[]THE HISTORY OF ENGLAND.

CHAP. I. Of the BRITONS before the Arrival of the ROMANS.

IT is fortunate for mankind, that thoſe pe⯑riods of hiſtory which are the leaſt ſerviceable, are the leaſt known. It has been the ſtudy of many learned men to reſcue from obſcurity, and throw light upon thoſe early ages when the Britons were wholly barbarous, and their country uncultivated. But theſe reſearches have generally terminated in conjecture; ſo that from whence Britain was at firſt peopled, or took its name; is ſtill uncertain. The va⯑riety [2] of opinions upon this head ſerve to prove the futility of all.

It will therefore be ſufficient to obſerve, that this beautiful iſland, by ſome thought the largeſt in the world, was called Britannia by the Romans long before the time of Caeſar. It is ſuppoſed, that this name was ori⯑ginally given it by the merchants who reſorted hither from the Continent. Theſe called the inhabitants by one common name of Briths, from the cuſtom among the natives of painting their naked bodies, and ſmall ſhields, with an azure blue, which in the language of the country was called Brith, and which ſerved to diſtin⯑guiſh them from thoſe ſtrangers who came a⯑mong them for the purpoſes of trade or al⯑liance.

The Britons were but very little known to the reſt of the world before the time of the Romans. The coaſts oppoſite Gaul indeed were frequented by merchants who traded thither for ſuch commodities as the natives were able to produce. Theſe, it is thought, after a time, poſſeſſed themſelves of all the maritime places where they had at firſt been permitted to reſide. There, finding the country fertile, and commodiouſly ſituated for trade, they ſettled upon the ſea-ſide, and in⯑troduced [3] the practice of agriculture. But it was very different with the inland inhabi⯑tants of the country, who conſidered them⯑ſelves as the lawful poſſeſſors of the ſoil. Theſe avoided all correſpondence with the new comers, whom they conſidered as intruders up⯑on their property.

The inland inhabitants are repreſented as ex⯑tremely numerous, living in cottages thatched with ſtraw, and feeding large herds of cattle. Their houſes were ſcattered all over the country, without obſervance of order or diſtance, being placed at ſmaller or greater intervals as they were invited by the fertility of the ſoil, or the convenience of wood and water. They lived moſtly upon milk, or fleſh procured by the chace. What cloaths they wore to cover any part of their bodies, were uſually the ſkins of beaſts; but much of their bodies, as the arms, legs, and thighs, was left naked, and thoſe parts were uſually painted blue. Their hair, which was long, flowed down upon their backs and ſhoulders, while their beards were kept cloſe ſhaven, except upon the upper lip, where it was ſuffered to grow. The dreſs of ſavage nations is every where pretty much the ſame, being calculated rather to inſpire terror than to excite love or reſpect.

[4]The commodities exported from Britain were chiefly hides and tin. This metal was then thought peculiar to the iſland, and was in much requeſt abroad, both in nearer and re⯑moter regions. Some ſilver mines were alſo known, but not in common uſe, as the inha⯑bitants had but little knowledge how to dig, refine, or improve them. Pearls alſo were frequently found on their ſhores, but neither clear nor coloured like the oriental; and there⯑fore, in no great eſteem among ſtrangers. They had but little iron; and what they had, was uſed either for arms, or for rings, which was a ſort of money current among them. They had braſs money alſo, but this was all brought from abroad.

Their language, cuſtoms, religion, and go⯑vernment, were generally the ſame with thoſe of the Gauls, their neighbours of the Conti⯑nent. As to their government, it conſiſted of ſeveral ſmall principalities, each under its re⯑ſpective leader; and this ſeems to be the ear⯑lieſt mode of dominion with which mankind is acquainted, and deduced from the natural pri⯑vileges of paternal authority. Whether theſe ſmall principalities deſcended by ſucceſſion, or were elected in conſequence of the advantages of age, wiſdom, or valour in the families of the [5] princes, is not recorded. Upon great, or uncom⯑mon dangers, a commander in chief was choſen by common conſent, in a general aſſembly; and to him was committed the conduct of the gene⯑ral intereſt, the power of making peace, or leading to war. In the choice of a perſon of ſuch power, it is eaſy to ſuppoſe, that unani⯑mity could not alway be found; whence it often happened, that the ſeparate tribes were defeat⯑ed one after the other before they could unite under a ſingle leader for their mutual ſafety.

Their forces conſiſted chiefly of foot, and yet they could bring a conſiderable number of horſe into the field upon great occaſions. They like⯑wiſe uſed chariots in battle, which, with ſhort ſcythes faſtened to the ends of the axletrees, inflicted terrible wounds, ſpreading terror and devaſtation whereſoever they drove. Nor while the chariots were thus deſtroying, were the warriors who conducted them unemployed. Theſe darted their javelins againſt the enemy, ran along the beam, leapt on the ground, re⯑ſumed their ſeat, ſtopt, or turned their horſes at full ſpeed, and ſometimes cunningly retreat⯑ed, to draw the enemy into confuſion. No⯑thing can be more terrible than the idea of a charioteer thus driving furiouſly in the midſt of dangers; but theſe machines ſeem to have [6] been more dreadful than dangerous, for they were quickly laid aſide, when this warlike people was inſtructed in the more regular arts of war.

The religion of the Britons was one of the moſt conſiderable parts of their government; and the Druids, who were the guardians of it, poſſeſſed great authority among them. Theſe endeavoured to impreſs the minds of the peo⯑ple with an opinion of their ſkill in the arts of divination; they offered ſacrifices in public and private, and pretended to explain the imme⯑diate will of Heaven. No ſpecies of ſuperſti⯑tion was ever more terrible than theirs; be⯑ſides the ſevere penalties which they were per⯑mitted to inflict in this world, they inculcated the eternal tranſmigration of ſouls, and thus extended their authority as far as the fears of their votaries. They ſacrificed human victims, which they burned in large wicker idols, made ſo capacious as to contain a multitude of per⯑ſons at once, who were thus conſumed to⯑gether. The female Druids plunged their knives into the breaſts of the priſoners taken in war, and propheſied from the manner in which the blood happened to ſtream from the wound. Their altars conſiſted of four broad ſtones, three ſet edge-ways, and the fourth at top, [7] many of which remain to this day. To theſe rites, tending to impreſs ignorance with awe, they added the auſterity of their manners, and the ſimplicity of their lives. They lived in woods, caves, and hollow trees; their food was acorns and berries, and their drink water; by theſe arts, they were not only reſpected, but al⯑moſt adored by the people. They were admir⯑ed not only for knowing more than other men, but for deſpiſing what all others valued and purſued. Hence they were patiently permit⯑ted to puniſh and correct crimes from which they themſelves were ſuppoſed to be wholly free; and their authority was ſo great, that not only the property, but alſo the lives of the people were entirely at their diſpoſal. No laws were inſtituted by the princes, or common aſſemblies, without their advice and approbation; no perſon was puniſhed by bonds, or death, without their paſſing ſentence; no plunder taken in war was uſed by the captor until the Druids determined what part they ſhould ſeclude for themſelves.

It may be eaſily ſuppoſed, that the manners of the people took a tincture from the diſci⯑pline of their teachers. Their lives were ſim⯑ple, but they were marked with cruelty and fierceneſs; their courage was great, but neither [8] dignified by mercy nor perſeverance. In ſhort, to have a juſt idea of what the Britons then were, we have only to turn to the ſavage na⯑tions which ſtill ſubſiſt in primeval rudeneſs. Temperate rather from neceſſity than choice; patient of fatigue, yet inconſtant in attach⯑ment; bold, improvident, and rapacious; ſuch is the picture of ſavage life at pre⯑ſent, and ſuch it appears to have been from the beginning. Little entertainment, therefore, can be expected from the accounts of a nation thus circumſtanced, nor can its tranſactions come properly under the notice of the hiſtorian, ſince they are too minutely divided to be exhibited at one view; the actors are too barbarous to intereſt the reader; and no ſkill can be ſhewn in developing the motives and councils of a peo⯑ple chiefly actuated by ſudden and tumultuary guſts of paſſion.

CHAP II. From the Deſcent of JULIUS CAESAR to the Relin⯑quiſhing of the Iſland by the ROMANS.

THE Britons, in the rude and barbarous ſtate in which we have juſt deſcribed them, ſeemed to ſtand in need of more poliſhed in⯑ſtructors; and indeed whatever evils may attend the conqueſt of heroes, their ſucceſs has generally produced one good effect, in diſſeminating the arts of refinement and humanity. It ever hap⯑pens, when a barbarous nation is conquered by another more advanced in the arts of peace, that it gains in elegance a recompence for what it loſes in liberty. The Britons had long re⯑mained in this rude but independent ſtate, when Caeſar having over-run Gaul with his victories, and willing ſtill farther to extend his fame, determined upon the conqueſt of a country that ſeemed to promiſe an eaſy triumph. He was allured neither by the riches nor the renown of the inhabitants; but being am⯑bitious rather of ſplendid than of uſeful [10] conqueſts, he was willing to carry the Roman arms into a country, the remote ſituation of which would add ſeeming difficulty to the enterprize, and conſequently produce an in⯑creaſe of reputation. His pretence was, to puniſh theſe iſlanders for having ſent ſuccours to the Gauls while he waged war againſt that nation, as well as for granting an aſylum to ſuch of the enemy as had ſought protection from his reſentment. The natives, informed of his intention, were ſenſible of the unequal conteſt, and endeavoured to appeaſe him by ſubmiſſion. He received their ambaſſadors with great complacency, and having exhorted them to continue ſtedfaſt in the ſame ſenti⯑ments, in the mean time made preparations for the execution of his deſign. When the troops deſtined for the expedition were em⯑barked, he ſet ſail for Britain about midnight, and the next morning arrived on the coaſt near Dover, where he ſaw the rocks and cliffs co⯑vered with armed men to oppoſe his landing.

Ant. Ch. 55 Finding it impracticable to gain the ſhore where he firſt intended, from the agitation of the ſea and the impending mountains, he reſolved to chuſe a landing-place of greater ſecurity. The place he choſe was about eight miles far⯑ther on, ſome ſuppoſe at Deal, where an in⯑clining [11] ſhore and a level country invited his attempts. The poor, naked, ill-armed Bri⯑tons, we may well ſuppoſe, were but an unequal match for the diſciplined Romans, who had be⯑fore conquered Gaul, and afterwards became the conquerors of the world. However, they made a brave oppoſition againſt the veteran army; the conflicts between them were fierce, the loſſes mutual, and the ſucceſs va⯑rious. The Britons had choſen Caſſibelaunus for their commander in chief, but the petty princes under his command either deſiring his ſtation or ſuſpecting his fidelity, threw off their allegiance. Some of them fled with their forces into the internal parts of the kingdom, others ſubmitted to Caeſar, till at length Caſ⯑ſibelaunus himſelf, weakened by ſo many de⯑ſertions, reſolved upon making what terms he was able while he yet had power to keep the field. The conditions offered by Caeſar and accepted by him were, that he ſhould ſend to the Continent double the number of hoſtages at firſt demanded, and that he ſhould acknow⯑ledge ſubjection to the Romans.

The Romans were pleaſed with the name of this new and remote conqueſt, and the ſenate decreed a ſupplication of twenty days, in con⯑ſequence of their general's ſucceſs. Having [12] therefore in this manner rather diſcovered than ſubdued the ſouthern parts of the iſland, Cae⯑ſar returned into Gaul with his forces, and left the Britons to enjoy their cuſtoms, religion, and laws. But the inhabitants, thus relieved from the terror of his arms, ne⯑glected the performance of their ſtipulations, and only two of their ſtates ſent over hoſtages, according to the treaty. Caeſar it is likely was not much diſpleaſed at the omiſſion, as it furniſhed him with a pretext of viſiting the iſland once more, and completing a conqueſt which he had only begun.

Accordingly, the enſuing ſpring, he ſet ſail for Britain with eight hundred ſhips; and, arriving at the place of his former deſcent, he landed with⯑out oppoſition. The iſlanders being apprized of his invaſion, had aſſembled an army and march⯑ed down to the ſea-ſide to oppoſe him; but ſeeing the number of his forces, and the whole ſea as it were covered with his ſhipping, they were ſtruck with conſternation, and retired to their places of ſecurity. The Romans, how⯑ever, purſued them to their retreats, until at laſt common danger induced theſe poor barbarians to forget their former diſſenſions, and to unite their whole ſtrength for the mutual defence of their liberty and poſſeſſions. Caſſibelaunus was [13] choſen to conduct the common cauſe; and for ſome time he harraſſed the Romans in their march, and revived the deſponding hopes of his countrymen. But no oppoſition that undiſci⯑plined ſtrength could make was able to repreſs the vigour and intrepidity of Caeſar. He diſ⯑comfited the Britons in every action; he ad⯑vanced into the country, paſſed the Thames in the face of the enemy, took and burned the capital city of Caſſibelaunus, eſtabliſhed his ally Mandubratius as ſovereign of the Tri⯑nobantes; and having obliged the inhabi⯑tants to make him new ſubmiſſions, he again returned with his army into Gaul, having made himſelf rather the nominal than the real poſſeſſor of the iſland.

Whatever the ſtipulated tribute might have been, it is more than probable, as there was no authority left to exact it, that it was but indif⯑ferently paid. Upon the acceſſion of Auguſ⯑tus, that emperor had formed a deſign of vi⯑ſiting Britain, but was diverted from it by an unexpected revolt of the Pannonians. Some years after he reſumed his deſign; but be⯑ing met in his way by the Britiſh ambaſſa⯑dors, who promiſed the accuſtomed tribute, and made the uſual ſubmiſſions, he deſiſted from his intentions. The year following, find⯑ing [14] them remiſs in their ſupplies, and untrue to their former profeſſions, he once more pre⯑pared for the invaſion of the country; but a well-timed embaſſy again averted his indigna⯑tion, and the ſubmiſſions he received ſeemed to ſatisfy his reſentment: upon his death-bed he appeared ſenſible of the overgrown extent of the Roman empire, and he recommended it to his ſucceſſors never to enlarge their terri⯑tories.

Tiberius followed the maxims of Auguſtus, and wiſely judging the empire already too ex⯑tenſive, made no attempt upon Britain. Some Roman ſoldiers having been wrecked on the Britiſh coaſt, the inhabitants not only aſſiſted them with the greateſt humanity, but ſent them in ſafety back to their general. In con⯑ſequence of theſe friendly diſpoſitions, a con⯑ſtant intercourſe of good offices ſubſiſted be⯑tween the two nations; the principal Britiſh nobility reſorted to Rome, and many received their education there.

Ant. Ch. 16 From that time the Britons began to im⯑prove in all the arts which contribute to the advancement of human nature. The firſt art which a ſavage people is generally taught by their politer neighbours is that of war. The Britons, thenceforward, though not [15] wholly addicted to the Roman method of fight⯑ing, nevertheleſs adopted ſeveral of their im⯑provements, as well in their arms as in their arrangement in the field. Their ferocity to ſtrangers, for which they had been always re⯑markable, was mitigated; and they began to permit an intercourſe of commerce even in the internal parts of the country. They ſtill, however, continued to live as herdſmen and hunters, a manifeſt proof that the country was as yet but thinly inhabited. A nation of hunters can never be populous, as their ſub⯑ſiſtence is neceſſarily diffuſed over a large tract of country, while the huſbandman converts every part of nature to human uſe, and flou⯑riſhes moſt by the vicinity of thoſe whom he is to ſupport.

The wild extravagancies of Caligula, by which he threatened Britain with an invaſion, ſerved rather to expoſe him to ridicule than the iſland to danger. The Britons therefore, for almoſt a century, enjoyed their liberty unmo⯑leſted, till at length the Romans, in the reign of Claudius, began to think ſeriouſly of re⯑ducing them under their dominion. The ex⯑pedition for this purpoſe was conducted in the beginning by Plautius and other command⯑ers, [16] with that ſucceſs which uſually attended the Roman arms.

A.D. 43 Claudius himſelf finding affairs ſufficiently prepared for his reception, made a journey thi⯑ther, and received the ſubmiſſion of ſuch ſtates as, living by commerce, were willing to pur⯑chaſe tranquillity at the expence of freedom. It is true that many of the inland provinces preferred their native ſimplicity to imported elegance, and, rather than bow their necks to the Roman yoke, offered their boſoms to the ſword. But the ſouthern coaſt, with all the adjacent inland country, was ſeized by the conquerors, who ſecured the poſſeſſion by for⯑tifying camps, building fortreſſes, and planting colonies. The other parts of the country either thought themſelves in no danger, or continued patient ſpectators of the approach⯑ing devaſtation.

Caractacus was the firſt who ſeemed willing, by a vigorous effort, to reſcue his country and repel its inſulting and rapacious conquerors. The venality and corruption of the Roman praetors and officers who were appointed to levy the contributions in Britain ſerved to excite the indignation of the natives, and give ſpirit to his attempts. This rude ſoldier, though with [17] inferior forces, continued, for above the ſpace of nine years, to oppoſe and harraſs the Ro⯑mans; ſo that at length Oſtorius Scapula was ſent over to command their armies. He was more ſucceſsful than his predeceſſors. He ad⯑vanced the Roman conqueſts over Britain, pierced the country of the Silures,A.D. 50 a warlike nation along the banks of the Severn, and at length came up with Caractacus, who had ta⯑ken poſſeſſion of a very advantageous poſt up⯑on an inacceſſible mountain, waſhed by a deep and rapid ſtream. The unfortunate Britiſh ge⯑neral, when he ſaw the enemy approaching, drew up his army, compoſed of different tribes, and going from rank to rank, exhorted them to ſtrike the laſt blow, for liberty, ſafety, and life. To theſe exhortations his ſoldiers replied with ſhouts of determined valour. But what could undiſciplined bravery avail againſt the attack of an army ſkilled in all the arts of war, and inſpired by a long train of conqueſts. The Britons were, after an obſtinate reſiſtance, to⯑tally routed; and a few days after Caractacus himſelf was delivered up to the conquerors by Cartiſmandua, queen of the Brigantes, with whom he had taken refuge. The capture of this general was received with ſuch joy at Rome, that Claudius commanded that he [18] ſhould be brought from Britain, in order to be exhibited as a ſpectacle to the Roman people. Accordingly, on the day appointed for that purpoſe, the Emperor aſcending his throne, ordered the captives, and Caractacus among the number, to be brought into his preſence. The vaſſals of the Britiſh king, with the ſpoils taken in war, were firſt brought forward; theſe were followed by his family, who, with abject lamentations, were ſeen to implore for mercy. Laſt of all came Caractacus himſelf, with an undaunted air and a dignified aſpect. He appeared no way dejected at the amazing concourſe of ſpectators that were gathered upon this occaſion, but caſting his eyes on the ſplendours that ſurrounded him, ‘"Alas, cried he, how is it poſſible that a people poſſeſſed of ſuch magnificence at home could envy me an hum⯑ble cottage in Britain!"’ When brought into the Emperor's preſence, he is ſaid to have ad⯑dreſſed him in the following manner: ‘"Had my moderation been equal to my birth and for⯑tune, I had arrived in this city not as a cap⯑tive but as a friend. But my preſent misfor⯑tunes redound as much to your honour as to my diſgrace, and the obſtinacy of my oppoſi⯑tion ſerves to increaſe the ſplendours of your victory. Had I ſurrendered myſelf in the begin⯑ning [19] of the conteſt, neither my diſgrace nor your glory would have attracted the attention of the world, and my fate would have been buried in general oblivion. I am now at your mercy, but if my life be ſpared I ſhall remain an eter⯑nal monument of your clemency and modera⯑tion."’ The Emperor was affected with the Britiſh hero's misfortunes, and won by his addreſs. He ordered him to be unchained upon the ſpot, with the reſt of the captives, and the firſt uſe they made of their liberty was to go and proſtrate themſelves before the Empreſs Agrippina, who, as ſome ſuppoſe, had been an interceſſor for their freedom.

Notwithſtanding theſe misfortunes, the Bri⯑tons were not ſubdued, and this iſland was re⯑garded by the ambitious Romans as a field in which military honour might ſtill be acquired. The Britons made one expiring effort more to recover their liberty, in the times of Nero,A.D. 59 taking advantage of the abſence of Paulinus the Roman general, who was employed in ſub⯑duing the iſle of Angleſey. That ſmall iſland, which was ſeparated from Britain by a narrow channel, ſtill continued the chief ſeat of the Druidical ſuperſtitions, and conſtantly afforded a retreat to their defeated forces. It was thought neceſſary therefore to ſubdue that [20] place, in order to extirpate a religion that diſ⯑dained ſubmiſſion to foreign laws or leaders; and Paulinus, the greateſt general of his age, undertook the taſk. The Britons endeavoured to obſtruct his landing on that laſt retreat of their ſuperſtitions and liberties, both by the force of their arms and the terrors of their religion. The prieſts and iſlanders were drawn up in order of battle upon the ſhore, to oppoſe his landing. The women, dreſſed like furies, with diſhevelled hair and torches in their hands, poured forth the moſt terrible execra⯑tions. Such a ſight at firſt confounded the Romans, and fixed them motionleſs on the ſpot, ſo that they received the firſt aſſault without oppoſition. But Paulinus exhorting his troops to deſpiſe the menaces of an abſurd ſuperſtition, impelled them to the attack, drove the Britons off the field, burned the Druids in the ſame fires they had prepared for their cap⯑tive enemies, and deſtroyed all their conſecrat⯑ed groves and altars.

In the mean time the Britons, taking advan⯑tage of his abſence, reſolved by a general in⯑ſurrection to free themſelves from that ſtate of abject ſervitude to which they were reduced by the Romans. They had many motives to ag⯑gravate their reſentment; the greatneſs of [21] their taxes, which were levied with unremit⯑ting ſeverity; the cruel inſolence of their con⯑querors, who reproached that very poverty which they had cauſed; but particularly the cruel treatment of Boadicea, queen of the Ice⯑ni, drove them at laſt into open rebellion. Praſatagus, king of the Iceni, at his death had bequeathed one half of his dominions to the Romans, and the other to his daughters, thus hoping by the ſacrifice of a part, to ſe⯑cure the reſt in his family: but it had a diffe⯑rent effect; for the Roman procurator imme⯑diately took poſſeſſion of the whole; and when Boadicea, the widow of the deceaſed, at⯑tempted to remonſtrate, he ordered her to be ſcourged like a ſlave, and violated the chaſtity of her daughters. Theſe outrages were ſuffi⯑cient to produce a revolt through the whole iſland. The Iceni, as being the moſt deeply in⯑tereſted in the quarrel, were the firſt to take arms; all the other ſtates ſoon followed the ex⯑ample; and Boadicea, a woman of great beauty and maſculine ſpirit, was appointed to head the common forces, which amounted to two hundred and thirty thouſand fighting men. Theſe, exaſperated by their wrongs, attacked ſeveral of the Roman ſettlements and colonies with ſucceſs. Paulinus haſtened to relieve [22] London, which was already a flouriſhing colo⯑ny; but found on his arrival that it would be requiſite for the general ſafety to abandon that place to the mercileſs fury of the enemy. Lon⯑don was ſoon therefore reduced to aſhes; ſuch of the inhabitants as remained in it were maſſacred; and the Romans, with all other ſtrangers, to the number of ſeventy thouſand, were cruelly put to the ſword. Fluſhed with theſe ſucceſſes, the Britons no longer ſought to avoid the enemy, but boldly came to the place where Paulinus awaited their arrival, poſted in a very advantageous manner with a body of ten thouſand men. The battle was obſtinate and bloody. Boadicea herſelf appeared in a chariot with her two daughters, and harrangued her army with maſculine intrepidity; but the irregular and undiſciplined bravery of her troops was unable to reſiſt the cool intrepidity of the Romans. They were routed with great ſlaughter, eighty thouſand periſhed in the field, and an infinite number were made priſoners, while Boadicea herſelf, fearing to fall into the hands of the enraged victor, put an end to her life by poiſon. Nero ſoon after recalled Pau⯑linus from a government, where, by ſuffering and inflicting ſo many ſeverities, he was judged improper to compoſe the angry and alarmed [23] minds of the natives. After an interval, Cerealis received the command from Veſpa⯑ſian, and by his bravery propagated the terror of the Roman arms. Julius Frontinus ſuc⯑ceeded Cerealis both in authority and reputa⯑tion. The general who finally eſtabliſhed the dominion of the Romans in this iſland was Ju⯑lius Agricola, who governed it during the reigns of Veſpaſian, Titus, and Domitian, and diſtin⯑guiſhed himſelf as well by his courage as hu⯑manity.

Agricola, who is conſidered as one of the greateſt characters in hiſtory, formed a regular plan for ſubduing and civilizing the iſland, and thus ren⯑dering the acquiſition uſeful to the conquer⯑ors. As the northern part of the country was leaſt tractable, he carried his victorious arms thither, and defeated the undiſciplined enemy in every encounter. He pierced into the for⯑merly inacceſſible foreſts and mountains of Ca⯑ledonia, he drove onward all thoſe fierce and untractable ſpirits who preferred famine to ſla⯑very, and who, rather than ſubmit, choſe to remain in perpetual hoſtility. Nor was it without oppoſition that he thus made his way into a country rude and impervious by nature. He was oppoſed by Galgacus, at the head of a numerous army, whom he defeated in a deciſive [24] action, in which conſiderable numbers were ſlain. Being thus ſucceſsful, he did not think proper to purſue the enemy into their re⯑treats, but embarking a body of troops on board his fleet, he ordered the commander to ſurround the whole coaſt of Britain, which had not been diſcovered to be an iſland till the pre⯑ceding year. This armament, purſuant to his orders, ſteered to the northward, and there ſubdued the Orkneys; then making the tour of the whole iſland, it arrived in the port of Sand⯑wich, without having met the leaſt diſaſter.

During theſe military enterprizes Agricola was ever attentive to the arts of peace. He at⯑tempted to humanize the fierceneſs of thoſe who acknowledged his power, by introducing the Roman laws, habits, manners, and learn⯑ing. He taught them to deſire and raiſe all the conveniencies of life, inſtructed them in the arts of agriculture, and, in order to pro⯑tect them in their peaceable poſſeſſions, he drew a rampart, and fixed a train of garriſons between them and their northern neighbours; thus cutting off the ruder and more barren parts of the iſland, and ſecuring the Roman province from the invaſion of a fierce and ne⯑ceſſitous enemy. In this manner the Britons being almoſt-totally ſubdued, now began to [25] throw off all hopes of recovering their for⯑mer liberty; and having often experienced the ſuperiority of the Romans, conſented to ſub⯑mit, and were content with ſafety. From that time,A.D. 78 the Romans ſeemed more deſirous of ſecuring what they poſſeſſed, than of making new conqueſts, and were employed rather in re⯑preſſing than puniſhing their reſtleſs northern invaders.

For ſeveral years after the time of Agricola, a profound peace ſeems to have prevailed in Britain, and little mention is made of the af⯑fairs of the iſland by any hiſtorian. The only incidents which occur, are ſome ſeditions a⯑mong the Roman legions quartered there, and ſome uſurpations of the imperial dignity by the Roman governors. The natives remained to⯑tally ſubdued and diſpirited; the arts of lux⯑ury had been introduced among them, and ſeemed to afford a wretched compenſation for their former independence. All the men who had a paſſion for liberty were long ſince de⯑ſtroyed; the flower of their youth were draft⯑ed out of the iſland to ſerve in foreign wars, and thoſe who remained were bred up in ſer⯑vitude and ſubmiſſion. Such, therefore, were very unlikely to give any diſturbance to their governors; and, in fact, inſtead of conſidering [26] their yoke as a burthen, they were taught to regard it as their ornament and protection. No⯑thing, therefore, was likely to ſhake the power of Rome in the iſland, but the diſſentions and diſtreſſes of the Romans themſelves, and that dreadful period at laſt arrived.

Rome, that had for ages given laws to na⯑tions, and diffuſed ſlavery and oppreſſion over the known world, at length began to ſink under her own magnificence. Mankind, as if by a general conſent, roſe up to vindi⯑cate their natural freedom; almoſt every na⯑tion aſſerting that independence which they had been long ſo unjuſtly deprived of. It was in theſe turbulent times, that the emperors found themſelves obliged to recruit their legions from the troops that were placed to defend the frontier provinces. When the heart of the empire was contended for, it was not much conſidered in what manner the extremities were to be defended. In this manner, the more diſtant parts of the empire were frequently left without a guard; and the weakneſs of the go⯑vernment there, frequently excited freſh inſur⯑rections among the natives. Theſe, with thou⯑ſand other calamities, daily grew greater; and, as the enemies of the Roman people en⯑creaſed, their own diſſenſions among each [27] other ſeemed to encreaſe in the ſame propor⯑tion.

During theſe ſtruggles the Britiſh youth were frequently drawn away into Gaul, to give ineffectual ſuccour to the various conten⯑ders for the empire, who, falling in every at⯑tempt, only left the name of tyrants behind them. In the mean time, as the Roman forces decreaſed in Britain, the Picts and Scots conti⯑nued ſtill more boldly to infeſt the northern parts; and croſſing the friths, which the Ro⯑mans could not guard, in little wicker boats, covered with leather, filled the country where⯑ever they came with ſlaughter and conſterna⯑tion. When repulſed by ſuperior numbers, as was at firſt always the caſe, they retired with the ſpoil, and watched for the next opportu⯑nity of invaſion, when the Romans were drawn away into the remoter parts of the iſland.

Theſe enterpriſes were often repeated, and as often repreſſed, but ſtill with diminiſhing vi⯑gour on the ſide of the defendants. The ſouthern natives being accuſtomed to have re⯑courſe to Rome, as well for protection as for laws, made ſupplication to the emperors, and had one legion ſent over for their defence. This relief was in the beginning attended with the deſired ef⯑fect, the barbarous invaders were repulſed and [28] driven back to their native deſerts and moun⯑tains. They returned, however, when the Ro⯑man forces were withdrawn; and although they were again repulſed by the aſſiſtance of a legion once more ſent from Rome, yet they too well perceived the weakneſs of the enemy, and their own ſuperior ſkill in arms.

At length, in the reign of Valentinian the younger, the empire of Rome began to tremble for its capital, and being fa⯑tigued with diſtant expeditions, informed the wretched Britons, whom their own arts had en⯑feebled, that they were now no longer to ex⯑pect foreign protection. They accordingly, drew away from the iſland all the Romans, and many of the Britons who were fit for military ſervices. Thus, taking their laſt leave of the iſland, they left the natives to the choice of their own government and kings. They gave them the beſt inſtructions the calamitous times would permit, for exerciſing their arms, and repairing their ramparts. They helped the natives to erect a-new a wall of ſtone built by the emperor Severus acroſs the iſland, which they had not at that time artizans ſkilful enough among themſelves to repair. Having thus prepared for their departure in a friendly manner, the Romans left the iſland, never more [29] to return,A.D. 488 after having been maſters of it dur⯑ing the courſe of near four centuries.

It may be doubted, whether the arts which the Romans planted among the iſlanders were not rather prejudicial than ſerviceable to them, as they only contributed to invite the invader, with⯑out furniſhing the means of defence. If we conſider the many public ways, and villas of pleaſure that were then among them, the many ſchools inſtituted for the inſtruction of youth, the numberleſs coins, ſtatues, teſſelat⯑ed pavements, and other curioſities that were common at that time, we can have no doubt but that the Britons made a very conſiderable progreſs in the arts of peace, although they declined in thoſe of war. But, perhaps, an attempt at once to introduce theſe advantages will ever be ineffectual. The arts of peace and refinement muſt riſe by ſlow degrees in every country, and can never be propagated with the ſame rapidity by which new governments may be introduced. It will take, perhaps, a courſe of ſome centuries, before a barbarous people can entirely adopt the manners of their conquerors; ſo that all the pains beſtowed by the Romans in educating the Britons, only ſerv⯑ed to render them a more deſirable object of invaſion, and dreſſed them up as victims for ſucceeding ſlaughter.

CHAP. III. The BRITONS and SAXONS.

THE Britons being now left to them⯑ſelves, conſidered their new liberties as their greateſt calamity. They had been long taught to lean upon others for ſupport; and that now taken away, they found themſelves too feeble to make any oppoſition. Far from practiſing the leſſons they had received from the Romans, they aggravated their misfor⯑tunes with unavailing complaints, which only ſerved to render them ſtill more contemptible. Unaccuſtomed both to the perils of war, and to the cares of civil government, they found themſelves incapable of forming, or executing any meaſures for reſiſting the incurſions of their barbarous invaders. Though the Ro⯑man ſoldiers were drawn away, their families and deſcendants were ſtill ſpread over the face of the country, and left without a ſingle per⯑ſon of conduct or courage to defend them. To complete the meaſure of their wretchedneſs, the few men of any note who remained among them, were infected with the ambition of be⯑ing [31] foremoſt in command; and diſregarding the common enemy, were engaged in diſſen⯑ſions among each other.

In the mean time, the Picts and Scots unit⯑ing together, began to look upon Britain as their own, and attacked the northern wall with redoubled forces. This rampart, though for⯑merly built of ſtone, had been ſome time be⯑fore repaired with fods; and conſequently, was but ill fitted to repreſs the attacks of a perſevering enemy. The aſſailants, therefore, were not at the trouble of procuring military engines, or battering rams to overthrow it, but with iron hooks pulled down the inactive defenders from the top, and then undermined the fortification at their leiſure. Having thus opened to themſelves a paſſage, they ravaged the whole country with impunity, while the Britons ſought precarious ſhelter in their woods and mountains.

In this exigence, the unhappy Britons had a third time recourſe to Rome, hoping to extort by importunity, that aſſiſtance which was de⯑nied upon prudential motives. Aetius, the re⯑nowned general of Valentinian, had about that time gained conſiderable advantages over the Goths, and ſeemed to give freſh hopes of re⯑ſtoring the Roman empire. It was to him [32] they applied for ſuccour, in a ſtrain of the moſt abject ſollicitation. The Barbarians, ſaid they, on the one hand, drive us into the ſea; the ſea, on the other, drives us back upon the Barbarians. We have only the hard choice left us, of periſhing by the ſword, or being drowned in the deep. Such, however, were the calamities of the Romans themſelves, ſurrounded as they were by myriads of ſavage nations, that they could yield no aſſiſtance to ſuch remote and unſerviceable allies.

