acquittal was seen as a rebuke to the Queen.

Jeanne de la Motte claimed she was simply a go-between and scapegoat. She denied the forgeries and blamed everyone else, especially the Queen. She was convicted. She was publicly whipped, branded with a V (for voleuse – thief), and imprisoned in the Salpêtrière, a supposedly inescapable prison. She still managed to escape and fled to London (this is a tale in its own right).

Nicole d’Oliva was also acquitted, as she had been only a pawn in the deception.

The end result was that trial was seen as a symbol of royal corruption, even though the Queen had been 100% innocent. And the scandal hardened public cynicism - it was, as Napoleon noted, the first step on Marie Antionette’s path to the guillotine. 

About the author

Samuel Mee is founder of The Antique Ring Boutique (https://www.antiqueringboutique.com/), based in London. He’s a member of LAPADA and the Society of Jewellery Historians.

Further reading

The story of Jeanne de la Motte in London: https://englishhistoryauthors.blogspot.com/2013/11/the-diamond-necklace-affair.html

Affair of the diamond necklace: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Affair_of_the_Diamond_Necklace

Madame du Barry: https://en.chateauversailles.fr/discover/history/great-characters/madame-barry

Cardinal Rohan:https://queensransom.wordpress.com/2009/06/15/cardinal-rohan/

To What Extent had a Personality Cult Developed Prior to Lenin's Death in 1924?

Lenin became the most influential person in what was to become the Soviet Union, following the 1917 Bolshevik Revolution. But, to what extent had his cult of personality been developed prior to his death in 1924? Ed Long considers this question.

Lenin with a cat in 1922.

Stalin v Lenin

This topic has received far too little direct attention since two articles in the early 1980s by Nina Tumarkin, and although referred to in passing by many of the more recent texts that deal with post-Tsarist Russia, it deserves a more in-depth treatment than it has received thus far. By comparison with the far more well-known and well-documented Cult of Stalin, Lenin has lost out by being considerably less well documented, and as a result far less well known. Based on the number of words penned on the use of the Lenin Cult as part of Stalin’s apparatus in order to cement his position as Vozhd, the evidence is overwhelming that a Cult of Personality centred around Lenin was in existence after the latter’s death in January 1924. However, what is less certain is to what extent such a Cult predated Lenin’s demise, and was then constructed by Stalin in order to portray himself as the "high priest [... and] theorist"[1] of Leninism, thereby driving the ideals of the October Revolution and The Civil War forward. In fact, a Lenin 'Cult' did not exist in any meaningful way prior to his death at the age of 53. Instead, I will argue here that whilst a certain level of 'mystique' may have surrounded Lenin prior to his death, starting perhaps from the time of the failed attempt on his life in 1918, this did not constitute a fully formed Cult of Personality.

A posthumous Cult of Personality?

The evidence to suggest that the Lenin Cult was “posthumous”[2] as Fitzpatrick accurately describes, is truly overwhelming.  "[T]he Lenin cult [that was] so evident in the immediate aftermath of his death"[3] was the creation of Krupskaya and, to a far greater extent, Stalin, both of whom had a vested interest in erecting the Lenin Cult in order to ensure a smooth succession of power. As the "high priest" and "high priestess of the Lenin cult"[4] their ability to determine the ideological shape of post-Lenin Russia was central to stability and particularly Stalin's rise to power. Tumarkin describes the work also undertaken by others beyond Stalin and Krupskaya to ensure that Lenin took his rightful place as the "Man-God of Communism"[5] in the Communist pantheon. Indeed, by the beginning of February 1924, the cult had already reached "nationwide"[6] proportions. To effect this end, Bonch-Bruevich had made "many of the arrangements for the portraits, sculptures, photographs and movies depicting the leader during the brief period of his active rule"[7], "Lunacharskii [...] immortali[sed] Lenin as a genius and Creator [...] when he took charge of the competition for the design of a permanent mausoleum of stone that would enshrine Lenin forever"[8] which would "surpass Mecca and Jerusalem in its human significance"[9]. Lenin's funeral was the centerpiece in rolling-out the new cult to the Russian people, and Tumarkin is right to emphasize its unifying effect on the Russian people as "an organi[s]ed system of rituals and symbols whose collective function was [...] to induce the public to go through the motions of revering Lenin as an outward sign of solidarity"[10]. Crucially, it was 'organized' and orchestrated and as I shall argue below, this was not the case to any great extent prior to the Lenin’s death. Whilst it may have been designed to unify the Russian public, it divided many in Sovnarkom. Stalin got to work as soon as he was able, throwing Trotsky off the scent immediately by establishing himself front and center during Trotsky's vacation and convalescence at the moment of Lenin's funeral. Service's view that "Stalin's leadership of the funeral commission put him at a crucial advantage"[11], due to the fact that Stalin was in many senses coming from behind in order to establish his position as a leading Bolshevik, reveals how important this leadership opportunity was for Stalin and hence how crucial it was that he took full advantage of it. Trotsky's prominence as the facilitator of the October Revolution, Chairmanship of the Petrograd Soviet and leadership of the MRC and Red Guards allowed him to portray himself as a greater defender of the revolution than Stalin. As leader of the Red Army and Commissar for War during the Civil War from 1918 his position as de facto right hand man to Lenin was solidified even more. Whilst this is not to denigrate Stalin's importance in these events, nonetheless he had significant ground to make up relative to Trotsky and so it was crucial that he took immediate advantage of the situation in January 1924. Furthermore, as Stalin "had no time to write a lengthy piece of work before 1917"[12] about Lenin's work, he clearly realized that the time was right to do so. Thus, his Foundations of Leninism, published by 1924 and in that year also delivered in the form of nine lectures at the Sverdlov University[13] established Stalin not only as the rightful heir to Lenin's throne, but also as the chief arbiter of Leninist doctrine thereafter. Montefiore's view that "Lenin was a tower and Stalin a little finger"[14] accords perfectly with Service's contention that Stalin was "a mere pupil of the great man"[15]; the torchbearer shining the light of Lenin's example for all to follow. This light promised a brighter future in Russia, and in following Lenin's lead, Stalin's role as benevolent and selfless disciple was indisputable. In much the same way as Hitler was able to use Mein Kampf as the blueprint for the new Germany after January 30th 1933, having of course formulated his ideas in and after his incarceration in Landsberg Prison after the failed Putsch in November 1923, Stalin was able to use the Foundations of Leninism in precisely the same way. He was the keeper of Lenin's legacy, "a village sorcerer who held his subjects in his dark thrall”[16], and as such had supreme ideological control over the Russian people, and even more crucially against 'wreckers', 'deviationists', and any others within and without the party who presumed to challenge his control. Those who stood in his way stood in Lenin's way. Such sacrilege would be punished in the strongest possible terms; Yagoda, Yezhov and later Beria awaited with their torture chambers primed and tools sharpened. The bloodshed here, justifiable in Lenin's own words by the epithet: “Even if 90% of the people perish, what matter if the other 10% live to see revolution become universal”[17], makes the icepick to the back of Trotsky's head seem humane by comparison. In the later 1920s, this method of relentlessly guarding Lenin's legacy was key to Stalin's rise from party notable to Vozhd. The claim, then, that the Lenin cult was only constructed after his death has a lot of merit. This was indeed a powerful tool that allowed Stalin to claim that his policies were being promulgated only in accordance with Lenin's wishes, and therefore to distance himself from much of the chaos that prevailed in the later 1920s and 30s[18]. As such, we can conclude with certainty that the cult existed after Lenin's death. However, to do so is not to say anything new; what is both more prescient and controversial is the extent to which the cult existed prior to his death.

Folklore or cult?

That a 'cult' existed prior to Lenin's death is shrouded in uncertainty not only from an historic, but also a semantic point of view. It is not the purpose of this work to deny the existence of tales and myths about Lenin prior to his death. Panchenko discusses the existence of such "folklore"[19] and the extent to which it was in fact "fakelore"[20] but confines his analysis to the period "in the first decades after the Revolution"[21] - clearly this also encompasses the years 1917-24, and therefore could imply that Lenin mythology was in existence prior to his death, however on two levels this is not compelling evidence. First of all, Panchenko's own words are revealing: Whilst discussing such rhymes as came out about Lenin, for example "Il'ich's red arse"[22] and the 'Voronezh tale' in which Lenin "chops them like a cabbage [w]ith his sharp sword"[23] (them being the whites), he states that these forms of eulogising Lenin are far more difficult to classify on the same level as the much more obvious Cult of Stalin established later on; "the cultural forms themselves, ranging from rhetoric to rituals and representing the distinctive character of the veneration of Lenin in the Soviet Union are not as homogeneous, simple and transparent"[24]. The clear implication here, then, is that its scale relative to Stalin would immediately lead us to conclude that the use of the word 'cult' is not appropriate. By extension, the instances that Panchenko describes seem, at least at their inception, to have no official sanction by Sovnarkom. As such, the use of the word 'cult' is totally misleading by this yardstick. Secondly, the latter half of Panchenko's article deals with further instances which he describes once again as "folktales"; the 'Muzhitskii skaz o Lenine', published in 1924, the 'Khitryi Lenin' by Akul'shin, published in 1925, and 'Lenin ne umer - on zhiv' published in 1925-6[25]. Whilst the dates given are only those of publication, not necessarily inception, and indeed Panchenko himself claims that many were heard by the authors as early as 1918, this is scant evidence on which to claim that a cult, or even a well-established folk tradition, was in existence prior to Lenin's death. However, Panchenko gives us a vital clue as to the nature of Lenin's aura that pre-dated his demise, and is especially important as tales such as those examples above were a hugely important precursor to the later, fully-fledged cult that was built by Stalin after 1924, whose "contours were shaped by traditional peasant culture"[26]. These tales, then, were the early building blocks of Stalin's cult of Lenin, but before 1924 had yet to be organized into any coherent structure.

White's analysis develops the idea that the cult was in existence before Lenin's death, and indeed over-extends to the point where credibility is lost. He claims, in contradiction to the ideas set-out earlier in this argument, that “Stalin did not create the Lenin Cult. He found it already in existence and propelled by the momentum that Lenin himself had given it”[27]. Perhaps the basis of White's claim owes something to ideas such as those outlined by Panchenko above. However, by doing so we have jumped from the concept of 'folklore' to a 'cult' far too quickly. We have seen that there were indeed seeds for Stalin to nourish once the ideal situation presented itself on Lenin's death. However, for us to accept White's position we would have to accept two equally difficult claims. First, that Stalin's role in creating what we would recognize as a bona-fide 'cult' was much less than we have already established, either before or after Lenin's death, and second that Lenin himself played an active role in creating the cult of his own personality during his lifetime. The former claim has already been shown to be indefensible, but the latter is worthy of further discussion. Prior to the October revolution, it was in Lenin's, and other leading Bolsheviks', best interests to remain incognito. His previous encounters with the Okhrana, in the wake of his brother's execution in 1887 and after 1903 as part of the clandestine revolutionary underground, had shown him the value of anonymity. Indeed, applying for a passport in 1917 he was forced to shave of his facial hair in order to be successful, and even after the October revolution it took some time for him to grow it back completely. Being totally unrecognizable had its advantages but also its disadvantages it seems. Nonetheless, up to late 1917 Lenin was clearly playing an active role in preventing himself from being widely known, in direct contradiction of White's views. Lenin's attempts were so effective, indeed, that "even in the Civil War he had difficulty in getting recognized by the general public"[28]. This goes directly against Tumarkin's assertion that "the Lenin cult [...] developed in the context of the Russian Civil War"[29] - this seems unlikely, except insofar as Lenin was the acknowledged supreme leader of the Reds, and perhaps some echoes of the attempt on his life (see below) were still being felt but not by the Russian population at large. By 1920 when the Civil War was drawing to a close, then, the majority of Russia did not know what Lenin looked like and so to claim that a personality cult existed at this point and that Lenin himself had played a key role in its inception is to exaggerate the situation wildly.

