OUR modern writers, with indefatigable industry, have given us a most exact historical
dictionary of the several Saxon monarchs, who successively reigned in the seven kingdoms of Britain. Dictionaries are always voluminous, but always useful; they are lesser libraries, and the compilers of them are entitled to the highest acknowledgements from all lovers of learning. I have gone through these biographical lexicons, which, like the chronicles of the kings of Israel, give us many barbarous names that tend rather to weary than to indulge our curiosity. The times indeed are at such a distance, and the face of government has been long since so entirely changed, that we are scarce any farther interested in the Saxon heptarchy, than as it serves to continue and compleat the line of our English history.
Within the space of sixty years from the arrival of Augustine, the people of England were entirely converted from paganism to christianity; but, as in general they had been converted by monks, most of them were taught, that a monkish life was the surest, and perhaps the only road to heaven: and, in obedience to this doctrine, several of the kings renounced their thrones, quitted all commerce with the world, and retired into monasteries.
The heptarchy is a field where so little grain is to be reaped, and where the small produce is mixed and choaked with so many monastic tares and brambles, the most succinct and effectual method will be only to mention some of those princes who, by remarkable actions, or from particular events, have particularly deserved the attention of posterity.
In the history of Northumberland, Edwin distinguished himself more than any other of the Saxon kings. He was son of Alla, king of Deira; but his father dying when he was only three years old, Adelfrid, king of Bernicia, who had married Edwin’s sister, seized the kingdom of Deira, and possessed himself of the orphan’s throne. By such an union of the two kingdoms, Adelfrid became extremely powerful, and was able to raise a considerable body of forces against the Welch, the Picts, and the Scots. But the unfortunate Edwin was reduced to the greatest extremities, and was in perpetual danger. All the princes of England stood in awe of Adelfrid, and were afraid to give a sanctuary to his rival; till Redwald, king of East Anglia, from a compassion to Edwin’s miserable situation, openly received him at his court. Adelfrid, the Cromwell of those days, sent ambassadors to the king of the East Angles, to require the surrender of Edwin’s person, or in case of refusal, to threaten an immediate declaration of war. Redwald for some time was staggered and disconcerted by the embassy. He found within his breast a struggle between honour and prudence. If he protected Edwin, he run the hazard of losing his own kingdom: if he yielded up a guest whom he had voluntarily received, where was the faith of princes? who could rely upon the honour of a king? This last consideration, fortified again by the persuasion of his queen, determined Redwald to protect Edwin, and not only to protect his person, but to take up arms in his defence. Courage was the characteristic of those times. Redwald, Edwin, Adelfrid, were all equally brave: the two former entered the kingdom of Northumberland, and came to an engagement with Adelfrid, in which the Northumbrians were entirely conquered. Adelfrid fell like Cataline: Longe a suis inter hostium cadavera repertus est, paululum etiam spirans serociamque animi quam habuerat vivus in vultu retinens. ‘His body was found at a distance from his own troops, in the midst of a heap of enemies whom he had slain. He still breathed, and his features still maintained that fierceness of soul, which they had expressed during the vigour of his life.’
Edwin, after the death of Adelfrid, by the consent, or rather by the gift of Redwald, whose troops had gained the conquest, took possession of the kingdom of Northumberland. His reign, during several years, was prosperous, and except some successless plots against his person, was, in every respect, happy to himself, and to his people. His spirit and his conduct made him the chief monarch of the heptarchy. His laws were executed with so much efficacy, that a child might pass through Northumberland holding open a purse of gold, without danger of being robbed. He was a pagan when he ascended the throne, but after his marriage with Ethelburga, sister of the king of Kent, he became a christian, and in the year 627, was publicly baptized at York.