A.D. 448 The Britons, thus neglected, were reduced to deſpair; while, having left their fields uncul⯑tivated, they began to find the miſeries of fa⯑mine, added to the horrors of war. It hap⯑pened, however, that the barbarians them⯑ſelves began to feel the ſame inconveniencies in a country which they had ravaged; and be⯑ing harraſſed by the irruptions of the Bri⯑tons, as well as the want of neceſſaries, they were obliged to retreat from the ſouthern parts of the kingdom laden with ſpoil.

The enemy having thus left the country open, the Britons joyfully iſſued from their mountains and foreſts, and purſued once more their uſual arts of huſbandry, which were at⯑tended with ſuch abundance the ſucceeding [33] ſeaſon, that they ſoon forgot all their paſt mi⯑ſeries. But it had been happy for them, if plenty had not removed one evil to plant an⯑other. They began, from a ſtate of famine, to indulge themſelves in ſuch riot and luxury, that their bodies were totally enervated, and their minds debauched.

Thus entirely occupied in the enjoyment of the preſent interval of peace, they made no proviſion for reſiſting the enemy, who were only taking breath to renew their former in⯑vaſions. Chriſtianity, indeed, had been intro⯑duced among them ſome time before; though, at what period, is not certainly known: however, to the other calamities of the ſtate were added alſo their diſputes in theology. The diſciples of Pelagius, who was a native of Britain, had encreaſed in a great degree; and the clergy, who conſidered his opinions as heretical, were more ſollicitouſly employed in reſiſting them, than in oppoſing the common enemy. Beſides all theſe calamities, a terrible peſti⯑lence viſited the ſouthern parts of the iſland, which thinned its inhabitants, and totally de⯑prived them of all power of reſiſtance.

It was in this deplorable and enfeebled ſtate, that the Britons were informed of freſh prepa⯑rations for an invaſion from their mercileſs [34] northern neighbours. Wherefore, to oppoſe their progreſs, they pitched upon Vortigern as their general and ſovereign, a prince who is ſaid to have raiſed himſelf to the ſu⯑preme command by the murder of his prede⯑ceſſor. This ſtep was only productive of freſh calamities. Vortigern, inſtead of exerting what ſtrength yet remained in the kingdom, only ſet himſelf to look about for foreign aſ⯑ſiſtance; and the Saxons appeared to him at once the moſt martial, and the moſt likely to eſpouſe his intereſts.

The Saxons were one branch of thoſe Go⯑thic nations, which, ſwarming from the nor⯑thern hive, came down to give laws, manners, and liberty to the reſt of Europe. A part of this people, under the name of Suevi, had, ſome time before Caeſar's invaſion of Gaul, ſub⯑dued and poſſeſſed an extenſive empire in Germany. Theſe, for their ſtrength and va⯑lour, were formidable to all the German na⯑tions, and ſuppoſed to be more than a match for the gods themſelves in war. They were afterwards divided into ſeveral nations, and each became famous for ſubduing that country which was the object of its invaſion. France, Germany, and England, were among the num⯑ber of their conqueſts.

[35]There is a period between ſavage rudeneſs and exceſſive refinement, which ſeems pecu⯑liarly adapted for the purpoſes of war, and which fits mankind for great atchievements. In this ſtate of half refinement, when com⯑pared to the Britons, the Saxons were at the time their aſſiſtance was thought neceſſary. They dreſſed with ſome degree of elegance, which the generality of the Britons, even though ſo long under the inſtitutions of the Romans, had not yet learned to practiſe. Their women uſed linen garments, trimmed and ſtriped with purple. Their hair was bound in wreaths, or fell in curls upon their ſhoulders; their arms were bare, and their bo⯑ſoms uncovered; faſhions, which, in ſome meaſure, ſeem peculiar to the ladies of Eng⯑land to this day. Their government was ge⯑nerally an elective monarchy, and ſometimes a republic. Their commanders were choſen for their merit, and diſmiſſed from duty when their authority was no longer needful. The ſallries they were ſupplied with, ſeldom exceeded a bare ſubſiſtence; and the honours they received, were the only reward of their ſu⯑perior dangers and fatigues. The cuſtom of trying by twelve men is of Saxon original: ſlavery was unknown among them, and they [36] were taught to prefer death to a ſhameful exiſtence. We are told by Marcellinus, that a body of them being taken priſoners, were kept for exhibition on the amphitheatre at Rome, as gladiators, for the entertainment of the people. The morning, however, on which they were expected to perform, they were every one found dead in his cell, each chuſ⯑ing rather a voluntary death, than to be the ignominious inſtruments of brutal pleaſure to their conquerors. The chaſtity of this people is equally remarkable; and to be without children, was to be without praiſe. But their chief excellence, and what they moſt gloried in, was their ſkill in war. They had, in ſome meaſure, learned diſcipline from the Romans, whom they had often defeated, and had, for a century and an half before, made frequent de⯑ſcents upon the coaſts of Britain, for the ſake of plunder. They were, therefore, a very formi⯑dable enemy to the Romans when ſettled there; and an officer was appointed to oppoſe their inroads, under the title of the Count of the Saxon ſhore. Thus, ever reſtleſs and bold, they con⯑ſidered war as their trade; and were, in conſe⯑quence, taught to conſider victory as a doubt⯑ful advantage, but courage as a certain good. A nation, however, entirely addicted to war, [37] has ſeldom wanted the imputation of cruel⯑ty, as thoſe terrors which are oppoſed with⯑out fear, are often inflicted without regret. The Saxons are repreſented as a very cruel na⯑tion; but, we muſt remember, that their enemies have drawn the picture.

It was upon this people, that Vortigern turned his eyes for ſuccour againſt the Picts and Scots, whoſe cruelties, perhaps, were ſtill more flagrant. It certainly was not without the moſt preſſing invitations, that the Saxons deigned to eſpouſe their cauſe; and we are yet in poſſeſſion of the form of their requeſt, as left us by Wittichindus, a cotemporary hiſtorian of ſome credit. ‘"The poor and diſtreſſed Britons, almoſt worn out by hoſtile invaſions, and har⯑raſſed by continual incurſions, are humble ſuppliants to you, moſt valiant Saxons, for ſuc⯑cour. We are poſſeſſed of a wide, extended, and a fertile country; this we yield wholly to be at your devotion and command. Beneath the wings of your valour we ſeek for ſafety, and ſhall willingly undergo whatever ſer⯑vices you may hereafter be pleaſed to im⯑poſe."’

It was no diſagreeable circumſtance to theſe conquerors, to be thus invited into a country upon which they had, for ages before, been [38] forming deſigns. In conſequence, therefore, of Vortigern's ſolemn invitation, they arrived with fifteen hundred men, under the com⯑mand of Hengiſt and Horſa, who were bro⯑thers, and landed on the iſle of Thanet. There they did not long remain inactive; but, be⯑ing joined by the Britiſh forces, they boldly marched againſt the Pict's and Scots, who had advanced as far as Lincolnſhire, and ſoon gained a complete victory over them.

Hengiſt and Horſa poſſeſſed great credit among their countrymen at home, and had been much celebrated for their valour and the ſplen⯑dor of their deſcent. They were believed to be ſprung from Woden, who was worſhipped as a God among this people, and were ſaid to be no more than the fourth in deſcent from him. This report, how fabulous ſoever, did not a little contribute to encreaſe their authority among their aſſociates; and being ſenſible of the fertility of the country to which they came, and the barrenneſs of that which they had left behind, they invited over great num⯑bers of their countrymen to become ſharers in their new expedition. It was no difficult matter to perſuade the Saxons to embrace an enterpriſe, which promiſed, at once, an oppor⯑tunity of diſplaying their valour, and of reward⯑ing [39] their rapacity. Accordingly,A.D. 450 they ſent over a freſh ſupply of five thouſand men, who paſſed over in ſeventeen veſſels.

It was now, but too late, that the Britons began to entertain apprehenſions of their new allies, whoſe numbers they found augmenting as their ſervices became leſs neceſſary. They had long found their chief protection in paſ⯑ſive ſubmiſſion; and they reſolved, upon this occaſion, to bear every encroachment with patient reſignation. But the Saxons being de⯑termined to come to a rupture with them, eaſi⯑ly found a pretext, in complaining, that their ſubſidies were ill paid, and their proviſions withdrawn. They, therefore, demanded that theſe grievances ſhould be immediately re⯑dreſſed, otherwiſe they would do themſelves juſtice; and, in the mean time, they engaged in a treaty with the Picts, whom they had been called in to repreſs. The Britons, impelled by the urgency of their calamities, at length took up arms; and having depoſed Vortigern, by whoſe counſel and vices they were thus redu⯑ced to an extremity, they put themſelves un⯑der the command of Vortimer, his ſon. Many were the battles fought between theſe enraged nations, their hatred to each other being ſtill more enflamed by the difference of their reli⯑gion, [40] the Britons being all Chriſtians, and the Saxons ſtill remaining in a ſtate of idolatry. There is little to entertain the reader in the narration of battles, where rather obſtinate va⯑lour than prudent conduct procured the vic⯑tory; and, indeed, the accounts given us of them are very oppoſite, when deſcribed by Bri⯑tiſh and Saxon annaliſts. However, the pro⯑greſs the latter ſtill made in the iſland, ſuffici⯑ently proves the advantage to have been on their ſide; although, in a battle fought at Eglesford, Horſa, the Saxon general, was ſlain.

But a ſingle victory, or even a repetition of ſucceſs, could avail but little againſt an enemy continually reinforced from abroad; for Hen⯑giſt, now becoming ſole commander, and pro⯑curing conſtant ſupplies from his native coun⯑try, carried devaſtation into the moſt remote corners of Britain. Chiefly anxious to ſpread the terror of his arms, he ſpared neither ſex, age, or condition, but laid all the country de⯑ſolate before him. The prieſts and biſhops found no protection from their ſacred calling, but were ſlaughtered upon their altars. The people were maſſacred in heaps; and ſome, chuſing life upon the moſt abject terms, were contented to become ſlaves to the victors. It was about this time, that numbers, deſerting [41] their native country, fled over to the province of Armorica, ſince called Brittany, where they ſettled in great numbers, among a people of the ſame manners and language with themſelves.

The Britiſh hiſtorians, in order to account for the eaſy conqueſt of their country by the Saxons, aſſign their treachery, not leſs than their valour, as a principal cauſe. They alledge that Vortigern was artfully inveigled into a paſſion for Rowe⯑na, the daughter of Hengiſt; and, in order to marry her, was induced to ſettle the fertile pro⯑vinces of Kent upon her father, from whence the Saxons could never after be removed. It is alledged alſo that, upon the death of Vorti⯑mer, which happened ſhortly after the victory he obtained at Eglesford, Vortigern his father was reinſtated upon the throne. It is added that this weak monarch accepting of a feſtival from Hengiſt, three hundred of his nobility were treacherouſly ſlaughtered, and himſelf detained as a captive.

Be theſe facts as they may, it is certain that the affairs of the Britons gradually declined, and they found but a temporary relief in the valour of one or two of their ſucceeding kings. After the death of Vortimer, Ambroſius, a Briton, though of Roman deſcent, was inveſted with the command, and in ſome meaſure proved [42] ſucceſsful in uniting his countrymen againſt the Saxons. He penetrated with his army into the very heart of their poſſeſſions, and though he fought them with doubtful advantage, yet he reſtored the Britiſh intereſt and dominion. Still, however, Hengiſt kept his ground in the country; and inviting over a new tribe of Saxons, under the command of his brother Octa, he ſettled them in Northumberland. As for himſelf, he kept poſſeſſion of the king⯑dom of Kent, comprehending alſo Middleſex and Eſſex, fixing his royal ſeat at Canterbury, and leaving his new-acquired dominions to his poſterity.

A.D. 488 After the death of Hengiſt, ſeveral other German tribes, allured by the ſucceſs of their countrymen, went over in great numbers. A body of their countrymen, under the conduct of Aella and his three ſons,A.D. 477 had ſome time be⯑fore laid the foundation of the kingdom of the South Saxons, though not without great oppo⯑ſition and bloodſhed. This new kingdom in⯑cluded Surry, Suſſex, and the New Foreſt: and extended to the frontiers of Kent.

Another tribe of Saxons, under the com⯑mand of Cerdic and his ſon Kenric, landed in the weſt, and from thence took the name of Weſt Saxons. Theſe met a very vigorous op⯑poſition [43] from the natives, but being reinforced from Germany, and aſſiſted by their country⯑men on the iſland, they routed the Britons; and although retarded in their progreſs by the celebrated king Arthur, they had ſtrength enough to keep poſſeſſion of the conqueſts they had already made. Cerdic, therefore, with his ſon Kenric, eſtabliſhed the third Saxon kingdom in the iſland, namely, that of the Weſt Saxons, including the counties of Hants, Dorſet, Wilts, Berks, and the Iſle of Wight.

It was in oppoſing this Saxon invader that the celebrated prince Arthur acquired his fame. Howſoever unſucceſsful all his valour might have been in the end, yet his name makes ſo great a figure in the fabulous annals of the times, that ſome notice muſt be taken of him. This prince is of ſuch obſcure origi⯑nal, that ſome authors ſuppoſe him to be the ſon of king Ambroſius, and others only his nephew; others again affirm that he was a Corniſh prince, and ſon of Gurlois king of that province. However this be, it is certain he was a commander of great valour, and could courage alone repair the miſerable ſtate of the Britons, his might have been effectual. Ac⯑cording to Nennius, and the moſt authentic hiſ⯑torians, [44] he is ſaid to have worſted the Saxons in twelve ſucceſſive battles. In one of theſe, namely, that fought at Caerbadon, in Berks, it is aſſerted that he killed no leſs than four hun⯑dred and forty of the enemy with his own hand. But the Saxons were too numerous and powerful to be extirpated by the deſultory ef⯑forts of ſingle valour; ſo that a peace, and not conqueſt, were the immediate fruits of his vic⯑tories. The enemy therefore ſtill gained ground; and this prince, in the decline of life, had the mortification, from ſome domeſtic troubles of his own, to be a patient ſpectator of their encroachments. His firſt wife had been carried off by Melnas, king of Somerſet⯑ſhire, who detained her a whole year at Glaſ⯑tonbury, until Arthur, diſcovering the place of her retreat, advanced with an army againſt the raviſher, and obliged him to give her back, by the mediation of Gildas Albanius. In his ſe⯑cond wife, perhaps, he might have been more fortunate, as we have no mention made of her, but it was otherwiſe with his third conſort, who was debauched by his own nephew Mordred. This produced a rebellion, in which the king and his traiterous kinſman meeting in battle, they ſlew each other.

[45]In the mean time, while the Saxons were thus gaining ground in the weſt, their country⯑men were not leſs active in other parts of the iſland.A.D. 575 Adventurers ſtill continuing to pour over from Germany, one body of them, under the command of Uffa, ſeized upon the coun⯑ties of Cambridge, Suffolk, and Norfolk, and gave their commander the title of King of the Eaſt Angles, which was the fourth Saxon kingdom founded in Britain.

Another body of theſe adventurers formed a kingdom under the title of Eaſt Saxony,A.D. 585 or Eſſex, comprehending Eſſex, Middleſex, and part of Hertfordſhire. This kingdom, which was diſmembered from that of Kent, formed the fifth Saxon principality founded in Bri⯑tain.

The kingdom of Mercia was the ſixth which was eſtabliſhed by theſe fierce invaders, com⯑prehending all the middle counties, from the banks of the Severn to the frontiers of the two laſt named kingdoms.

The ſeventh and laſt kingdom which they obtained was that of Northumberland, one of the moſt powerful and extenſive of them all. This was formed from the union of two ſmaller Saxon kingdoms, the one called Bernicia, con⯑taining the preſent county of Northumberland [46] and the biſhoprick of Durham; the ſubjects of the other, called the Deiri, extending them⯑ſelves over Lancaſhire and Yorkſhire. Theſe kingdoms were united in the perſon of Ethel⯑frid, king of Northumberland, by the expul⯑ſion of Edwin, his brother-in-law, from the kingdom of the Deiri, and the ſeizure of his dominions.

In this manner the natives being overpower⯑ed, or entirely expelled, ſeven kingdoms were eſtabliſhed in Britain, which have been ſince well known by the name of the Saxon Hep⯑tarchy. The unfortunate Britons having been exhauſted by continual wars, and even worn out by their own victories, were reluctantly compelled to forſake the more fertile parts of the country, and to take refuge in the moun⯑tainous parts of Wales and Cornwall. All the veſtiges of Roman luxury were now almoſt to⯑tally deſtroyed by the conquerors, who rather aimed at enjoying the comforts of life than its magnificence. The few natives who were not either maſſacred or expelled their habitations, were reduced to the moſt abject ſlavery, and employed in cultivating thoſe grounds for their new maſters, which they once claimed as their own.

[47]From this time Britiſh and Roman cuſtoms entirely ceaſed in the iſland; the language, which had been either Latin or Celtic, was diſcontinued, and the Saxon or Engliſh only was ſpoken. The land, before divided into colonies or go⯑vernments, was cantoned into ſhires, with Saxon appellations to diſtinguiſh them. The habits of the people in peace, and arms in war, their titles of honour, their laws, and methods of trial by jury, were continued as originally practiſed by the Germans, only with ſuch alter⯑ations as encreaſing civilization produced. Conquerors, although they diſſeminate their own laws and manners, often borrow from the people they ſubdue. In the preſent inſtance they imitated the Britons in their government, by deſpotic and hereditary monarchies, while their exemplary chaſtity, and their abhorrence of ſlavery, were quite forgotten.

The Saxons being thus eſtabliſhed in all the deſirable parts of the iſland, and having no longer the Britons to contend with, began to quarrel among themſelves. A country divided into a number of petty independent principa⯑lities, muſt ever be ſubject to contention, as jealouſy and ambition have more frequent in⯑centives to operate. The wars therefore and revolutions of theſe little rival ſtates were ex⯑tremely [48] numerous, and the accounts of them have ſwelled the hiſtorian's page. But theſe accounts are ſo confuſedly written, the mate⯑rials ſo dry, unintereſting, and filled with ſuch improbable adventures, that a repetition of them can gratify neither the reader's judgment nor curioſity. Inſtead therefore of entering in⯑to a detail of tumultuous battles, petty treach⯑eries, and obſcure ſucceſſions, it will be more conformable to the preſent plan, to give ſome account of the introduction of Chriſtianity among the Saxons, which happened during this dreary period.

The Chriſtian religion never ſuffered more perſecution than it underwent in Britain from the barbarity of the Saxon pagans, who burn⯑ed all the churches, ſtained the altars with the blood of the clergy, and maſſacred all thoſe whom they found profeſſing Chriſtianity. This deplorable ſtate of religion in Britain was firſt taken into conſideration by St. Gregory, who was then pope, and he undertook to ſend miſ⯑ſionaries thither. It is ſaid, that, before his elevation to the papal chair, he chanced one day to paſs through the ſlave-market at Rome, and perceiving ſome children of great beauty who were ſet up for ſale, he enquired about their country, and finding they were Engliſh [49] pages, he is ſaid to have cried out, in the La⯑tin language, Non Angli ſed Angeli forent, ſi eſſent Chriſtiani; They would not be Engliſh, but Angels, had they been Chriſtians. From that time he was ſtruck with an ardent deſire to convert that unenlightened nation, and actual⯑ly embarked in a ſhip for Britain, when his pious intentions were fruſtrated by his being detained at Rome by the populace, who loved him. He did not however lay aſide his pious reſolution; for, having ſucceeded to the papal chair, he ordered a monk, named Auguſtine, and others of the ſame fraternity, to undertake the miſſion into Britain. It was not without ſome reluctance that theſe reve⯑rend men undertook ſo dangerous a taſk; but ſome favourable circumſtances in Britain ſeem⯑ed providentially to prepare the way for their arrival. Ethelbert, king of Kent, in his fa⯑ther's life-time had married Bertha, the only daughter of Coribert, king of Paris, one of the deſcendants of Clovis, king of Gaul. But before he was admitted to this alliance, he was obliged to ſtipulate that this princeſs ſhould enjoy the free exerciſe of her religion, which was that of Chriſtianity. She was there⯑fore attended to Canterbury, the place of her reſidence, by Luidhard, a Gauliſh prelate, who officiated in a church dedicated to St. Martin, [50] which had been built by the Romans, near the walls of Canterbury. The exemplary conduct and powerful preaching of this primitive bi⯑ſhop, added to the queen's learning and zeal, made very ſtrong impreſſions upon the king, as well as the reſt of his ſubjects, in favour of Chriſtianity. The general reception of this holy religion all over the continent might alſo contribute to diſpoſe the minds of theſe idola⯑ters for its admiſſion, and make the attempt leſs dangerous than Auguſtine and his aſſociates at firſt ſuppoſed.

This pious monk, upon his firſt landing in the Iſle of Thanet, ſent one of his interpreters to the Kentiſh king, declaring he was come from Rome with offers of eternal ſalvation. In the mean time he and his followers lay in the open air, that they might not, according to the belief of the times, by entering a Saxon houſe, ſubject themſelves to the power of heathen necromancy. The king immediate⯑ly ordered them to be furniſhed with all ne⯑ceſſaries, and even viſited them, though with⯑out declaring himſelf as yet in their favour. Auguſtine, however, encouraged by this fa⯑vourable reception, and now ſeeing a proſpect of ſucceſs, proceeded with redoubled zeal to preach the goſpel, and even endeavoured to call in the aid of miracles to enforce his ex⯑hortations. [51] So much aſſiduity, together with the earneſtneſs of his addreſs, the auſterity of his life and the example of his followers, at laſt powerfully operated. The king openly eſpouſed the Chriſtian religion, while his example wrought ſo ſucceſsfully on his ſubjects, that numbers of them came voluntarily to be baptiz⯑ed, their miſſioner loudly declaring againſt any coercive means towards their converſion. The heathen temples being purified, were changed to places of Chriſtian worſhip, and ſuch churches as had been ſuffered to decay were repaired. The more to facilitate the reception of Chriſtianity, the pope enjoined his miſſioner to remove the pagan idols, but not to throw down the altars, obſerving, that the people would be allured to frequent thoſe places, which they had formerly been accuſtomed to revere. He alſo permitted him to indulge the people in thoſe feaſts and chearful entertainments which they had been formerly accuſtomed to celebrate near the places of their idolatrous worſhip. The people thus exchanged their ancient opinions with readineſs, ſince they found themſelves indulged in thoſe innocent relaxations which are only immoral when carried to an exceſs. Auguſ⯑tine was conſecrated archbiſhop of Canterbury, endowed with authority over all the Britiſh [52] churches, and his aſſociates, having ſpread themſelves over all the country, completed that converſion which was ſo happily begun.

The kingdom of the heptarchy which next embraced the Chriſtian faith was that of Northumberland, at that time the moſt power⯑ful of the reſt: Edwin, a wiſe, brave, and active prince, then king of the country, was married to Ethelburga, the daughter of Ethelbert, who had been ſo lately converted. This princeſs, emulating the glory of her mo⯑ther, who had been the inſtrument of convert⯑ing her huſband and his ſubjects to Chriſtiani⯑ty, carried Paulinus, a learned biſhop, with her into Northumberland, having previouſly ſtipulated for the free exerciſe of her religion. Edwin, whom his queen unceaſingly ſolicited. to embrace Chriſtianity, for a long time heſi⯑tated on the propoſal, willing to examine its doctrines before he declared in their favour. Accordingly he held ſeveral conferences with Paulinus, diſputed with his counſellors, medi⯑tated alone, and, after a ſerious diſcuſſion, de⯑clared himſelf a Chriſtian. The high prieſt alſo of the pagan ſuperſtition ſoon after declar⯑ing himſelf a convert to the arguments of Pau⯑linus, and the whole body of the people una⯑nimouſly followed their example.

[53]The authority of Edwin, who was thus converted, ſoon after prevailed upon Earp⯑wold, the king of the Eaſt Angles, to embrace Chriſtianity. This monarch, however, after the death of Edwin, relapſed into his former idolatry, at the perſuaſion of his wife. But upon his deceaſe, Sigebert, his half-brother, who had been educated in France, reſtored Chriſtianity, and introduced learning among the Angles.

Mercia, the moſt powerful kingdom of all the Saxon heptarchy, owed its converſion, like the former, to a woman. The wife of Peada, who was the daughter of Oſwy, king of Northumberland, having been bred in the Chriſtian faith, employed her influence with ſucceſs in converting her huſband and his ſub⯑jects. But it ſeems the new religion was at⯑tended with ſmall influence on the manners of that fierce people, as we find Otto, one of their new converted kings, in a few reigns after, treacherouſly deſtroying Ethelbert, king of the Eaſt Angles, at an entertainment to which he had been invited. However, to make a⯑tonement for this tranſgreſſion, we find him paying great court to the clergy, giving the tenth of his goods to the church, and making a pilgrimage to Rome, where his riches pro⯑cured [54] him the papal abſolution. It was upon this occaſion, the better to ingratiate himſelf with the pope, that he engaged to pay him a yearly donation for the ſupport of an Engliſh college at Rome; and, in order to raiſe the ſum, he impoſed a tax of a penny on each houſe poſſeſſed of thirty pence a year. This impoſition being afterwards generally levied throughout the kingdom, went by the name of Peter-pence, and in ſucceeding times gave riſe to many eccleſiaſtical abuſes.

In the kingdom of Eſſex, Sebert, who was nephew to Ethelbert, king of Kent, of whoſe converſion we have already made mention, was alſo prevailed upon by his uncle to embrace the Chriſtian religion. His ſons, however, re⯑lapſed into idolatry, and baniſhed Melitus, the Chriſtian biſhop, from their territories, be⯑cauſe he refuſed to let them eat the white bread which was diſtributed at the commu⯑nion. But Chriſtianity was reſtored two or three reigns after, by Sigebert the Good; and ſuch was the influence of its doctrines upon Offa, the third in ſucceſſion from him, that he went upon a pilgrimage to Rome, and ſhut himſelf up during the reſt of his life in a cloiſter.

[55]We know but little of the propagation of Chriſtianity in the kingdom of Suſſex; but this being the ſmalleſt of all the Saxon heptarchy, it is probable that it was governed in its opi⯑nions by ſome of its more powerful neigh⯑bours. It is ſaid, that, during the reign of Ciſſa, one of its kings, which continued ſe⯑venty-ſix years, the kingdom fell into a total dependence upon that of Weſſex, and to this it is probable that it owed its con⯑verſion.

The kingdom of Weſſex, which in the end ſwallowed up all the reſt, deſerves our more particular attention. This principality, which, as has been already related, was founded by Cerdic, was, of all the Saxon eſtabliſhments in Britain, the moſt active and warlike. The great oppoſition the invaders of this province originally met from the natives, whom they expelled, not without much bloodſhed, ſerved to carry their martial ſpirit to the higheſt pitch. Cerdic was ſucceeded by his ſon Kenric, and he by Ceanhin, a prince more ambitious and enterprizing than either of the former. He had, by waging continual war againſt the Bri⯑tons, added a great part of the counties of Devon and Somerſet to his dominions; and, not ſatisfied with conqueſts over his natural enemies, he attacked the Saxons themſelves, [56] till, becoming terrible to all, he provoked a general confederacy againſt him. This com⯑bination took place; ſo that he was at laſt ex⯑pelled the throne, and died in exile and mi⯑ſery. His two ſons ſucceeded; and, after a ſucceſſion of two more, Kynegils inherited the crown. This prince embraced Chriſtianity through the perſuaſion of Oſwald, the king of Northumberland, his ſon-in-law. After ſome ſucceeding obſcure reigns, Ceodwalla mounted the throne, an enterprizing, warlike, and ſuc⯑ceſsful prince. He ſubdued entirely the king⯑dom of Suſſex, and annexed it to his own do⯑minions. He made alſo ſome attempts upon Kent, but was repulſed with vigour. Ina, his ſucceſſor, was the moſt renowned and illuſ⯑trious of all the kings who reigned in England during the heptarchy. This monarch inherit⯑ed the military virtues of Ceodwalla, but im⯑proved by policy, juſtice, and prudence. He made war upon the Britons, who yet remained in Somerſet, and having totally ſubdued that province, he treated the vanquiſhed with a hu⯑manity hitherto unknown to the Saxon con⯑querors. In leſs than a year after he mounted the throne of Weſſex, he was declared mo⯑narch of the Anglo Saxons, a remarkable proof of the great character he had acquired. He compiled a body of laws, which ſerved as the [57] ground-work of thoſe which were afterwards publiſhed by Alfred. He alſo aſſembled a general council of the clergy, in which it was determined, that all churches, monaſteries, and places of religious worſhip which had gone to ruin or decay, ſhould be rebuilt and repair⯑ed. At length, after a diſtinguiſhed reign of thirty-ſeven years, in the decline of life, he made a pilgrimage to Rome; and on his re⯑turn home, ſhut himſelf up in a cloiſter, where he died. To him ſucceeded Oſwald, Cu⯑dred, Sigebert, Cenulph, and Brithric; all theſe claiming the crown, not entirely by here⯑ditary right, nor yet totally rejecting their fa⯑mily pretenſions.

It was in the reign of the laſt-named mo⯑narch, that Egbert, a grand-nephew of the late king Ina, began to grow very popular a⯑mong the Weſt Saxons, both on account of his family and private merit. Being ſenſible, how⯑ever, of the danger of popularity, under ſuch a jealous monarch as Brithric, he withdrew ſe⯑cretly into France, to the court of Charle⯑magne, at that time the moſt poliſhed prince of Europe. This was a ſchool, in which young Egbert failed not to make a rapid proficiency; and he ſoon acquired ſuch accompliſhments, both in arts and arms, as raiſed him great⯑ly [58] ſuperior to any of his countrymen at home.

Nor was it long before this prince had an opportunity of diſplaying his natural and ac⯑quired talents to advantage. For Brithric be⯑ing poiſoned by his wife Eadburga, the nobi⯑lity recalled him from France, in order to aſ⯑cend the throne of his anceſtors. About that time alſo,A.D. 799 a fortunate concurrence of events ſeemed to prepare the way for his becoming ſole monarch of the whole country. In all the kingdoms of the Heptarchy, an exact rule of ſucceſſion was but little regarded; while, at the ſame time, family pretenſions were not laid totally aſide. Every perſon of the colla⯑teral line had as good a right to aſſert his right as thoſe who claimed by direct deſcent; ſo that the reigning monarch was under con⯑tinual apprehenſions from the princes of the blood, whom he was taught to conſider as ri⯑vals, and whoſe death alone could enſure him tranquility. From this fatal cauſe, together with the paſſion princes then had of retiring to monaſteries, and the opinion of merit attend⯑ing the preſervation of chaſtity, even in a mar⯑ried ſtate; from theſe cauſes, I ſay, the royal families had been entirely extinguiſhed in all the kingdoms, except that of Weſſex. Thus, [59] Egbert was the only ſurviving deſcendant of thoſe conquerors, who boaſted their deſcent from Woden; and conſequently, beſide his perſonal merit, he had hereditary pretenſions to the throne of the united kingdoms.

It is indeed probable, that he had already planned the union of the Heptarchy; but, in order to avert the ſuſpicions of the neighbour⯑ing ſtates, he attacked the Britons in Cornwall, and continued to act as mediator among the Saxon princes, whoſe differences were become almoſt irreconcileable. His moderation in theſe good offices, the prudence he manifeſted in his own government, and his known capa⯑city in the affairs of war and peace, procured him ſuch a degree of reputation, that he was ſoon conſidered as chief of the Saxon Hep⯑tarchy.

But his ambition was not to be ſatisfied with a mere nominal ſuperiority; he ſtill aim⯑ed at breaking down all diſtinctions, and unit⯑ing theſe petty ſtates into one great and flouriſh⯑ing kingdom. The king of Mercia was the firſt who furniſhed him with a pretext for re⯑covering the part of his dominions, which had formerly been diſmembered by that ſtate. Beornult, the monarch of that country, who had already almoſt obtained the ſovereignty [60] over the Heptarchy, taking advantage of Eg⯑bert's abſence, who was employed in quelling the Britons, invaded his dominions with a nu⯑merous army, compoſed of the flower of his country. Egbert was not remiſs in marching to oppoſe him, with a body of troops leſs nu⯑merous than thoſe of Beornulf, but more brave and reſolute. Both armies met at Wilton, and a battle enſuing, the Mercians were defeated with terrible ſlaughter.

In the mean time, while the victor purſued his conqueſt into the enemies' country, he diſpatched his eldeſt ſon, Ethelwolf, with an army, into the kingdom of Kent, who ſoon made himſelf maſter of the whole nation, and expelled Baldred, their monarch, to whom his ſubjects had paid a very unwilling obedience. The Eaſt Saxons alſo, and part of Surry, diſ⯑ſatisfied with their ſubjection to the Mercians, readily ſubmited to Egbert; nor were the Eaſt Angles backward in ſending ambaſſadors to crave his protection and aſſiſtance, againſt that nation whoſe yoke they had for ſome time en⯑dured, and were reſolved no longer to bear. The Mercian king attempting to repreſs their defection, was defeated, and ſlain: and two years after, Ludecan, his ſucceſſor, met with the ſame fate. Withalf, one of their eolder⯑men, [61] ſoon after put himſelf at their head, but being driven from province to province by the victorious arms of Egbert, he was, at laſt, obliged to take ſhelter in the abbey of Croy⯑land, while Egbert made himſelf maſter of the whole kingdom of Mercia. However, in or⯑der to accuſtom that people to his dominion, he permitted Withalf to govern the kingdom as a vaſſal, and tributary under him; thus, at once, ſatisfying his ambition, and flattering the people with an appearance of their former go⯑vernment.