Lenin’s role in creating his own Cult of Personality

Figes also contends that the cult was in existence prior to Lenin's death but diverges from White's analysis as he is careful to point out that Lenin played no role in creating it himself (indeed Lenin railed against such an outcome, trying to "put a brake on it when he recovered" from the assassination attempt[30]). The failed attempt on Lenin's life by Fanny Kaplan on August 30th 1918 after he had spoken at the Hammer and Sickle armaments factory is seen by Figes as the key moment where the cult sprang into existence; "Lenin's quick recovery was declared a miracle in the Bolshevik press. He was hailed as a Christ-like figure, blessed with supernatural powers, who was not afraid to sacrifice his own life for the good of the people"[31]. Whether, of course, the press beyond the Bolsheviks' own took as much notice and elevated the attempt so highly seems unlikely. Figes then goes on to say that "[i]t was the start of the Lenin cult - a cult designed by Bolsheviks, apparently against Lenin's will, to promote their leader as the 'people's tsar'"[32]. Figes is therefore in broad agreement with Tumarkin, who more plausibly states that "the first stage of its formation was the spontaneous mythologi[s]ing of Lenin that followed upon an attempt on his life [... o]n 30 August 1918"[33]. They differ importantly, as we have already noted on the use of the word 'cult'. Here, Figes goes too far but Tumarkin only refers to the reaction only being a first step towards its construction - "the cult of Lenin had been set on its course "[34]. Nonetheless, as a result of Lenin's virtual resurrection, photos of him appeared in the 'Lenin Corner' also known as the 'Red Corner' or 'Holy Spot' in peasant dwellings[35] (broadly agreeing with Panchenko's ideas as discussed above). Service corroborates Figes' assertion that the cult started to be established in the wake of the assassination attempt[36] but without putting a timescale on precisely when. All of these three accounts suffer from a common weakness - none go beyond asserting that a cult existed as early as August 1918, and proceed to provide only scant evidence to prove that this was actually the case. Figes' account suffers from this fault the least. It seems plausible, but not especially likely, that the Bolshevik press (over which Lenin had tight rein, crucially so as a propaganda weapon against first the Provisional Government and later The Whites in the October Revolution and Civil War respectively) and the Bolshevik leadership (above whom Lenin resided atop the Sovnarkom pyramid, his power here shown for example in pushing through the NEP in 1921 amidst huge opposition and earlier forcing the pace of the seizure of power from the April Theses to the October Revolution itself 6 months later) were able to create such a cult in spite of Lenin's express wishes. From the point of view of the latter, this would have been hugely insubordinate, and perhaps betray not only the ideals of the revolution itself (eg in creating a quasi-religion which would contradict Marxist principles and also in elevating Lenin into a 'class' of his own) but also exacerbate Lenin's worries about, and later explicit orders against, factionalism[37]. Perhaps, though, we can arrive at a middle ground. If an aura did surround Lenin, from the assassination attempt and later mystical stories which resulted from it, then it was not as part of an officially sanctioned ideology. Instead, it was merely an invention along the lines of Panchenko's thinking as outlined above. Once again, to claim that a 'cult' existed from the point of the assassination onwards is hugely problematic.

Timing

Finally, let us look more closely at the timing of the alleged establishment of the Lenin Cult. We have already found that by the end of the Civil War, Lenin was not well enough known to be said to be surrounded by a Personality Cult. An important effect of Fanya Kaplan's attempt against Lenin's life was the legacy of medical difficulties bestowed upon him - she did succeed in killing him, it just took a long time to play out. As a result of one of the three shots fired lodging in Lenin's neck and leading to multiple strokes, Lenin was often wheelchair-bound. After his second stroke in December 1921, he was allowed to dictate for only '5 to 10 minutes a day'. As a result, Lenin had become Stalin's prisoner[38]. He had also become a prisoner insofar as he was isolated from not only the central party leadership, allowing Stalin crucial opportunities to subvert his wishes, but also from the Russian people themselves. For the next two years or so, Lenin's health prevented him from interacting effectively with either of these groups, and indeed was so ill and unbeknown to Russians in general and his own Guards in particular that he was denied entry to the Kremlin in 1923[39]! Under such circumstances, it would have been undesirable for 'the real' Lenin to be well known but it is possible that at this point it did become desirable for thoughts of how to secure Lenin's legacy to start forming in the minds of leading Bolsheviks in general and Stalin in particular. For this reason, it is highly plausible that a sanctioned and sanitized version of Lenin was starting to be effected, and the previous concern raised by Figes that Lenin was averse to such a development became moot. “The Cult of Lenin, which Lenin himself opposed and managed to keep in check until incapacitated by a stroke in March 1923”[40] could now start to coalesce for two reasons - firstly because Lenin's health was so critical that the regime needed to be safeguarded, and that secondly this could, indeed had, to take place now that Lenin was no longer an obstacle to its establishment, being too ill to mount any effective opposition to such a scheme. Tumarkin, therefore, is vindicated in stating that "the elevation of Leninism to the status of holy writ [...] developed in 1923 in response to this concern [about life after Lenin] and reached national proportions after Lenin's death"[41], i.e. the process started during his profound illness but was only fully realized upon his death. Prior to this, it was merely "piecemeal"[42]and disorganized. Only at this point were steps taken to try to safeguard his legacy by, for example, the Moscow Committee setting up a 'Lenin Institute' in 1923 to organize, catalogue, preserve and conserve many of Lenin's documents[43]. Only at this point was a concerted effort made by the regime to "organi[s]e[...] and promote[...]" a cult to act as a "stabili[s]ing and legitimi[s]ing force in Soviet political life"[44]. Between March 1923 and January 1924, therefore, the Cult of Personality of Lenin started to take shape mostly due to Lenin's inability to stop it. As such, it picked up and started to put together the pieces that we have already examined; Panchenko's myths, tales and folklore that developed in the wake of the 1918 assassination attempt being the key components. Only at this point were they put together to form the 'cult' that Stalin used from that point on.

Lenin as a stepping-stone for Stalin’s rise to power

Therefore, a 'Cult' of Personality of Lenin did not exist prior to his death. Events during his premiership may have facilitated planning for the after-Lenin zeitgeist by Stalin and Krupskaya, in particular, and these took on a more urgent aspect in the last ten months of his life. Prior to this, no 'cult' existed. This was for a number of reasons. Lenin was not well known enough by the end of the Civil War for us to term what Lenin legends that did exist sufficient for us to accept the existence of a 'cult'. After 1921, Lenin was so ill that it was undesirable for him to be well known as he actually was, but crucially he was able to retain enough control over his own affairs that he was able to withstand any attempts to create a 'cult' against his will. It was only once he was unable to safeguard his own reputation that leading Bolsheviks did so on his behalf. Therefore, Stalin was able to start building his own “cult of impersonality"[45] as a testimony to Lenin's life and work in the months prior to the latter's death, but this only started to take full expression as Stalin led the funeral oration to Lenin, crucially with Trotsky absent, on January 28th 1924. In the same way that in Stalin's regime, “Kirov's murder provided an ideal pretext [to] solidify[] the power of the dictator [...] The bonds of institutional and clan loyalties, along with the vestiges of collective leadership and intraparty democracy, were the last impediments to sole and unquestioned power”[46], Stalin's construction of the Lenin Cult after his death was the first crucial step to removing the first 'impediments' to Stalin's path to power as Lenin's sole successor.

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Bibliography

Figes, O 1996: “A People’s Tragedy”. Pimlico, London.

Fitzpatrick, S 2008: “The Russian Revolution”. OUP, Oxford.

Khlevniuk, O 2015: "Stalin: New Biography of a Dictator". Yale University Press, New Haven.

Lenin, V 1922: "Continuation of the notes" to the "Last Will & Testament".  Accessed online from https://www.marxists.org/archive/lenin/works/1922/dec/testamnt/congress.htm

Lenin Q IN Dewey, J. 1929: "Impressions of Soviet Russia and the revolutionary world". New Republic Inc, New York.

Montefiore, S 2014: “Stalin: Court of the Red Tsar”. Phoenix Books, London.

Panachenko, A 2005: “The Cult of Lenin and ‘Soviet Folklore’”. Folklorica X (1); 18-38.

Service, R 2000: “Lenin”. MacMillan, London.

Service, R 2004: “Stalin”. MacMillan, London.

Tucker, R 1979: “The rise of Stalin’s Personality Cult”. The American Historical Review 84 (2); 347-366.

Tumarkin, N 1981: “Religion, Bolshevism, and the Origins of the Lenin Cult”. The Russian Review 40 (1); 35-46.

Tumarkin, N 1983: “Political Ritual and the Cult of Lenin”. Human Rights Quarterly 5 (2); 203-6.

White, D 2001: “Lenin – The Practice and Theory of Revolution”. Palgrave, Basingstoke.

[1] Service 2004; 221

[2] Fitzpatrick 2008; 111

[3] Tumarkin 1981; 38

[4] Service 2000; 483

[5] Tumarkin 1981; 46

[6] Tumarkin 1983; 205

[7] Tumarkin 1981; 39

[8] Tumarkin 1981; 46

[9] Tumarkin 1981; 44

[10] Tumarkin 1983; 204

[11] Service 2004; 218

[12] Service 2004; 221

[13] Service 2004; 221

[14] Montefiore 2014; 66

[15] Service 2004; 357

[16] Service 2004; 309

[17] Lenin Q IN Dewey 1929; 145

[18] Khlevniuk2015; 39

[19] Panchenko 2005; 19

[20] Panchenko 2005; 20

[21] Panchenko 2005; 19

[22] Panchenko 2005; 21

[23] Panchencko 2005; 22

[24] Panchenko 2005; 21

[25] Panchenko 2005; 24

[26] Tumarkin 1981; 37

[27] White 2001; 185

[28] Service 2000; 9

[29] Tumarkin 1983; 204

[30] Figes 1996; 628

[31] Figes 1996; 627

[32] Figes 1996; 628

[33] Tumarkin 1983; 204

[34] Tumarkin 1983; 205

[35] Figes 1996; 629

[36] Service 2000; 393

[37] Lenin 1922; 3

[38] Figes 1996; 797

[39] Service 2000; 476

[40] Tucker 1979; 347

[41] Tumarkin 1981; 36

[42] Tumarkin 1983; 204

[43] Tumarkin 1983; 205

[44] Tumarkin 1981; 37

[45] Service 2004: 357

[46] Khlevniuk 2015; 137

King Canute: The Medieval King who Ruled Many European Lands

King Cnut (Canute) was a monarch who ruled over one of the most expansive empires in early medieval Europe. A Danish prince who seized the throne of England in the early 11th century, Cnut eventually ruled over England, Denmark, Norway, and parts of what is now Sweden. His story is of military ambition, political savvy, religious devotion, and enduring folklore. Cnut's reign remains one of the most remarkable examples of Viking integration into Christian European society.

