Nobility, Valor, and a Great King: England’s King Alfred: G.K. Chesterton’s ‘The Ballad of the White Horse’

In the ballad, the White Horse symbolizes the keeping of religious faith pure and fervent. “The Vision of the White Horse,” 1798, by Philip James de Loutherbourg. Oil on canvas. Tate, London. Public Domain

He was a big man, standing 6 feet, 4 inches tall and weighing nearly 300 pounds. To that mountainous physique, add his characteristic appearance in public—a pince-nez, capes and great coats, papers jutting from his pockets, a walking stick, and cigar—and you had a subject that caricaturists could, and did, love.

Gilbert Keith Chesterton (1874–1936) wrote poetry, fiction, history, treatises of lay theology, biographies, and, most prolifically of all, essays ranging in subject matter from Christian doctrine to contemporary affairs. He entertained readers with his Father Brown mysteries (which recently gained a new audience through a television series), gave Christians and non-Christians alike points to ponder in books like “Orthodoxy,” and, nearly a century after his death, found fans in such commentaries on society such as “What’s Wrong With the World” and “The Outline of Sanity.” As quotable a writer who ever lived, Chesterton had enough beloved and witty aphorisms to become collections in books themselves.

Among this tremendous blizzard of words is his epic poem “The Ballad of the White Horse,” his salute to England’s King Alfred. It’s a blend of history and myth, and its major theme—the forces of light fighting those of darkness—has resonated with several generations of readers.

G.K. Chesterton in an undated photo. Public Domain

Some Background

The Uffington White Horse, a chalk figure etched into an Oxfordshire hillside, has been carefully preserved for 3,000 years. A G Baxter/Shutterstock

England’s Uffington White Horse, from which Chesterton’s poem takes its name, is carved into a chalk grassland hill in Oxfordshire, England. Though the original purpose of the horse is lost in time, for 3,000 years local villagers and farmers have dutifully tended this figure composed of ditches filled with white chalk, regularly weeding it and replenishing the chalk. As Emily Cleaver reports in Smithsonian Magazine, this pictogram is “the size of a football field and visible from 20 miles away.” To this day, the locals, supervised by officials from the National Trust, gather periodically to maintain by hand one of England’s prehistoric monuments.

The White Horse runs through Chesterton’s ballad as both a motif and a theme, symbolizing the need to keep religious faith pure and fervent and the country English. The scouring and upkeep of the White Horse hint that Christianity and culture need this same kind of diligent care to remain healthy.

And the historical figure who inspires and directs this undertaking is the ballad’s hero, Alfred (849–899), or “Alfred the Great” as he was later deemed. For his many accomplishments, this energetic and wise monarch deserves that honorific. As king of Wessex, one of the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms of the time, Alfred fought for his people against the Danes, seafaring invaders from present-day Denmark.

A portrait of Alfred the Great, 1790, by Samuel Woodforde. Public Domain

On the verge of losing this war in 878, Alfred assembled his forces in secret, met the Danes in battle near today’s Edington, and defeated them. With Alfred as his sponsor, a king of the Danes, Guthrum, received the sacrament of Christian baptism. Less than a decade later, Alfred and his men captured London, and from that point on, fortune favored the Anglo-Saxons over the Danes.

But Alfred was more than a king of war and conquest. He revamped his government’s administrative practices and became known and admired for his revisions to the law, in which he sought particularly to protect the weak and the poor. He is even better remembered for his love of learning and his attempts to spread literacy among his people. He himself learned Latin as an adult and translated several works, including Boethius’s “The Consolation of Philosophy.”

This lawgiver, educator, and warrior-king is the epic hero of “The Ballad of the White Horse.”

The Tale as Told by Chesterton

An engraving of King Alfred the Great in "Rapin's History of England," 1732, by George Vertue. National Portrait Gallery, London. (Public Domain)  A portrait of Alfred (Latin: Aelfredus Magnus Rex Angl) is flanked by books and documents symbolizing his literary and legislative works. To the side and below are scenes representing Alfred’s formation of the Royal Navy, his sojourn to the enemy camp in disguise, and his defeat of the Danes. Also depicted are his crown, weapons, and a captured Danish raven banner.

After an affectionate dedication in verse to his wife—“where you are shall honour and laughter be”—Chesterton immediately introduces us to the White Horse:

Before the gods that made the gods Had seen their sunrise pass, The White Horse of the White Horse Vale Was cut out of the grass.”

And almost immediately, we meet Alfred, who experiences a vision of Our Lady, the Virgin Mary. She encourages him with words like “The men signed of the cross of Christ/ Go gaily in the dark,” but also adds that “The wise men know what wicked things/ Are written on the sky.” Here, too, is her warning, which appears elsewhere in the poem:

“I tell you naught for your comfort, Yea, naught for your desire, Save that the sky grows darker yet And the sea rises higher.”

Following this encounter, Alfred begins gathering other chieftains, men like Eldred whose “great and foolish heart/ Stood open like his door” and Mark, “the man from Italy,” whose “eyes in his head were strong like steel/ And his soul remembered Rome.” As the narrative advances, Chesterton recounts the tale of Alfred disguising himself as a minstrel to enter the camp of the Danes and the more familiar story of the old peasant woman and the burned cakes. In Chesterton’s version of this legend, when the inattentive king breaks his promise to his hostess to keep some small loaves of bread by the fire from burning in the woman’s cottage, she slaps him in the face for his carelessness, a lesson to him on the importance of paying attention to details and keeping his word.