The kingdom of Northumberland was the laſt that ſubmitted to his authority. This ſtate had been long harraſſed by civil wars and uſur⯑pations: all order had been deſtroyed among the people, and the kingdom was weakened to ſuch a degree, that it was in no condition to withſtand ſuch an invader as Egbert. The inhabitants, therefore, unable to reſiſt his power, and deſirous of poſſeſſing ſome eſta⯑bliſhed form of government, very chearfully ſent deputies, who ſubmitted to his authority, and expreſſed their allegiance to him as their ſovereign. By this ſubmiſſion, all the king⯑doms of the Heptarchy were united under his command; but, to give ſplendour to his au⯑thority, a general council of the clergy and [62] laity was ſummoned at Wincheſter, where he was ſolemnly crowned king of England, by which name the united kingdom was thence⯑forward called.

Thus, about four hundred years after the firſt arrival of the Saxons in Britain, all their petty ſettlements were united into one great ſtate,A.D. 827 and nothing offered, but proſpects of peace, ſecurity, and increaſing refinement. At this period, namely, about the eighth cen⯑tury, the arts and ſciences, which had been be⯑fore only known to the Greeks and Romans, were diſſeminated over Europe, where they were ſufficient to raiſe the people above mere barbarians; but yet loſt all their native ſplendor in the tranſplantation. The Eng⯑liſh, at this time, might be conſidered as po⯑lite, if compared to the naked Britons at the invaſion of Caeſar. The houſes, furniture, cloaths, eating, and all the real luxuries of ſenſe, were almoſt as great then as they have been ſince. But the people were incapable of ſentimental pleaſure. All the learning of the times was confined among the clergy; and little improvement could be expected from their reaſonings, ſince it was one of their te⯑nets to diſcard the light of reaſon. An eclipſe was even by their hiſtorians talked of as an [63] omen of threatened calamities; and magic was not only believed, but ſome actually believed themſelves magicians. The clergy themſelves were not averſe to theſe opinions, as ſuch, in ſome meaſure, ſerved to encreaſe their authority. Indeed, the reverence for the clergy was car⯑ried ſo high, that if a perſon appeared in a ſa⯑cerdotal habit on the highway, the people flocked round him, and with all the marks of profound reſpect, received every word he ut⯑tered as an oracle. From this blind attach⯑ment, the ſocial and even the military vir⯑tues began to decline among them. The re⯑verence towards ſaints and reliques ſerved to ſupplant the adoration of the ſupreme Being. Monaſtic obſervances were eſteemed more me⯑ritorious than active virtues; and bounty to the church atoned for all the violences done to ſociety. The nobility, whoſe duty it was to preſerve the military ſpirit from declining, began to prefer the ſloth and ſecurity of a cloi⯑ſter, to the tumult and glory of war; and theſe rewards, which ſhould have gone to en⯑courage the ſoldier, were laviſhed in main⯑taining the credulous indolence of monaſtic ſuperſtition.

CHAP. IV. From the Acceſſion of EGBERT to the NORMAN CONQUEST.

IT might have been reaſonably expected, that a wiſe and fortunate prince, at the head of ſo great a kingdom, and ſo united and nu⯑merous a people as the Engliſh then were, ſhould not only have enjoyed the fruits of peace and quiet, but left felicity to ſucceeding generations. The inhabitants of the ſeveral provinces, tired out with mutual diſſen⯑tions, [65] ſeemed to have loſt all deſire of revolt⯑ing: the race of their ancient kings was ex⯑tinct, and none now remained, but a prince who deſerved their allegiance, both by the me⯑rit of his ſervices, and the ſplendor of his birth. Yet, ſuch is the inſtability of human affairs, and the weakneſs of man's beſt conjec⯑ture, that Egbert was hardly ſettled on his united throne, when both he and his ſubjects began to be alarmed at the approach of new and unknown enemies, and the iſland expoſed to freſh invaſions.

About this time,A.D. 819 a mighty ſwarm of thoſe nations, who had poſſeſſed the countries bor⯑dering on the Baltic, began, under the names of Danes and Normans, to infeſt the weſtern coaſts of Europe; and to fill all places, where⯑ever they came, with ſlaughter and devaſta⯑tion. Theſe were, in fact, no other than the anceſtors of the very people whom they came to deſpoil, and might be conſidered as the ori⯑ginal ſtock from whence the numerous co⯑lonies that infeſted Britain, had migrated ſome centuries before. The Normans fell upon the northern coaſts of France; the Danes chiefly levelled their fury againſt Eng⯑land, their firſt appearance being when Brithric was king of Weſſex. It was then,A.D. 787 that a ſmall [66] body of them landed on the coaſts of that kingdom, with a view of learning the ſtate of the country; and having committed ſome ſmall depredations, fled to their ſhips for ſafe⯑ty. About ſeven years after this firſt attempt, they made a deſcent upon the kingdom of Northumberland, where they pilaged a mo⯑naſtery, but their fleet being ſhattered by a ſtorm, they were defeated by the inhabitants, and put to the ſword. It was not till about five years after the acceſſion of Egbert, that their invaſions became truly formidable. From that time they continued, with unceaſing ferocity, until the whole kingdom was reduced to a ſtate of the moſt diſtreſsful bondage.

As the Saxons had utterly neglected their naval power ſince their firſt ſettlement in Bri⯑tain; the Danes, who ſucceeded them in the empire of the ſea, found no difficulty in land⯑ing upon the iſle of Sheppey, in Kent, which they ravaged, returning to their ſhips loaden with the ſpoil. Their next attempt, the year enſuing, was at the mouth of the Tyne, where they landed a body of fifteen thouſand men, that made good their ground againſt the efforts of Egbert; who, after a battle, was obliged to draw off his forces by night. Within two years after, they landed in [67] Cornwall; and being joined by the Britons there, they advanced towards the borders of Devonſhire, where they were totally routed by Egbert, in a pitched battle, at Hengſdown⯑hill, near Kellington. By this victory, he ſe⯑cured the kingdom from invaſion for ſome time; but his death ſeemed to put a period to the ſucceſs of his countrymen, and to invite the enemy to renew their devaſtations with impunity.

He was ſucceeded by Ethelwolf, his ſon, who had neither the vigour nor the abilities of his father. This prince had been educated in a cloiſter, and had actually taken orders during the life of his elder brother; but, upon his death, he received a diſpenſation to quit the monkiſh habit, and to marry. He was ſcarcely ſettled on his throne, when a fleet of Daniſh ravagers, con⯑ſiſting of thirty-three ſail, landed at Southamp⯑ton; but were repulſed, though not without great ſlaughter on both ſides. However, no de⯑feat could repreſs the obſtinacy, nor no difficul⯑ties daunt the courage of theſe fierce invaders, who ſtill perſevered in their deſcents, and, year after year, made inroads into the country, mark⯑ing their way with pillage, ſlaughter, and de⯑ſolation. Though often repulſed, they al⯑ways obtained their end, of ſpoiling the coun⯑try, [68] and carrying the plunder away. It was their method to avoid coming, if poſſible, to a general engagement; but ſcattering them⯑ſelves over the face of the country, they car⯑ried away, indiſcriminately, as well the inhabi⯑tants themſelves, as all their moveable poſſeſ⯑ſions. If the military force of the country was drawn out againſt them, the invaders either ſtood their ground, if ſtrong enough to oppoſe; or retreated to their ſhips, if incap⯑able of reſiſtance. Thus, by making con⯑tinual and repeated deſcents, every part of England was kept in conſtant alarm, every county fearful of giving aſſiſtance to the next, as its own ſafety was in danger. From this general calamity, the prieſts and monks were no way exempted; they were rather the chief objects on whom theſe Daniſh idolaters wreak⯑ed their reſentment.

In this ſtate of fluctuating ſucceſs, affairs continued for ſome time, the Engliſh often repelling, and as often being repulſed by their fierce invaders; till, at length, the Danes reſolved upon making a ſettlement in the coun⯑try,A.D. 852 and landing on the iſle of Thanet, ſtationed themſelves there. In this place they kept their ground, notwithſtanding a bloody victory gained over them by Ethelwolf. From thence, [69] they ſoon after removed to the iſle of Sheppey, which they conſidered as more convenient for their tumultuary depredations.

In the mean time, Ethelwolf, the wretched monarch of the country, inſtead of exerting his ſtrength to repel theſe invaders, was more ſolicitous to obey the dictates of monkiſh ſu⯑perſtition. In order to manifeſt his devotion to the pope, he ſent his ſon Alfred to Rome, to receive confirmation from his holineſs; and, not ſatisfied with this teſtimony of his zeal, un⯑dertook a pilgrimage thither in perſon. He paſſed a twelvemonth in that city, and gained no ſmall applauſe for his devotion, which he teſtified by his great liberality to the church. In his return home, he married Judith, daugh⯑ter to the emperor Charles the Bald; but on his landing in his own dominions, he was ſur⯑priſed to find his title to the crown diſputed.

His ſecond ſon, Ethelbald, upon the death of his elder brother, perceiving the miſerable ſtate to which the kingdom was reduced, by the king's ill timed ſuperſtitions, formed a con⯑ſpiracy to expel him from the throne The people ſeemed equally divided between the claims of the father and ſon, ſo that a bloody civil war ſeemed likely to complete the picture of the calamities of the times. A diviſion of the [70] kingdom at length terminated the diſpute; the king was content with the eaſtern part of the monarchy, while his ſon was appointed to govern the weſtern, which was the moſt power⯑ful, and the moſt expoſed to danger.

Having come to this agreement, a council was ſummoned of the ſtates of the kingdom; and, beſides the ratification of this grant, a tythe of all the produce of the land was ſettled upon the clergy.

Ethelwolf lived only two years after this agreement; leaving, by will, the kingdom ſhared between his two eldeſt ſons, Ethelbald and Ethelbert; the weſt being conſigned to the former, the eaſt to the latter. The reign of Ethelbald was of no long continuance; however, in ſo ſhort a ſpace, he crowded a number of vices ſufficient to render his name odious to poſte⯑rity. He married Judith, his own mother-in-law, and was, not without great difficulty, prevailed upon to divorce her. The reign of his brother was of longer duration; and, as we are told, was in every reſpect more meritorious. Nevertheleſs, the kingdom was ſtill infeſted by the Danes, who committed great outrages.

This prince was ſucceeded by his brother E⯑thelred, a brave prince, but whoſe valour was in⯑ſufficient to repreſs the Daniſh incurſions. In [71] theſe exploits, he was always aſſiſted by his younger brother, Alfred, afterwards ſurnamed the Great, who ſacrificed all private reſent⯑ment to the public good, having been depriv⯑ed by the king of a large patrimony. It was during this prince's reign, that the Danes, pe⯑netrating into Mercia, took up their win⯑ter quarters at Nottingham; from whence, they were not diſlodged without difficulty. Their next ſtation was at Reading, from whence they infeſted the country with their excurſions. The king, attended by his bro⯑ther Alfred, marched at the head of the Weſt Saxons againſt them; there, after many reci⯑procations of ſucceſs, the king died of a wound which he received in battle, and left to his bro⯑ther Alfred, the inheritance of a kingdom that was now reduced to the brink of ruin.

Nothing could be more deplorable than the ſtate of the country when Alfred came to the throne. The Danes had already ſubdued Northumberland and Eaſt Anglia, and had penetrated into the very heart of Weſſex. The Mercians were united againſt him; the depen⯑dence upon the other provinces of the empire was but precarious: the lands lay uncultivated, through fears of continual incurſions; and all the churches and monaſteries were burned to the [72] ground. In this terrible ſituation of affairs, nothing appeared but objects of terror, and every hope was loſt in deſpair. The wiſdom and virtues of one man were found ſufficient to bring back happineſs, ſecurity, and order; and all the calamities of the times found redreſs from Alfred.

This prince ſeemed born not only to defend his bleeding country, but even to adorn humanity. He had given very early inſtances of thoſe great virtues which after⯑wards adorned his reign; and was anointed by pope Leo as future king, when he was ſent by his father for his education to Rome. On his return from thence, he became every day more the object of his father's fond affec⯑tions; and that, perhaps, was the reaſon why his education was at firſt neglected. He had attain⯑ed the age of twelve, before he was made ac⯑quainted with the loweſt elements of literature; but hearing ſome Saxon poems read, which recounted the praiſe of heroes, his whole mind was rouſed, not only to obtain a ſimilitude of glory, but alſo to be able to tranſmit that glory to poſterity. Encouraged by the queen, his mother, and aſſiſted by a penetrating genius, he ſoon learned to read theſe compoſitions, and proceeded from thence to a knowledge of Latin [73] authors, who directed his taſte, and rectified his ambition.

He was ſcarce come to the crown, when he was obliged to oppoſe the Danes, who had ſeized Wilton, and were exerciſing their uſual ravages on the countries around. He marched againſt them with the few troops he could aſ⯑ſemble on a ſudden, and a deſperate battle was fought, to the diſadvantage of the Engliſh. But it was not in the power of misfortune to abate the king's diligence, though it repreſſed his power to do good. He was in a little time enabled to hazard another engagement; ſo that the enemy, dreading his courage and activity, propoſed terms of peace, which he did not think proper to refuſe. They had by this treaty agreed to relinquiſh the kingdom; but, inſtead of complying with their engagements, they only removed from one place to another, burning and deſtroying wherever they came.

Alfred, thus oppoſed to an enemy whom no ſtationary force could reſiſt, nor no treaty could bind, found himſelf unable to repel the efforts of thoſe ravagers, who from all quarters invaded him. New ſwarms of the enemy arriv⯑ed every year upon the coaſt, and freſh invaſions were ſtill projected. It was in vain that Alfred purſued them, ſtraitened their quarters, and [74] compelled them to treaties; they broke every league; and continuing their attacks with un⯑abated perſeverance, at length totally diſpirit⯑ed his army, and induced his ſuperſtitious ſol⯑diers to believe themſelves abandoned by hea⯑ven, ſince it thus permitted the outrages of the fierce idolaters with impunity. Some of them therefore left their country, and retired into Wales, or fled to the continent. Others ſubmitted to the conquerors, and purchaſed their lives by their freedom. In this univerſal defection, Alfred vainly attempted to remind them of the duty they owed their country and their king; but finding his remonſtrances inef⯑fectual, he was obliged to give way to the wretched neceſſity of the times. Accordingly, relinquiſhing the enſigns of his dignity, and diſmiſſing his ſervants, he dreſſed himſelf in the habit of a peaſant, and lived for ſome time in the houſe of an herdſman, who had been en⯑truſted with the care of his cattle. In this manner, though abandoned by the world, and fearing an enemy in every quarter, ſtill he re⯑ſolved to continue in his country, to catch the ſlighteſt occaſions for bringing it relief. In his ſolitary retreat, which was in the county of Somerſet, at the confluence of the rivers Parret and Thone, he amuſed himſelf with muſic, and [75] ſupported his humble lot with the hopes of better fortune. It is ſaid, that, one day, being commanded by the herdſman's wife, who was ignorant of his quality, to take care of ſome cakes which were baking by the fire, he hap⯑pened to let them burn, for which ſhe ſeverely upbraided him for neglect.

Previous to his retirement, Alfred had con⯑certed meaſures for aſſembling a few truſty friends, whenever an opportunity ſhould offer of annoying the enemy, who were now in poſ⯑ſeſſion of all the country. This choſen band, ſtill faithful to their monarch, took ſhelter in the foreſts and marſhes of Somerſet, and from thence made occaſional irruptions upon ſtrag⯑gling parties of the enemy. Their ſucceſs, in this rapacious and dreary method of living, en⯑couraged many more to join their ſociety, till at length ſufficiently augmented, they repaired to their monarch, who had by that time been reduced by famine to the laſt extremity.

Mean while, Ubba, the chief of the Da⯑niſh commanders, carried terror over the whole land, and now ravaged the country of Wales without oppoſition. The only place where he found reſiſtance was, in his return, from the caſtle of Kenwith, into which the earl of Devonſhire had retired with a ſmall body of [76] troops. This gallant ſoldier finding himſelf un⯑able to ſuſtain a ſiege, and knowing the danger of ſurrendering to a perfidious enemy, was re⯑ſolved, by one deſperate effort, to ſally out and force his way through the beſiegers, ſword in hand. The propoſal was embraced by all his followers, while the Danes, ſecure in their numbers, and in their contempt of the enemy, were not only routed with great ſlaughter, but Ubba, their general, was ſlain.

This victory once more reſtored courage to the diſpirited Saxons; and Alfred, taking ad⯑vantage of their favourable diſpoſition, pre⯑pared to animate them to a vigorous exertion of their ſuperiority. He ſoon therefore ap⯑prized them of the place of his retreat, and in⯑ſtructed them to be ready with all their ſtrength at a minute's warning. But ſtill none was found who would undertake to give intelligence of the forces and poſture of the enemy. Not know⯑ing, therefore, a perſon in whom to confide, he undertook this dangerous taſk himſelf. In the ſimple dreſs of a ſhepherd, with an harp in his hand, he entered the Daniſh camp, tried all his arts to pleaſe, and was ſo much ad⯑mired, that he was brought even into the pre⯑ſence of Guthrum, the Daniſh prince, with whom he remained ſome days. There he re⯑marked [77] the ſupine ſecurity of the Danes, their contempt of the Engliſh, their negligence in foraging and plundering, and their diſſolute waſting of ſuch ill-gotten booty. Having made his obſervations, he returned to his retreat, and detaching proper emiſſaries among his ſubjects, appointed them to meet him in arms in the fo⯑reſt of Selwood, a ſummon which they glad⯑ly obeyed.

It was againſt the moſt unguarded quarter of the enemy that Alfred made his moſt violent attack, while the Danes, ſurprized to behold an army of Engliſh, whom they conſidered as totally ſubdued, made but a faint reſiſtance, notwithſtanding the ſuperiority of their num⯑ber. They were routed with great ſlaughter; and, though ſuch as eſcaped fled for refuge into a fortified camp in the neighbourhood, yet, being unprovided for a ſiege, in leſs than a fortnight they were compelled to ſurrender at diſcretion. By the conqueror's permiſſion,A.D. 876 thoſe who did not chuſe to embrace Chriſti⯑anity embarked for Flanders, under the com⯑mand of one of their generals called Haſtings. Gothrum, their prince, became a convert, with thirty of his nobles, and the king himſelf an⯑ſwered for him at the font.

[78]Of the Danes who had enliſted with Haſ⯑tings, a part returned, contrary to agreement, once more to ravage that country where they had been ſo mercifully ſpared, and landing on the coaſts of Kent, advanced towards Rocheſ⯑ter, in hopes of ſurpriſing that city. They were ſoon, however, deterred from proceeding, by hearing that Alfred was upon his march to oppoſe them. That ſuch depredations might be prevent⯑ed for the future, this monarch equipped a ſtrong fleet of his own, with which he attacked and deſtroyed ſixteen of their veſſels in the port of Harwich. There was now but the port of London open to the invaders, and as that city was but weakly garriſoned, he ſoon reduced it to capitulation. Having augmented its forti⯑fications, and embelliſhed it with a number of new edifices, he delivered it in charge to his ſon-in law, Ethelred, and thus ſecured the whole country from foreign danger.

Alfred had now attained the meridian of glory; he poſſeſſed a greater extent of territory than had ever been enjoyed by any of his pre⯑deceſſors; the kings of Wales did him homage for their poſſeſſions, the Northumbrians re⯑ceived a king of his appointing, and no enemy appeared to give him the leaſt apprehenſions, or excite an alarm. In this ſtate of proſperity and [79] profound tranquillity, which laſted for twelve years, Alfred was diligently employed in cul⯑tivating the arts of peace, and in repairing the damages which the kingdom had ſuſtained by war. After rebuilding the ruined cities, which had been deſtroyed by the Danes, he eſtabliſh⯑ed a regular militia for the defence of the king⯑dom. He took care that all his ſubjects ſhould be armed and regiſtered; he aſſigned them a regular rotation of duty; a part was employed to cultivate the land, while others were ap⯑pointed to repel any ſudden invaſion from the enemy. He took care to provide a naval force that was more than a match for the invaders, and trained his ſubjects as well in the practice of ſailing as of naval engagements. A fleet of an hundred and twenty ſhips of war was thus ſta⯑tioned along the coaſts; and being well ſupplied with all things neceſſary, both for ſubſiſtence and war, it impreſſed the incurſive enemy with awe. Not but that there ſucceeded ſome very formi⯑dable deſcents, which the king found it difficult to repreſs. Haſtings, the Daniſh chieftain, in particular, appeared off the coaſt of Kent with a fleet of three hundred and fifty ſail; and al⯑though his forces were vigorouſly oppoſed and repulſed by the vigilance of Alfred, yet he found means to ſecure himſelf in the poſſeſſion [80] of Bamflete, near the Iſle of Canvey, in the county of Eſſex. But he was not long ſettled there, when his garriſon was overpowered by a body of the citizens of London, with great ſlaughter, and his wife and two ſons made cap⯑tives. Theſe experienced the king's clemen⯑cy: he reſtored them to Haſtings, on condi⯑tion that he ſhould depart the kingdom. Nor were the Eaſt-Anglian Danes, as well as inſur⯑gents of Northumberland, much more ſuc⯑ceſsful. Theſe broke into rebellion; and, yielding to their favourite habits of depreda⯑tion, embarked on board two hundred and for⯑ty veſſels, and appeared before Exeter. There, however, they met a very bloody reception from Alfred, and were ſo diſcouraged, that they put to ſea again without attempting any other enterprize. A third body of piratical Danes were even more unſucceſsful than either of the former. Great numbers of them, after the departure of Haſtings, ſeized and fortified Sho⯑bury, at the mouth of the Thames, and having left a garriſon there, marched along the banks of the river till they came to Bodington, in the county of Glouceſter, where being reinforced by a body of Welſhmen, they threw up entrench⯑ments, and prepared for defence. There they were ſurrounded by the king's forces, and reduc⯑ed [81] to the utmoſt extremity. After having eaten their horſes, and having many of them periſhed with hunger, they made a deſperate ſally, in which numbers were cut to pieces. Thoſe who eſcaped, being purſued by the vigi⯑lance of Alfred, were finally diſperſed, or to⯑tally deſtroyed. Nor did he treat the Nor⯑thumbrian freebooters with leſs ſeverity. Fal⯑ling upon them while they were exerciſing their ravages in the weſt, he took twenty of their ſhips; and having tried all the priſoners at Wincheſter, he hanged them as pirates, and as the common enemies of mankind.

Having, by this vigilance and well-timed ſe⯑verity, given peace and total ſecurity to his ſubjects, his next care was to poliſh the coun⯑try by arts, as he had protected it by arms. He is ſaid to have drawn up a body of laws; but thoſe which remain to this day under his name ſeem to be only the laws already practiſed in the country by his Saxon anceſtors, and to which, probably, he gave his ſanction. The trial by juries, mulcts and fines for offences, by ſome aſcribed to him, are of a much more an⯑cient date. The care of Alfred for the encou⯑ragement of learning did not a little tend to improve the morals and reſtrain the barbarous habits of the people. When he came to the [82] throne, he found the Engliſh ſunk into the groſſeſt ignorance and barbariſm, proceeding from the continued diſorders of the govern⯑ment, and from the ravages of the Danes. He himſelf complains, that, on his acceſſion, he knew not one perſon ſouth of the Thames who could ſo much as interpret the Latin ſervice. To remedy this deficiency, he invited over the moſt celebrated ſcholars from all parts of Eu⯑rope; he founded, or at leaſt re-eſtabliſhed, the univerſity of Oxford, and endowed it with ma⯑ny privileges. He gave, in his own example, the ſtrongeſt incentives to ſtudy. He uſually divided his time into three equal portions; one was given to ſleep, and the refection of his body, diet, and exerciſe; another to the diſpatch of buſineſs; and the third to ſtudy and devotion. He made a conſiderable progreſs in the different ſtudies of grammar, rhetoric, philoſo⯑phy, architecture, and geometry He was an ex⯑cellent hiſtorian, he underſtood muſic, and was acknowledged to be the beſt Saxon poet of the age. He left many works behind him, many of which remain to this day. He tranſlated the partoral of Gregory I. Boetius de Conſola⯑tione, and Bede's Eccleſiaſtical Hiſtory, into the Saxon language. Senſible that his illite⯑rate ſubjects were not much ſuſceptible of ſpe⯑culative [83] inſtruction, he endeavoured to convey his morality by parables and ſtories, and is ſaid to have tranſlated from the Greek the fables of Aeſop. Nor did he even neglect the more me⯑chanical arts of life. Before his time, the ge⯑nerality of the people chiefly made uſe of timber in building. Alfred raiſed his palaces of brick, and the nobility by degrees began to imitate his example. He introduced and encouraged manufactures of all kinds, and no inventor or improver of any ingenious art was ſuffered to go unrewarded. Even the elegancies of life were brought to him from the Mediterranean; and his ſubjects, by ſeeing theſe productions of the peaceful arts, were taught to reſpect the virtues of juſtice and induſtry, by which alone they could be procured. It was after a glorious reign of twenty-nine years thus ſpent, in the ad⯑vancement of his ſubjects happineſs,A.D. 901 that he died in the vigour of his age and the full enjoyment of his faculties, an example to princes, and an ornament to human nature. To give a cha⯑racter of this prince would only be, to ſum up thoſe qualities which conſtitute perfection. Even virtues ſeemingly oppoſite, were happily blended in his diſpoſition; perſevering, yet flexible; moderate, yet enterpriſing; juſt, yet merciful; ſtern in command, yet gentle in [84] converſation. Nature alſo, as if deſirous that ſuch admirable qualities of mind ſhould be ſet off to the greateſt advantage, had beſtowed on him all bodily accompliſhments, vigour, dignity, and an engaging, open countenance. In ſhort, hiſ⯑torians have taken ſuch delight in deſcribing the hero, that they have totally omitted the mention of his ſmaller errors, which doubtleſs he muſt have had in conſequence of his huma⯑nity.

Alfred had, by his wife Ethelſwitha, the daughter of a Mercian earl, three ſons and three daughters. His eldeſt ſon, Edmund, died without iſſue, during his father's lifetime. His third ſon, Ethelward, inherited his fa⯑ther's paſſion for letters, and lived a private life. His ſecond ſon, Edward, ſucceeded him on the throne.

EDWARD was ſcarce ſettled on the throne, when his pretenſions were diſputed by Ethel⯑wald, his couſin-german, who raiſed a large party among the Northumbrians to eſpouſe his cauſe. At firſt his aims ſeemed to be favoured by fortune; but he was ſoon after killed in battle, and his death thus freed Edward from a very dangerous competitor. Nevertheleſs, the death of their leader was not ſufficient to intimidate his turbulent adherents. During the whole of [85] this prince's reign, there were but few inter⯑vals free from the attempts and inſurrections of the Northumbrian rebels. Many were the battles he fought, and the victories he won; ſo that, though he might be deemed unequal to his father in the arts of peace, he did not fall ſhort of him in the military virtues. He built ſeveral caſtles, and fortified different cities. He reduced Turkethill, a Daniſh invader, and obliged him to retire with his followers. He ſubdued the Eaſt Angles, and acquired dominion over the Northum⯑brians themſelves. He was aſſiſted in theſe conqueſts by his ſiſter, Ethelfleda, the widow of Ethelbert, earl of Mercia, who, after her huſband's death, retained the government of that province. Thus, after Edward had re⯑duced the whole kingdom to his obedience, and began his endeavours to promote the happineſs of his people, he was prevented by death from the completion of his de⯑ſigns.

To him ſucceeded ATHELSTAN,A.D. 925 his natural ſon, the illegitimacy of his birth not being then deemed a ſufficient obſtacle to his inhe⯑riting the crown. To this prince, as to the former, there was ſome oppoſition made in the beginning. Alfred, a nobleman of his kin⯑dred, [86] is ſaid to have entered into a conſpiracy againſt him, in favour of the legitimate ſons of the deceaſed king, who were yet too young to be capable of governing themſelves. What⯑ever his attempts might have been, he denied the charge, and offered to clear himſelf of it by oath before the pope. The propoſal was ac⯑cepted; and it is aſſerted, that he had ſcarce ſworn himſelf innocent, when he fell into con⯑vulſions, and died three days after. This mo⯑narch received alſo ſome diſturbance from the Northumbrian Danes, whom he compelled to ſurrender; and reſenting the conduct of Con⯑ſtantine, the king of Scotland, who had given them aſſiſtance, he ravaged that country with impunity, till at length he was appeaſed by the humble ſubmiſſions of that monarch. Theſe ſubmiſſions, however, being extorted, were in⯑ſincere. Soon after Athelſtan had evacuated that kingdom, Conſtantine entered into a con⯑federacy with a body of Daniſh pirates, and ſome Welch princes who were jealous of Athel⯑ſtan's growing greatneſs. A bloody battle was fought near Brunſburg, in Northumberland, in which the Engliſh monarch was again victo⯑rious. After this ſucceſs, Athelſtan enjoyed his crown in tranquillity, and he is regarded as one of the ableſt and moſt active of the Saxon [87] kings. During his reign the Bible was tranſ⯑lated into the Saxon language; and ſome al⯑liances alſo were formed by him with the princes on the continent.A.D. 941 He died at Glouceſ⯑ter, after a reign of ſixteen years, and was ſuc⯑ceeded by his brother, Edmund.

EDMUND, like the reſt of his predeceſſors, met with diſturbance from the Northum⯑brians on his acceſſion to the throne; but his activity ſoon defeated their attempts. The great end therefore which he aimed at, during his reign, was to curb the licentiouſneſs of this people, who offered to embrace Chriſtianity as an atonement for their offences. Among other ſchemes for the benefit of the people, he was the firſt monarch who by law inſtituted capital pu⯑niſhments in England. Remarking that fines and pecuniary mulcts were too gentle methods of treating robbers, who were in general men who had nothing to loſe, he enacted, that, in gangs of robbers, when taken, the oldeſt of them ſhould be condemned to the gallows. This was reckoned a very ſevere law at the time it was enacted; for, among our early anceſtors, all the penal laws were mild and merciful. The reſentment this monarch bore to men of this deſperate way of living was the cauſe of his death. His virtues, abilities, wealth, and temperance, promiſed [88] him a long and happy reign; when, on a cer⯑tain day, as he was ſolemnizing a feſtival in Glouceſterſhire, he remarked that Leolf, a no⯑torious robber, whom he had ſentenced to ba⯑niſhment, had yet the boldneſs to enter the hall where he was dining, and to ſit at the table among the loyal attendants. Enraged at this inſolence, he commanded him to leave the room; but on his refuſing to obey, the king, whoſe temper was naturally choleric, flew a⯑gainſt him, and caught him by the hair. The ruffian, giving way to rage alſo on his ſide, drew a dagger, and lifting his arm, with a fu⯑rious blow ſtabbed the monarch to the heart, who fell down on the boſom of his murderer. The death of the aſſaſſin, who was inſtantly cut in pieces, was but a ſmall compenſation for the loſs of a king, loved by his ſubjects, and de⯑ſerving their eſteem.

The late king's ſons were too young to ſuc⯑ceed him in the direction of ſo difficult a go⯑vernment as that of England; his brother EDRED was therefore appointed to ſucceed, and, like his predeceſſors, this monarch found him⯑ſelf at the head of a rebellious and refractory people. The Northumbrian Danes, as uſual, made ſeveral attempts to ſhake off the Engliſh yoke; ſo that the king was at laſt obliged to [89] place garriſons in their moſt conſiderable towns, and to appoint an Engliſh governor over them, who might ſuppreſs their inſurrections on the firſt appearance. About this time, the monks, from being contented to govern in ec⯑cleſiaſtical matters, began to aſſume the direc⯑tion in civil affairs; and, by artfully managing the ſuperſtitions, and the fears of the people, erected an authority that was not ſhaken off for ſeveral ſucceeding centuries. Edred had blindly delivered over his conſcience to the guidance of Dunſtan, abbot of Glaſtonbury, who was afterwards canonized; and this man, under the appearance of ſanctity, concealed the moſt boundleſs ambition. The monks had hitherto been a kind of ſecular prieſts, who, though they lived in communities, were neither ſeparated from the reſt of the world, nor uſe⯑leſs to it. They were often married; they were aſſiduouſly employed in the education of youth, and ſubject to the commands of tem⯑poral ſuperiors. The celibacy, and the inde⯑pendency of the clergy, as being a meaſure that would contribute to the eſtabliſhment of the papal power in Europe, was warmly recom⯑mended by the ſee of Rome to all eccleſiaſtics in general, but to the monks in particular. The preſent favourable opportunity offered of [90] carrying this meaſure in England, ariſing from the ſuperſtitious character of Edred, and the furious zeal of Dunſtan. Both lent it all the aſſiſtance in their power; and the order of Be⯑nedictine monks was eſtabliſhed under the di⯑rection of Dunſtan. Edred implicitly ſubmit⯑ted to his directions both in church and ſtate; and the kingdom was in a fair way of being turned into a papal province by this zealous eccleſiaſtic, when he was checked in the midſt of his career, by the death of the king, who died of a quinſey, in the tenth year of his reign.

A.D. 954 Edwy, his nephew, who aſcended the throne, his own ſons being yet unfit to govern, was a prince of great perſonal accompliſhments, and a martial diſpoſition. But he was now come to the government of a kingdom, in which he had an enemy to contend with, againſt whom, all mi⯑litary virtues could be of little ſervice. Dun⯑ſtan, who had governed during the former reign, was reſolved to remit nothing of his au⯑thority in this; and Edwy, immediately upon his acceſſion, found himſelf involved in a quar⯑rel with the monks; whoſe rage, neither his ac⯑compliſhments nor his virtues could mitigate. He ſeems to have been elected by the ſecular prieſts in oppoſition to the monks; ſo that their whole [91] body, and Dunſtan at their head, purſued him with implacable animoſity while living, and even endeavoured to brand his character to poſterity.