Terry Bailey explains.

Cnut in a 13th century depiction, from the Genealogical Chronicle of the English Kings. Available here.

The Rise of a Conqueror

Cnut was born Circa 990 - 1035 CE, the son of Sweyn Forkbeard, King of Denmark, and a Polish noblewoman, Świętosawa, the daughter of Mieszko I of Poland. He likely received a warrior's training, and his early years were steeped in the traditions of Norse seafaring and warfare. When Sweyn invaded England in 1013 CE, young Cnut accompanied him. Sweyn was briefly proclaimed king of England, but his death in 1014 CE left the country in turmoil.

After Sweyn's death, the English reinstated Æthelred the Unready. Cnut returned to Denmark but came back to England with a vengeance in 1015 CE, initiating a brutal campaign to reclaim what his father had started. Following a decisive victory at the Battle of Assandun in 1016 CE, Cnut forced King Edmund Ironside into a treaty that divided England between them. Edmund died shortly afterward, and Cnut became the undisputed king.

Strategic brilliance and political acumen

One of Cnut's greatest strengths was his ability to adapt. Unlike many Viking leaders who imposed foreign rule through sheer force, Cnut sought legitimacy through assimilation and diplomacy. He converted to Christianity (possibly earlier in life), married Emma of Normandy, the widow of King Æthelred, and retained many Anglo-Saxon nobles in his court, fostering a sense of continuity rather than conquest.

Cnut ruled England wisely, stabilizing the realm after decades of Viking incursions. He maintained a standing army and navy funded by the heregeld tax, which acted as a deterrent to future attacks. He supported the Church generously, restoring lands and privileges lost during earlier Viking raids. His piety and patronage earned him praise from contemporary chroniclers, such as those writing the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle.

He also skillfully managed his North Sea Empire, ruling Denmark after his brother's death in 1018 CE, and conquering Norway in 1028 CE. He installed loyal earls to govern and maintained a delicate balance of power between his diverse realms. Cnut became a king who was not just feared, but respected.

Fragmented Empire and legacy

Despite his skillful reign, Cnut's empire was fragile. It was held together by personal loyalty and military power rather than a cohesive administrative structure. After he died in 1035 CE, his sons, Harold Harefoot and Harthacnut, proved incapable of maintaining the realm. The empire quickly fractured, with Norway and Denmark breaking away, and England eventually falling to Edward the Confessor in 1042 CE.

Another weakness was his ruthless consolidation of power. The early years of his rule in England were marked by purges and executions. He eliminated rivals like Eadric Streona, the opportunistic ealdorman who had switched sides multiple times during the conflict with Edmund Ironside. Cnut's rule, while effective, was not without bloodshed.

Battles and campaigns

Battle of Assandun (1016 CE): The most crucial battle of Cnut's conquest of England. Fought against Edmund Ironside, this victory paved the way for Cnut's kingship.

Campaign against Norway (1028 CE): Cnut sailed with a powerful fleet to unseat King Olaf II of Norway. With the support of Norwegian nobles and little bloodshed, Cnut gained control of the country.

Suppression of Rebellions (1020s–30s CE): Cnut had to quell various uprisings in England, including resistance from Northumbria and the Welsh frontier. His harsh response ensured temporary peace.

The Legend of King Cnut and the Tide

Perhaps the most enduring story about Cnut is the legend of the tide. According to 12th-century chronicler Henry of Huntingdon, Cnut once commanded the tide to halt its advance to demonstrate the limits of royal power. When the sea ignored his command, he hung his crown on a crucifix, declaring that only God has supreme authority.

This tale is often misinterpreted as Cnut believing he could stop the sea; the tale, in fact, is a story of humility, illustrating the king's piety and awareness of divine sovereignty. While the historicity is doubtful, the moral of the story continues to resonate.

Archaeological evidence

Material evidence of Cnut's reign is sparse but significant:

Coins: Numerous silver pennies bearing Cnut's image have been found across England, Denmark, and Scandinavia. The coins depict him with a cross and scepter, highlighting his role as a Christian monarch. The consistency in minting standards reflects strong centralized control.

Burial Sites and Relics: Cnut was buried in the Old Minster at Winchester. However, during the English Civil War, his remains were disturbed and placed in a mortuary chest in Winchester Cathedral. DNA and bone analysis in recent years have sought to identify his remains among the disturbed bones, but conclusive identification remains elusive.

Structures and Foundations: Cnut's contributions to church building have left traces. He endowed monasteries and rebuilt religious structures damaged during previous Viking raids. Archaeological excavations at places like Winchester and Ely have uncovered foundations dating from his reign.

A King between Worlds

Cnut's life straddled two worlds: the pagan Viking past and the Christian European future. He was both a warrior and a lawgiver, a conqueror and a consolidator. His ability to bridge cultural divides made him a singular figure in early medieval history.

Though his empire did not last beyond his sons, Cnut left a profound legacy. He brought a period of peace and prosperity to England and helped shape the political landscape of northern Europe. His story, enriched by both historical records and legend, continues to fascinate scholars and storytellers alike.

Cnut remains one of the most complex and capable monarchs of the early medieval world. He was a Viking by birth, a Christian by choice, and a king by force and finesse. His reign marked a turning point in the integration of Norse and English cultures and assisted in laying the groundwork for the later unification of the English kingdom. Whether commanding armies or symbolically confronting the tide, Cnut's legacy is one of both ambition and wisdom.

His legacy is one that transcends the confines of conventional kingship. He was not merely a conqueror who seized thrones through military might, but a ruler who understood the necessity of legitimacy, diplomacy, and cultural assimilation.

In an age defined by upheaval, he imposed order. In a realm torn by dynastic conflict and Viking aggression, he brought stability. His reign, though forged in blood and hardened by ruthless pragmatism, was also defined by an enduring sense of purpose, a vision of a unified Christian North Sea empire governed through strength, justice, and reverence for divine authority.

Cnut's significance lies in his ability to govern not just through conquest, but through accommodation. His reign did not erase Anglo-Saxon traditions but incorporated them, preserving continuity in governance, law, and faith. His generous patronage of the Church, his marriage alliance with the Normans, and his use of native English advisors showed a political sophistication that was rare among Viking leaders. He was a foreign king who became, in the eyes of many of his English subjects, a legitimate and even praiseworthy ruler.

However, the fleeting nature of his empire underscores the fragility of early medieval statecraft. Built upon personal authority rather than institutional frameworks, Cnut's dominion did not survive him. His sons lacked his charisma and strategic acumen, and his vast empire fragmented almost immediately after his death. This rapid dissolution highlights the challenges of governing a multinational, sea-spanning realm without the bureaucratic tools or ideological glue that later empires would rely upon. Cnut's greatness, therefore, stands in even sharper relief, an exception in a time of transience.

Still, what Cnut achieved in his lifetime was extraordinary. He forged a pan-North Sea empire at a time when no other ruler could command such a vast and culturally diverse territory. He fostered peace, enabled commerce, and maintained order across lands that had only recently known chaos and conquest. His coinage, administrative reforms, and religious endowments all bear testament to a ruler who saw kingship as more than brute domination; it was a sacred duty to preserve justice, stability, and faith.

Perhaps most telling is the tale of Cnut and the tide, which endures as a metaphor for the humility that should temper absolute power. Whether apocryphal or based on a real event, the story has outlived the battles and alliances of his reign, casting Cnut not merely as a warrior king but as a philosopher-monarch, aware of the limits of human authority in the face of nature and as he understood it, divine will. In this legend, as in history, Cnut is remembered not just for the empire he forged but for the wisdom he showed in understanding its impermanence.

Ultimately, Cnut occupies a unique place in European history. He was a transitional figure, bridging pagan past and Christian future, Norse raider and English sovereign, conqueror and statesman. His reign foreshadowed the emergence of a more unified England and prefigured the Norman Conquest in tone and structure.

In life and legend, Cnut exemplified a rare synthesis of strength and subtlety, ambition and restraint. His empire may have crumbled after his death, but the impact of his rule echoes still, in coins, chronicles, cathedrals, and the enduring image of a king who knew he could not command the sea.

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Notes:

Heregeld tax

The heregeld was a tax levied in Anglo-Saxon England during the early 11th century, primarily instituted under King Æthelred the Unready around 1012 CE. The term heregeld comes from Old English, meaning "army payment," and its primary purpose was to finance payments to Danish mercenaries hired to defend England against Viking raids.

These payments were part of a broader strategy to buy temporary peace and military support, especially in response to the increasing threat from Norse invaders who had grown more aggressive and better organized during this period.

Originally, Æthelred had attempted to deal with Viking incursions by paying Danegeld, essentially a ransom to persuade Viking armies to leave. However, as these payments failed to ensure long-term peace, the English crown shifted toward employing Danish warriors themselves.

To fund the maintenance of this standing army and its fleets, the heregeld tax was imposed on the population. It was assessed annually and paid in silver, with contributions expected from landowners and freemen, reflecting the growing administrative capabilities of the Anglo-Saxon monarchy.

After the Danish conquest of England in 1016 CE by King Cnut (Canute), the heregeld system was retained and expanded, as indicated in the primary text. Cnut used the tax to maintain a permanent force of elite housecarls (professional warriors), who acted as his bodyguard and enforcers of royal power. The tax continued into the reigns of his successors but was eventually abolished by Edward the Confessor in 1051 CE, likely due to the financial burden it imposed and changing political needs.

The heregeld represents an important development in the evolution of English governance, highlighting the increasing militarization of taxation and the use of fiscal policy to support standing forces. It also illustrates how the pressures of Viking invasions forced English rulers to adapt administratively and militarily in ways that would have long-lasting effects on medieval English statecraft.

When A Historical Collision Becomes A Tragedy

The recent collision of the Mexican Training Ship Cuauhtemoc into the Brooklyn Bridge was a tragedy – but it was also a historical collision. Michael Leibrandt explains.

A depiction of the bridge on opening in 1883: Bird's-Eye View of the Great New York and Brooklyn Bridge and Grand Display of Fire Works on Opening Night

If you’ve been blessed with the chance to see the last visually-stunning scene in Martin Scorsese’s cinematic marvelGangs of New York from 2002 — which was a gorgeous time-lapse walk through the construction of the Brooklyn Bridge and the evolution around it through the centuries — then you were no doubt immersed in the depiction of the development of New York but also the changing landscape of Green-Wood Cemetery overlooking the East River. 

Nearly one hundred and twenty people perished during the Draft Riots of 1863. The country was in the midst of the American Civil War — and the Union needed troops. The Army of Northern Virginia had been beaten at Gettysburg — and General George Meade was under scrutiny for not pursing Lee’s Army. General Ulysses S. Grant who would take command of the Union Army in 1864 — however — had other ideas. Grant was committed to win the war as quickly as possible.

No army under a Confederate banner would never again invade of the north. Their attempt at a decisive victory on northern soil to entice European countries like France and Britain to join the aid of the south had failed. The Union Army would utilize conscription to replenish their ranks and not everyone was eager to enlist.

A few weeks ago, not long after 8:00 P.M., the Mexican Training Ship Cuauhtemoc lost power on the East River and slammed into the Brooklyn Bridge killing two people and injuring nineteen. Masts were broken on the two-hundred seventy-seven person vessel but it was successfully determined that the Bridge did not sustain any damage. 