A print of “Alfred in the Camp of the Danes” after Marshall C. Claxton, circa 1843–1844, by Frank Howard. British Museum, London. Public Domain

The Battle of Ethandune between the Danes and the men of Wessex, which historians today call either Ethandun or Edington, takes up three of the poem’s eight chapters. In several action-packed scenes, we witness brave deeds on both sides, the deaths of several chieftains, and the rallying and final victory of Wessex. As in many other epics, the leaders, Alfred included, deliver somewhat lengthy speeches in the midst of battle—words to inspire the weary arms and flagging spirits of their troops. Some individual combats receive special attention, as when Ogier of the Danes, trapped beneath his shield by Mark, bursts “the shield of brass and hide” and delivers “a death-stroke to the Roman’s side.”

In the final chapter, “The Scouring of the Horse,” Chesterton ends his epic with accounts of Alfred as lawmaker and of visitors from distant lands, and with the king taking London.

Never Say Die

An illustrated plate from “The Story of the Greatest Nations and the World’s Famous Events,” 1913, by Edward Sylvester Ellis and Charles Francis Horne. (Public Domain) The code of laws that Alfred compiled in 890 was informed by the Ten Commandments and the Golden Rule. “He who keeps them shall not need any other lawbook,” stated Alfred.

Both Chesterton’s hero and, from what we know, the historical King Alfred displayed the virtues of the chivalric code found in later knights: mercy, valor, loyalty, largesse, and more. But the virtue we may notice most of all is Alfred’s perseverance.

As we ride with the king while he makes his way to various households, pleading with their masters to summon their men and raise sword and shield in the defense of Wessex, we find a man who refuses to be defeated. That same man appears at the campfires of the Danes disguised as a minstrel and on the field of Ethandune, where he shouts encouragement to his warriors. At one point during the battle, he cries out that he sees Our Lady advancing with them against the enemy:

“The Mother of God goes over them, Walking on wind and flame, And the storm-cloud drifts from city and dale, And the White Horse stamps in the White Horse Vale, And we all shall yet drink Christian ale In the village of our name.”

He knows of the odds and challenges he faces—“that the sky grows darker yet/ And the sea rises higher”—but he is a king of hope and faith, and so pushes forward.

A Warning for the Future

An illustrated plate from “The Dawn of American History in Europe,” 1912, by William Lewis Nida. (Public Domain) King Alfred’s England following the Treaty of Wedmore in 878. Before his death, Alfred the Great reigned over Wessex and Northumbria.

In the final chapter, “The Scouring of the Horse,” recollecting his victory, the aging Alfred says:

“And though they scatter now and go, In some far century, sad and slow, I have a vision, and I know The heathen shall return.

“They shall not come with warships, They shall not waste with brands, But books be all their eating, And ink be on their hands.”

Here Chesterton is clearly the speaker, not Alfred. The poet goes on to warn that there will occur “ordering all things with dead words.” A few lines later, he writes of “Man made like a half-wit,/ That knows not of his sire.” After this “sign of the dying fire,” Alfred, again via Chesterton, adds:

“What though they come with scroll and pen, And grave as a shaven clerk, By this sign you shall know them, That they ruin and make dark;”

Update the archaic language to our digital age, and here, it seems, is a description of the dark ruin brought on by regulations and officials with “ink on their hands.” And of that man who “knows not of his sire,” Chesterton seems to warn of a diminished appreciation of the past and our ancestors.

Fun and a Final Lesson

“The Vision of the White Horse,” 1798, by Philip James de Loutherbourg. Oil on canvas; 48 1/8 inches by 39 inches. Tate, London. Public Domain

One great reason for opening up “The Ballad of the White Horse” is for the sheer good pleasure it provides. Here are galloping lines worthy of that horse, rollicking verse that when read aloud in a strong voice conjures up an actor from the shyest and most reticent of souls. Here are diction, rhyme, and meter that when spoken aloud or in the silence of the heart call for high drama and charged emotions. Even the beat found in verses of sadness and dire caveats can set the blood pounding.

Here, for example, is Mary speaking during her first appearance to Alfred:

“The wise men know all evil things Under the twisted trees, Where the perverse in pleasure pine And men are weary of green wine And sick of crimson seas.”

Read that aloud with some thunder in your voice, and you’ll discover the magic.

One final note: Near the poem’s conclusion, King Alfred says, “If we would have the horse of old,/ Scour ye the horse anew.” Here, Alfred reminds his listeners by way of this metaphor to care for the treasures of the past: their English rights and laws, and their Christian faith.

If we apply this same admonition to the things from our own history—the Constitution, for example, or the monuments at Gettysburg, Old Glory flying above Fort McHenry, or the poignant photographs of Alabama farmers during the Great Depression—then we realize that we too have the power, and the obligation, to scour away the rust and tarnish that blight these objects. With loving memory as our cleanser and honor bestowed as our scouring pad, we can restore the burnished gold of our national treasures.