Edwin maintained his dignity with true splendor. An ensign, in the form of a globe, was constantly carried before him, as a symbol, that in his person was united the heptarchical government. What a loss have we in being totally ignorant of his laws! for although historians represent him as a prince of great ambition, his understanding, policy, and conduct are remarkably extolled. His greatness drew upon him the envy of all the other monarchs in Britain; especially of Cadwallo, king of Wales, and Penda, king of Mercia. These two princes joined their forces against Edwin, who with undaunted bravery, and an inferior number of troops, gave them battle at Heathfield, in Yorkshire. The victory seemed to be inclining on the side of the king of Northumberland, when his eldest son Offrid, was killed by an arrow, and fell dead at his father’s feet. Edwin, in the instantaneous rage of a parent, lost all his steadiness and presence of mind, and rushing with all the violence of despair, into the midst of his enemies, he soon gained the death which he desired; and by his death, his subjects the Northumbrians, lost the day.
The ensuing wars, and the confusion that followed in Northumberland, are described with all the horrors of devastation and slaughter. The kingdom remained in the utmost misery, till it was secured by Oswald the son of Adelfrid, who after his father’s death had taken refuge in Scotland. He is represented as a prince of great virtue, and of abilities necessary and proper for a throne. He was slain in a battle against an invader of his kingdom. Penda, king of Mercia, who finding among the slain the dead body of Oswald, ordered it to be cut into small pieces, and each piece to be placed upon a stake, as so many visible trophies of victory: such was the barbarous rage of those times; nor did that barbarity subside, unless when it was sometimes changed by the power of the monks, into the folly of superstition, and the dronishness of indolence. To represent such scenes would be only tedious and disagreeable. However, there are some remaining kings of Northumberland who deserve to be remembered.
Among these Egfrid may claim particular notice. In the year 670, he succeeded his father Oswy, in the kingdom of Bernicia, and soon afterwards possessed himself of Deira. In the year 684, he sent over an army to conquer Ireland. The enterprize was frustrated, and the Northumbrians were repulsed. In the following year, he personally attacked Scotland, and was joined by a consederate army of Picts; his allies soon deserted him, and he was compelled to return wounded to his own dominions. In the year 686, he endeavoured to revenge himself against the Picts, who retired hastily before him, and by that stratagem led him forward into an ambush, where he was slain.
These instances shew him to have been of a martial aspiring genius: he was the first British prince who resisted, or rather defied, the papal authority. The popes had been always looked upon as sacred and infallible; but Alfrid paid no regard to their assumed infallibility. He deprived Wilfred, bishop of York, of his bishopric, and seized all his possessions, which were great, even to an amazing degree of opulency. Wilfred appealed to the pope: the synod of Rome ordered that Wilfred should be restored to his bishopric. He returned to England, and produced an authentic copy of the sentence. Egfrid, in a full council of nobility and clergy, treated the papal ordinances and jurisdiction, not only with contempt, but with resentment. Wilfred, instead of being restored, or receiving any kind of compensation, was taken into custody, and sentenced to a close imprisonment. So spirited a resistance against the see of Rome in times so slavishly superstitious ought to be remembered with honour; Agatho was then the reigning pope.
It is scarce worth while to enter into any particular character of the succeeding kings of Northumberland, especially since they will find few who are distinguishably great in the exact catalogue which has been made of them by several of our historians. From the death of Egfrid, who left no children, the Northumbrian kingdom seems to have declined. The succession became uncertain: the civil wars encreased; so that after the continuance of three hundred and twenty-eight years, Northumberland, torn to pieces by intestine calamities, was totally absorbed in the kingdom of Mercia.
The next century produced a king of Mercia, Offa, who rendered himself most eminently renowned in arms: with some virtues, he had the particular vices which are inseparable from ambition and a boundless thirst of power. He was one of those dauntless heroes, who imagine that, ‘Whoever will be great must be wicked.’ Such men will be terrible, not beloved. They neglect the affection, and work only on the fears of the people. They may be followed, but will never be respected. Their actions may strike wonder, but cannot excite applause: however, they are frequently, if not always, the immediate means made use of by providence to bring about extraordinary revolutions. Their success and their greatness make them vain: like the fly upon the chariot, they imagine that they raise all the dust, while the secret hand of heaven turns the wheel.