This Dunſtan, who makes a greater figure in theſe times, then even kings themſelves, was born of noble parents, in the weſt; but being defamed as a man of licentious manners in his youth, he betook himſelf to the auſte⯑rities of a monaſtic life, either to atone for his faults, or vindicate his reputation. He ſeclud⯑ed himſelf entirely from the world, in a cell ſo ſmall, that he could neither ſtand erect, nor lie along in it. It was in this retreat of conſtant mortification, that his zeal grew furious, and his fancy teemed with viſions of the moſt extra⯑vagant nature. His ſuppoſed illuminations were frequent; his temptations ſtrong, but he alway reſiſted with bravery. The devil, it was ſaid, one day paid him a viſit in the ſhape of a fine young woman; but Dunſtan, knowing the deceit, and provoked at his importunity, ſeiz⯑ed him by the noſe with a pair of red hot pincers, as he put his head into the cell, and he held him there, till the malignant ſpirit made the whole neighbourhood reſound with his bellowings. No⯑thing was ſo abſurd, but what the monks were ready to propagate in favour of their [92] ſect. Crucifixes, altars, and even horſes, were heard to harrangue in their defence againſt the ſecular clergy. Theſe miracles, backed by their ſtronger aſſertions, prevailed with the people. Dunſtan was conſidered as the peculiar favourite of the Almighty, and appeared at court with an authority greater than that of kings; ſince their's was conferred by man, but his allowed by heaven itſelf. Being poſſeſſed of ſo much power, it may be eaſily ſuppoſed, that Edwy could make but a feeble reſiſtance; and, that his firſt fault was likely to be attended with the moſt dangerous conſequences. The monk found or made one on the very day of his coronation. There was a lady of the royal blood, named Elgiva, whoſe beauty had made a ſtrong im⯑preſſion on this young monarch's heart. He had even ventured to marry her, contrary to the ad⯑vice of his counſellors, as ſhe was within the degrees of affinity prohibited by the canon law. On the day of his coronation, while his nobi⯑lity were giving a looſe to the more noiſy plea⯑ſures of wine and feſtivity in the great hall, Edwy retired to his wife's apartment; where, in company with her mother, he enjoyed the more pleaſing ſatisfaction of her converſation. Dunſtan no ſooner perceived his abſence, than conjecturing the reaſon, he ruſhed furiouſly [93] into the apartment, and upbraiding him with all the bitterneſs of eccleſiaſtical rancour, drag⯑ged him forth in the moſt outrageous manner. Dunſtan, it ſeems, was not without his enemies, for the king was adviſed to puniſh this inſult, by bringing in him to account for the money with which he had been entruſted during the laſt reign. This account, the haughty monk refuſed to give in; wherefore, he was deprived of all the eccleſiaſtical and civil emoluments of which he had been in poſſeſſion, and baniſhed the kingdom. His exile only ſerved to encreaſe the reputation of his ſanctity among the people; and Odo, archbiſhop of Canterbury, was ſo far tranſported with the ſpirit of the party, that he pronounced a divorce between Edwy and El⯑giva. Eccleſiaſtical cenſures were then attend⯑ed with the moſt formidable effects. The king could no longer reſiſt the indignation of the church, but conſented to ſurrender his beautiful wife to its fury. Accordingly, Odo ſent into the palace a party of ſoldiers, who ſeized the queen; and, by his orders, branded her on the face with an hot iron. Not content⯑ed with this cruel vengeance, they carried her by force into Ireland, and there command⯑ed her to remain in perpetual exile. This in⯑junction, however, was too diſtreſſing for that [94] faithful woman to comply with; for, being cured of her wound, and having obliterated the marks which had been made to deface her beauty, ſhe once more ventured to return to the king, whom ſhe ſtill regarded as her huſ⯑band. But misfortune ſtill continued to pur⯑ſue her. She was taken priſoner by a party whom the archbiſhop had appointed to ob⯑ſerve her conduct, and was put to death in the moſt cruel manner; the ſinews of her legs cut, and her body mangled, ſhe was thus left to expire in the moſt cruel agony. In the mean time, a ſecret revolt againſt Edwy became almoſt ge⯑neral; and that it might not be doubted at whoſe inſtigation this revolt was undertaken, Dunſtan returned to England, and put himſelf at the head of the party. The malecontents at laſt proceeded to open rebellion; and, having placed Edgar, the king's younger brother, a boy of about thirteen years of age, at their head, they ſoon put him in poſſeſſion of all the northern parts of the king⯑dom. Edwy's power, and the number of his adherents every day declining, he was at laſt obliged to conſent to a partition of the king⯑dom; but his death, which happened ſoon af⯑ter, freed his enemies from all further in⯑quietude, and gave Edgar peaceable poſſeſ⯑ſion of the government.

[95]Edgar being placed on the throne by the influence of the monks,A.D. 959 affected to be entire⯑ly guided by their directions in all his ſucceed⯑ing tranſactions. There has ever been ſome popular cry, ſome darling prejudice amongſt the Engliſh; and he, who has taken the ad⯑vantage of it, has always found it of excellent aſſiſtance to his government. The ſanctity of the monks was the cry at that time; and Ed⯑gar, chiming in with the people, at once pro⯑moted their happineſs, and his own glory. Few Engliſh monarchs have reigned with more fortune, or more ſplendor than he. He not on⯑ly quieted all domeſtic inſurrections, but re⯑preſſed all foreign invaſions; and his power was ſo well eſtabliſhed, and ſo widely extended, that he is ſaid to have been rowed in his barge by eight tributary kings upon the river Dee. The monks, whom he promoted, are loud in his praiſe; and yet, the example of his con⯑tinence was no way correſponding with that chaſtity and forbearance on which they chiefly founded their ſuperior pretenſions to ſanctity. It is indeed ſomewhat extraordinary, that one ſhould have been extolled for his virtues by the monks, whoſe irregularities were ſo peculiarly oppoſite to the tenets they enforced. His firſt tranſgreſſion of this kind was, the breaking in⯑to [96] a convent, carrying off Editha, a nun, by force, and even committing violence on her perſon. For this act of ſacrilege and barbarity, no other penance was enjoined, than that he ſhould abſtain from wearing his crown for ſeven years. As for the lady herſelf, he was permitted to continue his intercourſe with her without ſcandal. There was another miſtreſs of Edgar's, named Elfleda the Fair, with whom he formed a connec⯑tion, by a kind of accident. For being at the houſe of one of his nobles, and fixing his affec⯑tions on the nobleman's daughter, he privately requeſted that the young lady ſhould paſs that very night with him. The lady's mother knowing his power, and the impetuoſity of his temper, prevailed upon her daughter ſeem⯑ingly to comply with his requeſt; but, in the mean time, ſubſtituted a beautiful domeſtic in the young lady's place. In the morning, when the king perceived the deceit, inſtead of being diſpleaſed at the ſtratagem, he expreſſed pleaſure in the adventure; and transferring his love to Elfleda, as the damſel was called, ſhe became his favourite miſtreſs, and main⯑tained an aſcendency over him till his marriage with Elfrida. The ſtory of this lady is too remarkable to be paſt over in ſilence.

Edgar had long heard of the beauty of a young lady, whoſe name was Elfrida, daughter [97] to the earl of Devonſhire; but, unwilling to credit common fame in this particular, he ſent Ethelwald, his favourite friend, to ſee, and in⯑form him, if Elfrida was indeed that incom⯑parable woman report had deſcribed her. Ethelwald arriving at the earl's, had no ſooner caſt his eyes upon that nobleman's daughter, than he became deſperately enamoured of her himſelf. Such was the violence of his paſſion, that, forgeting his maſter's intentions, he ſoli⯑cited only his own intereſts, and demanded for himſelf the beautiful Elfrida from her father in marriage. The favourite of a king was not likely to find a refufal; the earl gave his con⯑ſent, and their nuptials were performed in pri⯑vate. Upon his return to court, which was ſhortly after, he aſſured the king, that her riches alone, and her high quality, had been the cauſe of her admiration, and he appeared amazed how the world could talk ſo much, and ſo un⯑juſtly of her charms. The king was ſatisfied, and no longer felt any curioſity, while Ethel⯑wald ſecretly triumphed in his addreſs. When he had, by this deceit, weaned the king from his purpoſe, he took an opportunity, after ſome time, of turning the converſation on Elfrida, repreſenting, that though the fortune of the earl of Devonſhire's daughter would be a trifle [98] to a king, yet it would be an immenſe acquiſition to a needy ſubject. He, therefore, humbly en⯑treated permiſſion to pay his addreſſes to her, as ſhe was the richeſt heireſs in the kingdom. A requeſt ſo ſeemingly reaſonable, was readily complied with; Ethelwald returned to his wife, and their nuptials were ſolemnized in public. His greateſt care, however, was em⯑ployed in keeping her from court; and he took every precaution, to prevent her appear⯑ing before a king ſo ſuſceptible of love, while ſhe was ſo capable of inſpiring that paſſion. But it was impoſſible to keep his treachery long concealed. Favourites are never without pri⯑vate enemies, who watch every opportunity of riſing upon their ruin. Edgar was ſoon in⯑formed of the whole tranſaction; but diſſem⯑bling his reſentment, he took occaſion to viſit that part of the country, where this miracle of beauty was detained, accompanied by Ethel⯑wald, who reluctantly attended him thither. Upon coming near the lady's habitation, he told him, that he had a curioſity to ſee his wife, of whom he had formerly heard ſo much, and deſired to be introduced as his acquaintance. Ethelwald, thunder-ſtruck at the propoſal, did all in his power, but in vain, to diſſuade him. All he could obtain, was permiſſion to go be⯑fore, [99] on pretence of preparing for the king's re⯑ception. On his arrival, he fell at his wife's feet, confeſſing what he had done to be poſſeſ⯑ſed of her charms, and conjuring her to con⯑ceal, as much as poſſible, her beauty from the king, who was but too ſuſceptible of its power. Elfrida, little obliged to him for a paſſion that had deprived her of a crown, promiſed com⯑pliance; but, prompted either by vanity, or revenge, adorned her perſon with the moſt ex⯑quiſite art, and called up all her beauty on the occaſion. The event anſwered her expecta⯑tions; the king, no ſooner ſaw, than he loved her, and was inſtantly reſolved to obtain her. The better to effect his intentions, he conceal⯑ed his paſſion from the huſband, and took leave with a ſeeming indifference; but his revenge was not the leſs certain and fatal. Ethelwald was ſome time after ſent into Northumberland, upon pretence of urgent affairs, and was found murdered in a wood by the way. Some ſay, he was ſtabbed by the king's own hand; ſome, that he only commanded the aſſaſſina⯑tion; however this be, Elfrida was invited ſoon after to court, by the king's own order, and their nuptials were performed with the uſual ſolemnity.

[100]Such was the criminal paſſions of a mo⯑narch, whom the monks have thought proper to repreſent as the moſt perfect of mankind. His reign was ſucceſsful, becauſe it was found⯑ed upon a compliance with the prejudices of the people; but it produced very ſenſible evils, and theſe fell upon his ſucceſſor. He died, after a reign of ſixteen years, in the thirty-third year of his age, being ſucceeded by his ſon, Edward, whom he had by his firſt mar⯑riage, with the daughter of the earl of Ordmer.

A.D. 957 Edward, ſurnamed the Martyr, was made king by the intereſt of the monks, and lived but four years after his acceſſion. In his reign, there is nothing remarkable, if we except his tragical and memorable end. Though this young monarch had been, from the beginning, oppoſed by Elfrida, his ſtepmother, who ſeems to have united the greateſt deformity of mind, with the higheſt graces of perſon; yet he ever ſhewed her marks of the ſtrongeſt regard, and even expreſſed, on all occaſions, the moſt tender affection for her ſon, his brother. How⯑ever, hunting one day near Corfe-caſtle, where Elfrida reſided, he thought it his duty to pay her a viſit, although he was not attended by any of his retinue. There deſiring ſome liquor to be [101] brought him, as he was thirſty, while he was yet holding the cup to his head, one of Elfrida's domeſtics, inſtructed for that purpoſe, ſtabbed him in the back. The king, finding himſelf wounded, put ſpurs to his horſe; but, fainting with the loſs of blood, he fell from the ſaddle, and his foot ſticking in the ſtirrup, he was dragged along by his horſe, till he was kiled. Being tracked by the blood, his body was found, and privately interred at Wareham by his ſer⯑vants.

Ethelred the Second,A.D. 978 the ſon of Edgar and El⯑frida, ſucceeded; a weak and irreſolute monarch, incapable of governing the kingdom, or pro⯑viding for its ſafety. After a train of diſſen⯑tions, follies, and vices, which ſeem to have marked ſome of the former reigns, it is not ſurpriſing, that the country was weakened; and the people, taught to rely entirely on preterna⯑tural aſſiſtance, were rendered incapable of de⯑fending themſelves. During this period, there⯑fore, their old, and terrible enemies, the Danes, who ſeem not to be loaded with the ſame accu⯑mulation of vice and folly, were daily gaining ground. The weakneſs and the inexperience of Ethelred appeared to give a favourable opportu⯑nity for renewing their depredations; and, ac⯑cordingly, they landed on ſeveral parts of the [102] coaſt, ſpreading their uſual terror and devaſta⯑tion. The Engliſh, ill provided to oppoſe ſuch an enemy, made but a feeble reſiſtance, en⯑deavouring, by treachery, or ſubmiſſion, to a⯑vert the ſtorm they had not ſpirit to oppoſe.

The northern invaders, now well acquainted with the defenceleſs condition of England, made a powerful deſcent, under the command of Sweyn king of Denmark, and Olave king of Norway, who, ſailing up the Humber, commit⯑ted on all ſides their deſtructive ravages. The Engliſh oppoſed them with a formidable army, but were repulſed with great ſlaughter. The Danes, encouraged by this ſucceſs, marched boldly into the heart of the kingdom, filling all places with the marks of horrid cruelty. Ethelred had, upon a former invaſion of theſe pyrates, bought them off with money, and he now reſolved to put the ſame expedient in practice once more. He ſent ambaſſadors, therefore, to the two kings, and offered them ſubſiſtence and tribute, provided they would re⯑ſtrain their ravages and depart the kingdom. It has often been remarked, that buying off an invaſion only ſerves to ſtrengthen the ene⯑my, and to invite a repetition of hoſtili⯑ties; ſuch it happened upon this occaſion: Sweyn and Olave agreed to the terms, and [103] peaceably took up their quarters at South⯑ampton, where the ſum of ſixteen thouſand pounds was paid them. Olave returned to his native country, and never infeſted Eng⯑land more; but Sweyn was leſs ſcrupulous, and the compoſition with him gave but a ſhort interval to the miſeries of the Engliſh.

The Engliſh now found their ſituation truly deplorable. The weakneſs of the king,A.D. 998 the diviſions of the nobility, the treachery of ſome, and the cowardice of others, fruſtrated all their endeavours for mutual defence. The Danes, ever informed of their ſituation, and ready to take advantage of it, appeared a ſhort time after the late infamous compoſition, upon the Engliſh ſhore, and riſing in their de⯑mands, in proportion to the people's incapacity to oppoſe, now demanded twenty-five thouſand pounds more. This ſum they alſo received; and this only ſerved to improve their deſire for freſh exactions. But they ſoon had a material cauſe of reſentment given them, by which the in⯑fraction of the ſtipulated treaty became neceſ⯑ſary. The Danes, as hath been already obſerv⯑ed, had made ſeveral ſettlements, for many years before, in different parts of the king⯑dom. There, without mixing with the natives, they ſtill maintained a peaceable correſpon⯑dence [104] and connexion among them. Their mili⯑tary ſuperiority was generally acknowledged by all; and the kings of England, ſenſible of that, had been accuſtomed to keep in pay bodies of Daniſh troops, whom they quartered in different parts of the country. Theſe mercenaries had attained to ſuch an height of luxury, accord⯑ing to the old Engliſh writers, that they comb⯑ed their hair once a day, bathed themſelves once a week; and, by theſe arts, then eſteemed effeminate, had rendered themſelves ſo agree⯑able to the fair ſex, that they debauched the wives and daughters of the Engliſh, and had diſhonoured many families. To thoſe inſults were added the treachery of their conduct upon eve⯑ry threatened invaſion, as they ſtill ſhewed their attachment to their own countrymen, againſt thoſe among whom they were permitted to re⯑ſide. Theſe were motives ſufficient, in that barbarous age, for a general maſſacre; and Ethelred, by a policy incident to weak princes, embraced the cruel reſolution of putting them all to the ſword. This plot was carried on with ſuch ſecrecy, that it was executed in one day, and all the Danes in England were de⯑ſtroyed without mercy. But this maſſacre, ſo perfidious in the contriving, and ſo cruel in the execution, inſtead of ending the long mi⯑ſeries [105] of the people only prepared the way for greater calamities.

While the Engliſh were yet congratulating each other upon their late deliverance from an inveterate enemy, Sweyn, king of Denmark, who had been informed of their treacherous cruelties, appeared off the weſtern coaſts with a large fleet, meditating ſlaughter; and furious with revenge. The Engliſh vainly attempted to ſummon their forces together, treachery and cowardice ſtill operated, to diſpirit their troops or to diſſipate them. To theſe miſeries were added a dreadful famine, partly from the bad ſeaſons, and partly from the decay of agriculture. For a while they ſuppoſed that the Daniſh devaſta⯑tions would be retarded by the payment of thir⯑ty thouſand pounds, which the invaders agreed to accept; but this, as in all the former caſes, afforded but a temporary relief. For a while they placed ſome hopes in a powerful navy, which they found means to equip; but this was ſoon divided and diſperſed, without doing them any ſervice. Nothing therefore now remained, but their ſuffering the juſt indignation of the conqueror, and undergoing all the evils that war, inflamed by revenge, could inflict. Dur⯑ing this period, a general conſternation, toge⯑ther with a mutual diffidence and diſſention, pre⯑vailed. [106] Ceſſations from theſe calamities were purchaſed, one after another, by immenſe ſums; but as they afforded a ſhort alleviation of the common diſtreſs, at laſt no other reſource re⯑mained, than that of ſubmitting to the Daniſh monarch, of ſwearing allegiance to him, and giv⯑ing hoſtages as pledges of ſincerity. Ethelred was obliged to fly into Normandy, and the whole country thus came under the power of Sweyn, his victorious rival.

The death of Sweyn, which happened about ſix weeks after, ſeemed to offer a favour⯑able opportunity of once more reſtoring Ethel⯑red to the throne, and his ſubjects to their liber⯑ties. Accordingly he ſeized it with avidity; but his miſconducts were incurable, and his in⯑dolence, credulity, and cowardice, obſtructed all ſucceſs. At length, after having ſeen the greateſt part of the kingdom ſeized by the in⯑ſulting enemy, after refuſing to head his troops to oppoſe them, he retired to London, where he ended an inglorious reign of thirty-five years by a natural death, leaving behind him two ſons, the eldeſt of whom, Edmund, ſuc⯑ceeded to his crown and his misfortunes.

A.D. 1016 EDMUND, his ſon and ſucceſſor, received the ſurname of IRONSIDE, from his hardy oppoſi⯑tion to the enemy; but this oppoſition ſeemed [107] as ineffectual to reſtore the happineſs of his country, as it was to continue him in the poſ⯑ſeſſion of the throne. He was oppoſed by one of the moſt powerful and vigilant monarchs then in Europe; for Canute, afterwards ſur⯑named the Great, ſucceeded Sweyn as king of Denmark, and alſo as general of the Daniſh forces in England. The conteſt between theſe two monarchs was therefore managed with great obſtinacy and perſeverance; the firſt bat⯑tle that was fought appeared undeciſive; a ſe⯑cond followed, in which the Danes were victo⯑rious: but Edmund ſtill having intereſt enough to bring a third army into the field, the Daniſh and Engliſh nobility, equally harraſſed by theſe convulſions, obliged their kings to come to a compromiſe, and to divide the kingdom be⯑tween them by treaty. Canute reſerved to himſelf the northern parts of the kingdom, the ſouthern parts were left to Edmund; but this prince being murdered about a month after the treaty by his two chamberlains, at Oxford, Ca⯑nute was left in peaceable poſſeſſion of the whole kingdom.

Canute, though he had gratified his ambi⯑tion, in obtaining poſſeſſion of the Engliſh crown, yet was obliged at firſt to make ſome mortifying conceſſions; and, in order to gain the affections [108] of the nobility, he endeavoured to gratify their avarice. But as his power grew ſtronger, and his title more ſecure, he then reſumed thoſe grants which he had made, and even put many of the Engliſh nobles to death, ſenſible that thoſe who had betrayed their native ſovereign would never be true to him. Nor was he leſs ſevere in his exactions upon the ſubordinate ranks of the people, levying at one time ſeven⯑ty-two thouſand pounds upon the country, and eleven thouſand more upon the city of Lon⯑don only.

Having thus ſtrengthened his new power, by effectually weakening all who had wealth or authority to withſtand him, he next be⯑gan to ſhew the merciful ſide of his charac⯑ter. Nor does it ſeem without juſt grounds that he is repreſented by ſome hiſtorians as one of the firſt characters in thoſe barba⯑rous ages. The invectives which are thrown out againſt him by the Engliſh writers ſeem mere⯑ly the effect of national reſentment, or preju⯑dice, unſupported by truth. His firſt ſtep to reconcile the Engliſh to his yoke, was, by ſend⯑ing back to Denmark as many of his followers as he could ſafely ſpare. He made no diſtinc⯑tion between the Engliſh and Danes in the ad⯑miniſtration of juſtice, but reſtored the Saxon [109] cuſtoms in a general aſſembly of the kingdom. The two nations thus uniting with each other, were glad to breathe for a while from the tu⯑mult and ſlaughter in which they had mu⯑tually involved each other; and, to confirm their amity, the king himſelf married Emma, the ſiſter of Richard, duke of Normandy, who had ever warmly eſpouſed the intereſts of the Engliſh.

Canute having thus ſettled his power in Eng⯑land beyond the danger of a revolution, made a voyage into Denmark, as his native domi⯑nions were attacked by the king of Sweden. In this expedition, Godwin, an Engliſh earl, was particularly diſtinguiſhed for his valour, and acquired that fame which afterwards laid a foundation for the immenſe power he acquired during the ſucceeding reigns. In another voy⯑age he made to Denmark, he attacked Nor⯑way; and, expelling Olaus from his kingdom, annexed it to his own empire. Thus, being at once king of England, Denmark, and Norway, he was conſidered as the moſt warlike and potent prince in Europe; while the ſecurity of his power inclined his temper, which was natu⯑rally cruel, to mercy.

As his reign was begun in blood, he was, to⯑wards the end of it, willing to atone for his for⯑mer [110] fierceneſs, by acts of penance and devotion. He built churches, endowed monaſteries, and appointed revenues for the celebration of maſs. He even undertook a pilgrimage to Rome, where he remained a conſiderable time; and, beſides obtaining from the pope ſome privi⯑leges for the Engliſh ſchool erected there, he engaged all the princes through whoſe domi⯑nions he paſſed to deſiſt from thoſe heavy im⯑poſitions which they were accuſtomed to exact from the Engliſh pilgrims. The piety of the latter part of his life, and the reſolute valour of the former, were topics that filled the mouths of his courtiers with flattery and praiſe. They even affected to think his power uncontroulable, and that all things would be obedient to his command. Canute, ſenſible of their adulation, is ſaid to have taken the following method to reprove them. He ordered his chair to be ſet on the ſea-ſhore while the tide was coming in, and commanded the ſea to retire. ‘"Thou art under my dominion, cried he; the land up⯑on which I ſit is mine; I charge thee therefore, to approach no farther, nor dare to wet the feet of thy ſovereign."’ He feigned to ſit ſome time in expectation of ſubmiſſion, till the waves be⯑gan to ſurround him: then, turning to his courtiers, he obſerved, that the titles of Lord [111] and Maſter belonged only to him whom both earth and ſeas were ready to obey. Thus, feared and reſpected, he lived many years, ho⯑noured with the ſurname of Great for his power, but deſerving it ſtill more for his vir⯑tues. He died at Shafteſbury, in the nineteenth year of his reign, leaving behind him three ſons, Sweyn, Harold, and Hardicnute. Sweyn was crowned king of Norway, Hardicnute was put in poſſeſſion of Denmark, and Harold ſuc⯑ceeded his father on the Engliſh throne.

HAROLD, ſurnamed HAREFOOT,A.D. 1035 from his ſwiftneſs in running, upon his firſt coming to the crown, met with no ſmall oppoſition from his younger brother, Hardicnute. But, by the intervention of the nobles, a compromiſe was made between them; by which it was agreed, that Harold ſhould have London, and all the provinces north of the Thames, while the poſ⯑ſeſſion of the ſouthern parts ſhould be ceded to Hardicnute; and, until that prince ſhould ap⯑pear in perſon, Emma, his mother, ſhould govern in his ſtead. But this agreement was of ſhort duration; for queen Emma having brought over from Normandy Edward and Al⯑fred, deſcendants of the ancient Saxon kings, Alfred was invited, with the warmeſt profeſ⯑ſions of friendſhip, by Harold, to London, and [112] treacherouſly ſet upon, by his orders, on the way. Six hundred of his train were murdered in the moſt cruel manner; he himſelf was ta⯑ken priſoner, and his eyes being put out, he was conducted to the monaſtery of Ely, where he died ſoon after. Edward and Emma, ap⯑priſed of his fate, fled to the continent, and Harold, without reſiſtance, took poſſeſſion of the whole kingdom. He lived to enjoy the fruits of his treachery but four years after; and dying, very little regretted by his ſubjects, he left the ſucceſſion open to his brother.

A.D. 1040 HARDICNUTE's title was readily acknow⯑ledged, both by the Danes and the Engliſh; and, upon his arrival from the continent, he was received with the moſt extravagant demonſtra⯑tions of joy. The ceremony of his coronation was ſcarce performed, when he gave the firſt ſpecimen of the badneſs of his diſpoſition, in his impotent inſults upon the body of his bro⯑ther, which he ordered to be dug up, behead⯑ed, and thrown into the Thames. When it was found ſome time after by a fiſherman, and bu⯑ried, he ordered it to be again dug up, and to be thrown into the Thames a ſecond time. His malice, however, was in the end ineffec⯑tual; for it was again found, and buried with the greateſt ſecrecy. Hardicnute's next act of [113] rigorous ſovereignty, was the impoſition of a grievous tax, for the payment of his navy; which was the more intolerable, as the nation was threatened with a famine. In theſe acts of ſeverity, Godwin, duke of Weſſex, who had been a vile inſtrument of treachery and oppreſ⯑ſion during the former reign, was aſſiſtant now. However, his baſe compliances did not entirely ſcreen him from the reſentment of Emma, who had the ſtrongeſt reaſons to believe that he was inſtrumental in the death of prince Alfred, her ſon. At her inſtigation, therefore, Alfric, arch⯑biſhop of York, accuſed him of being an ac⯑complice, and demanded juſtice accordingly. Godwin found means to evade the danger, by appealing to the king's avarice, and not to the juſtice of his cauſe. He preſented him with a magnificent galley, curiouſly carved and gild⯑ed, rowed by fourſcore men, who wore each of them a gold bracelet on his arm, weighing ſix⯑teen ounces. The king, ſoftened by this pre⯑ſent, permitted him to purge himſelf by oath; and Godwin very readily ſwore, that he had no hand in the death of Alfred. This king's vio⯑lent and unjuſt government was but of ſhort duration. He died two years after his acceſſion, in conſequence of exceſs at the marriage of a Daniſh lord, which was celebrated at Lambeth. [114] His death, far from being regretted by the Engliſh, became the ſubject of their deriſion, his anniverſary being diſtinguiſhed by the name of Hock Holiday.

A.D. 1041 EDWARD, ſurnamed THE CONFESSOR, from his piety, had many rivals, whoſe claims to the crown were rather more juſt than his own. The direct deſcendants of the laſt Saxon mo⯑narch were ſtill in being, though at the remote diſtance of the kingdom of Hungary. Sweyn, the eldeſt ſon of Hardicnute, was ſtill alive, though at that time engaged in wars in Nor⯑way. It required therefore the utmoſt di⯑ligence in Edward to ſecure his claims, before either of theſe could come over to diſpute his title. His own authority, which, though great in the kingdom, was not ſufficient to expedite his affairs with the deſired diſpatch, he was there⯑fore obliged to have recourſe to Godwin, whoſe power was then very extenſive, to ſecond his pretenſions. This nobleman, though long an enemy to his family, finding, upon the preſent occaſion, that their intereſts were united, laid aſide all former animoſity, and concurred in fixing him upon the throne.

The Engliſh, who had long groaned under a foreign yoke, now ſet no bounds to their joy, at finding the line of their ancient mo⯑narchs [115] reſtored; and at firſt the warmth of their raptures was attended with ſome vio⯑lence againſt the Danes; but the new king, by the mildneſs of his character, ſoon compoſed theſe differences, and the diſtinction between the two nations gradually diſappeared. Thus, after a ſtruggle of above two hundred years, all things ſeemed to remain in the ſame ſtate in which thoſe conflicts began. Theſe invaſions from the Danes produced no new change of laws, cuſtoms, language, or religion; nor did any other traces of their eſtabliſhments ſeem to remain, except the caſtles they built, and the families that ſtill bear their names. No far⯑ther mention therefore is made of two diſtinct nations, for the Normans coming in ſoon after, ſerved to unite them into a cloſer union.

The firſt acts of this monarch's reign bore the appearance of ſeverity, for he reſumed all grants that had been made by the crown in for⯑mer reigns; and he ordered his mother, Em⯑ma, who was ever intriguing againſt him, to be ſhut up in a monaſtery. As he had been bred in the Norman court, he ſhewed, in every in⯑ſtance, a predilection for the cuſtoms, laws, and even the natives of that country; and, a⯑mong the reſt of his faults, though he had mar⯑ried Editha, the daughter of Godwin, yet, [116] either from miſtaken piety, or fixed averſion, during his whole reign, he abſtained from her bed.

However theſe actions might be regarded by many of this king's ſubjects, for they were all of a doubtful kind, certain it is, that Godwin, who was long grown much too powerful for a ſubject, made them the pretext of his oppoſi⯑tion. He began by complaining of the influ⯑ence of the Normans in the government, and his animoſities ſoon broke out into action. Euſtace, count of Boulougne, who had married Edward's ſiſter, arrived in England upon a viſit to the king, and was received with great ho⯑nour and affection. Upon his return to Do⯑ver, having ſent a ſervant before him to be⯑ſpeak lodgings in that city, a fray happened between this domeſtic and the townſmen, in which he loſt his life. The count and his at⯑tendants attempting to take revenge, the inha⯑bitants took arms, and both ſides engaging with great fury, the count was obliged to find ſafety by flight, after having loſt about twenty of his men, and ſlain as many of the people. The count, exaſperated at this inſult, returned to the court, at Glouceſter, and demanded juſ⯑tice of the king, who very warmly eſpouſed his quarrel. He inſtantly gave orders to Godwin, [117] in whoſe government Dover lay, to go imme⯑diately to the place, and to puniſh the inhabi⯑tants for their crime. This was a conjuncture highly favourable to the ſchemes of this aſpir⯑ing chief, and thinking that now was the time to ingratiate himſelf with the people, he abſo⯑lutely refuſed to obey the king's command. Senſible, however, that obedience would ſoon be extorted, unleſs he could defend his inſo⯑lence, he prepared for his defence, or, rather, for an attack upon Edward. Accordingly, under a pretence of repreſſing ſome diſorders on the Welſh frontier, he ſecretly aſſembled a great army, and attempted to ſurpriſe the king, who continued, without the ſmalleſt ſuſpicion, at Glouceſter. Nevertheleſs, being ſoon in⯑formed of Godwin's treachery, his firſt ſtep was, privately to ſummon all the aſſiſtance he could, and, in the mean while, to protract the time by a pretended negociation. As ſoon as he found himſelf in a capacity to take the field, he then changed his tone; and Godwin, finding himſelf unable to oppoſe his ſuperior force, or to keep his army together, permitted it to diſperſe, and took ſhelter with Baldwin, earl of Flanders. His eſtates, which were nu⯑merous, together with thoſe of his ſons, were confiſcated, and the greatneſs of the fa⯑mily [118] ſeemed, for a time, totally over⯑thrown.

But this nobleman's power was too ſtrong to be ſhaken by ſo ſlight a blaſt; for, being aſſiſted with a fleet by the earl of Flanders, he landed on the Iſle of Wight, where he was joined by his ſon Harold, with a ſquadron which that nobleman had collected in Ireland. From thence being reinforced by great num⯑bers of his former dependants and followers, he ſailed up the Thames, and, appearing before Lon⯑don, threw all things into confuſion. In this exi⯑gence, the king alone ſeemed reſolute; but his nobility, many of whom were ſecretly inclined to Godwin, brought on a negociation; in which it was ſtipulated, that the king ſhould diſmiſs all his foreign ſervants, the primate being among the number, and that Godwin ſhould give hoſ⯑tages for his own future good behaviour. God⯑win's death, which followed ſoon after, pre⯑vented him from reaping the fruits of an agree⯑ment, by which the king's authority was almoſt reduced to nothing.

This nobleman was ſucceeded in his govern⯑ments and offices by his ſon, Harold, who, in his ambition, was equal to his father, but in his virtues and abilities far his ſuperior. By a mo⯑deſt and gentle demeanour he acquired the good-will of Edward, or at leaſt ſoftened thoſe [119] impreſſions of hatred which he had long borne the whole family. He artfully inſinuated him⯑ſelf into the affections of the people by his li⯑berality and apparent candour, while every day he encreaſed his power, by ſeeming modeſtly to decline it. By theſe arts he not only ſup⯑planted Algar, duke of Mercia, whom the king raiſed up to rival his power, but he got his brother, Toſti, made duke of Northumber⯑land, upon the death of Siward, who had long governed that province with great glory.