Although the Brooklyn Bridge was designed by John A. Roebling — his daughter-in-law (Emily Warren Roebling) was essential in keeping it on track for completion when her husband Washington Roebling became ill. It would be more thanten years until the Brooklyn Bridge was finally completed and opened. The 43-year old Mexican Navy Training Vessel ARM Cuauhtémoc dates back to 1982.

Back at Green-Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn — which has roots going all the way back to 1838 — when it began life as a final resting place for overcrowded churchyards. It’s nearly 480 acres are home to more than 550,000 graves — including some of the most prominent 19th century families of New York which includes the Roosevelt’s and also famous people like Leonard Bernstein. The cemetery holds both Confederate and Union casualties, as well as Revolutionary Warsoldiers. It’s Gothic Revival Gates designed by Richard Upjohn — provide the warmth of a welcome in the summer months to this day.

For both the United States and Mexico — the collision a few weeks ago wasn’t just a collision. It was a collision of history for both nations.

Michael Thomas Leibrandt lives and works in Abington Township, PA.

Jesters Throughout History: Humor, Power, and the Politics of Performance

If we look back to the era of kings and queens, there is a common figure lurking in the courtrooms. You’ll find them in taverns, traveling from town to town, or even as far back as Ancient Egypt. These motley characters go by many names, a buffoon, a fool, a jongleur, and most commonly, a jester. 

The jester has a long history, entwined with humor, power and politics. There was always a lot more to these colorful characters than met the eye. These were masters of mischief and manipulation. Here, Daryl Refuerzo dive deeper into the colorful world of the jester throughout history.

Laughing Fool, circa 1500. Available here.

Jesters Date Back to Ancient Times 

While the Ancient Egyptians did not have jesters in the same sense as the medieval courts, they had their own version of a jester. 

Dating back to the 5th dynasty of Egypt, many pharaohs had an interest in people from distant lands, especially those who differed in appearance. Some pharaohs employed pygmies from the south and kept them as entertainment. These Natural Fools were more of a means of entertainment at the expense of their appearance, and they are different from the Licensed Fools that we see in royal courts.

Fools are Universal 

We see examples of jesters around the world, including both Natural Fools and Licensed Fools. Humor and wit as means of entertainment are a universal human experience that transcends any one place or time. 

In Poland, we have an example of one of the most famous court jesters, Stańczyk. He served three different Polish kings during his time as a jester, Alexander, Sigismund I the Old, and Sigismund II Augustus. The famous painting of Stańczyk by Jan Matejko is often one of the first images you see when you explore jesters, it’s memorable for his red jester ensemble, equipped with cap ‘n bells. Stańczyk was regarded by many poets and historians as a wise man who would weed out hypocrisy in favor of the truth. 

Another famous example of a court jester is Will Sommers, a jester during Tudor times. Sommers dazzled with his wit and was introduced to King Henry VIII sometime around 1525. He would go on to serve all three of the king’s children during his time as a jester. Like Stańczyk, Sommers held the same weight to his word, holding truth closely. It was said that Sommers and King Henry had a friendship that survived even the sharp-tongued moments that come with being a jester. 

However, not all jesters were men. Mathurine la Folle is one of the few female jesters we see in history, and she serviced the French court during King Henry III, King Henry IV, and King Louis XIII. Unlike other jesters, Mathurine wore an Amazon warrior costume that was equipped with a wooden sword. She was known for her sharp wit, but also for her assistance in catching the would-be assassin who tried to kill King Henry IV. 

These jesters, like the many others of their time, had a special place at the reigning monarch’s ear, they were able to tell them truths and even share advice when others could not. It was the court jester who was most skilled at delivering bad news to even the most hot-headed kings. Even the most brutal blow was easier to swallow when wrapped in rhymes or a well-timed joke.

Who Killed the Court Jester? 

While fools and jesters could be found in most corners of the world for centuries, their motley-colored reign did not last. During the Enlightenment period, as powdered wigs grew taller and powdered egos grew puffier, the idea of keeping a professional fool around became outdated. 

While political satire did not disappear entirely, the motley costumes of the jesters held no place in royal courts, instead they were replaced by politicians and philosophers. Despite this, the jester did not die out completely. Rather, the jester saw an evolution. Shifting from their typical court jester roles and merging into what we know today.

Modern Fools 

Today, there are many modern fools and jesters who carry on the torch of their witty forebears. If you’ve ever watched a late-night talk show, you can see the shadows of a court jester. A figure who addresses world events with a smile and a well-timed joke, all they are missing is the cap ’n bells or curled-toe shoes. 

We also see evidence of jesters in modern entertainers, in clowns, jugglers, acrobats, magicians, and even stand-up comedians. When you pass a busker or trickster performing on the street, you’re witnessing the evolution of one of the most common human traits. The ability to share in laughter.

Long May the Jester Reign 

While the motley costumes and jingling bells of the jester faded into history, they leave behind a legacy that has stretched through the centuries. From Ancient Egypt to medieval courts or the modern fools we know now, the jester’s reign never ended. Whether whispering wisdom to pharaohs, mocking kings with rhyme, or roasting presidents on late-night TV, the jester remains a timeless figure.

We should all take note of the jester’s lasting impressions. After all honey catches more flies than vinegar, and wit is always a sharper sword than wrath.

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King Alfred the Great: Warrior, Scholar, and Father of the English Nation

King of the West Saxons, 871 to 886 CE and King of the Anglo-Saxons from 886 CE until he died in 899 CE.

Few rulers in English history have been so richly remembered and widely revered as King Alfred the Great, the 9th-century monarch of Wessex. Crowned during a time of dire crisis, Alfred fought not only to repel Viking invasions but also to nurture a cultural and intellectual revival that laid the foundations for what would become England. He is the only English monarch to be honored with the epithet "the Great," a title earned not through conquest alone, but through visionary leadership, legal reform, and an enduring legacy of learning.

Terry Bailey explains.

King Arthur by Charles Ernest Butler (1903).

A Kingdom Under Siege

When Alfred ascended the throne in 871 CE, following the death of his brother King Æthelred, the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms were under relentless assault from the Danish Vikings. The once-great Heptarchy of Anglo-Saxon England had crumbled, with kingdoms like Northumbria, East Anglia, and Mercia falling to the Scandinavian onslaught. Wessex stood alone as the last major kingdom resisting Viking domination.

Alfred's early reign was marked by intense military struggle. In 878 CE, at the lowest point of his fortunes, Alfred was forced to retreat to the marshes of Athelney in Somerset after a surprise Viking attack. From these swampy redoubts, he regrouped his forces and launched a counterattack, defeating the Danes at the Battle of Edington. This decisive victory led to the Treaty of Wedmore, by which Guthrum was baptized and agreed to retreat to East Anglia, marking the boundary between Wessex and the Danelaw, Viking-controlled territory in the east.

Alfred's military success was not limited to battlefield heroics. He initiated groundbreaking reforms.

Burh System: Alfred reorganized the kingdom's defense by constructing a network of fortified towns (burhs), strategically placed to counter Viking mobility. These burhs later formed the basis for many English towns and cities, including Oxford and Winchester.

Naval Innovation: Recognizing the Viking threat from the sea, Alfred established the first English navy, commissioning longships that were larger and swifter than those of the Danes. While not always successful, this early naval force laid the foundation for future maritime strength.

Military Reforms: He reorganized the fyrd (militia), instituting a rotation system so that part of the army could always be on duty while others tended to their farms, ensuring a sustainable, year-round defense.

Law, learning, and legacy

While King Alfred the Great is often remembered for his military successes, his true legacy lies in his deep devotion to justice and learning, which helped shape the cultural and legal foundations of early England.

One of Alfred's most enduring contributions was his reform of the legal system. In the Doom Book, he consolidated various Anglo-Saxon laws with Christian ethics and elements of Mosaic law, not to create something entirely new, but to refine and unify. His goal was to ensure a more consistent and fair legal system across the kingdom of Wessex, guided by a strong moral compass rooted in faith and tradition.

Equally significant was Alfred's passion for education. Distressed by the widespread decline in literacy, he led a cultural revival by inviting learned men from across Mercia and Europe to his court. He was personally involved in the translation of important Latin texts into Old English, including Boethius' Consolation of Philosophy and Pope Gregory's Pastoral Care, so that knowledge would no longer be the privilege of the clergy alone but accessible to all free men capable of learning.

Alfred also helped lay the foundations of English historical writing. Under his guidance, the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle was begun, an ambitious and unprecedented record of England's history that would continue to be updated for centuries. It was a bold effort to preserve the past and shape a collective national identity, long before the concept of England as a unified state had fully formed.

Strengths in detail

He is widely celebrated for his exceptional leadership and visionary reforms during great turmoil in Anglo-Saxon England. One of his most prominent strengths was his military acumen. Facing relentless Viking invasions, Alfred displayed remarkable strategic foresight. After suffering early defeats, as outlined, he reorganized the military system, establishing a network of fortified towns known as burhs and organized a standing army and a navy capable of repelling future attacks. These reforms not only defended his kingdom but also laid the groundwork for the eventual unification of England.

As discussed, Alfred's key strengths were his commitment to learning and education. Believing that wisdom and learning were essential for good governance, he promoted literacy and scholarship in a period when intellectual decline was widespread. He initiated the translation of key Latin texts into Old English and personally contributed to some translations. This cultural revival helped preserve classical knowledge and elevated the intellectual standards of his court and clergy.

Alfred's legal and administrative reforms also showcased his strengths as a ruler. He compiled a code of laws known as the Doom Book, blending Mosaic law, Christian ethics, and existing Anglo-Saxon customs. His laws emphasized justice, fairness, and the protection of the weak, reflecting a deep sense of moral duty. Moreover, Alfred's diplomatic skills were evident in his alliances with neighboring kingdoms and his fostering of unity among the Anglo-Saxons in opposition to the Danish threat. It was through resilience, intellect, reforms and actions that Alfred earned his epithet "the Great".

Weaknesses in detail

Although celebrated for his defense of Anglo-Saxon England against Viking invasions and his contributions to learning and law, the Great King was not without weaknesses, both personal and political. One of his most pressing challenges was his initial military indecisiveness. In the early stages of his reign, Alfred struggled to organize a cohesive and timely response to the Viking incursions.

The infamous retreat to the marshes of Athelney in 878 CE, though ultimately a turning point, was precipitated by Alfred's inability to prevent a surprise Danish advance. His kingdom was nearly overrun, and his survival was briefly reduced to guerrilla tactics and concealment.

A further shortcoming was his difficulty in unifying all the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms under a single political structure. While he was successful in asserting dominance over Wessex and parts of Mercia, his influence over the Danelaw regions remained fragile and contested. His reliance on negotiated truces with Viking leaders like Guthrum, though pragmatic, often came at the cost of conceding territory or accepting tenuous peace arrangements that required constant vigilance and resources to maintain.

On a personal level, Alfred was known to suffer from chronic illness, which may have limited his ability to command on the battlefield and reduced his energy and stamina in governance. While some sources suggest he had a painful intestinal condition, possibly Crohn's disease or hemorrhoids, this ailment likely imposed constraints on his direct leadership during military campaigns. Additionally, his religious piety and emphasis on monastic reform, while admirable, sometimes alienated more martial or secular factions within his court who may have preferred a more aggressive stance against Norse incursions.