Offa well knew that the first maxim of ambition is an extent of territories: he had his eye upon the kingdom of East Anglia. Ethelbert, a prince of a very amiable character, reigned there. Offa, with the greatest shew of friendship, invited him to his court. The king of the East Angles accepted the invitation: Offa murdered him in the most treacherous manner. Ethelbert was the last of his race, and with him perished his kingdom. It was united to Mercia, after a separate, but tributary existence of two hundred and seventeen years.
Offa died, I think, in the year 794, after a reign of thirty-nine years, in which his many victories rendered him exceeding powerful and tremendous. With him, perhaps, it will be most proper to end the particular account of the heptarchy, since, although it may be said to have subsisted about thirty years longer, till England became subject to one monarch only, yet the several kingdoms were so often ravaged, their governments disjointed, and their boundaries attenuated, extended, or laid waste, that the distant description of such changes must be almost as much confused as the original scenes themselves. Mercia held out the longest, as the conquests gained by Offa had rendered it very formidable: but Mercia yielded at last, after having subdued a great part of Kent, Sussex, Wales, and several other provinces in Britain.
The heptarchy was so different a form of government from any that had before prevailed, and gave so total an alteration to the English state, that a summary review of it may not be unacceptable. It began as all new systems of empire begin, with wisdom and order. Whether the Saxons were called in, or whether they landed of their own accord, is a point not absolutely decided; but most certainly some years after their arrival, they became our conquerors. Some of their battles with the Britons were bloody and cruel: their adversaries, in their turn, shewed little less compassion or humanity. When the seven kingdoms were settled and divided, the Saxon religion was established, and it seems to have gained considerable ground over christianity, till the arrival of St. Austin.
The outward forms of the Romish church were so much finer and more embellished than the plainer ceremonies of Woden and Thor, that the people were easily induced to quit paganism for what was called christianity. The ignorance of the times contributed much to their conversion. All appearances of learning were centered in the priests; and, with the true art of sacerdotal cunning, they pointed out different paths to heaven, according to the different dispositions of the persons who were desirous to travel the road: so that after the first monkish times of melancholy and retirement, journies were undertaken to Rome, miraculous images were gorgeously dressed up, various sorts of idolatry were practised in the most public manner, with equal devotion by the princes, and their subjects of every degree. The truth is, many of the heptarchical monarchs were either weakly devout, or wickedly inhuman; governed by hypocritical prelates, or governing by lawless tyranny; inferior to common sense, or superior to all religion and morality; tamely submissive or brutally destructive. How was it possible for such a government to subsist? only by the accidental succession of some kings of abilities and understanding: by the prudence of some prelates, who at the same time that they supported the church, defended the state; and by the wise resolutions taken in the wittenagemot, or great council of the land. During the intestine wars of the heptarchy, it is to be presumed that this council could neither meet so often, nor bear so great an influence, as in more peaceable and settled times; yet it was the most essential institution of the Saxon government. Before the arrival of St. Austin, few records are to be found of it. The clergy, as they grew more powerful, became very leading members in the wittenagemot. They appeared, and gave their voices in that assembly; and at the same time they lost no opportunities of assuming all possible power and prerogatives entirely to themselves, so as to become superior to the king in most if not all ecclesiastical affairs. Thus in one of the canons passed by a synod, anno 694, we find this expression, Neque de hac re aliquid pertineat ad regis saecularis imperium. “With this affair,” [the government and appointment of abbots, abbotesses, presbyters, and deacons,] “the king has nothing to do.”
But what are become of the native Britons? Lost and buried as it were among the Saxons. Few, very few remaining, and those in corners of the island, unseen and unknown. Unhappy people! hidden at home in rocks and fastnesses, or driven abroad, like vagabonds, in quest of habitations: destroyed by wars, wasted by time, wounded by persecution, and sunk into eternal oblivion.
To the Saxons therefore the present race of English may be said to owe their original, those parts of Wales and Cornwall excepted, whose inhabitants by their mountainous situation may possibly have flowed in an uninterrupted channel, from the Aborigines of our island.
