There was once a man called Thespis. Thespis was a notorious performer and dramatist, whose singing and dancing skills outpaced those of his colleagues. In the Greek performance of the Dithyramb, a collection of singers and dancers decorated feasts with entertainment for the night, providing group performances. These performers all acted perfectly in sync, working closely with one another to be a part of a greater whole. The Dithyramb was worth more than the sum of its parts.
However Thespis, being the creative mind that he was, wanted more. He knew he surpassed the skills of the other performers in his merry band, and as such, he broke away from the Dithyramb chorus. He stood away from them, and sang while they danced and danced while they sung. He broke away, and became the first actor. He is remembered today through the word Thespian, meaning actor or performer.
This is the story Greeks used to speak of the origin of Greek tragedy, and it is little more than a story. However it was once more than a story. The tale of Thespis was fact.
As we grow as a species, new evidence uncovers hidden truths, and debunks old beliefs. We learn to doubt the stories past generations remembered as history. With this constantly changing perspective on the past, it is almost paradoxical that the past changes. Today’s history of Richard III, for example, is a very different one to twenty years ago. If you asked a person on the street (who by chance was an amateur historian with an interest in the Early Modern Period) what they thought of Richard of York, the answer would most likely be something to the gist of “a living embodiment of cruelty, a child-killer, a usurper”. Today’s Richard III has come under scrutiny. Our contemporary sources reevaluated not as written records of who Richard was, but as propaganda pieces put out by Henry Tudor to undermine his formidable former enemy. Sources from Richard’s own time describe him as tall, handsome and charming. Mere years later and the sources perpetuated under Tudor rule describe him as deceitful, hunched, and even more disgustingly with a limp.
In the case of Richard of York, his transformation is finally coming about. A more favourable view on the man who was far from perfect, yet similarly far from a humanisation of Satan. For Mary I, this transformation is also occurring, as the mainstream consciousness begins to discover that she, in truth, was merely the victim of poor fortune.
My own period to reevaluate is the fifty year period of what I call Anglo-Danish England. From 1016-1066, England was run not by the Anglo-Saxons of centuries past, but by a curious new race. The country of England underwent a complete makeover, like a Viking Queer Eye, as the Danish royal family took the throne. King Cnut the Great underwent a re-administration of government. Ealdormen became Earls, an Anglicisation of the Danish Jarl. From then till 1035, England’s king was a Dane. The next, from 1035-1040 was Harold Harefoot, an Anglo-Dane. He was followed by Harthacnut, a Dano-Norman raised in England. After him came his half-brother Edward, an Anglo-Norman. In 1066, upon Edward’s death, Harold Godwinson took the throne. His name, Harold, was Danish. The patronymic Godwinson was taken from Danish tradition. His mother, too, was a Dane. His eldest brother claimed to be the illegitimate son of Cnut. One of his younger brothers fought with Harald Hardrada of Norway. And yet, he is so often described as the last Anglo-Saxon king of England.
History is full of discrepancies and subtleties. This isn’t for a lack of source material, nor is it strictly due to poor historiography. In the case of 1066, the most prominent historians on the topic are E A Freeman, Frank Stenton, and Frank Barlow. Freeman was part of the 19th Century’s historical revolution, in which English nationalism was hugely important. Stenton’s career was predominantly active during the Interwar Years. Similarly, he was a historian during a time of great nationalism. Only when we come to Barlow, in the seventies, do we find a historian who offers us even a glimpse of the Scandinavian aspect of the 11th Century.
History isn’t all facts. As Napoleon said (or did he), “History is a set of lies we have agreed on”. Churchill added, “History will be kind to me- for I intend to write it”. History is cultural, it is fluid. In Ancient Greece, scholars were prepared to overlook implausibility and insist acting was invented by one creative genius, so to stay true to the typically Greek obsession with having inventors for things. In the Tudor era, hating the Yorkists was a must. To be a Yorkist in the time of Henry VII, it would’ve been treasonous to even suggest Richard III wasn’t that bad.
In summary- what’s the point in this article? I guess just to remind you that history isn’t simply what the textbooks tell you it is. Leopold II isn’t the philanthropist and saviour of the Congo he was thought to be during his lifetime. Mary I really wasn’t all that bloody. And King Harold II, Son of Godwin and Earl of Wessex, was not, whatsoever, the last Anglo-Saxon King of England. You go and decide which history you want to believe – there’s so much more to the past than what history teachers will tell you.
The History Book 