Folklore and legend

Alfred's fame also birthed enduring folklore, the most famous being the story of the burnt cakes. While hiding in the marshes of Athelney, Alfred is said to have taken refuge in a peasant woman's home. She, unaware of his identity, tasked him with watching her cakes on the fire. Distracted by thoughts of battle, Alfred allowed them to burn, and she scolded him for his carelessness, a tale of humility and resilience.

Other legends emphasize his wisdom in disguise. Like Harun al-Rashid of Baghdad or Odysseus, Alfred supposedly roamed his kingdom in humble clothing, seeking truth and learning about his people. It is an interesting point that similar tales often transcend through the ages when elevating greatness in individuals.

Archaeological evidence

Modern archaeology continues to shed light on the reign of King Alfred the Great, offering tangible evidence to complement the historical record. Excavations at fortified sites such as Wareham and Wallingford have revealed impressive earthworks, large, rectangular defensive enclosures, that align with descriptions in the Burghal Hidage, a military survey from Alfred's time listing strategic fortified settlements, or burhs. These findings underscore Alfred's ambitious efforts to defend his kingdom against Viking incursions by establishing a network of fortresses.

On the Isle of Athelney in Somerset, archaeological work has uncovered the foundations of a monastic complex believed to be the abbey Alfred founded in gratitude after emerging from hiding there in 878 CE. Following his eventual victory over the Vikings, Alfred commemorated his refuge with a religious institution whose legacy is marked today by a memorial monument on the site.

Meanwhile, the quest to locate Alfred's remains has focused on Hyde Abbey in Winchester, where he was believed to have been reinterred. In 2013, archaeologists examined a set of human bones found at the site. Though testing was hampered by centuries of disturbance and yielded inconclusive results, the investigation reignited public interest in the fate of England's only monarch officially titled "the Great."

Alfred's reign is also reflected in his coinage. Notably, the "London Monogram" series, minted after 886 CE, signifies his consolidation of control over London and his political alignment with the rulers of Mercia, such as Æthelred. These coins are not just currency but symbols of authority, cooperation, and the emerging unity of early England.

The making of England

Alfred's real genius lay in laying the groundwork for English unification. Though he never ruled all of England, his reforms and military efforts preserved Anglo-Saxon culture during a time when it could easily have been extinguished. His son Edward the Elder and grandson Æthelstan would later build on Alfred's vision, extending control over the Danelaw and shaping a more united English kingdom.

Alfred the Great was more than a warrior-king. He was a scholar-ruler, a reformer, a builder, and the spiritual founder of the English nation. Through battlefield resilience, legal reform, and cultural revival, he ensured that the Anglo-Saxon identity survived and evolved into a unified England. His title "the Great" is not merely honorific; it reflects a rare blend of might and mind, courage and culture.

In conclusion, King Alfred the Great stands as a towering figure in early English history, not simply because he resisted conquest, but because he envisioned a civilization worth defending. In an age defined by violent upheaval and cultural disintegration, Alfred did more than safeguard Wessex, he laid the intellectual, legal, and political foundations for a nation that did not yet exist. His military triumphs against the Vikings, especially the pivotal victory at Edington, prevented the complete collapse of Anglo-Saxon rule. Yet Alfred's legacy transcends the battlefield. By reforming the militia, establishing fortified towns, and founding a navy, he ensured that defense would no longer be reactionary but strategic and sustainable.

More significantly, Alfred recognized that the soul of a nation lies not only in swords and shields, but in schools, scriptures, and the rule of law. His translation of classical and Christian texts, his involvement in education, and his codification of laws all point to a ruler deeply committed to justice, wisdom, and moral integrity. He was a rare king who valued books as much as blades, who sought to govern not through brute force but through enlightened order and his duty.

Even in his weaknesses, his chronic illness, conservative outlook, and limited territorial control, we see a man grappling with the limitations of his time and body, yet still forging a legacy that others would build upon. Alfred did not live to see a fully unified England, but without him, there may never have been one. His son Edward the Elder and grandson Æthelstan would extend his vision, but the blueprint, the ideological, military, and cultural architecture, was Alfred's alone.

The legends that surround him, from burnt cakes to cloaked wanderings among the common folk, only deepen the perception of a monarch who was not aloof but profoundly human, humble, wise, and tirelessly devoted to his people. Archaeological discoveries continue to confirm the historical reality of his reign, reinforcing the truth that Alfred was not merely a figure of myth, but a pragmatic and perceptive statesman.

In the end, Alfred the Great was not just a savior of Wessex, but the architect of English identity. His synthesis of warrior virtue, scholarly pursuit, legal clarity, and Christian kingship created a model of rulership that endured long after his death. That he is the only English king ever granted the epithet "the Great" is a testament to his unique combination of vision, intellect, and resolve. In preserving what was best of the Anglo-Saxon world and projecting it into a future that he could only partially see, Alfred earned his place not only in the chronicles of England, but in the enduring story of Western civilization.

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Extensive notes:

The Doom Book

The Doom Book, also known as Dom-boc, was a legal code compiled by King Alfred the Great of Wessex in the late 9th century. It was a significant legal document in early English history, combining previous Anglo-Saxon law codes with Christian principles. Alfred drew from older legal traditions such as those of Æthelberht of Kent, Ine of Wessex, and Offa of Mercia, and prefaced his code with passages from the Book of Exodus, showing a conscious fusion of Mosaic law and Germanic custom.

The Doom Book was designed not only to provide justice but to reflect moral guidance based on Christian doctrine, offering insight into the cultural and religious landscape of early medieval England.

In contrast, the Doomsday Book (more accurately spelled Domesday Book) is a later piece of work and not to be confused with the Doom book. The Doomsday Book was a monumental land survey ordered by William the Conqueror in 1085–1086 CE, nearly two centuries after Alfred's reign.

Unlike the Doom Book, which was a set of laws, the Doomsday Book was an administrative record intended to assess land ownership, resources, and taxation potential throughout England. The name "Domesday" evokes the finality and thoroughness of the Last Judgment, underscoring the idea that its findings were unchallengeable. It covered much of England and parts of Wales, detailing landholders, their holdings, the value of the land, and the obligations attached to it.

The key difference between the two lies in their purpose and function: the Doom Book was a legal code intended to guide judgment and justice in courts, while the Doomsday Book was a financial and administrative survey meant to consolidate control over William's new kingdom and establish a basis for taxation. Though both played crucial roles in shaping medieval English governance, they reflect different priorities: moral-legal order versus economic-political control.

The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles

The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles are a collection of annals written in Old English that document the history of England from the 5th century through the 12th century. They were commissioned by King Alfred the Great in the late 9th century to preserve the history and culture of the Anglo-Saxon people in the face of Viking invasions and other external threats. The chronicles were initially compiled in the Kingdom of Wessex, but over time, different versions were created in various regions of England, each adding local details to the larger historical narrative.

The text is unique in that it combines both secular and religious history, detailing the reigns of kings, battles, invasions, and major events, as well as the Christianization of England and the role of the church in shaping the kingdom. The Chronicles are invaluable as a primary source for historians, providing insight into the early medieval period, including the relationship between the Anglo-Saxons and the Vikings, the establishment of the English monarchy, and the transformation of England from a pagan society to a Christian one.

The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles survive in multiple manuscripts, with some of the most notable versions found in the British Library and the Bodleian Library. They differ in their regional focus and detail, but together, they provide a comprehensive look at the history of early medieval England. The chronicles are particularly significant for their role in the development of historical writing in England, influencing later works such as the Domesday Book and the writings of later historians.

Though the original text was written in Old English, parts of the chronicles were later translated into Latin and became widely known across the Christian world. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles remain an essential resource for understanding the origins of the English nation and its early historical development.

Burghal Hidage

The Burghal Hidage is a remarkable document from early medieval England that provides a rare glimpse into the defensive infrastructure of the Anglo-Saxon kingdom of Wessex during the late 9th or early 10th century. It lists a series of fortified settlements, known as burhs, along with the number of hides of land assigned to each. A hide was a unit of land measurement, roughly enough to support a household. In this context, it likely served as a basis for calculating the manpower and resources needed to defend the fortifications.

Traditionally dated to the reign of King Alfred the Great, the Burghal Hidage is closely associated with Alfred's wide-ranging military reforms in response to the Viking threat. Faced with repeated Norse invasions, Alfred sought to create a network of strategically placed burhs to defend the kingdom and provide safe havens for the population. Each burh was supplied and maintained by the surrounding land, with one man required to defend every 4 poles (about 5.5 meters) of wall based on the number of hides allocated. This ensured that each fortress had sufficient defenders, and it allowed for rapid military mobilization.

Two versions of the Burghal Hid-age survive:

The main list, which includes 33 burhs, and the shorter list, which omits a few entries. Many of the burhs listed evolved into key English towns, including Winchester, Oxford, and Wallingford.

The document is not only significant for military history but also for urban development and administrative organization. It reflects a level of central planning and logistical capability that was advanced for its time and laid the foundation for England's later unified defense system under the Anglo-Saxon and later Norman kings.

London Monogram

During Alfred the Great's reign, he undertook a comprehensive reform of the West Saxon coinage, both to stabilize the economy and to assert royal authority over the newly unified territories. Central to this reform was the establishment of a more standardized system of mints, among which London played a preeminent role.

Coins struck at London bore a distinctive monogram on the reverse side, typically rendered as a compact, interlaced arrangement of the letters L O N D, and this "London Monogram" quickly became synonymous with both the city's importance and the high quality of its silver currency.

The London Monogram served several key purposes. First, it acted as a mint-mark, guaranteeing to merchants and the populace that the coin met the king's exacting standards for weight (approximately 1.3 grams of high-purity silver) and fineness. Second, its geometric and easily recognizable design functioned as a deterrent to clipping and other forms of debasement: any attempt to shave off silver could be readily spotted when the monogram's crisp angles and interwoven strokes were compromised. Finally, by marking coins with the name and emblem of London, the empire's burgeoning commercial hub, Alfred reinforced the city's status as the fiscal heart of his kingdom and as a focal point for trade with the Continent and beyond.

Beyond its practical applications, the London Monogram on Alfred's pennies carried symbolic weight. It underscored the close relationship between king and city: London supplied the skilled moneyers and the resources necessary for minting, while Alfred's authority ensured that the coinage circulated widely and fostered economic cohesion across Wessex and the recently acquired Mercian territories. Even after Alfred's death, successors continued to use monograms and mint-marks echoing his example, cementing the legacy of the London Monogram as an enduring icon of early medieval English sovereignty and monetary unity.

The concept of a London, or Royal monogram continues today, for example Royal cyphers, such as "ER" for Elizabeth Regina or "CR" for Charles Rex, appear throughout the city on post boxes, government buildings, and official documents, serving as a form of royal monogram that reinforces London's role as the heart of the British monarchy and trade. While the term "London Monogram" itself may not denote a specific, universally adopted image, it encompasses a rich tapestry of design traditions that echo the city's culture, influence, and visual legacy from centuries past to present.

How a Fake British Military Leader Fooled the Germans During World War 2

Deception has always been a part of military tactics, from the ancient Trojan Horse to the Gulf War, when Saddam Hussein positioned his troops along the Iraq-Kuwait border, claiming they were on a training mission as a cover-up for his true intentions of invading Kuwait. It was no different during the Second World War, when commanders devised unusual deception strategies. One of these involved an actor impersonating Field Marshal Bernard Montgomery.