Harold's inſinuating manners, his power, and virtues, extended and encreaſed his popu⯑larity to ſuch a degree, that he began to be talked of as the moſt proper perſon to ſucceed to the crown. But nothing could be more un⯑grateful to Edward than ſuch a deſire, as he abhorred a ſucceſſor from the family of God⯑win. Arouzed, therefore, by theſe rumours, he ſent for his nephew, Edward, from Hun⯑gary, who was, in fact, the direct deſcendant from the ancient Saxon kings. Prince Edward ſoon arrived, but was ſcarce ſafe landed, when he died, leaving his pretenſions to Edgar Athe⯑ling, his ſon, who was too young, weak, and inactive, to avail himſelf of his title. The king was now therefore thrown into new diffi⯑culties. He ſaw the youth and inexperience [120] of Edgar, and dreaded the immoderate ambi⯑tion of Harold. He could not, without re⯑luctance, think of encreaſing the grandeur of a family which had riſen on the ruins of royal authority, and had been ſtained in the blood of his own brother. In this uncertainty, he is ſaid to have caſt his eyes on William, duke of Normandy, as a perſon fit to ſucceed him; but of the truth of this circumſtance, we muſt, at this diſtance of time, be contented to remain in uncertainty.

In the mean time, Harold did not remit in obedience to the king, or his aſſiduities to the people; ſtill encreaſing in his power, and pre⯑paring his way for his advancement, on the firſt vacancy, to the throne. In theſe aims, fortune herſelf ſeemed to aſſiſt him; and two incidents which happened about this time,A.D. 1057 contributed to fix that popularity, which he had been ſo long eagerly in purſuit of. The Welſh renewing their hoſtilities under prince Griffin, were re⯑pelled by him, and rendered tributary to the crown of England. The other incident was no leſs honourable: his brother, Toſti, who had been appointed to the government of Northumberland, having grievouſly oppreſſed the people, was expelled in an inſurrection, and Harold was ordered by the king to reinſtate [121] him in his power, and puniſh the inſurgents. While yet at the head of an army, preparing to take ſignal vengeance for the injury done to his brother, he was met by a deputation of the people who had been ſo cruelly governed. They aſſured him that they had no intention to rebel, but had taken up arms merely to protect themſelves from the cruelty of a rapa⯑cious governor. They enumerated the griev⯑ances they had ſuſtained from his tyranny, brought the ſtrongeſt proofs of his guilt, and appealed to Harold's equity for redreſs. This nobleman, convinced of Toſti's brutality, ſa⯑crificed his affection to his duty; and not only procured their pardon from the king, but con⯑firmed the governor whom the Northumbrians had choſen in his command. From that time, Harold became the idol of the people; and, in⯑deed, his virtues deſerved their love, had they not been excited by ambition.

Harold, thus ſecure of the affections of the Engliſh, no longer ſtrove to conceal his aims, but openly aſpired at the ſucceſſion. He eve⯑ry where inſinuated, that as the heir-apparent to the crown was utterly unequal to the taſk of government, both from ape and natural im⯑becility, there was none ſo proper as a man of mature experience, and tried integrity; he [122] alledged, that a man born in England was only fit to govern Engliſhmen; and that none but an able general could defend them againſt ſo many foreign enemies, as they were every day threatened with. The people readily ſaw to what theſe ſpeeches tended; and, inſtead of diſcountenancing his pretenſions, aſſiſted them with their wiſhes and applauſe. Edward, bro⯑ken with age and infirmities, his mind entirely engroſſed by the viſions of ſuperſtition, and warmly attached to none, ſaw the danger to which the government was expoſed, but took feeble and irreſolute ſteps to ſecure the ſucceſ⯑ſion. While he continued thus uncertain, he was ſurpriſed by ſickneſs, which brought him to his end,A.D. 1066 on the fifth of January, in the ſixty-fifth year of his age, and twenty-fifth of his reign.

This prince, who was reverenced by the monks, under the title of Saint and Confeſſor; had but weak pretenſions to either, being in⯑dolent, irreſolute, and credulous. The tran⯑quilty of his reign was owing rather to the weakneſs of his foreign enemies, than to his own domeſtic ſtrength. But, though he ſeem⯑ed to have few active virtues, yet he cer⯑tainly had no vices of an atrocious kind; and the want of the paſſions, rather than their [123] reſtraint, was then, as it has been long ſince, the beſt title to canonization. He was the firſt, who, from his ſuppoſed ſanctity, touched for the king's evil.

Harold, whoſe intrigues and virtues ſeem⯑ed to give a right to his pretenſions, aſcend⯑ed the throne without any oppoſition. The citizens of London, who were ever fond of an elective monarchy, ſeconded his claims; the clergy adopted his cauſe; and the body of the people, whoſe friend he had been, ſincere⯑ly loved him. Nor were the firſt acts of his reign unworthy of the general prejudice in his favour. He took the moſt effectual mea⯑ſures for an impartial adminiſtration of juſtice; ordered the laws to be reviſed, and reformed; and thoſe diſturbers of the public peace to be puniſhed, who had thriven under the lenity of the laſt reign.

But neither his valour, his juſtice, nor his popularity, were able to ſecure him from the misfortunes attendant upon an ill-grounded title. The firſt ſymptoms of his danger, came from his own brother, Toſti, who had taken refuge in Flanders, and went among the princes of the Continent, endeavouring to en⯑gage them in a league againſt Harold, whom he repreſented as a tyrant and uſurper. Not con⯑tent [124] with this, being furniſhed with ſome ſhips by the earl of Flanders, he made a deſcent up⯑on the iſle of Wight, which he laid under con⯑tribution, and pillaged along the coaſt, until he was encountered, and routed by Morcar, who had been appointed to the government from which he was expelled.

But he was not yet without ſuccour, for Harfagar, king of Norway, who had been brought over by his remonſtrances, arrived with a fleet of two hundred ſail at the mouth of the river Humber, where he was joined by the ſhattered remains of Toſti's forces. It was in vain that the earls of Mercia and Nor⯑thumberland attempted to ſtop their progreſs, with a body of new-raiſed undiſciplined troops: they were quickly routed, and York fell a prey to the enemy. Mean while, Harold be⯑ing informed of this misfortune, haſtened with an army to the protection of his people, and expreſſed the utmoſt ardour to ſhew himſelf worthy of their favour. He had given ſo many proofs of an equitable and prudent ad⯑miniſtration, that the people flocked from all quarters to join his ſtandard; and, as ſoon as he reached the enemy at Standford, he found himſelf in a condition of giving them battle. The action was very bloody, but the victory [125] was deciſive on the ſide of Harold, and ended in the total rout of the Norwegians, Harfa⯑gar, their king, and Toſti being ſlain. Thoſe who eſcaped, owed their ſafety to the perſonal proweſs of a brave Norwegian; who, ſingly, defended a bridge over the Derwent for three hours, againſt the whole Engliſh army; dur⯑ing which time, he ſlew forty of their beſt men with his battle-ax, but he was at length ſlain by an arrow. Harold, purſuing his victory, made himſelf maſter of a Norwegian fleet that lay in the river Ouſe; and had the generoſity to give prince Olave, the ſon of Harfagar, his liberty, and to allow him to depart with twen⯑ty veſſels. There had never before been in England an engagement between two ſuch numerous armies, each being compoſed of no leſs than threeſcore thouſand men. The news of this victory diffuſed inexpreſſible joy over the whole kingdom; they gloried in a mo⯑narch, who now ſhewed himſelf able to de⯑fend them from inſult, and avenge them of their invaders; but they had not long time for triumph, when news was brought of a freſh invaſion, more formidable than had ever been formed againſt England before. This was under the conduct of William, duke of Normandy, who landed at Haſt⯑ings, [126] with an army of diſciplined veterans, and laid claim to the Engliſh crown.

William, who was afterwards called the Conqueror, was the natural ſon of Robert, duke of Normandy. His mother's name was Arlette, a beautiful maid of Falaize, whom Robert fell in love with, as ſhe ſtood gazing at her door whilſt he paſſed through the town. William, who was the offspring of this amour, owed a part of his greatneſs to his birth, but ſtill more to his own perſonal merit. His body was vigorous, his mind capacious and noble, and his courage not be repreſſed by apparent danger. His father, Robert, growing old, and, as was common with princes then, ſuperſti⯑tious alſo, reſolved upon a pilgrimage to Je⯑ruſalem, contrary to the advice and opinion of all his nobility. As his heart was fixed upon the expedition, inſtead of attending to their remonſtrances, he ſhewed them his ſon Wil⯑liam, whom, though illegitimate, he tender⯑ly loved, and recommended to their care, exacting an oath from them of homage and fealty. He then put him, as he was yet but ten years of age, under the tutelage of the French king; and ſoon after, going into Aſia, from whence he never returned, left young William rather the inheritor of his wiſhes, [127] than his crown. In fact, William, from the beginning, found himſelf expoſed to many dangers, and much oppoſition, from his youth and inexperience, from the reproach of his birth, from a ſuſpected guardian, a diſputed title, and a diſtracted ſtate. The regency, appointed by Robert, found great difficulties in ſupporting the government againſt this complication of dangers; and the young prince, when he came of age, found himſelf reduced to a very low condition. But the great qualities which he ſoon diſplayed in the field, and the cabinet, gave encouragement to his friends, and ſtruck a terror into his ene⯑mies. He on all ſides oppoſed his rebel⯑lious ſubjects, and repreſſed foreign inva⯑ders, while his valour and conduct prevailed in every action. The tranquility which he had thus eſtabliſhed in his dominions, induced him to extend his views; and ſome overtures, made him by Edward the Confeſſor, in the latter part of his reign, who was wavering in the choice of a ſucceſſor, enflamed his ambi⯑tion with a deſire of ſucceeding to the Engliſh throne. Whether Edward really appointed him to ſucceed, as William all along pretend⯑ed, is, at this diſtance of time, uncertain; but it is beyond a doubt, that Harold happening [128] to pay a viſit to the Norman coaſt, was induc⯑ed by this prince, to acknowledge his claims, and to give a promiſe of ſeconding them. This promiſe, however, Harold did not think pro⯑per to perform, when it ſtood in the way of his own ambition; and afterwards, when William objected the breach, he excuſed himſelf, by alledging, that it was extorted from him, at a time when he had no power to refuſe. On whatever ſide juſtice might lie, the pretext on William's part was, that he was appointed heir to the crown of England by Edward the Confeſſor, upon a viſit he had paid that mo⯑narch during his life-time. In conſequence of theſe pretenſions, he was not remiſs, after the death of Edward, to lay in his claims; but Harold would admit none of them, reſolved to defend, by his valour, what his intrigues had won. William, finding that arms alone were to be the final deciders of this diſpute, prepar⯑ed to aſſert his right with vigour. His ſub⯑jects, as they had long been diſtinguiſhed for va⯑lour among the European nations, had, at this time, attained to the higheſt pitch of military glory. His court was the center of politeneſs; and all who wiſhed for fame in arms, or was naturally fond of adventure, flocked to put themſelves under his conduct. The fame of [129] his intended invaſion of England, was diffuſed over the whole Continent; multitudes came to offer him their ſervices in this expedition; ſo that he was embarraſſed rather in the choice of whom he ſhould take, than in the levying his forces. The pope himſelf was not be⯑hind the reſt in favouring his pretenſions; but, either influenced by the apparent juſtice of his claims, or by the hopes of extending the autho⯑rity of the church, he immediately pronoun⯑ced Harold an uſurper. He denounced excom⯑munication againſt him, and all his adherents; and ſent the duke a conſecrated banner, to in⯑ſpire him with confidence. With ſuch fa⯑vourable incentives, William ſoon found him⯑ſelf at the head of a choſen army of ſixty thou⯑ſand men, all equipped in the moſt warlike and ſplendid manner. The diſcipline of the men, the vigour of the horſes, the luſtre of the arms and accoutrements, were objects that had been ſcarcely ſeen in Europe for ſome ages before. It was in the beginning of ſummer that he embarked this powerful body, on board a fleet of three hundred ſail; and, after ſome ſmall oppoſition from the weather, landed at Pevenſey, on the coaſt of Suſſex, with reſolute tranquility. William himſelf, as he came on ſhore, happened to ſtumble and fall; but, in⯑ſtead [130] of being diſcompoſed at the accident, he had the preſence of mind to cry out, that he thus took poſſeſſion of the country. Different from all the ravagers to which England had been formerly accuſtomed, this brave prince made no ſhow of invading a foreign country, but rather encamping in his own. Here he continued in a quiet and peaceable manner for about a fortnight, either willing to refreſh his troops, or deſirous of knowing the reception his pretenſions to the crown ſhould meet with among the people. After having refreſhed his men at this place, and ſent back his fleet to Normandy, to leave no retreat for cowardice, he advanced a⯑long the ſea-ſide to Haſtings, where he publiſh⯑ed a manifeſto, declaring the motives that in⯑duced him to undertake this enterprize.

He was ſoon rouſed from his inactivity by the approach of Harold, who ſeemed reſolved to defend his right to the crown, and retain that ſovereignty which he had received from the people, who only had a right to beſtow it. He was now returning, fluſhed with conqueſt, from the defeat of the Norwegians, with all the forces he had employed in that expedition, and all he could invite or collect in the country through which he paſſed. His army was com⯑poſed of active and valiant troops, in high ſpi⯑rits, [131] ſtrongly attached to their king, and eager to engage. On the other hand, the army of Wil⯑liam conſiſted of the flower of all the Continent, and had been long enured to danger. The men of Bretagne, Bologne, Flanders, Poictou, Maine, Orleans, France, and Normandy, were all vo⯑luntarily united under his command. England never before, nor never ſince, ſaw two ſuch armies drawn up to diſpute its crown. The day before the battle, William ſent an offer to Harold to decide the quarrel between them by ſingle combat, and thus to ſpare the blood of thouſands; but Harold refuſed, and ſaid, he would leave it to the God of armies to de⯑termine. Both armies, therefore, that night, pitched in ſight of each other, expecting the dawning of the next day with impatience. The Engliſh paſſed the night in ſongs and feaſting; the Normans, in devotion and prayer.

The next morning, at ſeven, as ſoon as day appeared, both armies were drawn up in array againſt each other. Harold appeared in the center of his forces, leading on his army on foot, that his men might be more encou⯑raged, by ſeeing their king expoſed to an equality of danger. William fought on horſe⯑back, leading on his army, that moved at once, ſinging the ſong of Roland, one of [132] the famous chiefs of their country. The Nor⯑mans began the fight with their croſs-bows, which, at firſt, galled, and ſurpriſed the Eng⯑liſh, and as their ranks were cloſe, their arrows did great execution. But ſoon they came to cloſer fight, and the Engliſh, with their bills, hewed down their adverſaries with great ſlaugh⯑ter. Confuſion was ſpreading among the ranks, when William, who found himſelf on the brink of deſtruction, haſtened, with a ſelect band, to the relief of his forces. His preſence reſtored the ſuſpenſe of battle; he was ſeen in every place, endeavouring to pierce the ranks of the enemy, and had three horſes ſlain under him. At length, perceiving that the Engliſh line continued impenetrable, he pre⯑tended to give ground, which, as he expected, drew the enemy from their ranks, and he was inſtantly ready to take advantage of their diſ⯑order. Upon a ſignal given, the Normans readily returned to the charge, with greater fury than before, broke the Engliſh troops, and purſued them to a riſing ground. It was in this extremity, that Harold was ſeen flying from rank to rank, rallying and inſpiring his troops with vigour; and, though he had toiled all day, till near night-fall, in the front of his Kentiſh men, yet he ſtill ſeemed unabated in [133] force or courage, keeping his men to the poſt of honour. Once more, therefore, the victory ſeemed to turn againſt the Normans, and they fell in great numbers, ſo that the fierceneſs and obſtinacy of this memorable battle, was often renewed by the courage of the leaders, whenever that of the ſoldiers began to ſlacken. Fortune, at length, determined a victory, that valour was unable to decide. Harold, making a furious onſet at the head of his troops, againſt the Norman heavy armed infantry, was ſhot into the brains by an arrow; and his two va⯑liant brothers, fighting by his ſide, ſhared the ſame fate. He fell with his ſword in his hand, amidſt heaps of ſlain, and after the battle, the royal corpſe could hardly be diſtinguiſhed among the dead. From the moment of his death, all courage ſeemed to forſake the Engliſh; they gave ground on every ſide, and were purſued with great ſlaughter by the vic⯑torious Normans. Thus, after a battle, which was fought from morning till ſun-ſet, the in⯑vaders proved ſucceſsful, and the Engliſh crown became the reward of victory. There fell near fifteen thouſand of the Normans, while the loſs on the ſide of the vanquiſhed was yet more conſiderable, beſide that of the king, and his two brothers. The next day, [134] the dead body of Harold was brought to Wil⯑liam, and generouſly reſtored, without ran⯑ſom, to his mother.

This was the end of the Saxon monarchy in England, which had continued for more than ſix hundred years. Before the times of Alfred, the kings of this race ſeemed totally immerſed in ignorance; and after him, taken up with combating the ſuperſtition of the monks, or blindly obeying its dictates. As for the crown, during this period, it was neither wholly elec⯑tive, nor yet totally hereditary, but diſpoſed either by the will of the former poſſeſſor, or obtained by the eminent intrigues or ſervices of ſome per⯑ſon nearly allied to the royal family. As for the laws and cuſtoms of this race, they brought in many, long in practice among their German anceſtors; but they adopted alſo many more which they found among the Britons, or which the Romans left behind them after their abdi⯑cation. They aſſumed, in imitation of thoſe nations, the name of Kings; nay, ſome of them, took the Greek appellation of Baſileus, a title unknown to the countries from whence they came. Their noblemen alſo aſſumed names of Roman authority, being termed Dukes or Duces; while the lower claſſes of people, were bought and ſold with the farms [135] they cultivated; an horrid cuſtom, firſt intro⯑duced by the Greeks and Romans, and after⯑wards adopted by the countries they conquer⯑ed. Their canon laws alſo, which often controuled the civil authority, had primari⯑ly their origin in Rome; and the prieſts and monks who drew them up, had generally their education there. We muſt not, there⯑fore, aſcribe the laws and cuſtoms which then prevailed over England, entirely to Saxon o⯑riginal, as many of them were derived from the Britons and Romans. But now the Saxon monarchy was no more; all cuſtoms and laws, of whatever original, were caſt down into one common maſs, and cemented by thoſe of Nor⯑man inſtitution. The whole face of obliga⯑tion was altered, and the new maſters inſtitut⯑ed new modes of obedience. The laws were improved; but the taſte of the people for po⯑lite learning, arts, and philoſophy, for more than four hundred years after, were ſtill to continue the ſame. It appears ſurpriſing enough, that in ſuch a variety of events, ſuch innova⯑tion in military diſcipline, and ſuch changes in government, that true politeneſs, and what is called taſte in the arts, never came to be culti⯑vated. Perhaps, the reaſon may be, that while the authority of the church continued ſo great, [136] the people were afraid of any knowledge but that derived to them through their clergy; and, being ſecluded from the ordinary converſation of mankind, they were but indifferent judges of human nature. A monk of the tenth cen⯑tury, and a monk of the eighteen century, are equally refined, and equally fit to advance thoſe ſtudies that give us an acquaintance with ourſelves, or that tend to diſplay the mazes of the human heart.

CHAP. V. WILLIAM the CONQUEROR.

NOTHING could exceed the conſterna⯑tion of the Engliſh upon the loſs of the battle of Haſtings; their king ſlain, the flower of their nobility cut off, and their whole army diſperſed or deſtroyed, ſtruck them with deſpair. Very little ſeemed now remaining, but a tame ſubmiſſion to the victor; and William, ſenſible of their terrors, was care⯑ful [138] not to loſe the fruits of victory by de⯑lay. Accordingly, after the purſuit of the fly⯑ing enemy, and a ſhort refreſhment of his own army, he ſet forward on the completion of his deſign; and ſitting down before Dover, took it after a ſlight reſiſtance, and fortified it with freſh redoubts. After a ſhort delay at this place, he advanced by quick marches towards London, where his approach ſerved to ſpread new confuſion. The inhabitants for ſome time heſitated between their terrors and their loyal⯑ty; but, caſting their eyes on every ſide, they ſaw no perſon of valour or authority ſufficient to ſupport them in their independence. Edgar Atheling, the right heir to the crown, was a weak and feeble prince, without courage or ambition; all their other leaders were either deſtroyed, or too remote to lend them aſiſtance. The clergy, who had a large ſhare in the deli⯑beration, declared openly for a prince whoſe pretenſions were acknowledged, and whoſe arms were bleſſed by the holy ſee. Nothing therefore remained, but to ſubmit to the neceſ⯑ſity of the times, and to acknowledge thoſe claims which it was not in their power to op⯑poſe. As ſoon, therefore, as William paſſed the Thames, at Wallingford, Stigand, the pri⯑mate, made ſubmiſſions to him in the name of [139] the clergy; and, before he came within ſight of the city, all the chief nobility, and Edgar Atheling himſelf, who juſt before had been created king, came into his camp, and declar⯑ed an intention of yielding to his authority. William was glad of being thus peaceably put in poſſeſſion of a throne, which ſeveral of his predeceſſors had not gained without repeated victories. He therefore accepted the crown upon the terms that were offered him, which were, that he ſhould govern according to the eſtabliſhed cuſtoms of the country. William, though he had it in his power to dictate his own conditons, rather than receive any, choſe to have his election conſidered rather as a gift from his ſubjects, than a meaſure ex⯑torted by him. He knew himſelf to be a con⯑queror, but was willing to be thought a legal king.

In order to give his invaſion all the ſanction poſſible, he was crowned at Weſtminſter by the archbiſhop of York, and took the oath uſual in the times of the Saxon and Daniſh kings, which was, to protect and defend the church, to obſerve the laws of the realm, and to govern the people with impartiality. Having thus given all poſſible ſatisfaction to the Eng⯑liſh, his next care was, to reward the many [140] brave adventurers who had followed his for⯑tunes. He firſt divided the lands of the Eng⯑liſh barons who oppoſed him among the Nor⯑man barons who had aſſiſted his enterprize; and ſuch as he could neither ſupply with mo⯑ney nor lands, he appointed to the vacant of⯑fices of the ſtate. But, as there were ſtill num⯑bers unprovided for, he quartered them on the rich abbeys of the kingdom, until better means offered for their advancement. This, which gave no ſmall umbrage to the clergy, was but little reſented by the people, who were willing to ſee their own burthens lightened, by having a part of them laid upon ſhoulders that were at that time much better able to bear them.

But what gave them great umbrage, was, to ſee him place all real power in the hands of his own countrymen, and ſtill to give them the poſſeſſion of the ſword, to which he owed all his authority. He diſarmed the city of Lon⯑don, and other places which appeared moſt warlike and populous, and quartered Norman ſoldiers in all thoſe places where he moſt dread⯑ed an inſurrection. Having thus ſecured the government, and, by a mixture of vigour and lenity brought the Engliſh to an entire ſubmiſ⯑ſion, he reſolved to return to the continent, there to enjoy the triumph and congratulation [141] of his ancient ſubjects. Having, therefore, no reaſon to apprehend any diſturbance in his ab⯑ſence among the Engliſh, whoſe affection he had taken ſuch pains to conciliate, he left the regency with his brother Odo, biſhop of Bayeux, and William Fitzoſborne. To ſecure himſelf yet farther, he reſolved to carry along with him all the Engliſh noblemen, from whoſe power or inclination he could apprehend a re⯑volt; and, pretending to take great pleaſure in their converſation, he ſet ſail with his honour⯑able captives for Normandy, where he was re⯑ceived by his natural ſubjects with a mixture of admiration and joy. He reſided for ſome time at the abbey of Feſchamp, where he was viſited by an ambaſſador from the king of France, ſent to congratulate his ſucceſs. William, natu⯑rally fond of ſplendour, received this embaſſy with great ſtate and magnificence, while his Engliſh courtiers, willing to ingratiate them⯑ſelves with their new ſovereign, endeavoured to outſhine each other, and made a diſplay of riches which ſtruck foreigners with aſto⯑niſhment. It was probably this fooliſh oſten⯑tation that excited the pride of the Normans, to treat men with contempt who were appa⯑rently ſo much above them.

[142]In the mean time, the abſence of the Con⯑queror in England produced the moſt fatal ef⯑fects. His officers being no longer controlled by his juſtice, thought this a fit opportunity for extortion; while the Engliſh, no longer awed by his preſence, thought it the happieſt occa⯑ſion for vindicating their freedom. The two governors he had left behind took all opportu⯑nities of oppreſſing the people; either deſiring to provoke them into rebellion, in order to pro⯑fit by confiſcations, or, in caſe they ſub⯑mitted tamely to their impoſitions, to grow rich without ſlaughter. The inhabitants of Kent, who were more immediately expoſed to theſe outrages, having repeated their com⯑plaints and remonſtrances to no purpoſe, at length had recourſe to Euſtace, count of Bou⯑logne, who aſſiſted them in an attack upon the garriſon of Dover. But the Normans were up⯑on their guard, and having repulſed the aſſail⯑ants with ſome ſlaughter, took the nephew of count Euſtace priſoner. This miſcarriage did not deter Edric the Foreſter from repelling the depredations of the Normans, and, in his turn, from waſting their poſſeſſions. But though theſe open hoſtilities were not very conſiderable, the diſaffection among the Engliſh was general, and the people began too late to perceive, that [143] ſtrength will ever give laws to juſtice. A ſecret conſpiracy was therefore formed for deſtroying all the Normans, as the Danes had been for⯑merly cut off; and this was proſecuted with ſo much animoſity, that the vaſſals of the earl Coxo put him to death, becauſe he refuſed to head them againſt the invaders.

William, being informed of theſe commo⯑tions, haſtened over to England, and arrived time enough to prevent the execution of this bloody enterprize. The conſpirators had al⯑ready taken the reſolution, and fixed the day, for their intended maſſacre, which was to be on Aſh-Wedneſday, during the time of divine ſer⯑vice, when all the Normans would be unarmed, as penitents, according to the diſcipline of the times. But his preſence quickly diſconcerted all their ſchemes. Such of them as had been more open in their mutiny, betrayed their guilt by flight; and this ſerved to confirm the proofs of an accuſation againſt thoſe who remained.

From that time forward the king began to loſe all confidence in his Engliſh ſubjects, and to regard them as inveterate and irreconcileable enemies. He had already raiſed ſuch a number of fortreſſes in the kingdom, that he no longer dreaded the tumultuous or tranſient efforts of a diſcontented multitude; he determined to treat [144] them as a conquered nation, to indulge his own avarice, and that of his followers, by numerous confiſcations, and to ſecure his power by hum⯑bling all who were able to make any reſiſtance. The firſt ſignal of his arbitrary power was ma⯑nifeſted in renewing the odious tax of Dane⯑gelt, which had been aboliſhed by Edward the Confeſſor. This meaſure produced remon⯑ſtrances, complaints, and even inſurrections, in different parts of the kingdom; but William, conſcious of his power, marched againſt ſuch as were moſt formidable, and ſoon compelled them to implore for mercy. In this manner the inhabitants of Exeter and Cornwall excited his reſentment, and experienced his lenity.

A.D. 1068 But theſe inſurrections were ſlight, compar⯑ed to that in the north, which ſeemed to threa⯑ten the moſt important conſequences. This was excited by the intrigues of Edwin and Morcar, the two moſt powerful noblemen of the Engliſh race, who, joined by Blethim, prince of North Wales, Malcolm, king of Scotland, and Sweyn, king of Denmark, re⯑ſolved to make one terrible effort for the reco⯑very of their ancient liberties. But the vigour and celerity of William deſtroyed their projects before they were ripe for execution; for, ad⯑vancing towards them at the head a powerful [145] army, by forced marches, the two earls were ſo intimidated, that, inſtead of oppoſing, they had recourſe to the Conqueror's clemency, by ſubmiſſion. He did not think proper to reject their advances, but pardoned them without farther heſitation. A peace which he made with Mal⯑colm, king of Scotland, ſhortly after, ſeemed to deprive them of all hopes of future aſſiſtance from without.

But whatever the ſucceſſes of William might have been, the inhabitants, whether Engliſh or Normans, were at that time in a moſt dreadful ſituation. All the miſeries that inſolence on one hand, and hatred on the other; that tyran⯑ny and treaſon, ſuſpicion and aſſaſſination, could bring upon a people, were there united. The Normans were ſeen to commit continual inſults upon the Engliſh, and theſe vainly ſought redreſs from their partial maſters. Thus, legal puniſhment being denied, they ſought for private vengeance; and a day ſeldom paſſed, but the bodies of aſſaſſinated Normans were found in the woods and highways, without any poſſibility of bringing the perpetrators to juſ⯑tice. Thus, at length, the conquerors them⯑ſelves began again to wiſh for the tranquillity and ſecurity of their native country; and ſeve⯑ral of them, though entruſted with great com⯑mands, [146] deſired to be diſmiſſed the ſervice. In order to prevent theſe deſertions, which Wil⯑liam highly reſented, he was obliged to allure others to ſtay, by the largeneſs of his boun⯑ties. Theſe brought on freſh exactions, and new inſurrections were the natural conſe⯑quence.

The inhabitants of Northumberland, impa⯑tient of their yoke, attacked the Norman garri⯑ſon in Durham, and taking advantage of the governor's negligence, put him, with ſeven hundred of his men, to the ſword. The Nor⯑man governor of York ſhared the ſame fate; and the inſurgents, being reinforced by the Danes, and ſome leaders from Scotland, attack⯑ed the caſtle, which was defended by a garriſon of three thouſand men. Mallet, its governor, that he might the better provide for its de⯑fence, ſet fire to ſome houſes which lay conti⯑guous; but the fire ſpreading, the whole city was quickly in flames. This proved the cauſe of his deſtruction; for the enraged inhabitants joining in the aſſault, entered the citadel ſword in hand, and cut off the whole garriſon, with⯑out mercy. This tranſient gleam of ſucceſs ſeemed to ſpread a general ſpirit of inſurrec⯑tion. The counties of Somerſet, Dorſet, Corn⯑wall, and Devon, united in the common cauſe, [147] and determined to make one great effort for the recovery of their former freedom.

William, undaunted amidſt this ſcene of con⯑fuſion, aſſembled his forces, and led them to⯑wards the North, conſcious that his preſence alone would be ſufficient to repreſs theſe rude efforts of unadviſed indignation. According⯑ly, wherever he appeared, the inſurgents either ſubmitted or retired. The Danes were content to return, without committing any farther hoſ⯑tilities, into Denmark. Waltheoff, who long defended York caſtle, ſubmitted to the victor's clemency, and was taken into favour. Edric, another nobleman, who commanded the North⯑umbrians, made his ſubmiſſion to the Con⯑queror, and obtained pardon, while the reſt diſperſed themſelves, and left the Normans undiſputed maſters of the whole kingdom. Edgar Atheling, who had been drawn among the reſt into this inſurrection, ſought a re⯑treat in Scotland, from the purſuit of his ene⯑mies. There he continued, till, by proper ſoli⯑citation, he was again taken into favour by the king. From that time he remained in Eng⯑land in a private ſtation, content with opulence and ſecurity; perhaps as happy, though not ſo ſplendid, as if he had ſucceeded in the ca⯑reer of his ambition.

[148]William being now acknowledged maſter of a people that more than once ſhewed re⯑luctance to his government, he reſolved to throw off all appearance of lenity, and to inca⯑pacitate them from future inſurrections. His firſt ſtep was, to order the county of North⯑umberland to be laid waſte, the houſes to be burned, the inſtruments of huſbandry to be deſtroyed, and the inhabitants to ſeek new ha⯑bitations. By this order, it is ſaid, that above one hundred thouſand perſons periſhed, either by the ſword or famine, and the country is ſup⯑poſed, even at this day, to bear the marks of its ancient depopulation. He next proceeded to confiſcate all the eſtates of the Engliſh gen⯑try, and to grant them liberally to his Norman followers. Thus, all the ancient and honour⯑able families were reduced to beggary, and the Engliſh found themſelves entirely excluded from every road that led either to honour or preferment. They had the cruel mortifica⯑tion to find, that all his power only tended to their depreſſion, and that the ſcheme of their ſubjection was attended with every circumſtance of inſult and indignity.

He was not yet, however, ſufficiently arbi⯑trary to change all the laws then in being, for thoſe of his own country. He only made ſe⯑veral innovations, and ordered the law-pleas in [149] the ſeveral courts to be made in the Norman language. Yet, with all his endeavours to make the French the popular language, the Engliſh ſtill gained ground; and, what deſerves remark, it had adopted much more of the French idiom for two or three reigns before, than during the whole line of the Norman kings ſucceeding.

The feudal law had been before introduced into England by the Saxons, but this monarch reformed it, according to the model of that practiſed in his native dominions. He divid⯑ed all the lands of England, except the royal demeſne, into baronies, and conferred thoſe, upon certain military conditions, on the moſt conſiderable of his followers. Theſe had a power of ſharing their grants to inferior tenants, who were denominated knights, or vaſſals, and who paid their lord the ſame duty that he paid the ſovereign. To the firſt claſs of theſe baro⯑nies the Engliſh were not admitted; and the few who were permitted ſtill to retain their landed property, were content to be received in the ſecond. The Barons exerciſed all kinds of juriſdiction within their own manors, and held courts in which they adminiſtred juſtice to their own vaſſals. This law extended not only to the laity, but alſo to the biſhops and clergy. [150] They had uſurped a power, during the Saxon ſucceſſion, of being governed within them⯑ſelves, but William reſtrained them to the ex⯑erciſe of their eccleſiaſtical power only and ſubmitted them to a ſimilitude of duties with the reſt of their fellow ſubjects. This they at firſt regarded as a grievous impoſition; but the king's authority was eſtabliſhed, by a power that neither the clergy nor the pope could intimi⯑date. But, to keep the clergy as much as poſ⯑ſible in his intereſts, he appointed none but his own countrymen to the moſt conſiderable church-dignities, and even diſplaced Stigand, archbiſhop of Canterbury, upon ſome frivolous pretences. His real motive was, that ſuch a dignity was too exalted for a native to poſ⯑ſeſs.