It is asserted, if I am not mistaken, by Bede, that now and then a true British chieftain stept into one of the thrones. This might have happened towards the latter end of the heptarchy, when all was confusion; but the successive line of kings, in general, consisted of English Saxons; not chosen in an hereditary, nor absolutely in an elective manner, oftner by caprice than by judgment. They sometimes succeeded by accident, sometimes by cunning, sometimes by force. Many of them were murdered, many were dethroned, many fell in battle, and many crept into religious cells.
Hitherto I have represented the black part of the tablet; let us turn to a fairer side. The Britons certainly owe the first institution of order and government to the Saxons. The Saxons owe the first institution of their church-government to St. Austin. Their civil policy, which they transplanted with them, had been long established in Germany: it was Gothick, but it was regular. As soon as they settled themselves in England, a king became an additional part of their constitution. The contract between the king and his people was mutual; they were bound to defend each other: the properties on both sides were ascertained: the people had their patrimonies, the king had his regalities.
The nobility were next to the king in dignity. This high rank could only be attained by remarkable and brave actions; either by great atchievements in war, or by sagacity and wisdom in peace. The honour, when attained, went in succession to the next heir, but was still to be forfeited by baseness and degeneracy.
The subsequent order of people were the freemen: they were joined in judicature with the nobility: they were above all arbitrary power; nor were they liable to any compulsive law to which they did not voluntarily give their consent. They were much more numerous than the nobles, and consequently were the chief bulwarks of legal justice, and every other branch of liberty. They were divided into two sets, being chosen to the rank of freemen, either from their superior merit, or from their great military service, and the large possessions which they had gained in war.
The inferior and meanest classes of the Saxons were in a state of bondage; subject to the will, disposition, and commands of their landlords. They were called villains, because the lands which they occupied were held in villenage, or servitude. These were the only people who were exempted from the power of voting in the wittenagemot.
One of these councils, convened by Ina, king of the West Saxons, is entitled Consilium omnium sapientum senicrum et populorum totius regni. ‘A council of all the wise men, the elders, and the people of the whole kingdom.’ In another council convened at Winchester, in the year 855, it is said to have been held in presence of the great, men, alixum fidelium infinita multitudine, ‘And of an infinite number of other faithful freemen.’ The inconveniencies arising from so general and unlimited a privilege must have been very great.
I have so often mentioned the Picts, that before we quit entirely a view of the heptarchy, it may be necessary to attempt some account of their original. Authors differ widely upon the point: some are of opinion that the Picts broke in upon Scotland, at a time when the Caledonians were in a reduced languishing state, unable to defend themselves. Bishop Stillingfleet imagines that they came from European Scythia, others suppose that they arrived from a different part of the northern continent. The most probable conjecture is Tyrrhel’s: he says, ‘That the Picts were the remainder of those Britons who preserved their liberty by resisting the Roman arms, and were at last divided from the Roman Britons, by a wall, now called the Picts wall, (the vestiges of which are to be seen to this day,) drawn between the mouths of the rivers Tyne, and Eske, to hinder their farther incursions into those parts which were then under the Roman empire.’ They may be said to be the same people with the Caledonians, as the Welch are said to be the same people with the English. They were a colony who kept themselves separated from the main body, and were distinguished from the rest of the Scots, by the name of Picts, as they continued the custom, which originally had been common to all the British islands, of painting their bodies with various figures; even after that practice had been long neglected, and laid aside by all the rest of the Britons. The perpetual incursions of the Picts into the more southern parts of the island may have proceeded from an one, a more composed and regular system of government presented itself to view.
The heptarchy was a fabric which for some years had been growing too heavy for itself. Several of the partitions which had been framed and fitted within it, had either burst asunder, or were forcibly destroyed. The building had been tottering long before it fell. A skilful artist was wanting to gather up the best materials, and to form a new edifice of magnificence and duration. Such an architect was found in the person of Egbert, king of the West Saxons.
[To be continued.]
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