Róza Gombos explains.

Montgomery during World War II.

In 1942, the Allies began to turn the tide of the war — the Germans had been stopped in North Africa, the Japanese had been pushed back in the Pacific theatre, and the German 6th Army had been encircled at Stalingrad. Winston Churchill, Franklin D. Roosevelt, and Joseph Stalin decided on an Allied landing in Normandy, codenamed Operation Overlord. Executing the operation required massive preparation, lasting several months. One of the most important objectives was to prevent the Germans from learning the time and location of the invasion. To achieve this, commanders devised a number of deception operations to mislead the enemy.

Bernard Montgomery played a key role in the operation. He was the Ground Forces Commander-in-Chief and also contributed to refining Lieutenant General Morgan’s invasion plan. Since Montgomery was a central figure in the operation, the time and location of the Allied landing could potentially be linked to his whereabouts. The deception plan, known as Operation Copperhead, aimed to mislead the Germans about where and when the invasion would occur. If they spotted Montgomery somewhere else, it could lead them to believe the invasion was imminent in a different location, prompting them to redeploy their forces and divert divisions away from Normandy.

All the intelligence services needed was a double for Bernard Montgomery…

The double

After a persistent search for the ideal double, Lieutenant Colonel John Jervis-Reid from the deception planning department of the Supreme Headquarters Allied Expeditionary Force saw a photo in the News Chronicle of someone who looked remarkably like Montgomery. With that, they had found the perfect candidate for the operation.[1]

The photo was of actor Meyrick Edward Clifton James. He had fought in the First World War at the Battle of the Somme. After the war, he took up acting. Later, during the Second World War, he was commissioned into the Royal Army Pay Corps.

Many people noticed his striking resemblance to Montgomery and often joked about it. James wrote in his memoir that after Montgomery’s victories in North Africa, he was in Nottingham when he went on stage to make an announcement. The crowd mistook him for the general and greeted him with loud applause and cheering.[2]

In London, after a night performance of When Knights Were Bold, a News Chronicle photographer came into his dressing room. The photographer had been told that James looked like Montgomery, which piqued his interest. The actor borrowed a beret, and the photographer took pictures of him.[3]

The photo appeared in the News Chronicle with the caption ’You’re wrong – it’s Lieut. Clifton James’.

Worry?

While it seemed to be an innocent joke, James began to worry—what if the senior military staff saw the photo? He even had a nightmare in which he was deported and dropped by parachute into Berchtesgaden for impersonating the general.[4]

James’ unease soon proved justified. The higher military circles had indeed seen the photos—and they took serious notice of his resemblance.

In May 1944, the actor received a phone call from Colonel David Niven from the Army Kinematograph Section. The colonel offered him a role in an Army film they were supposedly making.

Niven instructed him to meet Colonel Lester at the Grand Hotel in Leicester and to bring some photographs of himself.[5] They had lunch, but the colonel did not mention anything about a film. As a result, James assumed he was not qualified and had not been selected for the role.[6]

The next day, he received a letter from Niven informing him that he was indeed suitable for the job and that he needed to travel to London. To James’ confusion, Colonel Lester later told him that they were not going to make any films after all.[7]

“You are very much like General Montgomery, or Monty, as he is commonly called,” said Colonel Lester. James froze—he thought it was a trap and that he was going to be arrested for unlawful impersonation.[8] But then Lester continued:

“You have been chosen to act as the double of General Montgomery before D-Day. I am in charge of this job. It is our business to trick the enemy.”[9]

The plan

The plan was for James to impersonate Montgomery in the Mediterranean, in order to make the Germans believe the Allies would launch the invasion there, while the real Montgomery remained in the United Kingdom. To prepare for this, MI5 arranged for James to spend several days with Montgomery’s staff so he could study his voice, gestures, and mannerisms.[10]

The operation had to be kept top secret. James could not tell anyone; he was advised to be constantly suspicious and to avoid drinking with strangers.[11]

When everything was ready, James was flown to Algiers, where he met General Maitland Wilson. In the capital of Algeria, he was cheered by thousands of troops and high-ranking officers. According to James, nobody doubted that he was Montgomery.[12]

He was seen publicly with General Wilson to create the illusion that Montgomery and Wilson were planning the invasion. Afterward, he was sent to Cairo to keep him out of the public eye while the Normandy landings were underway. Later, he returned to London without arousing any suspicion.

During the interrogation of captured German generals, they confirmed they had been aware of Montgomery’s supposed arrival in the Mediterranean. However, one of them admitted he was not sure whether it was the real Montgomery or just a feint.[13] The operation itself was successful, though it did not significantly influence the course of the Normandy landings.

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[1] https://marksimner.me.uk/i-was-montys-double-meyrick-edward-clifton-james/ Accessed: 18 May 2025)

[2] M. E. Clifton James: I was Monty’s Double (The Popular Book Club, 1957) p. 20.

[3] James, 1957, p. 20.

[4] James, 1957, p. 20.

[5] James, 1957, p. 22.

[6] James, 1957, p. 24.

[7] James, 1957, p. 26.

[8] James, 1957, p. 30.

[9] James, 1957, p. 30.

[10] James, 1957, p. 45.

[11] James, 1957, p. 50.

[12] James, 1957, p. 167.

[13] Graham Lord: The Authorized Biography of David Niven (St. Martin’s Press, 2004) p. 124.

Challenging Camelot & King Arthur

There are many old tales that are still spoken of today. And one such tale in British history is Camelot and King Arthur. Here, Sam Davey considers the tale with a modern twist.

Sam’s new book, The Chosen Queen! is here: Amazon US | Amazon UK

A depiction of King Arthur from the Nuremberg Chronicle.

There are certain historical episodes that, despite their antiquity are still very much part of our modern western cultural identity. For example,  Alexander the Great and the cutting of the Gordian knot, the doomed love of Antony and Cleopatra, Nero fiddling whilst Rome burns, King Arthur pulling the sword from the stone…

They provide us with examples of conduct and attributes we may wish to emulate – like Alexander’s decisiveness and lateral thinking; or behaviour to actively avoid – no one admires Nero’s cavalier disregard for the lives and fortunes of others, whilst indulging his own hobbies and desires (oh, hang on….).

Sometimes they even provide role models that we can look up to and aspire to emulate – like the story of Arthur, an unknown and relatively lowly individual, who by one simple, unexpected act, becomes a King. But “wait a minute” I hear you say, “did King Arthur actually exist?”

Existence?

There is still debate as to the verifiable existence of a fifth century Britannic king called Arthur. The British Isles had been first invaded by Julius Caesar in 55 BCE. and remained under the control of the Roman Empire until, in 410 CE, the Visigoths invaded the Rome, and the Empire, forced to deploy all its forces in defence, withdrew its troops and administrators from the British Isles. This plunged Britannia into the social, economic and political disorder that have traditionally been called the Dark Ages.

In his book The Anglo Saxons: A history of the beginnings of England: 400 to 1066 (Pegasus Books, 2021) historian Marc Morris states that at this point in history: “Britain was a failed state”. Its civic institutions were in disarray, its peoples leaderless. The land was ripe for the taking, and the Angles, Saxons and Jutes – war-like tribes from Germany and the Netherlands - did exactly that.

It is against this backdrop of chaos, violence and confusion that the stories of Arthur –  his Knights and his Round Table – are set. References to  Arthur appear in early historical sources – such as the  10th century Annales Cambiae and the Historia Brittonum (828 CE), but it is not until the twelfth century, and the publication of Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia Regum Britanniae (The History of the Kings of Brittain) that we find a  detailed depiction of  King Arthur as a mighty warrior, who defeated the invaders and held the Saxons at bay.

The veracity of these Histories has frequently been questioned, and although recent research has revealed evidence to support the idea of a British resurgence during the late fifth and early sixth centuries – aligning with the supposed dates of Arthur’s reign, it is not possible to say with any certainty that he existed. What is certain however, is that the idea of Camelot and all that it has come to represent has been used for centuries to reinforce an ideal of ethical behaviour and strong leadership.

Elizabeth Proctor in "The Legendary King: How the Figure of King Arthur Shaped a National Identity and the Field of Archaeology in Britain" (2017, University of Maine) notes that:

“It is important to recognize that the contemporary version of Arthur is the result of various political forces from the past.  Different traits were added to his character in an attempt to connect the often unfamiliar ruling elite with the masses and the history of the land they were trying to control”.

King Arthur has long been a symbol of British identity, supposedly the very embodiment of the ideals of chivalry, loyalty and moral rectitude. But as I looked into the early writings and began to unpick them, it became clear to me that there was a darker side to the story. I began to realise that the origins of Camelot were not to be found in the almost comedic tale of lost and found identity that surrounds the extraction of the sword of the stone, but in a tangled web of deceit, political machination,  and  the rape and abuse of his mother, Igraine of Cornwall.

Stories

This led me to consider not whether Arthur did or did not exist as an historical figure -  that is something we need further evidence to determine - but to ask what for me is a rather more important question:   Why do we continue to see the stories of Camelot through a Hollywood-lens of charming animation, musical-comedy and knights doing the can-can, when at their heart is a blood-feud as violent and destructive as any Greek Tragedy? 

This is the perspective that I seek to challenge, and in my book The Chosen Queen,  I begin at the beginning – with the conception of Arthur and the events that led up to it.

The story goes as follows: Igraine was married to Gorlois, Duke of Cornwall, with whom she had several children. Uther Pendragon, who had recently inherited the throne of Britain, becomes infatuated with Igraine and tries to force his attentions upon her. Igraine informs her husband, and they leave the court without Uther’s consent.

This is seen as treason, and Uther declares war on Gorlois,  slays him, and rapes Igraine, who conceives Arthur.  When Arthur is born, he is taken away from Igraine and fostered, growing up knowing nothing of his identity or family. His sisters, Morgan and Morgause, blame their half-brother for the death of their father, the destruction of the family unit, and the disgrace of their mother.

In every version of the story I have read, the rape of Igraine is little more than a footnote. It is not questioned, and its implications are given little consideration. But to ignore it, and hold up these tales as examples of moral rectitude is equivalent to ignoring the facts of slavery and imperialism.

This literary silencing of a victim of rape is, sadly, representative of the way rape victims have long been treated. Rape victims have often been advised not to report their attack, or have been challenged, shamed and disbelieved if they do so. The recent case in France, in which Giselle Pelicot, drugged and then raped by her husband and numerous others over a nine-year period, refused to be shamed by what had happened to her,  is inspirational, and I hope marks a change in the way society will regard rape, its victims and its perpetrators in the future.

In The Chosen Queen I call into question the idea that Arthur and the tales of Camelot necessarily provide us with a positive example of ethical leadership, seeking to provide another voice to counter balance our received understanding. I also seek to give a voice to a woman who has been silenced, and in doing so, pay tribute to others, whose voices have not been heard.

Sam’s new book, The Chosen Queen! is available  here: Amazon US | Amazon UK

Dagobert I: The Politically Ambitious 7th Century King of the Franks

Dagobert I ( 603/605-639 CE), a prominent figure in the Merovingian dynasty, ruled as the King of Austrasia (623–634) and eventually as the King of all the Franks (629–639). His reign marked a period of relative unity and administrative consolidation, though it was often marred by political intrigues, external threats, and internal dissent. Dagobert's leadership qualities, political ambitions, strengths, and weaknesses left a lasting imprint on early medieval Europe.