While he thus was employed in humbling the clergy, he was no leſs ſolicitous to repreſs many of thoſe ſuperſtitious practices to which they had given countenance. He endeavoured to aboliſh trials by ordeal and camp-fight: the ordeal trial, which had been originally of pa⯑gan inſtitution, and was ſtill held in veneration by the Saxon Chriſtians, was either by fire or water. It was uſed in criminal caſes, where the ſuſpicions were ſtrong, but the proofs not evident. In that of fire, the perſon accuſed [151] was brought into an open plain, and ſeveral plough-ſhares, heated red-hot, were placed at equal intervals before him; over theſe he was to walk blindfold, and if he eſcaped unhurt, he was acquitted of the charge. In the trial by water, the perſon accuſed was thrown, bound hand and foot, into the water: if he ſunk, he was declared innocent; if he ſwam, he was exe⯑cuted, as being thus miraculouſly convicted. The trial by camp-fight was performed by ſingle com⯑bat, in liſts appointed for that purpoſe, between the accuſer and the accuſed. He that, in ſuch a caſe, came off victorious, was deemed inno⯑cent; and he that was conquered, if he ſurviv⯑ed his antagoniſt's reſentment in the field, was ſure to ſuffer as a malefactor ſome time after. Both theſe trials William aboliſhed, as un⯑chriſtian and unjuſt; and he reduced all cauſes to the judgment of twelve men, of a rank nearly equal to that of the priſoner. This method of trial, by jury, was common to the Saxons, as well as the Normans, long before; but it was now confirmed by him, with all the ſanction of undiſputed authority.

While William was thus employed,A.D. 1071 in re⯑warding his aſſociates, puniſhing the refractory, and giving laws for the benefit of all, he was threatened with an inſurrection in his domi⯑nions [152] on the continent, which he thought his preſence neceſſary to ſuppreſs. Unwilling, howe⯑ver, to draw off his Norman forces from England, he carried over a conſiderable army, compoſed al⯑moſt entirely of Engliſh; and, by thoſe brave troops, he ſoon reduced the revolters to ſubmiſ⯑ſion. Thus we ſee a whimſical viciſſitude of fortune; the inhabitants of Normandy brought over for the conqueſt of the Engliſh, and the Engliſh ſent back to conquer the Normans. However, William had not time to enjoy his ſucceſs unmoleſted; for accounts were quickly brought him from England, that a new conſpiracy was formed, more dreadful, in be⯑ing ſupported by the joint efforts of the Normans as well as the Engliſh. The adven⯑turers who had followed the fortunes of Wil⯑liam into England, had been bred in authority and independence at home, and were ill able to endure the abſolute authority which this mo⯑narch had for ſome time aſſumed. The diſ⯑contents were therefore become very general among theſe haughty nobles, and ſome wanted only the opportunity of his abſence to break out into open rebellion. Among the number was Roger, earl of Hereford, ſon and heir to Fitzoſ⯑borne, who had been the king's principal fa⯑vourite. This nobleman had, either by way [153] of compliment to the king, or in compliance with ſome obligation of the feudal law, ſolicited William's conſent to permit the marriage of his ſiſter with Ralph de Guader, earl of Norfolk; but he was flatly refuſed. Nevertheleſs, he proceeded to ſolemnize the nuptials with great magnificence, aſſembling all his friends, and thoſe of Guader upon the occaſion. As the pa⯑rents of the new married couple were well ac⯑quainted with the character of William, whoſe reſentment they had every reaſon to dread, they took the opportunity, while the com⯑pany was heated with wine, to introduce that as a ſubject of converſation. They inveighed againſt the ſeverity of his go⯑vernment; they obſerved, that by means of his exceſſive impoſitions, he had taken with one hand what he had given with the other; they affected to commiſerate the Engliſh, whom he had reduced to beggary; and aggravated the defects in his diſpoſition, which they repreſent⯑ed as haughty and unforgiving. The gueſts were ready enough at any time to concur in their com⯑plaints; but now, warmed by the jollity of the entertainment, they put no bounds to their zeal. They unanimouſly entered into a con⯑ſpiracy to ſhake off his yoke; and earl Wal⯑theoff himſelf, whom we have already ſeen par⯑doned upon a former inſurrection, was among [154] the foremoſt on this occaſion. But it was not without the greateſt anxiety, that he reflected in his cooler intervals upon an engagement made in the ardour of intoxication, big with the moſt fatal conſequences both to himſelf and his coun⯑try. In this ſtate of perturbation, he had re⯑courſe to his wife, the niece of the king, and un⯑boſomed himſelf to her, as he had the moſt firm reliance on her fidelity. But he was deceived, for ſhe was in love with another, and only want⯑ed an opportunity of getting rid of her huſband at any rate. She, therefore, inſtantly found means to communicate the whole affair to the king, taking care to repreſent her huſband's conduct in the moſt diſadvantageous point of light. In the mean time, Waltheoff himſelf gave way to his internal remorſe, and confeſſed the whole conſpiracy to Lanfranc, who exhort⯑ed him, by all means, to reveal it to the king; which he was at laſt perſuaded to do; but it was not till the whole affair had been divulged by his faithleſs conſort. William coolly thank⯑ed him for his fidelity, but the former account of his perfidy ſunk deep in the king's mind, and he ſecretly reſolved to puniſh it.

During this interval, the conſpirators being informed that Waltheoff was gone over to Normandy, juſtly concluded that their deſigns were betrayed, and flew [155] to arms before their ſchemes were ripe for execution. The earl of Hereford was check⯑ed by Walter de Lacy, a great Baron, in the king's intereſt. The earl of Norfolk was de⯑feated by Odo, the king's brother; and the priſoners who were taken had each the right foot cut off, in order to deter others from a ſimili⯑tude of treaſon. The earl himſelf retired to Denmark; ſo that William, upon his arrival in England, found that nothing remained for him to do, but to puniſh the criminals, which was performed with unuſual ſeverity. Many of the rebels were hanged, ſome had their eyes put out, and others their hands cut off. The unfortunate Waltheoff, who had impru⯑dently entered into the conſpiracy, but attempt⯑ed to atone for his fault by an early confeſſion, found no mercy. He was rich, and he was an Engliſhman, two faults that ſerved to aggra⯑vate his guilt; he was accordingly tried, con⯑demned, and executed. His infamous wife did not long enjoy the fruits of her perfidy; but falling ſome time after under the king's diſpleaſure, was abandoned by the world, and paſſed the reſt of her life in contempt, re⯑morſe, and miſery. Some aſſert, that this noble⯑man fell a ſacrifice to the cruelty of Odo, not of William; but, however that may be, it is [156] certain, that Waltheoff, and Fitz-Auber, a noble Norman, who was alſo beheaded on this occaſion, were the only perſons of note that were executed during the reign of William the Conqueror. Having thus re-eſtabliſhed the peace of his government, and extinguiſhed the laſt embers of rebellion with blood, William returned once more to the continent, in order to purſue Guader, who, eſcaping from England, had taken refuge with the count of Bretagne. Finding him, however, too powerfully protect⯑ed by that prince, inſtead of proſecuting his vengence, he wiſely came to a treaty with the count, in which Guader was included.

A.D. 1076 William, having thus ſecured the peace of his dominions, now expected reſt from his labours; and finding none either willing or powerful enough to oppoſe him, he hoped that the end of his reign would be marked with proſperity and peace. But ſuch is the blind⯑neſs of human hope, that he found enemies where he leaſt expected them, and ſuch too as ſerved to embitter all the latter part of his life. His laſt troubles were excited by his own chil⯑dren, from the oppoſing of whom he could ex⯑pect to reap neither glory nor gain. He had four ſons Robert, Richard, Will [...]am, and Henry, beſides ſeveral daughters. Robert, his eldeſt [157] ſon, ſurnamed Curthoſe, from the ſhortneſs of his legs, was a prince who inherited all the bravery of his family and nation, but was rather bold than prudent, rather enterprizing than politic. Earneſt after fame, and even impatient that his father ſhould ſtand in the way, he aſ⯑pired at that independence to which his tem⯑per, as well as ſome circumſtances in his ſitua⯑tion, conſpired to invite him. He had formerly been promiſed by his father the government of Maine, a province of France, which had ſubmit⯑ted to William, and was alſo declared ſucceſſor to the dukedom of Normandy. However, when he came to demand the execution of theſe en⯑gagements, he received an abſolute denial; the king, ſhrewdly obſerving, that it was not his cuſtom to throw off his cloaths till he went to bed. Robert openly declared his reſentment, and was often heard to expreſs his jealouſy of his two ſurviving brothers, William and Henry, for Richard was killed, in hunting, by a ſtag. Theſe, by greater aſſiduity, had wrought upon the credulity and affections of the king, and conſequently were the more obnoxious to Ro⯑bert. A mind, therefore, ſo well prepared for reſentment, ſoon found, or made a cauſe for an open rupture. The princes were one day in ſport together, and, in the idle petu⯑lance of play, took it in their head to throw [158] water upon their elder brother as he paſſed through the court, on leaving their apartment. Robert, all alive to ſuſpicion, quickly turned this idle frolic into a ſtudied indignity; and having theſe jealouſies ſtill farther enflamed by one of his favourites, he drew his ſword, and ran up ſtairs with an intent to take revenge. The whole caſtle was quickly filled with tumult, and it was not without ſome difficulty, that the king himſelf was able to appeaſe it. But he could not allay the animoſity, which, from that moment, ever after prevailed in his family. Robert, attended by ſeveral of his confederates, withdrew to Rouen that very night, hoping to ſurpriſe the caſtle, but his deſign was defeated by the governor.

The flame being thus kindled, the popular character of the prince, and a ſympathy of man⯑ners, engaged all the young nobility of Nor⯑mandy and Maine, as well as of Anjou and Brittany, to eſpouſe his quarrel; even his mo⯑ther, it is ſaid, ſupported him by ſecret remit⯑tances, and aided him in this obſtinate reſiſtance by private encouragement. This unnatural con⯑teſt continued for ſeveral years to enflame the Norman ſtate; and William was at laſt obliged to have recourſe to England for ſupporting his authority againſt his ſon. Accordingly, drawing an army of Engliſhmen together, he [159] led them over into Normandy, where he ſoon compelled Robert and his adherents to quit the field, and he was quickly reinſtated in all his do⯑minions. As for Robert, he being no longer able to reſiſt his father, was obliged to take ſhelter in the caſtle of Gerberoy, which the king of France had provided for him, where he was ſhortly after beſieged by his father. As the gar⯑riſon was ſtrong, and conſcious of guilt, they made a moſt gallant defence; and many were the ſkirmiſhes and duels that were fought under its walls. In one of theſe, accident brought the king and his ſon together; but, being both con⯑cealed by their helmets, they attacked each other with mutual fury. A fierce and dreadful com⯑bat enſued between them, till at laſt the young prince wounded his father in the arm, and threw him from his horſe. The next blow would, in all probability, have put an end to the king's life, had not he cried out for aſſiſtance. Robert then immediately recollected his father's voice, and at once ſtung with a conſciouſneſs of his crime, he leaped from his horſe, and raiſed the fallen monarch from the ground. He then pro⯑ſtrated himſelf in his preſence, and craved par⯑don for his offences, promiſing, for the fu⯑ture, a ſtrict adherence to his duty. The re⯑ſentment harboured by the king was not ſo [160] eaſily appeaſed; perhaps, his indignation at being overcome, added to his anger; in⯑ſtead, therefore, of pardoning his ſon, he gave him his malediction, and departed for his own camp on Robert's horſe, which the prince had aſſiſted him to mount. However, the conduct of the ſon ſerved, after ſome recollection, to ap⯑peaſe the father. As ſoon as William was return⯑ed to Rouen, he became reconciled to Robert, and carried him with him into England, where he was ſucceſsfully employed in retaliating an invaſion of Malcolm king of Scotland.

A.D. 1081 William, being thus freed from foreign and domeſtic enemies, now began to have ſufficient leiſure for a more attentive application to the duties of peace. For this purpoſe, the Doomſ⯑day Book was compiled by his order, which contains a general ſurvey of all the lands in the kingdom; their extent in each diſtrict; their proprietors, tenures, value, the quantity of meadow, paſture, wood, and arable land, which they contained; and in ſome counties, the num⯑ber of tenants, cottagers, and people of all de⯑nominations, who lived upon them. This de⯑tail enabled him to regulate the taxations in ſuch a manner, that all the inhabitants were compelled to bear their duties in proportion to their abilities.

[161]He was no leſs careful of the methods of ſaving money, than of accumulation. He re⯑ſerved a very ample revenue for the crown; and, in the general diſtribution of land among his followers, he kept poſſeſſion of no leſs than four⯑teen hundred manors in different parts of the country. Such was his income, that it is juſt⯑ly ſaid to have exceeded that of any Engliſh prince either before or ſince his time. No king of England was ever ſo opulent; none ſo able to ſupport the ſplendor and magnificence of a court; none had ſo many places of truſt and pro⯑fit to beſtow; and none, conſequently, had his commands attended with ſuch implicit obe⯑dience.

There was one pleaſure to which William, as well as all the Normans and ancient Saxons was addicted, which was hunting. To in⯑dulge this in its utmoſt extent, he depopulated the county of Hampſhire for thirty miles, turn⯑ing out the inhabitants, deſtroying all the vil⯑lages, and making the wretched out-caſts no compenſation for ſuch a injury. In the time of the Saxon kings, all noblemen without diſ⯑tinction had a right to hunt in the royal fo⯑reſts; but William appropriated all theſe, and publiſhed very ſevere laws to prohibit his ſub⯑jects from encroaching on this part of his pre⯑rogative. [162] The killing of a deer, a boar, or even an hare, was puniſhed with the loſs of the delin⯑quent's eyes; at a time, when the killing of a man might be atoned for by paying a mode⯑rate fine or compoſition.

As the king's wealth and power were ſo great, it may be eaſily ſuppoſed, that the riches of his miniſters were in proportion. Thoſe of his uterine brother Odo, biſhop of Bayeux, were ſo great, that he reſolved to purchaſe the Pa⯑pacy. For this purpoſe, taking the opportuni⯑ty of William's abſence he equipped a veſſel at the iſle of Wight, on board of which he ſent immenſe treaſures, and prepared for his em⯑barkation, but he was unfortunately detained by contrary winds. In the mean time, William having had intimation of his deſign, reſolv⯑ed to prevent the exportation of ſo much wealth from his dominions. Accordingly re⯑turning from Normandy, where he was then em⯑ployed, he came into England at the very inſtant his brother was ſtepping on board, and imme⯑diately ordered him to be made a priſoner. His attendants, however, reſpecting the immunities of the church, ſcrupled to execute his com⯑mands; ſo that the king himſelf was obliged with his own hand to ſeize him. Odo, diſcon⯑certed at ſo unexpected an intervention, ap⯑pealed [163] to the Pope; who, he alledged, was the only perſon upon earth to try a biſhop. To this the king replied, that he did not ſeize him as biſhop of Bayeux, but as earl of Kent; and in that capacity he expected, and would have an account of his adminiſtration. He was, therefore, ſent priſoner into Normandy; and notwithſtanding all the remonſtrances and threats of Gregory, he was detained in cuſtody during the remainder of William's reign.

William had ſcarcely put an end to this tranſaction, when he felt a very ſevere blow in the death of Matilda, his queen; and, as misfortunes generally come together, he receiv⯑ed information of a general inſurrection in Maine, the nobility of which had been always averſe to the Norman government: upon his arrival on the continent, he found, that the in⯑ſurgents had been ſecretly aſſiſted and excited by the king of France, whoſe policy conſiſted in thus leſſening the Norman power, by creat⯑ing diſſenſions among the nobles of its diffe⯑rent provinces. William's diſpleaſure was not a little encreaſed, by the account he received of ſome railleries which that monarch had thrown out againſt him. It ſeems, that Wil⯑liam, who was become corpulent, had been de⯑tained in bed ſome time by ſickneſs; and Philip was heard to ſay, that he only lay in of [164] a big belly. This ſo provoked the Engliſh monarch, that he ſent him word, he would ſoon be up, and would at his churching preſent ſuch a number of tapers, as would ſet the king⯑dom of France in a flame.

In order to perform this promiſe, he le⯑vied a ſtrong army, and entering the iſle of France, deſtroyed and burned all the villages and houſes without oppoſition. He took the town of Mante, which he reduced to aſhes. But the progreſs of theſe hoſtilities was ſtopped by an accident, which ſhortly after put an end to William's life. His horſe chanc⯑ing to place his fore-feet on ſome hot aſhes, plunged ſo violently, that the rider was thrown forward, and bruiſed upon the pummel of the ſaddle to ſuch a degree, that he ſuffered a relapſe, and was obliged to return to Rouen. Finding his illneſs encreaſe, and being ſenſible of the approach of death, he began to turn his eyes to a future ſtate, from which the purſuit of ambition had long averted them. He was now ſtruck with remorſe for all the cruelties and depredations he had made: he endeavour⯑ed to atone for his former offences, by large preſents to churches and monaſteries, and by giving liberty to many priſoners whom he unjuſtly detained. He was even prevailed on, though not without reluc⯑tance, [165] to conſent, with his dying breath, to the deliverance of his brother Odo, againſt whom he was extremely incenſed. He then bequeath⯑ed Normandy and Le Maine to his eldeſt ſon Robert, whom he never loved; to Henry, he left five thouſand pounds, and his mother's jointure, without the ſmalleſt territory; and though he would not pretend to eſtabliſh the ſucceſſion of the crown of England, to which he now began to perceive that he had no title, he expreſſed his wiſh that it might devolve to his favourite ſon William, whom he imme⯑diately diſpatched with letters to the archbi⯑ſhop of Canterbury, deſiring his aſſiſtance. Having thus regulated his temporal affairs, he was conveyed in a litter to a little village near Rouen, where he might ſettle the concerns of his ſoul without, noiſe or interruption. It was there that he died, in the ſixty-firſt year of his age, after having reigned fifty-two in Normandy, and twenty-one in England. His body was interred in the church at Caen, which he himſelf had founded; but his inter⯑ment was attended with a remarkable circum⯑ſtance. As the body was carrying to the grave, the prelates and prieſts attending with the moſt awful ſilence, a man, who ſtood upon an emi⯑nence, was heard to cry out with a loud voice, and to forbid the interment of the body, in a ſpot [166] that had been unjuſtly ſeized by the con⯑queror. That very place, cried the man, is the area of my father's houſe; and I now ſummon the departed ſoul before the divine tribunal to do me juſtice, and to atone for ſo great an op⯑preſſion. The biſhops and attendants were ſtruck with the man's intrepid conduct; they enquired into the truth of his charge, and find⯑ing it juſt, agreed to ſatisfy him for the damages he had ſuſtained.

William was a prince of great courage and capacity. Ambitious, politic, cruel, vin⯑dictive, and rapacious. He was fond of glory, and parſimonious merely for the purpoſes of oſtentation. Though ſudden and impetuous in his enterprizes, he was cool, deliberate, and indefatigable in times of danger. He is ſaid, by the Norman writers, to be above eight feeet high, his body ſtrong built, and well proportioned, and his ſtrength ſuch, that none of his courtiers could draw his bow. He talked little; he was ſeldom affable to any, except to Lanfranc, archbiſhop of Canterbury; with him, he was ever meek and gentle; with all others, ſtern and auſtere. Though he rendered himſelf formidable to all, and odious to many, yet he had policy ſufficient to tranſmit his power to poſterity, and the throne is ſtill occupied by his deſcendants.

CHAP. VI. WILLIAM RUFUS.

WILLIAM, ſurnamed RUFUS,A.D. 1087 from the colour of his hair, had no ſooner received the late king's letter to Lanfranc, in his favour, than he haſtened to take meaſures for ſecuring him⯑ſelf on the throne. Arriving, therefore, before the news of William's death had yet reached Eng⯑land, his firſt care was, to take poſſeſſion of the treaſure left by the king at Wincheſter, which a⯑mounted [168] to the ſum of ſixty thouſand pounds. He then addreſſed the primate, who had always conſidered him with an eye of peculiar affec⯑tion; and who now, finding the juſtneſs of his claim, inſtantly proceeded to the ceremony of his coronation. At the ſame time Robert, who had been appointed ſucceſſor to Normandy, took peaceable poſſeſſion of that government; where his perſon was loved, and his acceſſion long deſired.

In the beginning of William the Second's reign, the Engliſh began to think they had hitherto miſtaken this prince's character, who had always appeared to them rude and brutal. He at firſt ſeemed to pay the utmoſt regard to the coun⯑cils of Lanfranc, the primate, which were mild and gentle, and conſtantly calculated for the benefit of the nation. Nevertheleſs, the Norman barons, who knew him better, perceiv⯑ed that he kept his diſpoſition under an unna⯑tural reſtraint, and that he only waited an op⯑portunity for throwing off the maſk when his power ſhould be eſtabliſhed. They were, from the beginning, diſpleaſed at the diviſion of the empire by the late king; they eagerly deſired an union as before, and looked upon Robert as the proper owner of the whole. The natu⯑ral diſpoſition alſo of this prince was as pleaſing [169] to them, as that of William his brother was odious. Robert was open, generous, and hu⯑mane; he carried his facility to an exceſs, as he could ſcarcely find ſtrength of mind to give any of his adherents the mortification of a re⯑fuſal. But this was a quality no way diſagree⯑able to thoſe who expected to build their am⯑bition on the eaſy pliancy of his temper. A powerful conſpiracy was therefore carried on againſt William; and Odo, the late king's bro⯑ther, undertook to conduct it to maturity.

William, ſenſible of the danger that threat⯑ened him on all ſides, endeavoured to gain the affections of the native Engliſh, whom he pre⯑vailed upon, by promiſes of future good treat⯑ment, and preference in the diſtribution of his favours, to eſpouſe his intereſts. He was ſoon therefore in the field; and, at the head of a nu⯑merous army, ſhewed himſelf in readineſs to oppoſe all who ſhould diſpute his pretenſions. In the mean time, Odo had written to Robert an account of the conſpiracy in his favour, urging him to uſe diſpatch, and exciting him, by the greatneſs of the danger, and the ſplen⯑dor of the reward. Robert gave him the moſt poſitive aſſurances of ſpeedy aſſiſtance; but his indolence was not to be excited by diſtant ex⯑pectations. Inſtead of employing his money [170] in levies, to ſupport his friends in England, he ſquandered it away in idle expences, and un⯑merited benefits, ſo that he procraſtinated his departure till the opportunity was loſt; while William exerted himſelf with incredible acti⯑vity, to diſſipate the confederacy before he could arrive. Nor was this difficult to effect: the conſpirators had, in conſequence of Robert's aſſurances, taken poſſeſſion of ſome fortreſſes; but the appearance of the king ſoon reduced them to implore for mercy. He granted them their lives, but confiſcated all their eſtates, and baniſhed them the kingdom.

William, thus freed from all danger of inſur⯑rection, and fixed in the peaceable poſſeſſion of the kingdom, ſhewed the firſt inſtance of his perverſe inclinations, in his ingratitude to the Engliſh, who had ſecured him on the throne. The death of Lanfranc, which followed ſhortly after, took off all reſtraint from his inclina⯑tions, and his mind now appeared in its natu⯑ral deformity, tyrannical, and unjuſt. He or⯑dered a new ſurvey to be taken of all the lands and property of the kingdom; and wherever he found them undervalued in the Doom's-day-book, he raiſed the proportion of taxes ac⯑cordingly. Even the privileges of the church, which were held very ſacred in thoſe times of [171] ignorance, were but a feeble rampart againſt his uſurpations; he ſeized the vacant biſhop⯑ricks, and openly put to ſale ſuch abbies as he thought proper. But, not content⯑ed with exerting his tyranny over his own dominions, he was reſolved to extend his autho⯑rity over thoſe of his brother. In conſequence of this reſolution, he appeared in Normandy, at the head of a numerous army; but the no⯑bility, on both ſides, ſtrongly connected by in⯑tereſt and alliances, brought on an accommo⯑dation. Among other articles of this treaty, it was agreed, that, in caſe either of the brothers ſhould die without iſſue, the ſurvivor ſhould in⯑herit all his dominions. It was in vain that Henry, the other brother, remonſtrated againſt this act of injuſtice; it was in vain that he took arms, and even defended a little fortreſs, on the coaſt of Normandy, for ſome time, againſt their united aſſaults. He was at laſt obliged to ſurrender; and, being deſpoiled of even the ſmall patrimony that was left him, he wandered about for ſome years, with a few attendants, and was often reduced to great poverty.

It was in beſieging this fortreſs, that a circum⯑ſtance or two have been related, which ſerve to mark the character of the two brothers. As Wil⯑liam was taking the air one day on horſeback, at [172] ſome diſtance from the camp, perceived two horſemen riding out from the caſtle, who ſoon came up and attacked him. In the very firſt encounter, the king's horſe being killed, over⯑turned, and lay upon him, in ſuch a manner that he could not diſengage himſelf. His an⯑tagoniſt, while he remained in this ſituation, lifted up his arm to diſpatch him; when Wil⯑liam exclaimed, in a menacing tone, ‘"Hold, villain, I am the king of England."’ The two ſoldiers were immediatly ſeized with veneration and awe; and, helping him up, accommodated him with one of their horſes. William was not ungrateful for this ſervice; he mounted the horſe, and ordering the ſoldier to fol⯑low, took him into his ſervice. Soon after, Robert had an occaſion to ſhew ſtill greater marks of generoſity; for, hearing that the gar⯑riſon was in great diſtreſs for want of water, he not only ordered that Henry ſhould be per⯑mitted to ſupply himſelf, but alſo ſent him ſome pipes of wine for his own table. Rufus did not at all approve of this ill-timed genero⯑ſity; but Robert anſwered his remonſtrances by ſaying, ‘"Shall we ſuffer our brother to die with thirſt! Where ſhall we find another when he is gone?"’

[173]The inteſtine and petty diſcords that enſued upon this accommodation between Robert and Rufus, ſeem ſcarce worthy the attention of hiſtory. They indeed produced more real calamities to the people than ſplendid invaſions, or bloody battles, as the depredations of petty tyrants are ever more ſeverely felt by the poor, than the magnanimous projects of ambition. A rup⯑ture enſued between Rufus and Malcolm, king of Scotland, in which the latter was ultimately ſurprized, and ſlain, by a party from Alnwick caſtle.

A new breach was made ſome time after be⯑tween the brothers,A.D. 1093 in which Rufus found means to encroach ſtill further upon Robert's poſſeſſions. An incurſion from the Welch filled the country of England with alarm; A.D. 1094 but they were quickly repelled, and obliged to find refuge in their na⯑tive mountains. A conſpiracy of the Norman barons in England threatened ſerious conſe⯑quences; but their ſchemes were prevented and fruſtrated. Robert Mowbray, earl of North⯑umberland, who was at the head of this plot, was thrown into priſon, where he died, after thirty years confinement. The count Eu, an⯑other conſpirator, denying the charge, fought with his accuſer, in preſence of the court, at Windſor, and being worſted in the combat, was [174] condemned to be caſtrated, and to have his eyes put out. Every conſpiracy, thus detected, ſerved to enrich the king, who took care to ap⯑ply to his own uſe thoſe treaſures that had been amaſſed for the purpoſe of dethroning him.

But the memory of theſe tranſient broils, and unſucceſsful treaſons, were now totally eclipſed by one of the moſt noted enterprizes that ever adorned the annals of nations, or excited the attention of mankind. I mean the Cruſades, which were now firſt projected. Peter the Hermit, a native of Amiens, in Picardy, was a man of great zeal, courage, and piety. He had made a pilgrimage to the holy ſepulchre at Jeruſalem, and beheld, with indignation, the cruel manner in which the Chriſtians were treat⯑ed by the Infidels, who were in poſſeſſion of that place. Unable to ſuppreſs his reſentment, upon his return, he entertained the bold deſign of freeing the whole country from the Maho⯑metan yoke, and of reſtoring to the Chriſtians the land where their religion was firſt propa⯑gated. He firſt propoſed his views to Martin II. at that time pope, who permitted, rather than aſſiſted, this bold enthuſiaſt in his aims. Peter, therefore, warmed with a zeal that knew no bounds, began to preach the Cruſade, and to excite the princes of Chriſtendom to the re⯑covery [175] of the Holy-land. Bare-headed, and bare-footed, he travelled from court to court, preaching as he went, and inflaming the zeal of every rank of people. The fame of this deſign being thus diffuſed, prelates, nobles, and princes, concurred in ſeconding it; and, at a council held at Clermont, where the pope him⯑ſelf exhorted to the undertaking, the whole aſ⯑ſembly cried out with one voice, as if by in⯑ſpiration, It is the will of God. It is the will of God. From that time, nothing was ſeen but an univerſal migration of the weſtern nations into the eaſt; men of all ranks flew to arms with the utmoſt alacrity, and bore the ſign of the croſs upon their right ſhoulder, as a mark of their devotion to the cauſe. In the midſt of this uni⯑verſal ardour that was diffuſed over Europe, men were not entirely forgetful of their tem⯑poral intereſts; for ſome, hoping a more magnificent ſettlement in the ſoft regions of Aſia, ſold their European property for what⯑ever they could obtain, contented with receiv⯑ing any thing for what they were predetermin⯑ed to relinquiſh. Among the princes who felt and acknowledged this general ſpirit of enterprize, was Robert, duke of Normandy. The Cruſade was entirely adapted to his inclinations, and his circumſtances; he was brave, zealous, covetous [176] of glory, harraſſed by inſurrections, and, what was more than all, naturally fond of change. In order, therefore, to ſupply money to defray the neceſſary charges of ſo expenſive an under⯑taking, he offered to mortgage his dukedom of Normandy to his brother Rufus for a ſtipulat⯑ed ſum of money. This ſum, which was no greater than ten thouſand marks, was readily promiſed by Rufus, whoſe ambition was upon the watch to ſeize every advantage. He was no way ſolicitous about raiſing the money, as he knew the riches of his clergy. From them, therefore, he forced the whole; heedleſs of their murmurs, and aggravating his injuſtice by the pious pretences he made uſe of to cover his extortions: thus equipping his brother for his romantic expedition to the Holy-land, he, more wiſely, and more ſafely, took peaceable poſſeſſion of his dukedom at home.

In this manner was Normandy once more united to England; and from this union, af⯑terwards, aroſe thoſe numerous wars with France, which, for whole centuries, continued to depopulate both nations, without conducing in the end to encreaſe the power of either. However, Rufus was not a little pleaſed with this acquiſition; he made a voyage to his new dominion, and took poſſeſſion of it for five [177] year, according to agreement with his brother.A.D. 1095 He alſo demanded of the king of France a part of the territory of Vexin, which, he pretend⯑ed, was an appurtenance to his duchy, and even attempted to enforce his claims by arms. But, though the ceſſion of Maine and Normandy greatly encreaſed the king's territories, they added but little to his real power, as his new ſubjects were compoſed of men of independent ſpirits, more ready to diſpute than obey his commands. Many were the revolts and inſur⯑rections which he was obliged to quell in per⯑ſon; and, no ſooner was one conſpiracy ſup⯑preſſed, than another roſe to give him freſh diſquietude.

In the midſt of theſe foreign troubles, he found himſelf involved in a diſagreeable quar⯑rel with Anſelm, archbiſhop of Canterbury, a prelate of an haughty diſpoſition, and extreme⯑ly tenacious of the rights of the church. There was at that time a ſchiſm in the church, be⯑tween Urban and Clement, who both pretend⯑ed to the papacy; and Anſelm, who had al⯑ready acknowledged Urban, was determined, without the king's conſent, to introduce his au⯑thority into England. William, who, imitat⯑ing his father's example, had prohibited his ſubjects from recognizing any pope whom he [178] had not preriouſly approved, was enraged at Anſelm's pretenſions. A ſynod was ſummoned at Rockingham, for depoſing the prelate; but, inſtead of obeying the king, the members of it declared, that none but the pope could inflict a cenſure on their primate. To this was ſoon after added a freſh offence. Anſelm being re⯑quired to furniſh his quota of ſoldiers, for an intended expedition againſt the Welſh, reluc⯑tantly complied; but he ſent them ſo ill equip⯑ped, that Rufus threatened him with a proſe⯑cution. As the reſentments on both ſides were encreaſed, their mutual demands were raiſed in proportion, till at length their anger pro⯑ceeded to recrimination; and Anſelm, finding it dangerous to remain in the kingdom, deſired permiſſion to retire to Rome. This requeſt the king very readily complied with; but, in order to mortify the prelate yet more, he ſent an officer to ſearch his baggage, after he was on board, and to ſeize all his money, on pretence of a law which forbad the exportation of ſil⯑ver. Not content with this, he ordered all his temporalities to be confiſcated, and actually kept poſſeſſion of them the remaining part of his life.

This open infringement of what were then conſidered as rights of the church, ſerved [179] to unite the pope, as well as all the eccleſiaſ⯑ticks of his own dominions, againſt him. Ur⯑ban even menaced him with the ſentence of ex⯑communication; but he was too earneſtly en⯑gaged in the cruſade, to attend to any other buſineſs. Rufus, therefore, little regarded thoſe cenſures, which he found were ineffectual; he had but very little religion at beſt, and the amazing infatuation of the times inſpired him with no very high ideas of the wiſdom of its profeſſors. It is reported of him, that he once accepted ſixty marks of a Jew, whoſe ſon had been converted to Chriſtianity, and who en⯑gaged him by that preſent to aſſiſt in bring⯑ing back the youth to Judaiſm. William em⯑ployed both menaces and perſuaſion to that purpoſe; but finding his efforts ineffectual, he ſent for the father, and informing him that the new convert was obſtinate in his faith, he re⯑turned him half the money, and kept the reſt for his pains. At another time, he is ſaid to have ſent for ſome learned Chriſtian theolo⯑gians and ſome Jewiſh rabbies, and bade them▪ fairly diſpute the points of their religion before him. He was perfectly indifferent, he ſaid, which ſhould prevail; he had his ears open to both, and he would embrace that doc⯑trine, which, upon compariſon, ſhould be [180] found ſupported on the moſt ſolid argu⯑ments.

