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XXII

The Rebellion Spreads

The History of King Sweyn Estridsson and His Sons and of the Martyrdom of King Canute the Holy

Driven on by such stubborn frenzy, the crowd pressed forward to drive all authority from its rightful place. They sought to leave no refuge anywhere for the devout prince, and to spare no survivor who might rebuke their vices. The agents of their madness, with the demon accompanying them on every side, swept through the land like storm winds.

But just as the teacher of piety once wept over Jerusalem and her children — who, by the counsel of the Pharisees and the urging of the scribes, repeatedly conspired against the very source of enduring mercy — so now a herald of piety might rightly weep for you, O Jutland. For because of the insolence of those who dwell within you, and who persecute the man of God at the instigation of the enemy of righteousness, he could foresee the calamities about to come upon you — though still hidden from your eyes — and lament that you believed only what stood before you, refusing faith in what was unseen and yet to come.

Therefore it is fitting to address you with these complaints:

Why do you, a people hostile to what is good, lie in wait for the righteous?

Why, driven by fury, do you bind yourself to the demon’s pact,

So that, as he was cast down in pride from the heights of heaven,

So you too cast blessings from your own land,

Becoming both frenzied and stripped of all piety?

Tell me — why did you drive your protector from your world?

And if you dared to attempt it, why did you not complete the deed?

Then the glory of the righteous man, growing after his death,

Would have crushed you and lifted you up through your fall,

So that, when you beheld the clear signs of his power —

His honor, his renown, his manifested holiness —

You might recognize your own guilt, stumble barefoot in humility,

Enter the sacred doors with a contrite heart,

Cast off the old rags of corruption, take up renewed integrity,

Lift your hands upward, wash your face with tears,

Strike your breast, bend your knees, and beg forgiveness for your crimes,

Condemning your own wrongdoing while giving thanks for the martyr’s honor,

And lamenting the deeds you once committed.

But what you, proud Jutland, have scorned to possess,

Behold — bright Fyn has taken as your rival.

And although she completed the wicked deed you began,

She now rejoices in the honorable signs that followed those acts.

She constantly beholds and frequently visits him

Whom she denied as he was dying,

Now imploring him with shaken heart, downcast face,

Tear-filled eyes, clenched fists, and wounded spirit,

With bent knee, sorrowful for the crime once committed,

So that he may be appeased toward her and show mercy,

And through constant prayer wash away every trace of former guilt.

She herself is enriched with gifts of golden splendor;

Here shine ornaments of gleaming metal,

Precious silks and saffron-hued fabrics adorned with jewels.

The people gather here; the crowd finds holy joy here

And rejoices that it has received a sacred patron.

Organs sound with pipes in sweet harmony,

And lyres are struck with the plectrum in splendid song.

All these things you, in your rage, have driven from your shores;

She is raised up by possessing what you lost through rejection.

Thus the order of events is rightly preserved:

That rewards are given according to deeds,

In their proper times and places.