Terry Bailey explains.

 Treasures of Dagobert from a 19th century book.

Born into the Merovingian dynasty, Dagobert was the eldest son of King Chlothar II. The political climate of the early 7th century was dominated by internal strife within the Frankish territories, divided into Neustria, Austrasia, and Burgundy. To ensure stability and appease the Austrasian nobles, Chlothar appointed Dagobert as the sub-king of Austrasia in 623 CE. Despite his youth, Dagobert showed an early aptitude for governance and diplomacy, bolstered by his chief advisor, Pepin of Landen, who later became a foundational figure in the rise of the Carolingians.

Upon his father's death in 629, Dagobert sought to consolidate his power over the entire Frankish realm. He deftly neutralized his rivals, including his half-brother Charibert II, who briefly ruled over Aquitaine before being assassinated, likely on Dagobert's orders. By 632, Dagobert was the undisputed ruler of the Frankish kingdoms, a feat rarely achieved in the fragmented Merovingian era.

Dagobert's reign was characterized by his ambition to strengthen royal authority, curtailing the growing power of the Frankish nobility. He implemented significant administrative reforms, sought alliances with powerful aristocrats, and maintained a court that reflected the grandeur of his aspirations.

He was also a patron of the Church, founding several monasteries, including the famed Abbey of Saint-Denis near Paris, which became the royal necropolis of the French monarchy. His support of the Church not only solidified his legitimacy but also provided a moral counterbalance to his often ruthless political maneuvers.

Dagobert demonstrated a keen interest in diplomacy. He maintained relations with neighboring powers, including Byzantium and the Lombards, and successfully negotiated treaties to secure Frankish borders. His reign saw campaigns against the Slavs and Saxons in the east, though his success in these ventures was limited, reflecting both his strengths in negotiation and his challenges in military command.

Strengths and weaknesses

Dagobert's greatest strength lay in his political acumen. He understood the delicate balance of power required to govern a fragmented kingdom. His ability to play rival factions against each other, while maintaining a semblance of unity, showcased his diplomatic skills. His cultural patronage, particularly his support of the Church, ensured his place in the annals of medieval history.

However, Dagobert's reign was not without flaws. His centralization efforts often alienated the regional nobility, leading to sporadic revolts. His taxation policies, aimed at funding his court and military campaigns, were deeply unpopular among his subjects. Moreover, his inability to establish a robust system of succession weakened the Merovingian dynasty after his death, as his sons Clovis II and Sigebert III became pawns in the hands of powerful noble factions.

Dagobert I's reign marked a turning point for the Merovingian dynasty. While his efforts at consolidation were not entirely successful, they provided a template for future rulers. His close relationship with the Church laid the groundwork for the Carolingian dynasty's eventual alliance with religious institutions, a cornerstone of medieval European governance.

In popular memory, Dagobert is often remembered for the chansons de geste and legends that extol his virtues while glossing over his political machinations. The phrase "Le bon roi Dagobert" (The good King Dagobert), immortalized in French folklore, reflects the romanticized view of his rule, despite its complexities.

Dagobert I's life and reign encapsulate the challenges of early medieval kingship, a precarious balance of ambition, governance, and personal flaws. His legacy, though overshadowed by the eventual rise of the Carolingians, remains a testament to the enduring struggle for unity and authority in the Frankish world.

In conclusion, Dagobert I's reign was a pivotal chapter in the history of the Merovingian dynasty and early medieval Europe. His relentless pursuit of unity in a fragmented Frankish kingdom, coupled with his administrative reforms and diplomatic ventures, showcased his vision of centralized authority. Despite the political intrigues and controversies that marred his rule, Dagobert's accomplishments in governance, cultural patronage, and Church relations set significant precedents for subsequent monarchs.

Yet, Dagobert's reign also underscored the inherent difficulties of maintaining control over a vast and diverse realm. His strained relations with the nobility, unpopular fiscal policies, and failure to establish a stable succession plan highlighted the limitations of personal ambition in the face of systemic challenges. These shortcomings ultimately contributed to the gradual decline of Merovingian power, paving the way for the rise of the Carolingian dynasty.

Dagobert I's dual legacy, one of ambition and fragility, offers valuable knowledge into the complexities of leadership in early medieval Europe. As both a unifier and a flawed ruler, he stands as a reminder of the precarious nature of kingship during this turbulent era. His life and reign remain a rich source for understanding the evolution of governance, the interplay of religion and politics, and the enduring quest for unity amidst diversity.

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Notes:

Death of Dagobert I

Some controversy exists over the death of Dagobert I, with some accounts indicating that he was assassinated, however, the truth is rather more mundane. The death of Dagobert I, occurred at Épinay-sur-Seine, near Paris, after a brief illness. Historical sources, including Frankish chronicles and hagiographies, offer limited and sometimes contradictory information about his final days. However, most agree that he died of natural causes, likely from some form of illness or disease, as was common in the early medieval period. There is no evidence of assassination or battle-related death.

Dagobert was buried at the Basilica of Saint-Denis, a royal necropolis just north of Paris. His tomb became a focal point of Frankish royal burial customs, reinforcing the sacred connection between kingship and the Church. Over time, hagiographers embellished his life and death, with legends portraying him as a sinner who was saved through the intercession of Saint-Denis. This religious narrative aimed to elevate Dagobert's status posthumously and align his legacy with Christian sanctity, even as real political control was slipping from the hands of the Merovingians.

Military campaigns and territorial control

Dagobert I's reign was not defined by sweeping military conquest but by strategic campaigns aimed at reinforcing the Frankish borders, asserting dominance over rebellious territories, and preserving internal order. His approach to warfare was largely reactive, dealing with external threats and internal instability as they arose, though not without ambition for territorial influence.

Campaign against the Slavs (Wends)

One of Dagobert's most notable military actions was his campaign against the Slavs, specifically the Wends, who had settled in regions east of the Frankish realm (in modern-day Saxony and Bohemia). These Slavic tribes had been pushing into Thuringian territory, threatening Austrasian interests.

In 631, Dagobert led a joint military expedition along with his allies, including the Lombards and the Bavarians. The campaign was initially intended to be a show of Frankish military strength and to secure the Elbe frontier. However, it turned into a significant setback. The Slavs, under their leader Samo (who had established a Slavic confederation), ambushed and defeated the Frankish forces at the Battle of Wogastisburg.

The defeat was a major embarrassment for Dagobert and highlighted his limitations as a military commander. It also marked one of the first major defeats of a Frankish army at the hands of a Slavic confederation, underlining the growing challenge posed by tribal coalitions on the empire's periphery.

Despite the failure, the campaign had lasting effects: it revealed the limitations of centralized Frankish power and the necessity of cooperation with semi-independent regional dukes, such as those in Bavaria and Alemannia. Dagobert would later rely more heavily on diplomacy and strategic alliances in these frontier areas.

Control over Aquitaine and the Death of Charibert II

Though not a campaign in the traditional sense, Dagobert's conflict with his half-brother Charibert II, who ruled over Aquitaine, had a military and political dimension. Seeking to avoid a division of the Frankish realm, Dagobert likely orchestrated Charibert's assassination in 632, along with that of Charibert's infant son. Following their deaths, Dagobert absorbed Aquitaine into his realm, reinforcing his position as the sole ruler of the Franks.

The incorporation of Aquitaine, a wealthy and semi-autonomous region, was crucial for economic and strategic reasons. However, Dagobert's control remained fragile, as local resistance simmered and future Merovingians struggled to assert direct authority in the region.

Internal revolts and repression

Dagobert faced internal challenges from noble families and semi-independent regions such as Gascony and Burgundy. Though not large-scale military engagements, these revolts required military responses. Dagobert often dispatched loyal retainers and Austrasian forces to quell disturbances and enforce royal authority. In Burgundy, he cracked down on dissent by confiscating lands and redistributing them to loyal supporters, a tactic that maintained short-term control but bred long-term resentment.

Frontier policy and alliances

Rather than launching expansionist wars, Dagobert sought to secure his borders through diplomacy backed by military threats. He maintained peaceful relations with the Visigoths of Spain and Lombards of Italy and entered into alliances with the Avars and various Germanic duchies such as Bavaria. His military prestige, bolstered by the symbolic authority of the Merovingian kingship, was often enough to deter open conflict, except where local rulers sensed weakness, as Samo did in the east.

The Roman Illyrici Rulers: Strong Soldiers to Stronger Emperors

When asked to picture Roman emperors, many may think of men dressed in glistening togas, perhaps those famous figures to which we owe the months July and August. Others may think of tyrannical figures like the emperor Nero, or the Stoic Marcus Aurelius. What these emperors have in common is the time in which they exist, all residing in a time of general prosperity for the Roman empire from roughly 27BC-180 AD. However, many often don’t hear of the figures and people in the between classical antiquity and the early Middle Ages, roughly 235-700 AD. There is a very rich history here. A history that laid the groundworks for medieval Europe. A history filled with migrations of highly impactful populations. A history where a seemingly invincible empire was changed to its very foundations. In a time of widespread chaos, known as the ‘crisis of the third century’, the Roman Empire was shaken to its core. Emperors were proclaimed left right and center (an astounding 26 recognized rulers in a 50-year period), and those left in charge were constantly in a battle to maintain control. The military remained the strongest institution in this time, and what continued to emerge were powerful generals taking the throne. Many of them called the Balkans their home, known as ‘Illyricum’, and would later be referred to as the ‘barracks emperors’, or the ‘Genius Illyrici’.

Dylan Cross explains.

A medallion of Diocletian. Source: CNG, available here.

Diocletian

After a long twenty-one-year reign, Diocletian retired to his palace in Split, Croatia, in 305 AD. He stabilized the frontiers, reformed the administration system and brought in a new era for the Roman Empire. He was the first emperor to voluntarily retire his position; one of the few to die peacefully. He had set up a system known as the Tetrarchy (rule of four), in which the empire was divided between four emperors of equal position to ensure there was a base of power in all corners of Europe. Diocletian had ruled over the eastern portion of the state. Turkey, Egypt and Syria, conveniently the richest provinces in the pot. This begs the question, why retire to the coast of Croatia rather than the rich eastern empire he had governed for so long? We know he was born here, in the ancient town of Solin (now a suburb of Split). The sources claim he was of a lowborn position, perhaps even a freed slave (Eutropius. 9.19). The town must have held importance to him, enough for him to build an extraordinary palace (although more a fortress in retrospect) and remain here until the end of his life after abdicating. Famously, when asked by his old comrades to return to the throne, he is claimed to have said:

 “If you could see at Salonae the cabbages raised by our hands, you surely would never judge that a temptation”. - Epitome de Caesaribus. 39.5

Illyria as a region was certainly held with pride by those from it. The empire was vast, and soldiers came from every corner of its territory. But Illyria is perhaps one of the most significant in the time of the third century crisis and beyond it, and many emperors owed their power to the growing power the military could grant, and the significance that hailing from Illyria could bring them.

What was the crisis of the third century?