In this manner Rufus proceeded, careleſs of approbation or cenſure; and only intent upon extending his dominions, either by purchaſe or conqueſt. The earl of Poictiers and Guienne, en⯑flamed with a deſire of going upon the cruſade, had gathered an immenſe multitude for that expedition, but wanted money to forward his preparations. He had recourſe, therefore, to Rufus; and offered to mortgage all his domi⯑nions, without much conſidering what would become of his unhappy ſubjects that he thus diſpoſed of. The king accepted this offer with his uſual avidity; and had prepared a fleet, and an army, in order to take poſſeſſion of the rich provinces thus conſigned to his truſt. But an accident put an end to all his ambitious projects, and ſerved to rid the world of a mer⯑cenary tyrant. His favourite amuſement was hunting, almoſt the only relaxation of princes in thoſe rude times, when the other arts of peace were but little cultivated. The New Foreſt was generally the ſcene of his ſport; and there he uſually ſpent thoſe hours which were not employed in buſineſs of a more ſerious nature. One day, as he was mounting his horſe, in or⯑der to take his cuſtomary amuſement, he is [181] ſaid to have been ſtopped by a monk, who warned him, from ſome dreams he had the night before, to abſtain from that day's diver⯑ſion. Rufus, ſmiling at his ſuperſtition, or⯑dered him to be paid for his zeal, but deſired him to have more favourable dreams for the future. Thus, ſetting forward, he began the chace, attended by Walter Tyrrel, a French knight, famous for archery, who always accom⯑panied him in theſe excurſions. Towards ſun⯑ſet, they found themſelves ſeparated from the reſt of their retinue; and the king diſmounted, either through fatigue, or in expectation of a freſh horſe. Juſt at that inſtant, a ſtag bound⯑ed out before him; and Rufus, drawing his bow, wounded the animal, yet not ſo mortal⯑ly but that it fled; while he followed, in hopes of ſeeing it fall. As the ſetting ſun beamed in his face, he held up his hand before his eyes, and ſtood in that poſture; when Tyr⯑rel, who had been engaged in the ſame purſuit, let fly an arrow, which glancing from a tree, ſtruck the king to the heart. He dropt dead inſtantaneouſly; while the innocent author of his death, terrified at the accident, put ſpurs to his horſe, haſtened to the ſea-ſhore, embarked for France, and joined the cruſade that was then ſetting out for Jeruſalem. William's [182] body, being found by ſome countrymen paſ⯑ſing through the foreſt, it was laid acroſs an horſe, and carried to Wincheſter, where it was, next day, interred in the cathedral, without ce⯑remony, or any marks of reſpect. Few la⯑mented his fate, and none of the courtiers at⯑tended his funeral.

A.D. 1100 It requires no great art to draw the charac⯑ter of a prince, whoſe vices were compenſated by ſcarce one virtue. Rufus was a perſidious, encroaching, and a dangerous neighbour, an un⯑kind and ungenerous relation, a rapacious, and yet a prodigal prince. However, there remains to this day, ſome monuments of his public ſpi⯑rit; the Tower, Weſtminſter-Hall, and Lon⯑don-bridge, were all built by him, and are evi⯑dences that the treaſures of government were not all expended in vain. William Rufus was ſlain in the thirteenth year of his reign, and about the fortieth of his age. As he never was married, he left no legitimate iſſue behind him; the ſucceſſion, therefore, of courſe de⯑volved upon Robert, his elder brother, but he was then too diſtant to aſſert his pretenſions.

CHAP. VII. HENRY I. ſurnamed BEAUCLERC.

THERE were now two competitors for the crown; Robert, who had engaged in the holy war, and Henry, the youngeſt brother, who continued at home. Had Robert been in Normandy when William died, there is no doubt, from the popularity of his charac⯑ter, and from the treaty formerly concluded between the two brothers, but that he would [184] have been elected without oppoſition. This valiant and generous prince having led his fol⯑lowers into Paleſtine, and there diſtinguiſhed himſelf by his courage, his affable diſpoſition, and unbounded generoſity, after the taking of Jeruſalem, began to think of returning home, and of enjoying in tranquillity that glory, which he had acquired in the field againſt the infidels. But, inſtead of taking the moſt di⯑rect road to England, he paſſed through Italy, where he became acquainted with Sibylla, daughter of count Converſana, a lady of cele⯑brated beauty; and, marrying her, he laviſhed away, in her company, thoſe hours which ſhould have been employed in the recovery of his kingdom.

In the mean time, Henry, who had been hunting in the New Foreſt when his brother was ſlain, took the earlieſt advantage of the occaſion, and haſtening to Wincheſter, reſolv⯑ed to ſecure the royal treaſure, which he knew to be the beſt aſſiſtant in ſeconding his aims. William de Breteuil, who had the care of the treaſury, informed of the king's death, oppoſed himſelf boldly to Henry's pretenſions. He ventured to aſſure Henry, that the money in his cuſtody, as well as the crown, belonged to his elder brother, and that he was reſolved [185] to continue firm in his juſt allegiance. The diſpute was on the point of producing blood⯑ſhed, when ſeveral of Henry's partizans arriv⯑ing, compelled Breteuil to ſurrender the trea⯑ſure, with a part of which, they in all probabili⯑ty, hoped to be rewarded for their ſervice. Being poſſeſſed of this, without loſing time, he next haſtened to London, where he procured him⯑ſelf to be proclaimed king, and inſtantly pro⯑ceeded to the exerciſe of his royal dignity. The barons, as well as the people, acquieſced in a claim which they were unprovided to reſiſt, and yielded obedience from the fears of imme⯑diate danger.

When ever there is a diſputed throne, the people generally become umpires, and thus re⯑gain a part of thoſe natural rights of which they might have been deprived. Henry eaſily fore⯑ſaw, that to ſecure his uſurped title, his ſub⯑jects were to be indulged, and that his power could only find ſecurity in their affections. His firſt care, therefore, was to make ſeveral con⯑ceſſions in their favour. He granted them a charter, eſtabliſhing the churches in poſſeſſion of all their immunities, aboliſhing thoſe exceſ⯑ſive fines which uſed to be exacted from heirs; granting his barons, and military tenants, the power of bequeathing their money by will, re⯑mitting [186] all debts due to the crown; offering a pardon for all former offences, and promiſing to confirm and obſerve all the laws of Edward the Confeſſor. Theſe conceſſions pleaſed the clergy and the people, while the king, who meant only to obſerve them while his power was in diſpute, boaſted of the lenity of his go⯑verment.

Still farther to ingratiate himſelf with the people, Henry expelled from court all the miniſters of his brother's debauchery and arbi⯑trary power; he ſtripped Ralph Flambard, who had been his brother's principal favourite, and, conſequently, obnoxious to the people, of his dignity, and had him confined to the Tower. But what gave him the greateſt ſhare of popularity, was his recalling Anſelm, arch⯑biſhop of Canterbury, who had been baniſhed during the laſt reign, to his former dignity and his favour. One thing only remained to con⯑firm his claims without danger of a rival. The Engliſh ſtill remembered their Saxon monarchs with gratitude, and beheld them excluded the throne with regret. There ſtill remained ſome of the deſcendants of that favourite line; and, a⯑mong others, Matilda, the niece of Edgar Athel⯑ing; which lady, having declined all pretenſions to royalty, was bred up in a convent, and had [187] actually taken the veil. Upon her Henry firſt fixed his eyes as a proper conſort, by whoſe means, the long breach between the Saxon and Norman intereſts would be finally united. It only remained to get over the ſcruple of her be⯑ing a nun; but this a council, devoted to his intereſts, readily admitted; and Matilda being pronounced free to marry, the nup⯑tials were celebrated with great pomp and ſo⯑lemnity.

It was at this unfavourable juncture, that Robert returned from abroad, and after tak⯑ing poſſeſſion of his native dominions, laid his claim to the crown of England. But he was now, as in all his former attempts, too late for ſucceſs. However, as he was a man of undaunt⯑ed reſolution, he ſeemed reſolved to diſpute his pretenſions to the laſt; and the great fame he had acquired in the Eaſt, did not a little ſerve to forward, his endeavours. He was alſo ex⯑cited to theſe reſolutions by Flambard, who had eſcaped from the Tower; together with ſeveral others, as well of the Norman as the Engliſh nobility. Even the ſeamen were affected with the general popularity of his name, and revolted to him with the greateſt part of a fleet that had been equipped to oppoſe his paſſage. Henry, who outwardly pretended to ſlight [188] all theſe preparations, yet had penetration enough to perceive, that his ſubjects fluctuated in their inclinations between him and his bro⯑ther. In this emergency, he had recourſe to the bigotry of the people, to oppoſe their ſen⯑timents of juſtice. He paid diligent court to Anſelm, whole ſanctity and wiſdom he pretend⯑ed to revere; and this prelate, in return, em⯑ployed all his credit in ſecuring him on the throne. He ſcrupled not to aſſure the nobles of the king's ſincerity in his profeſſions of juſtice; and even rode through the ranks of the army, recommending to the ſoldiery the defence of their king, and promiſing to ſee their valour rewarded. Thus the people were retain⯑ed in their allegiance to the uſurper, and the army marched chearfully forward to meet Robert and his forces, which were landed in ſafe⯑ty at Portſmouth. When the two armies came in ſight, they both ſeemed equally unwilling to hazard a battle; and their leaders, who ſaw that much more would be loſt than gained by ſuch a conflict, made propoſals for an accom⯑modation. This, after the removal of a few obſtacles, was agreed to; and it was ſtipulat⯑ed, that Robert, upon the payment of a cer⯑tain ſum, ſhould reſign his pretenſions to Eng⯑land; and that if either of the princes died [189] without iſſue, the other ſhould ſucceed to his dominions. This treaty being ratified, the armies on each ſide were diſbanded; and Ro⯑bert having lived two months in the utmoſt harmony with his brother, returned in peace to his own dominions.

But it was not in the power of formal trea⯑ties to bind up the reſentment of a monarch, who knew himſelf injured, and found it in his power to take revenge. Henry ſoon ſhewed his reſolution to puniſh all the heads of the party which had lately oppoſed him; and this he did, under different pretexts, and by re⯑peated proſecutions. The earl of Shrewſbury, Arnulf de Montgomery, and Roger, earl of Lancaſter, were baniſhed the kingdom, with the confiſcation of their eſtates. Robert de Pontefract, Robert de Mallet, William de Wa⯑rene, and the earl of Cornwall,A.D. 1103 were treated with equal ſeverity; ſo that Robert, finding his friends thus oppreſſed, came over to England to intercede in their behalf. Henry received him very coolly, aſſembled a council to deli⯑berate in what manner he ſhould be treated; ſo that Robert finding his own liberty to be in danger, was glad to aſk permiſſion to return; which, however, was not granted him, till he conſented to give up his penſion.

[190]But the conſequences of Robert's indiſcre⯑tion were not confined to his own ſafety alone; as he was totally averſe to buſineſs, and only ſtudious of the more ſplendid amuſements or employments of life, his affairs every day be⯑gan to wear a worſe appearance. His ſervants pillaged him without compunction; and he is deſcribed as lying whole days a-bed for want of cloaths, of which they had robbed him. His ſubjects were treated ſtill more deplorably, for being under the command of petty and ra⯑pacious tyrants, who plundered them without mercy, the whole country was become a ſcene of violence and depredation. It was in this miſerable exigence, that the Normans at length had recourſe to Henry, from whoſe wiſe adminiſtration of his own dominions, they expected a ſimilitude of proſperity, ſhould he take the reins of theirs. Henry very readily promiſed to redreſs their grievances, as he knew it would be the direct method to ſecond his own ambition.A.D. 1105 The year enſuing, there⯑fore, he landed in Normandy with a ſtrong army, took ſome of the principal towns; and ſhewed, by the rapidity of his progreſs, that he meditated the entire conqueſt of the country.

Robert, who had already mortgaged, or gi⯑ven away the greateſt part of his demeſne, ſpent [191] his time in the moſt indolent amuſements, and looked upon the progreſs of Henry with an eye of perfect indifference. But being at laſt rouſed from his lethargy, and finding his af⯑fairs in a deſperate ſituation; he took the ſtrange reſolution of appealing, in perſon, to Henry's natural affections, which this brave, imprudent man, eſtimated by the emotions of his own heart. Henry received him, not only with coolneſs, but contempt; and ſoon taught him, that no virtues will gain that man eſteem who has forfeited his pretenſions to prudence. Robert, thus treated with indignity, quitted his brother in a tranſport of rage, expreſſing an ardent purpoſe of revenge; to which, Henry paid no ſort of regard.

Robert was reſolved, however, to ſhew him⯑ſelf formidable; even in the moſt diſtreſſed ſtate of his circumſtances. Poſſeſſed with high ideas of chivalry, which his expedition to the holy land ſerved to heighten, he was willing to re⯑trieve his affairs by valour, which he had loſt by indolence. Being ſupported by the earl of Mortaigne and Robert de Beleſme, Henry's inveterate enemies, he raiſed an army, and ap⯑proached his brother's camp, with a view of finiſhing, by a deciſive battle, the quarrel be⯑tween them. While the two armies were yet [192] in ſight of each other, ſome of the clergy em⯑ployed their mediation to bring on a treaty; but as Henry inſiſted upon Robert's renoun⯑cing the government of his dominions entirely, and one half of the revenue, all accommoda⯑tion was rejected with diſdain, and both ſides prepared for battle. Robert was now entered on that ſcene of action in which he chiefly glo⯑ried, and in which he was always known to excel. He animated his little army by his example, and led them to the encounter with that ſpirit which had formerly made the infi⯑dels tremble. There was no withſtanding his firſt ſhock; that quarter of the Engliſh army where he made the impreſſion gave way, and he was nearly on the point of gaining a com⯑plete victory. But it was different on that quarter where Beleſme commanded; he was put to ſlight by one of the king's generals, who alſo advancing himſelf with a freſh body of horſe to ſuſtain his center, his whole army rallied; while Robert's forces, exhauſted and broken, gave ground on every ſide, in ſpite of all his efforts and acts of perſonal valour. But though he now ſaw his army defeated, and thouſands falling round him, yet he refuſed to find ſafety by flight, or turn his back upon an enemy that he ſtill diſdained. He was [193] taken priſoner, with near ten thouſand of his men, and all the conſiderable barons who had adhered to his misfortunes. This victory was followed by the final reduction of Normandy, while Henry returned in triumph to England, leading with him his captive brother, who, af⯑ter a life of bravery, generoſity, and truth, now found himſelf not only deprived of his patrimony and his friends, but alſo of his freedom. Henry, unmindful of his bro⯑ther's former magnanimity with regard to him, detained him a priſoner during the re⯑mainder of his life, which was no leſs than twenty-eight years; and he died in the caſtle of Cardiff, in Glamorganſhire. It is even ſaid by ſome, that he was deprived of his ſight by a red-hot copper baſon applied to his eyes; while his brother attempted to ſtifle the re⯑proaches of his conſcience, by founding the abbey of Reading, which was then conſidered as a ſufficient atonement for every degree of barbarity.

The firſt ſtep Henry took, after his return to England, was to reform ſome abuſes which had crept in among his courtiers; for, as they were allowed by the feudal law to live upon the king's tenants whenever he travelled, they, un⯑der colour of this, committed all manner of ra⯑vages [194] with impunity. To remedy this diſor⯑der, he publiſhed an edict, puniſhing with the loſs of ſight all ſuch as ſhould, under pretext of royal authority, commit any depredations in the places through which they paſſed. Some diſputes alſo concerning eccleſiaſtical affairs, which were ſupported by Anſelm, the archbi⯑ſhop of Canterbury, were compromiſed and ad⯑juſted. Henry was contented to reſign his right of granting eccleſiaſtical inveſtitures, but was allowed to receive homage from his bi⯑ſhops for all their temporal properties and privi⯑leges. The marriage of prieſts alſo was prohi⯑bited, and laymen were not allowed to marry within the ſeventh degree of affinity. The laity were alſo prohibited from wearing long hair, a mode of dreſs to which the clergy ſhew⯑ed the utmoſt averſion.

Theſe regulations ſerved to give employ⯑ment to Henry in his peaceful intervals; but the apprehenſions which he had from the diſ⯑ſatisfaction of his Norman ſubjects, and his fears for the ſucceſſion, gave him but too much buſineſs to permit any long intervals of relaxa⯑tion. His principal concern was, to prevent his nephew, William, the ſon of Robert, from ſucceeding to the crown, in prejudice of Wil⯑liam, his own ſon, for whom he was ſolicitous [195] to ſecure it. His nephew was but ſix years of age, when he committed him to the care of Helie de St. Saen; and this nobleman diſcharg⯑ed his truſt in his education with a degree of fidelity uncommon at that barbarous period we are deſcribing. Finding that Henry was deſirous of recovering poſſeſſion of his pupil's perſon, he withdrew, and carried him to the court of Fulk, count of Anjou, who gave him protection. This noble youth, wandering from court to court, evaded all the arts of his power⯑ful uncle, who was not remiſs in trying every method of ſeizing him, either by treaty or inti⯑midation. In this ſtruggle, Lewis, the king of France, took the young adventurer's part, and endeavoured to intereſt the pope in his quarrel. Failing in this, he endeavoured to gain, by force of arms, what his negociations could not obtain. A war enſued between him and Hen⯑ry, in which many ſlight battles were fought, but attended with no deciſive conſequences. In one of theſe, which was fought at Noyon, a city that Lewis had an intention to ſurpriſe, the valour both of the nephew and the uncle, were not a little conſpicuous. This young man, who inherited all his father's bravery, charged the van of the Engliſh army with ſuch impetuoſity, that it fell back upon the main body, com⯑manded [196] by the king in perſon, whoſe utmoſt efforts were unequal to the attack. Still, how⯑ever, exerting all his endeavours to ſtem the torrent of the enemy that was pouring down upon him, a Norman knight, whoſe name was William Criſpin, diſcharged at his head two ſuch furious ſtrokes of a ſabre, that his helmet was cut through, and his head ſeverely wound⯑ed. At the ſight of his own blood, which ruſhed down his viſage, he was animated to a double exertion of his ſtrength, and retorted the blow with ſuch force, that his antagoniſt was brought to the ground, and taken priſoner. This decided the victory in favour of the Eng⯑liſh, who purſued the French with great ſlaugh⯑ter; and it alſo ſerved to bring on an accom⯑modation ſoon after, in which the intereſts of his nephew were entirely neglected. From this period,A.D. 1119 till the time of that brave youth's death, which happened about eight years af⯑ter, he appears to have been employed in inef⯑fectual ſtruggles to gain thoſe dominions to which he had the moſt juſt hereditary claims, but wanted power to back his pretenſions.

Fortune now ſeemed to ſmile upon Henry, and promiſe a long ſucceſſion of felicity. He was in peaceable poſſeſſion of two powerful ſtates, and had a ſon who was acknowledged [197] undiſputed heir, arrived at his eighteenth year, whom he loved moſt tenderly. His daughter, Matilda, was alſo married to the emperor Hen⯑ry V. of Germany, and ſhe had been ſent to that court while yet but eight years old, for her education. All his proſpects, however, were at once clouded by unforeſeen misfor⯑tunes and accidents, which tinctured his re⯑maining years with miſery. The king, from the facility with which he uſurped the crown, dreading that his family might be ſubverted with the ſame eaſe, took care to have his ſon recognized as his ſucceſſor by the ſtates of England, and carried him over to Normandy to receive the homage of the barons of that duchy. After performing this requiſite cere⯑mony, Henry returning triumphantly to Eng⯑land, brought with him a numerous retinue of the chief nobility, who ſeemed to ſhare in his ſucceſſes. In one of the veſſels of the fleet, his ſon, and ſeveral young noblemen, the com⯑panions of his pleaſures, went together to render the paſſage more agreeable. The king ſet ſail from Barfleur, and was ſoon carried by a fair wind out of ſight of land. The prince was detained by ſome accident; and his ſailors, as well as their captain Fitz Stephen, having ſpent the interval in drinking, became ſo diſordered, that they ran [198] the ſhip upon a rock, and immediately it was daſhed to pieces. The prince was put into the boat, and might have eſcaped, had he not been called back by the cries of Maude, his natural ſiſter. He was at firſt conveyed out of danger himſelf, but could not leave a perſon ſo dear to periſh without an effort to ſave her. He, therefore, prevailed upon the ſailors, to row back and take her in. The approach of the boat, giving ſeveral others who had been left upon the wreck, the hopes of ſaving their lives, numbers leaped in, and the whole went to the bottom. Above an hundred and forty young noblemen of the prin⯑cipal families of England and Normandy, were loſt on this occaſion. A butcher of Rouen was the only perſon on board who eſcaped; he clung to the maſt, and was taken up the next morning by ſome fiſhermen. Fitz Stephen, the captain, while the butcher was thus buffetting the waves for his life, ſwam up to him, and en⯑quired if the prince was yet living. When, being told, that he had periſhed; then, I will not out-live him, ſaid the captain, and immedi⯑ately ſunk to the bottom. The ſhrieks of theſe unfortunate people were heard from the ſhore, and the noiſe even reached the king's ſhip, but the cauſe was then unknown. Henry entertain⯑ed hopes for three days, that his ſon had put [199] into ſome diſtant port of England; but when certain intelligence of the calamity was brought him, he fainted away, and was never ſeen to ſimile from that moment to the day of his death.

The reſt of this prince's life ſeems a mere blank, his reſtleſs deſires having now nothing left worth toiling for, he appeared more fond of repoſe than ambition. His daughter, Matilda, however, becoming a widow by the death of the emperor, he married her a ſecond time to Geoffry Plantagenet, eldeſt ſon of the count of Anjou, and, endeavoured to enſure her acceſ⯑ſion, by obliging his barons to recognize her as the heir of all his dominions. Some time after, that princeſs was delivered of a ſon, who receiv⯑ed the name of Henry; and the king, farther to enſure her ſucceſſion, cauſed all the nobility of England and Normandy to renew their for⯑mer oaths of allegiance. The barons of theſe times were ready enough to ſwear whatever the monarch commanded; but, it ſeems, they ob⯑ſerved it no longer than while they were com⯑pelled to obey. Henry did not long ſurvive theſe endeavours to ſecure the ſucceſſion in his family. He was ſeized with a ſudden illneſs at St. Denis, a little town in Normandy, from eat⯑ing too plentifully of lampreys, a diſh he was particularly fond of. He died in the ſixty-ſeventh [200] year of his age, and the thirty-fifth of his reign, leaving, by will, his daughter Ma⯑tilda heireſs of all his dominions.

If we conſider Henry's character impartially, we ſhall find more to admire than to love in it. It cannot be doubted, but that he was a wiſe and a valiant prince; and yet our hearts revolt againſt his ſucceſs, and follow the un⯑fortunate Robert even to his captivity. Hen⯑ry's perſon was manly, his countenance engag⯑ing, his eye clear, ſerene, and penetrating. By his great progreſs in literature, he had acquired the name of Beau Clerc, or the ſcholar; and ſuch was the force of his eloquence, that, after a con⯑ference with him, the pope is ſaid to have given him the preference to all the other princes of Europe. He was much addicted to women, and left behind him a numerous ſpurious off⯑ſpring. Hunting, alſo, was one of his favou⯑rite amuſements; and he is accuſed of aug⯑menting the foreſts which had been appropriat⯑ed during the former reigns for that diverſion. His juſtice alſo ſeemed to approach cruelty; ſtealing was firſt made capital in his reign; and falſe coining was puniſhed with death and mu⯑tilation. He firſt granted the city of London a charter and privileges; and, from this firſt con⯑ceſſion, we may date the origin of Engliſh liber⯑ty, ſuch as we find it at this day.

CHAP. VII. STEPHEN.

AS every expedient was uſed during the life of the late king, to fix the ſucceſſion in his fa⯑mily, he, among others, thought that the ag⯑grandizing his neareſt relations would not be an impolitic ſtep. He only dreaded the deſigns of Robert and his adherents, no way miſtruſt⯑ing any attempts from another quarter. With theſe views, he was very liberal in heaping [202] favours upon the children of his ſiſter Adela, who had been married to the count of Blois. He thought they would be the ſtrongeſt ſafe⯑guard to protect him from the aſpiring attempts of his brother, or his poſterity; and he was reſolv⯑ed to load them with favours, as being too far removed from the crown to entertain any hopes of ſucceeding in their deſigns to obtain it: in purſuance of this plan, he had, ſome years before his death, invited Stephen and Henry, the two youngeſt of his ſiſter's ſons, into England, and received them with great honour and eſteem. Thinking that he could never do too much to ſe⯑cure their affections, he married Stephen to the daughter and heireſs of Euſtace, count of Bou⯑logne, who brought him an immenſe fortune. He conferred on him the great eſtate forfeited by Robert Mallet in England, and by the earl of Montaigne in Normandy. Nor was Stephen's brother, Henry, without his ſhare in the king's liberalities. He was created abbot of Glaſton⯑bury, and biſhop of Wincheſter; ſo that the two brothers were thus become by far the moſt powerful ſubjects in the kingdom.

Such great riches, ſo much power, and the conſciouſneſs of abilities, were the firſt incen⯑tives to Stephen's ambition. Placed at no great diſtance from the throne by birth, and per⯑ceiving [203] the ſucceſs of his uncle's uſurpation, he reſolved to run the ſame career, and ſtrike for the crown. For this purpoſe, even during the king's life-time, he uſed all his arts to pro⯑cure popularity, and to cultivate the affections of the Engliſh nobility. By his bravery, acti⯑vity, and vigour, he acquired the eſteem of the barons; by his generoſity and familiar addreſs he obtained the love of the people. No ſooner, therefore, was the king known to be dead, than Stephen, conſcious of his own power and in⯑fluence, reſolved to ſecure to himſelf the poſ⯑ſeſſion of what he ſo long deſired. He immedi⯑ately haſtened from Normandy, where he then was, and ſetting ſail for England, landed at Do⯑ver. But there the citizens, apprized of his in⯑tent, ſhut their gates againſt him. From thence he went on to Canterbury, where he was treat⯑ed with like diſreſpect; but, paſſing on, he ar⯑rived at London, where he was immediately ſa⯑luted king, by all the lower ranks of the people. Being thus ſecured of the people, his next ſtep was to gain over the clergy; and, for that pur⯑poſe, his brother, the biſhop of Wincheſter, exerted all his influence among them, with good ſucceſs. The archbiſhop of Canterbury, as he had taken the oaths of allegiance to Matilda ſeemed for a while to ſtand out; but one Hugh Bigod, [204] ſteward of the houſhold, averring upon oath that the late king had expreſſed his intentions to make Stephen his heir, the archbiſhop anointed him without farther ſcruple. Thus was Stephen made king, by one of thoſe ſpeedy revolutions which ever mark the barbarity of a ſtate in which they are cuſtomary. The people acqui⯑eſced in his claims from his popularity; the clergy allowed them, being influenced by the intrigues of his brother; and the nobility per⯑mitted a king, from the weakneſs of whoſe title they might derive power to themſelves.

The firſt acts of an uſurper are always po⯑pular. Stephen, in order to ſecure his tottering throne, paſſed a charter, granting ſeveral privi⯑leges to the different orders of the ſtate. To the nobility, a permiſſion to hunt in their own foreſts; to the clergy, a ſpeedy filling of all vacant benefices; and to the people, a reſtora⯑tion of the laws of Edward the Confeſſor. To fix himſelf ſtill more ſecurely, he took poſſeſ⯑ſion of the royal treaſures at Wincheſter, and had his title ratified by the pope with a part of the money.

A crown thus gained by uſurpation, was to be kept only by repeated conceſſions. The nobi⯑lity and the clergy, in proportion as they were in⯑dulged in one demand, only prepared to find out [205] others. The barons, in return for their ſub⯑miſſion, required the right of fortifying their caſtles, and putting themſelves in a poſture of defence; nor could the king refuſe his conſent to ſuch exorbitant demands, as their oppoſition might be fatal. The clergy imitated the ſame pernicious example; and, in a ſhort time, all England was filled with theſe independent fortreſſes, which the noble⯑men garriſoned with their own vaſſals, or with mercenary bravos hired from the continent: nothing could exceed the miſery which the kingdom muſt have been reduced to, at that terrible period of ariſtocracy. Unbounded ra⯑pine was exerciſed upon the people for the maintenance of thoſe troops; the private ani⯑moſities of the nobility were productive of wars in every quarter; the erection of one caſtle proved the immediate cauſe of building many more; and the whole country preſented a ſcene of petty tyranny and hoſtile preparation. It was in vain that a victory,A.D. 1158 gained by the king over the Scots at Northallerton, promiſed to allay the murmurs of the people: their miſe⯑ries were riſen to too great a height for ſuch brilliant ſucceſſes to remove. The prince hav⯑ing uſurped the throne without a title, was obliged to tolerate in others that injuſtice by which he had himſelf riſen to the throne.

[206]Yet not only real, but imaginary grievances were added, to raiſe the diſcontents of the peo⯑ple, and fill the country with complaints againſt government. The clergy, whoſe power had been firmly eſtabliſhed on the ruins of the regal authority, began, in imitation of the lay barons, to build caſtles, and entertain garriſons, ſenſible that their ſacred pretenſions would be more implicitly obeyed, when their temporal power was ſufficient to enforce them. Stephen, who now too late perceived the miſchiefs attending theſe multiplied citadels, reſolved to begin with deſtroying thoſe of the clergy, whoſe pro⯑feſſion ſeemed to be averſe to the duties of war. Taking, therefore, the pretence of a fray which had ariſen between the retinue of the biſhop of Saliſbury and that of the earl of Brittany, he ſeized that prelate, and obliged both him and the biſhop of Lincoln to deliver up their caſtles, which they had lately erected. This the whole body of the clergy conſidered as a breach of that charter which he had granted upon his acceſſion; they loudly murmured againſt his infraction; and even the biſhop of Wincheſter, his brother, reſolved to vindicate the privileges of the church, which he pre⯑tended were openly violated. A ſynod was aſ⯑ſembled, in which the diſgraced prelates openly [207] inveighed againſt the king. But he inſtead of anſwering their charge in perſon, ſent one of his barons to plead his cauſe, and intimidate his accuſers.

It was in this critical ſituation of Stephen's affairs, that accounts were brought him of Ma⯑tilda's landing in England, with a reſolu⯑tion to diſpoſſeſs him, and regain the crown. Matilda, upon the death of the late king, be⯑ing then in Normandy, found herſelf totally unable to oppoſe the rapid progreſs of her ri⯑val. She was not leſs unfortunate in her con⯑tinental connections than in thoſe at home. The Norman barons, unwilling to have the union with England diſſolved, almoſt unani⯑mouſly declared for Stephen, and put him in poſſeſſion of their government; while Geoffry himſelf, Matilda's huſband, was content to re⯑ſign his pretenſions, and to receive a penſion from the Engliſh king. He had not, however, long acquieſced in this compromiſe, when he was incited to a renewal of his wife's claims by Robert earl of Glouceſter, natural ſon of the late king, a nobleman who had, from the be⯑ginning, oppoſed the acceſſion of Stephen, and only waited a fit opportunity to begin an in⯑ſurrection. This haughty baron, having at length ſettled with his friends the project of an [208] oppoſition, retired to the continent, to the court of Matilda, and from thence ſent the king a defiance, ſolemnly renouncing his allegiance. It was not long before he was in a capacity ef⯑fectually to ſecond his declarations; for, ſen⯑ſible of the power of his party in England, he landed, together with Matilda, whoſe claims he profeſſed to ſupport, upon the coaſt of Suſ⯑ſex. The whole of Matilda's retinue, upon this occaſion, amounted to no more than an hundred and forty knights, who immediately took poſſeſſion of Arundel caſtle; but the na⯑ture of her claims ſoon encreaſed the number of her partizans, and her forces every day ſeemed to gain ground upon thoſe of her anta⯑goniſt.A.D. 1139 Mean time Stephen, being aſſured of her arrival, flew to beſiege Arundel, where ſhe had taken refuge, and where ſhe was protected by the queen dowager, who ſecretly favoured her pretenſions. This fortreſs was too feeble to promiſe a long defence; and it would have been ſoon taken, had it not been repreſented to the king, that, as it was a caſtle belonging to the queen dowager, it would be an infringe⯑ment on the reſpect which was her due, to attempt taking it by force. There was a ſpirit of generoſity mixed with the rudeneſs of the times, that un⯑accountably prevailed in many tranſactions; [209] Stephen permitted Matilda to come forth in ſafety, and had her conveyed with ſecurity to Briſtol, another fortreſs equally ſtrong with that from whence he permitted her to retire. It would be tedious to relate the various ſkir⯑miſhes on either ſide, in purſuance of their re⯑ſpective pretenſions; it will ſuffice to ſay, that Matilda's forces encreaſed every day, while her antagoniſt ſeemed every hour to become more unpopular. The troops Stephen led were, in general, foreign mercenaries, commanded by tu⯑multuous barons, more accuſtomed to pillage than to conquer. But, in this fluctuation of ſucceſs, the kingdom was expoſed to ruin, which ever ſide pretended to victory. The caſtles of the nobility were become receptacles for licenſed robbers, who gave their rapine the name of attachment to party. The land was left untilled, the inſtruments of huſbandry were deſtroyed or abandoned, and a terrible famine, the reſult of general diſorder, oppreſſed at once the ſpoiled and the ſpoilers.