Let’s go back in time. It’s the middle of the third century, and the frontiers of Illyria held one of the highest concentrations of soldiers. There is an estimate of seventeen legions (Southern, 2016, p.431) attested under the reign of Gallienus (253-268 AD), who reigned during one of the most troubling times of the empire. It’s important to see what the troubles were at this time and what made it a crisis. During the third century, there was intense internal conflict in Rome. Many emperors were assassinated, revolts were commonplace, and usurpations were a constant threat. Another large pressure was coming from external threats. Large numbers of tribes were pressing inwards onto the frontiers, most notably the Rhine and the Danube frontiers which encompassed the largest stretch of what the Romans had to defend. These troubles reached a critical stage between 250-270 AD, when there were 2 break-away empires, the Gallic and Palmyrene Empire.

What did this mean for the army?

This had significant consequences for the army and demonstrated that power remained with the soldiers. It was famously said by the emperor Septimius Severus on his deathbed:

“Enrich the soldiers, scorn everyone else”- 211 AD - Cassius Dio. Roman History. 77.15.2

Without the army’s support, the emperor couldn’t maintain control, which was the reason for such political insecurity and so many usurpers. Therefore, the army of the third century had to evolve. Evidently, there was a shift to recognize the talents of capable generals rather than promoting prestigious names and wealthy citizens. The senatorial order had traditionally held the role of controlling high level magistracies and military posts. For example, a Senatorial Legatus(magistrate) had traditionally commanded the legion, but this was increasingly replaced by an equestrian prefect (Goldsworthy, 2003, p.201). Emperor Gallienus (253-268 AD) had further propelled the soldiers onto the career ladder. He continued the movement to remove the power of the Senate from the military (Aurelius Victor. De Caesaribus. 33), instead granting more roles to gentry classes known as the ‘Equites’. This would make it far more accessible for capable generals to attain military positions, replacing the old elite structure with those from a less elite stock. As well as this, Gallienus began recruiting soldiers for his personal entourage, known as the ‘Protectores’. This had existed before his time, but with the increased military demand due to the many threats of the century, it was advanced to new levels. Gallienus began recruiting soldiers from Illyria into his Protectores (Stoev, 2020), in turn making them a significant part of the military and their prestige. Stoev presents a detailed description of how ‘barbaric’ elements of the population of Illyria were becoming integrated with the more Romanized soldiers of the region. Therefore, Illyrian soldiers were afforded more opportunities to gain prestigious positions in the army by their experience.

How did this influence the emperorship?

In an intense time of crisis, the army of the third century often proclaimed who they thought would rule better, or more realistically, who could pay them the best. We may find some origins of the rise of the Illyrici in the reign of emperor Decius (249-251 AD). Decius was born in the province of Illyricum (Serbia), he was a senator and military commander who was appointed to crush a rebellion in the Danube. In Roman fashion, Decius’ soldiers demanded that he take the throne, and after defeating the emperor Philip, he was made emperor. His significance in this story may seem insignificant. A wealthy Senator promoted in a usurpation does not seem a candidate for a great soldier emperor. However, what shines through is reign is the official promotion of the Danube the soldiers, the ‘Genius Illyrici’. The ‘spirit of the Illyrians’ was recognized on official coinage during his reign. This holds great significance for what it meant to be a soldier from these provinces and marks the significance Illyria had for the future of becoming an emperor. Decius himself had clearly been appeasing the large body of troops stationed in the Danube; however, its recognition becomes clear when you look later into the emperors of the third century.

Claudius Gothicus

After the death of Gallienus in 268 AD, a general named Claudius Gothicus took the throne. He was likely born in the Danube and became a successful general under Gallienus (Historia Augusta. Gallieni 7) through the promotion of non-elite classes into the military. Claudius earned the title ‘Gothicus’ after defeating a large army of Goths in the Balkans. He is often associated with the term ‘barracks emperors’, the collection of emperors who rose from military backgrounds rather than from wealthy elite families. Early emperors often were contained in a lineage and part of a wealthy household, such as the Julio-Claudian dynasty, or the Nerva-Antonine Dynasty. However, in the third century there was often not a fluid succession of the throne.

Despite the lack of a peaceful transition of the throne, the Illyrian soldier emperors of the late third century often were easily picked for the throne due to their popularity and promotion by the previous emperor. Some sources suggest that Claudius played a part in the murder of Gallienus (Zosimus. New History 1.40-41), and others suggest he was not involved and was given the throne by Gallienus (Historia Augusta. Gallieni. 14, Aurelius Victor. 34). He was made emperor for being ‘a friend to his native land’, and one anecdote states that the valor of the Dalmatian (region in Illyria) horsemen was especially great, because this was Claudius’ homeland (Historia Augusta. Claudius 11.9), further claiming he had control of a significant force of Illyrian soldiers during the reign of Gallienus.

Claudius advanced the role of soldiers significantly during his reign. There are numerous dedications to generals with the name ‘Marcus Aurelius’, meaning these men were made citizens by the Edict of Caracalla in 212 AD, which made all free born people in the provinces Roman citizens. This represents a change in the social structure of government, the old elites were being replaced by strong soldiers only recently granted equal legal rights. One of these men, Julius Placidianus, was put in charge of defending the Italian peninsula, however not necessarily from the Danube (Potter, 2014 p.261). Holding power and respect among the influential troops was certainly significant in holding onto the throne, evident in the promotion of them into these powerful positions. This practice applies to the soldiers of Illyria, where the future emperors Aurelian and Probus would gain such dedications (Historia Augusta, Probus. 6.1; Aurelian, 16.1). One could argue that a domino effect was in place where the powerful soldier emperors promoted from recognized talent, continuing for many reigns in this century.

Aurelian ‘Restorer of the world’

Despite Claudius’ quick and powerful accession, he had only ruled for two years and succumbed to the plague in 270AD (Zosimus. 1.46). The next to take the throne is perhaps one of the most famous Roman emperors. Aurelian (270-275 AD) is often attributed to saving the Roman world. He had restored power from the two break-away empires in Gaul and the east, built the famous walls around Rome, and attempted to stabilize the frontiers by withdrawing from provinces like Dacia. His prestige, like Claudius, originates from the promotion of soldiers from unlikely backgrounds, once again Illyrian heritage is prominent. The sources acknowledge his humble background, from near the Danube River, and he rose to military command under Gallienus (Zosimus. 1.40). During Claudius’ reign, Aurelian was promoted to commander of the cavalry, which was made possible by his popularity with the army (Watson, 1999). He is enlarged in his merits by some sources, and his popularity with the army is presented as savior-like even under emperor Gallienus:

“Both we ourselves and the whole commonwealth as well are so in his debt that scarcely any rewards are worthy of him”- Historia Augusta. Aurelian. 9.3

However boastful this is, it is certain that Aurelian was popular among the army and the ruling powers. Having been a popular soldier of high esteem, would have earned him the position of Commander of the Cavalry forces later on. He had been present with Gallienus while suppressing a rival, further noted for his popularity and prestige (Aurelius Victor. 33). Internal promotion based on prestige was therefore highly prevalent, and more often than not many generals have their origin in Illyria and the promotion of the ‘Genius Illyrici’.

There is further evidence under the emperor Probus, born in Sirmium, and advanced at the same time as Claudius and Aurelian, being recognized as worthy by Aurelian (Historia Aug. Probus. 6.6). He was hailed emperor by the Danube legions (Aurelius Victor. 37). Perhaps the most interesting note in the life of Probus is that he:

“Trained most illustrious generals, Carus, Diocletian, Constantius”- Historia Augusta. Probus 22

Diocletian and the Illyrian Tetrarchy

The last two names ring significant for the course of later Roman history. As we have seen, Diocletian was born in Illyria, and from a low-born background. He had advanced to become commander of the emperor’s bodyguard (Protectores) under the reign of Carus (282-282 AD). By this time, being a member of the Protectores was significant in allowing greater prestige previously difficult (Williams, 1985). After the death of the emperor Carus, Diocletian was hailed emperor. He had to move to suppress Carus’ son Carinus, which Diocletian completed at the battle of the River Margus in 285 AD. It can be argued that the advancement and prestige of Illyrian soldiers played a large part in Diocletian’ success and stable government. Before the battle of the Margus River, a general named Flavius Constantius joined Diocletian in his conquest for sole power. Some suggest he had changed sides, originally supporting Carinus. Constantius had been the governor of Dalmatia, an Illyrian by birth, and likely served with Aurelian on his extensive campaigns.

Diocletian had created the Tetrarchy in order to increase stability. If he was to do this, he needed capable leaders he could trust. The first, and most important, was to be Maximian. Maximian is regarded as an Illyrian, unfortunately regarded as ‘uncultured’ by some sources that reflect xenophobic attitudes (Aurelius Victor. 39). The final member to complete the band was Galerius. However, the prestige of the four Tetrarchs was immense. In fact, all four members have their origins in Illyria and were propelled by the awards of the previous emperors. Ancient historians imply their prestige:

“They had been sufficiently schooled by the hardships of the countryside and of military service to be the best men for the state”- Aurelius Victor. 39

Soldier emperors became the norm for imperial governing during this period. Maximian in fact was the first soldier emperor to be mentioned in a Panegyric (a text proclaiming the greatness of the emperor), which notes the ‘Services of Maximian’s native land (Pannonia) to the state’ (Pan. Lat. 10.2.2-4).

In the aftermath of the Tetrarchy, having essentially collapsed after Diocletian abdicated to a life of cabbage farming, the veneration of Illyrian heritage and strong military figures continued to be significant. Claudius Gothicus became associated as the ancestor of Constantine the Great (Historia Augusta. Claudius. 10.7). This was likely a fabrication to associate his house with a legitimate dynasty after a troubling accession, Constantine had fought with Maximian (his father-in-Law) in the fallout of the Tetrarchy and needed a new dynasty to hold his claim. The panegyric linking the two figures says that Claudius was the first to restore discipline to the Empire (Pan. Lat. 6(7).2), which allows Constantine to claim inheritance to the prestige of his supposed Illyrian soldier ancestry. Constantine himself was born in Illyria like his father Constantius and was hard pressed on the region throughout his reign. He crossed the Danube River several times and claimed control over previously lost territory north of the river (Thompson, 1956; Eusebius. Life of Constantine. 1.8), the sources paint him as subduing ‘all of Scythia’ (a nonsensical claim that demonstrates Roman ignorance to culture and populations). Having to fight numerous campaigns against the native Goths across the frontier made his association with the very emperor with the title ‘Conqueror of the Goths’ that much sweeter to Constantine when hearing this panegyric. And so, this fabricated lineage, while being mostly political in nature, upholds the prestige of the soldier emperors and the Genius Illyrici.

Conclusion

The Illyrian trend didn’t die with the collapse of the Tetrarchy. It proved to be a staging ground for many to take the throne. The problems of the third century gave rise to a new order, where military changes meet cultural backgrounds. It is no coincidence that successful generals were made emperor, they owed their power to the recognition of the ‘Genius Illyrici’. Perhaps Diocletian, when picking his partners, felt more comfortable choosing men of similar backgrounds to his own heritage, old comrades (Williams, 1985, p.37). Emperors continued to be born in Illyria. Valentinian I (364-375 AD) continued the spirit of his Illyrian soldier heritage in lengthy campaigns to maintain order in a shifting world. His father had been an Illyrian soldier, (Ammianus Marcellinus. Res Gestae. 30.7), and this continued into a dynasty that would rule to near the end of the Western empire with the death of Valentinian III in 455 AD. Therefore, the rise of the Illyrici, that began as a desperate need for capable generals, generated a host of capable emperors that brought the Genius Illyrici from a necessity to a desired attribute.

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