After the miſery of numberleſs undeciſive conflicts, added to the reſt of the country's ca⯑lamities, a complete victory, gained by the forces of Matilda, promiſed to terminate their diſputes. Stephen had marched his forces to relieve the city of Lincoln; the earl of Glou⯑ceſter [210] led a body of troops to ſecond the efforts of the beſiegers.A.D. 1141 Theſe two armies engaged within ſight of the city, and a dreadful conflict enſued. After a violent ſhock, the two wings of Stephen's army, which were compoſed of horſe, were put to flight; and the infantry ſoon following the example, deſerted their king. All the race of the Norman conqueror were brave. Stephen was for ſome time left with⯑out attendants, and fought on foot in the midſt of his enemies, aſſaulted by multitudes, and reſiſting all their efforts, with aſtoniſhing intre⯑pidity. Being hemmed in on every ſide, he made way for ſome time with his battle-ax; but that breaking, he drew out his ſword and dealt his blows round the circle in which he was en⯑cloſed. At length, after performing more than could be naturally expected from a ſingle arm, his ſword flying in pieces, he was obliged to ſurrender himſelf a priſoner. He was con⯑ducted to Glouceſter; and though at firſt treated with reſpect, he was ſoon after, on ſome ſuſpicions, thrown into priſon and laid in irons.

Stephen and his party now ſeemed totally diſabled. Matilda was poſſeſſed not only of ſu⯑perior power, but alſo the juſter title. She was conſidered as inconteſtible ſovereign, and the ba⯑rons [211] came in daily from all quarters to do her ho⯑mage. The biſhop of Wincheſter himſelf, who had eſpouſed her cauſe againſt his brother, admit⯑ted her claims; he led her in proceſſion into his cathedral, and bleſſed her with the greateſt ſo⯑lemnity; the archbiſhop of Canterbury alſo ſwore allegiance; and ſhortly after an eccleſiaſ⯑tical council, at which none of the laity aſſiſt⯑ed, except deputies from the city of London, confirmed her pretenſions; and ſhe was crown⯑ed at Wincheſter with all imaginable ſolem⯑nity.

A crown thus every way ſecured,A.D. 1141 ſeemed liable to be ſhaken by no accidents; yet ſuch is the vanity of human ſecurity, and ſuch was the great encreaſe of power among the barons, who were in effect maſters of thoſe they nomi⯑nally elected as governors, that Matilda re⯑mained but a ſhort time in poſſeſſion of the throne. This princeſs, beſide the diſadvan⯑tages of her ſex, which weakened her influence over a martial people, was reſolved upon re⯑preſſing the growing power of the nobles, who had left only the ſhadow of authority to their ſovereign. But having neither temper, nor policy ſufficient to carry her views into execu⯑tion, ſhe diſguſted thoſe by her pride, to whom ſhe was obliged for her power. The firſt [212] petition ſhe refuſed, was the releaſement of Stephen; ſhe rejected the remonſtrance of the Londoners, who intreated her to mitigate the ſevere laws of the Norman princes, and revive thoſe of Edward the Confeſſor. She affected to treat the nobility with a degree of diſdain, to which they had long been unaccuſtomed; while the fickle nation once more began to pity their depoſed king, and to repent the ſteps they had taken in her favour. The biſhop of Wincheſter, who probably was never her ſin⯑cere partizan, was not remiſs in fomenting theſe diſcontents; and when he found the people ripe for a tumult, detached a party of his friends and vaſſals to block up the city of London, where the queen then reſided. At the ſame time, meaſures were taken to inſti⯑gate the Londoners to a revolt, and to ſeize her perſon. Matilda having timely notice of this conſpiracy, fled to Wincheſter, whither the biſhop, ſtill her ſecret enemy followed her, watching an opportunity to ruin her cauſe. His party was ſoon ſufficiently ſtrong to bid the queen open defiance; and to beſiege her in the very place, where ſhe firſt received his benediction. There ſhe continued for ſome time, but the town being preſſed by famine ſhe was obliged to eſcape, while her brother the [213] earl of Glouceſter endeavouring to follow, was taken priſoner, and exchanged for Stephen, who ſtill continued a captive. Thus a ſudden revolution once more took place; Matilda was depoſed and obliged to ſeek for ſafety in Ox⯑ford. Stephen was again recognized as king, and taken from his dungeon to be placed on the throne!

The civil war now broke out afreſh, with all its train of devaſtations. Many were the battles fought, and various the ſtratagems of thoſe who conducted the affairs of either party. Matilda eſcaped from Oxford at a time when the fields were covered with ſnow, by being dreſſed all in white, with four knights her at⯑tendants, habited in the ſame manner. Ste⯑phen was upon another occaſion ſurpriſed by the earl of Glouceſter at Wilton; and obliged to find ſafety by flight. Another time the em⯑preſs was obliged to quit the kingdom; and the death of the earl of Glouceſter ſoon after, who was the ſoul of her party, gave a dreadful blow to her intereſts.

Yet ſtill the affairs of Stephen continued to fluctuate. Though this monarch had the good fortune to ſee his rival fly to the continent, and leave him entire poſſeſſion of the kingdom; though his brother was poſſeſſed of the higheſt [214] authority among the clergy, yet he was ſtill inſecure. Finding that the caſtles built by the noblemen of his own party encou⯑raged a ſpirit of independence, and were lit⯑tle leſs dangerous than thoſe which remained in the hands of the enemy, he endeavoured to gain theſe; and this attempt united many of his own adherents againſt him. This diſcon⯑tent was encreaſed by the oppoſition of the clergy, who, from having been on his ſide, be⯑gan to declare loudly in favour of his oppo⯑nents. The pope laid his whole party under an interdict, for his having refuſed to ſend deputies, to be named by himſelf, to the gene⯑ral council at Rheims. By this ſentence, which was now firſt practiſed in England, di⯑vine ſervice was prohibited, and all the offices of religion ceaſed, except baptiſm and extreme unction. This ſtate of Stephen's affairs looked ſo unpromiſing, that a revolution was once more expected, when his ſubmiſſion to the ſee of Rome for a while ſuſpended the threatened blow.

Stephen had hitherto been oppoſed only by men who ſeconded the pretenſions of an⯑other; and who conſequently wanted that po⯑pularity, which thoſe have who fight their own cauſe. But he was now to enter the liſts with a new oppoſer, who was every day com⯑ing [215] to maturity, and growing more formida⯑ble. This was Henry the ſon of Matilda,A.D. 1149 who had now reached his ſixteenth year; and gave the greateſt hopes of being one day a valiant leader and a conſummate politician. It was uſual in thoſe days for young noblemen to re⯑ceive the honour of knighthood before they were permitted to carry arms; and Henry pro⯑poſed to receive his admiſſion from his great uncle, David, king of Scotland. With this view, and in hopes of once more inſpiring his mother's party, he landed in England with a great retinue of knights and ſoldiers, accompanied by many noblemen, as well Engliſh as foreigners. The ceremony was performed by the Scotch king at Carliſle, amidſt a multitude of people aſſembled on this occaſion, who all, pleaſed with the vigour, the addreſs, and ſtill more perhaps with the youth of the prince, ſecretly began to wiſh for a revo⯑lution in his favour. Soon after his return to Normandy, he was by his mother's conſent, inveſted with that duchy▪ which had ſome time before revoked to her. He was alſo, upon the death of his father Geoffry Plantage⯑net, ſecured in the poſſeſſion of his dominions; and to add ſtill more to his increaſing power, he married Eleanor the daughter and heireſs [216] of the duke of Guienne and Poitou; and took poſſeſſion of theſe extenſive territories.

With this great acceſſion of power, young Henry was now reſolved to reclaim his here⯑ditary kingdom; and to diſpute once more Stephen's uſurped pretenſions. For this pur⯑poſe, being previouſly aſſured of the diſpoſi⯑tions of the majority of the people in his favour, he made an invaſion on England,A.D. 1153 where he was immediately joined by almoſt all the barons of the kingdom. Though it was now the middle of winter, he advanced to beſiege Malmſbury; and took the town, after having worſted a body of the enemy that attempted to oppoſe his march. Soon after Reading, and above thirty other fortreſſes, ſubmitted without reſiſtance.

In the mean time Stephen, alarmed at the power and popularity of his young rival, tried every method to anticipate the purpoſe of his invaſion, by depriving him of a ſucceſ⯑ſion he ſo earneſtly ſought after. He had con⯑voked a council in London, where he pro⯑poſed his own ſon Euſtace, who was but a weak prince, as his aſſociate in government, as well as his ſucceſſor. He had even expreſſed a deſire of immediately proceeding to the coro⯑nation; but was mortified to find, that the archbiſhop of Canterbury refuſed to perform [217] the ceremony. It was then no time to proſe⯑cute his reſentment, when his rival was land⯑ed, and making haſty ſtrides to the throne; wherefore finding that Henry was advancing with a rapid progreſs, he marched with all poſſible diligence to oppoſe him, where he was beſieging Wallingford; and coming in fight, he reſted his army to prepare for battle. In this ſituation the two-armies remained for ſome time, within a quarter of a mile of each other, a deciſive action being every day expected. While they continued thus in anxious expecta⯑tion, a treaty was ſet on foot by the interpoſi⯑tion of William, earl of Arundel, for termina⯑ting the diſpute without blood. The death of Stephen's ſon, which happened during the courſe of the treaty, facilitated its concluſion. It was therefore agreed by all parties, that Ste⯑phen ſhould reign during life; and that juſtice ſhould be adminiſtered in his name. That Henry ſhould, on Stephen's death, ſucceed to the king⯑dom; and William, Stephen's ſon, ſhould in⯑herit Boulogne and his patrimonial eſtate. After all the barons had ſworn to this treaty, which filled the whole kingdom with joy, Henry eva⯑cuated England; and Stephen returned to the peaceable enjoyment of his throne. His reign, however, was ſoon after terminated by his death, [218] which happened about a year after the treaty, at Canterbury, where he was interred.

The fortune of many princes gives them, with poſterity, the reputation of wiſdom and virtue: Stephen wanted ſucceſs in all his ſchemes but that of aſcending the throne; and conſequently his virtues and abilities now remain doubtful. If we eſtimate them by the happineſs of his ſubjects, they will appear in a very deſpicable light; for England was never more miſerable than during his reign: but if we conſider them as they ap⯑pear in his private conduct, few monarchs can boaſt more. Active, generous, and brave, his ſole aim was to deſtroy a vile ariſtrocacy, that then oppreſſed the people; but the abilities of no man, however politic or intrepid, were then ſufficient to reſiſt an evil, that was too firmly ſupported by power. The faults therefore of this monarch's reign are entirely to be imput⯑ed to the ungovernable ſpirit of the people, but his virtues were his own.

CHAP. VIII. HENRY II.

WE have hitherto ſeen the barons and clergy becoming powerful, in proportion to the weakneſs of the monarch's title to the crown, and enriching themſelves with the ſpoils of enfeebled majeſty. Henry Plantagenet had now every right, both from hereditary ſucceſ⯑ſion, from univerſal aſſent, from power, and perſonal merit, to make ſure of the throne, [220] and to keep its prerogatives unimpaired. He was employed in beſieging a caſtle of one of his mutinous barons upon the continent, when news was brought him of Stephen's death; but, ſenſible of the ſecurity of his claims in England, he would not relinquiſh his enter⯑prize till he had reduced the place. He then ſet out on his journey, and was received in England with the acclamations of all the peo⯑ple; who, harraſſed with ſupporting oppoſite pretenſions, were now rejoiced to ſee all parties united.

The firſt act of Henry's government gave the people an happy omen of his future wiſe adminiſtration. Conſcious of his ſtrength, he began to correct thoſe abuſes, and to reſume thoſe privileges, which had been extorted from the weakneſs or the credulity of his prede⯑ceſſors. He immediately diſmiſſed all thoſe mercenary ſoldiers, who committed infinite diſorders in the nation. He ordered all the caſtles, which were erected ſince the death of Henry the firſt, and were become receptacles of rapine, to be demoliſhed, except a few, which he retained in his own hands for the protection of the kingdom. The adulterated coin was cried down, and new money ſtruck of the right value and ſtandard. He reſumed many [221] of thoſe benefactions which had been made to churches and monaſteries in the former reigns. He gave charters to ſeveral towns, by which the citizens claimed their freedom and privi⯑leges, independent of any ſuperior but him⯑ſelf. Theſe charters were the groundwork of Engliſh liberty. The ſtruggles which had be⯑fore this time been, whether the king or the barons, or the clergy, ſhould be deſpotic over the people, now began to aſſume a new aſpect; and a fourth order, namely, that of the more opulent of the people, began to claim a ſhare in adminiſtration. Thus was the feudal go⯑vernment at firſt impaired; and liberty began to be more equally diffuſed throughout the nation.

From this happy commencement, England once more began to reſpire; agriculture re⯑turned with ſecurity; and every individual ſeemed to enjoy the happy effects of the young king's wiſe adminiſtration. Not but that ſome ſlight commotions proceeded from many of the depreſſed barons, who were quickly brought to a ſenſe of their duty; as alſo from the Welſh, who made ſeveral incurſions; but theſe were at laſt obliged to make ſubmiſſion, and to return to their natural fortreſſes. But to ſuch a ſtate of tranquillity was the whole king⯑dom [222] brought in a very ſhort time, that Henry thought his preſence no longer neceſſary to preſerve order at home; and therefore made an expedition to the continent, where his affairs were in ſome diſorder.

As the tranſactions of the continent do not pro⯑perly fall within the limits of this ſcanty page, it will be ſufficient to ſay, that Henry's valour and prudence ſeconding his ambition, he ſoon ex⯑tended his power in that part of his domi⯑nions; and found himſelf, either by mar⯑riage, or hereditary claims, maſter of a third part of the French monarchy. He became maſter, in right of his father, of Anjou, Touraine, and Maine; in that of his mother, of Normandy; in that of his wife, of Gui⯑enne, Poictou, Xaintonge, Auvergne, Peri⯑gord, Angumois, and the Limouſin; to which he ſhortly after added Brittany, by marrying his ſon, who was yet a child, to the heireſs of that dukedom, who was yet a child alſo; and thus ſecuring that province, under pretence of being his ſon's guardian. It was in vain that Lewis, the king of France, oppoſed his grow⯑ing power; and ſeveral ineffectual engage⯑ments ſerved to prove, that little was to be ac⯑quired by force. A ceſſation of arms, there⯑fore, was at firſt concluded between them; [223] and ſoon after a peace, which was brought about by the pope's mediation.

Henry being thus become the moſt powerful prince of his age,A.D. 1161 the undiſputed monarch of England, poſſeſſed of more than a third of France, and having humbled the barons that would circumſcribe his power, he might natu⯑rally be expected to reign with very little oppo⯑ſition for the future. But it happened otherwiſe. He found the ſevereſt mortifications from a quarter, where he leaſt expected reſiſtance. Though he had diminiſhed the power of the barons, he was ſenſible that the temporal in⯑fluence of the clergy was ſtill gaining ground; and was grown to ſuch a pitch, as would ſhortly annihilate the authority of the ſovereign himſelf.

They now ſeemed reſolved not only to be exempted from the ordinary taxes of the ſtate, but to be ſecured from its puniſhments alſo. They had extorted an immunity from all but eccleſiaſtical penalties, during the laſt diſtracted reign; and they continued to main⯑tain that grant in the preſent. It may eaſily be ſuppoſed, that a law which thus ſcreened their guilt, contributed to encreaſe it; and we accordingly find upon record, not leſs than an hundred murders committed by men in holy [224] orders, in the ſhort period ſince the king's acceſſion, not one of which was puniſhed, not ſo much as with degradation; while the biſhops themſelves ſeemed to glory in this hor⯑rid indulgence.

The mild character, and advanced age, of Theobald, archbiſhop of Canterbury, toge⯑ther with his merits, in refuſing to put the crown on the head of Euſtace, the ſon of Ste⯑phen, prevented Henry, during his life-time, from any attempts to repreſs the vices of his clergy; but after his death, he reſolved to ex⯑ert himſelf with more activity. For this purpoſe, and that he might be ſecure againſt any oppoſition, he advanced to that dignity Thomas à Becket, on whoſe compliance he ſuppoſed he could entirely depend.

The famous Thomas à Becket, the firſt man of Engliſh extraction, who had, ſince the Norman conqueſt, riſen to any ſhare of power, was the ſon of a citizen of London. Having received his early education in the ſchools of that metropolis, he reſided ſome time at Pa⯑ris; and on his return became clerk in the ſheriff's office. In that ſtation he was recom⯑mended to the archbiſhop of Canterbury, and behaved with ſo much prudence, that he obtained from that prelate ſome beneficial dig⯑nities [225] in the church. Thomas, however, was not contented with moderate preferment; and reſolved to fit himſelf for an higher ſtation in life, by travelling into Italy, where he ſtu⯑died the civil law at Bologna. On his return, he appeared to have made ſo great a proficiency in knowledge, that he was promoted by his patron to the archdeaconry of Canterbury, an office of conſiderable truſt and profit. On the acceſſion of Henry to the throne, he was recommended to that monarch as worthy of greater preferment; and the king finding, on farther acquaintance, that his ſpirit and abili⯑ties entitled him to the higheſt truſts, he ſoon promoted him to the dignity of chancellor, one of the firſt civil offices in the kingdom. Preferments were now heaped upon him with⯑out number. He was made provoſt of Be⯑verly, dean of Haſtings, and conſtable of the Tower. He was put in poſſeſſion of the ho⯑nours of Eye and Berkham; and, to com⯑plete his grandeur, he was entruſted with the education of prince Henry, ſon and heir to the king. His revenues were immenſe; his expences were incredible. He kept open ta⯑ble for perſons of all ranks. The moſt coſtly luxuries were provided for his entertainments. The pomp of his retinue, the ſumptuouſneſs [226] of his furniture, and the munificence of his preſents correſponded with the greatneſs of his preferments. His apartments exhibited an odd mixture of the rudeneſs of the times, and the ſplendour of his ſtation; they glit⯑tered with gold and ſilver-plate, and yet were covered with hay or clean ſtraw in winter, and with green bows or ruſhes in ſummer, for the eaſe of his gueſts to recline on. A great num⯑ber of knights were retained in his ſervice, and the greateſt barons were fond of being received at his table; the king himſelf fre⯑quently condeſcended to partake of his enter⯑tainments. He employed two and fifty clerks in keeping accounts of the vacant prelacies, and his own eccleſiaſtical preferments. When he croſſed the ſea, he was always attended with five ſhips; and in an embaſſy to Paris, he appeared with a thouſand perſons in his re⯑tinue, diſplaying ſuch wealth as amazed the ſpectators. As he was but in deacons orders, he declined few of the amuſements then in faſhion. He diverted himſelf in hawking, hunting, cheſs-playing, and tilting; at which he was ſo expert, that even the moſt approved knights dreaded his encounter. His fami⯑liarity with the king is aſcertained, by a ſtory told of their happening to meet a beggar-man, [227] as they were riding together through London. Would it not be right, ſays the king, caſting his eyes upon a poor wretch that was ſhiver⯑ing with cold, to cloath that man in this ſe⯑vere ſeaſon? Certainly, replied his chancel⯑lor; and you do right in conſidering his cala⯑mity. If ſo then, cried the king, he ſhall have a coat inſtantly; and without more de⯑lay, he began to pull off the chancellor's coat with violence. The chancellor defended him⯑ſelf for ſome time; but after a ſtruggle, in which they had both like to have fallen to the ground, he gave up his coat, and the king gave it to the beggar, who, ignorant of the quality of his benefactors, was not a little ſurprized with his good fortune. Thus great, and intimate, was Becket while yet but chancellor; but when, contrary to the advice of Matilda, he was promoted ſtill higher to the archbiſhopric of Canterbury, his whole conduct took a new turn. No ſooner was he fixed in this high ſtation, which rendered him for life the ſecond perſon in the kingdom, than he endeavoured to retrieve the character of ſanctity, which his former levities might have appeared to oppoſe. Without conſult⯑ing his maſter's pleaſure, he ſent him the ſeals of his office as lord-chancellor, pretending [228] that he was henceforth to be employed in mat⯑ters of a more ſacred nature. Though he ſtill retained the pomp and ſplendor of his re⯑tinue, he was in his own perſon the moſt mor⯑tified man that could be ſeen. He wore ſack⯑cloth next his ſkin. He changed it ſo ſel⯑dom, that it was filled with dirt and vermin. His uſual diet was bread, his drink, water; which he rendered further unpalatable, by the mixture of unſavoury herbs. His back was mangled with the frequent diſcipline. He every day waſhed on his knees the feet of thirteen beggars. Every one that made pro⯑feſſion of ſanctity was admitted to his conver⯑ſation; and his aſpect wore the appearance of mortification and ſecret ſorrow. To theſe mortifications he ſacrificed all the comforts of life; and it would be unjuſt to ſuppoſe but that he thought theſe mortifications really me⯑ritorious.

Henry now ſaw, when it was too late, the ambitious ſuperiority which Becker aimed at. His reſignation of the chancellor's office ſerved to raiſe his ſuſpicions, how much he was miſ⯑taken in the pliancy of Becket's diſpoſition; but he was ſoon after convinced, when this churchman, now made archbiſhop, began to re⯑vive ſome antient claims to ſeveral church-lands, [229] that had lain dormant ever ſince the Conqueſt. Henry, indeed, prevailed upon him to deſiſt from one or two of theſe claims; but he found for the future that he was to expect, in the ſeemingly eaſy Becket, a moſt obſtinate and turbulent oppoſer to all his ſchemes of hum⯑bling the clergy.

Notwithſtanding this unexpected oppoſition, Henry was reſolved to try every expedient to rectify the errors that had crept in among the clergy, who, under a pretence of independ⯑ence upon ſecular power, were grown moſt abominably licentious. During the preceding reign, a great number of idle and illiterate perſons, in order to enjoy the indulgence of their vices, had entered into holy orders; for the biſhops ſeldom rejected any that preſented. Theſe having no benefices, and belonging to no dioceſe, and conſequently ſubject to no juriſ⯑diction, committed the moſt flagrant enormi⯑ties with impunity. Among other inventions of the clergy to obtain money, that of ſelling pardons was introduced, and had become a revenue to the prieſts. Theſe, and ſuch like grievances, bore hard upon the peo⯑ple; who were at the ſame time taught, that their only remedy was implicit ſubmiſſion. A prince of Henry's excellent penetration eaſily [230] pierced through the miſt of ignorance in which the age was involved; and reſolved, by a bold ſtruggle, to free the laity from theſe cle⯑rical uſurpations. An opportunity ſoon offered, that gave him a popular pretext for beginning his intended reformation. A man in holy or⯑ders had debauched the daughter of a gentle⯑man in Worceſterſhire; and then murdered the father, to prevent the effects of his reſentment. The atrociouſneſs of the crime produced a ſpirit of indignation among the people; and the king inſiſted that the aſſaſſin ſhould be tried by the civil magiſtrate. This Becket oppoſed, al⯑ledging the privileges of the church; and or⯑dered the criminal to be confined in the bi⯑ſhops priſon, leſt he ſhould be ſeized by the officers of the king. It was to no purpoſe that the king deſired he might be tried firſt by an eccleſiaſtical juriſdiction, and then deli⯑vered up to the ſecular tribunal. Becket aſ⯑ſerted that it was unjuſt to try a man twice for the ſame offence; and appealed for the equity of his opinions to the court of Rome. This, however, was the time for Henry to make his boldeſt attack upon the immu⯑nities of the church; when, to defend itſelf it muſt alſo eſpouſe the cauſe of the moſt atrocious of criminals. He therefore ſum⯑moned [231] an aſſembly of all the prelates in Eng⯑land, and deſired that the murderer ſhould be delivered over to the hands of juſtice, and a law made to puniſh ſuch delinquents for the future. Becket retired with the prelates to deliberate; but as he guided in the aſſembly, they entrenched themſelves behind the papal decrees, and they refuſed to give up their pri⯑ſoner. Henry, willing to bring them to an open abſurdity, demanded, whether they were willing or not to ſubmit to the ancient laws and cuſtoms of the kingdom? To this they replied with equal art, that they were willing, except where their own order was concerned. The king, provoked paſt bearing by this eva⯑ſive anſwer, inſtantly quitted the aſſembly; and ſent Becket orders to ſurrender the ho⯑nours and caſtles which he continued to hold, in conſequence of having been chancellor. Theſe being ſurrendered, the prelate quitted London, without taking the leaſt notice of the aſſembly.

Labouring for ſome time under the uncer⯑tainty of the king's diſpleaſure, Becket was ſoon after induced to give way, and to pro⯑miſe his majeſty, without reſerve, a ſteady ob⯑ſervance of the ancient laws and cuſtoms of the kingdom. This was the diſpoſition which [232] the king wiſhed to retain him in; and he therefore ſummoned a general council of the nobility and prelates at Clarendon, to whom he ſubmitted this great and important affair, and deſired their concurrence. Theſe coun⯑cils ſeem, at that time, convened rather to give authenticity to the king's decrees, than to enact laws that were to bind their poſterity. A number of regulations were there drawn up, which were afterwards well known under the title of the Conſtitutions of Clarendon, and were then voted without oppoſition. By theſe regulations it was enacted, that clergy⯑men accuſed of any crime ſhould be tried in the civil courts; that laymen ſhould not be tried in the ſpiritual courts, except by legal and reputable witneſſes; that the king ſhould ultimately judge in eccleſiaſtical and ſpiritual appeals; that the archbiſhops and biſhops ſhould be regarded as barons, and obliged to furniſh the public ſupplies as uſual with perſons of their rank; that the goods forfeited by the king ſhould not be protected in churches, or church-yards, by the clergy; and that the ſons of villains ſhould not take orders without the conſent of their lord. Theſe, with ſome others of leſs conſequence, or implied in the above, to the number of ſixteen, were readily [233] ſubſcribed by all the biſhops preſent; and Becket himſelf, who at firſt ſhewed ſome re⯑luctance, added his name to the number. It only remained that the pope ſhould ra⯑tify them; but there Henry was miſtaken. Alexander, who was then pope,A.D. 1164 condemned them in the ſtrongeſt terms, abrogated, an⯑nulled, and rejected them; out of ſixteen he admitted only ſix, which he thought not im⯑portant enough to deſerve cenſure.

How Henry could ſuppoſe the pope would give conſent to theſe articles, which muſt infallibly have deſtroyed his whole authority in the king⯑dom, is not eaſy to conceive; but we may well ſuppoſe, that a man of Becket's character muſt be extremely mortified at finding that he had ſigned what the pope had refuſed to confirm. Accordingly, on this occaſion, he expreſſed the deepeſt ſorrow for his former conceſſions. He redoubled his auſterities, in order to puniſh himſelf for his criminal compliance; and re⯑fuſed to perform at the altar, till he had ob⯑tained abſolution from his holineſs. All theſe mortifications appeared to Henry as little more than ſpecious inſults upon himſelf; his former affection was converted into hatred, and the breach between him and the archbi⯑ſhop every day grew wider. At laſt, willing [234] to ſuperſede the prelate's authority at any rate, he deſired that the pope would ſend a legate into his dominions; who, from the nature of his commiſſion might have a ſuperior controul. This the pope readily granted; and a legate was appointed, but with a clauſe annexed to his commiſſion, that he was to execute no⯑thing in prejudice of the archbiſhop. An authority thus clogged in that very part where it was deſired to be unlimited, was no way agreeable to the king; and he ſent back the commiſſion with great indignation. He now, therefore went another way to wreak his reſentment upon Becket. He had him ſued for ſome lands, which were part of a ma⯑nor belonging to his primacy; and the primate being detained by ſickneſs from coming into court, his non-attendance was conſtrued into diſreſpect. A great council was ſummoned at Northampton, where Becket defended his cauſe in perſon; but he was condemned as guilty of a contempt of the king's court, and as wanting in that fealty which he had ſworn to his ſovereign. All his goods and chattels were confiſcated; and the biſhop of Wincheſter was obliged to pronounce the ſentence againſt him. Beſides this conviction, the king exhi⯑bited another charge againſt him for three hun⯑dred [235] pounds which he had levied on the honours of Eye and Barkham, while he remained in poſſeſſion. Becket, rather than aggravate the king's reſentment, agreed to give ſureties for the payment. The next day, another ſuit was commenced againſt him for a thouſand marks, which the king had lent him on ſome former occaſion. Immediately on the back of theſe, a third claim was made, ſtill greater than the for⯑mer. This was to give an account of the money he had received, and expended, during the time of his chancellorſhip. The eſtimate was laid at no leſs than forty thouſand marks; and Becket was wholly unprovided either of the means of balancing his accounts, or of ſecurities for an⯑ſwering ſo great a demand. In this exigence, his friends were divided what counſel to give. Some prelates adviſed him to reſign his ſee, in hopes of an acquittal; ſome counſelled him to throw himſelf entirely upon the king's mercy; and ſome to offer ten thouſand marks as a ge⯑neral ſatisfaction for all demands. Becket fol⯑lowed none of theſe opinions; but with an intrepidity peculiar to himſelf, arraying himſelf in his epiſcopal veſtments, and with the croſs in his hand, he went forward to the king's palace, and entering the royal apartments, ſate down, holding up the croſs as his ban⯑ner [236] of protection. The king, who ſate in an inner room, ordered by proclamation the pre⯑lates and the nobility to attend him; to whom he complained loudly of Becket's inſolence and in⯑flammatory proceedings. The whole council join⯑ed in condemning this inſtance of his unaccount⯑able pride; and determined to expoſtulate with him upon his inconſiſtency, in formerly ſubſcrib⯑ing the Conſtitutions of Clarendon, and now in being the firſt to infringe them. But all their meſ⯑ſages, threats, and arguments were to no pur⯑poſe; Becket had taken his reſolution, and it was now too late to attempt to ſhake it. He put himſelf, in the moſt ſolemn manner, under the protection of the ſupreme pontiff; and appealed to him againſt any penalty which his iniquitous judges might think proper to in⯑flict. Then, departing the palace, he aſked the king's immediate permiſſion to leave Northampton; and upon receiving a refufal, he ſecretly withdrew in diſguiſe, and at laſt found means to croſs over to the continent.

Here it may be natural to enquire, how a perſon of ſuch mean extraction ſhould be able to form any kind of oppoſition to ſo powerful a monarch as Henry? But the ſtate was then, as it was for ſome ages after, compoſed of three diſtinct powers, [237] all purſuing ſeparate intereſts, and very little dependent upon each other. Theſe were, that of the king, that of the barons, and that of the clergy; for as yet the people had ſcarce any influence, ſeparately conſidered. Of theſe three powers, the moſt recent was that of the clergy; which, wanting the ſanction of preſcriptive right, endeavoured to make up thoſe defects by their ſuperior arts of popularity. They therefore attached the people, who had hitherto been conſidered as unworthy of notice in the conſtitution, to their party; and thus gained an acquiſition of ſtrength, that was often too powerful for the other two members of the ſtate. The king being but a ſingle perſon, could have no wide connections among the lower orders of mankind; the nobles being bred up in an haughty independence, were taught to regard the inferior ranks as ſlaves; the clergy alone, by their duty, being obliged to converſe with the loweſt as well as the higheſt orders, were moſt loved by the populace; who, ſince they were at any rate to be ſlaves, were the more willing to obey men who converſed with them, and who ſeemed to ſtudy their welfare, than ſuch as kept them at an humiliating diſtance, and only regarded them as the inſtruments of their [238] private ambition. For theſe reaſons therefore, during the times we ſpeak of, the ſide of the clergy was always eſpouſed by the people; and Becket, upon the preſent occaſion, ſecretly relied on their encouragement and ſupport.

The intrepidity of Becket, joined to his ap⯑parent ſanctity, gained him a very favourable reception upon the continent, both from the people and their governors. The king of France, who hated Henry, very much affected to pity his condition; and the pope, whoſe cauſe he had ſo ſtrenuouſly defended, honoured him with the greateſt marks of diſtinction, while he treated Henry's ambaſſadors with coolneſs and contempt. Becket, ſenſible of his power, was willing to ſhew all poſſible hu⯑mility; and even reſigned his ſee of Canter⯑bury into the pope's hands, in order to receive it back from him with greater ſolemnity; and with an inveſtiture of more apparent ſanctity. Such favours beſtowed upon an exile, and a perjured traitor, for ſuch had been his ſen⯑tence of condemnation in England, excited the indignation of Henry beyond meaſure. He ſaw his ambaſſadors ſlighted, all his endeavours to procure a conference with the pope fruſtrat⯑ed, and his ſubjects daily excited to diſcon⯑tents, in conſequence of the king's ſeverity to a [239] ſanctified character. In this ſtate of reſentment, Henry reſolved to throw off all dependence upon the pontiff at once; and to free himſelf, and his people, from a burthen that had long oppreſſed them without pity. He according⯑ly iſſued orders to his juſticiaries, inhibiting, under ſevere penalties, all appeals to the pope or the archbiſhop; and forbidding any of them to receive mandates from them, or to apply to their authority. He declared it treaſonable, to bring over from either of them any interdict upon the kingdom. This he made puniſhable in ſecular clergymen by the loſs of their and by caſtration, in regulars by the ampu⯑tation of their feet, and in laymen by death.

The pope and the archbiſhop were not re⯑miſs on their ſide to retort theſe fulminations, and to ſhake the very foundation of the king's authority. Becket compared himſelf to Chriſt, who had been condemned by a lay tribunal; and who was crucified a-new in the preſent op⯑preſſions under which the church laboured.

But he did not reſt in complaints only. He iſſued out a cenſure, excommunicating the king's chief miniſters by name, all that were concerned in ſequeſtring the revenues of his ſee, and all who obeyed or ſavoured the Con⯑ſtitutions of Clarendon. He even threatened [240] to excommunicate the king himſelf, if he did not immediately repent; and to give his cen⯑ſures the greater energy, he got them to be ra⯑tified by the pope.

Whatever Henry's contempt of theſe ful⯑minations might be in the beginning, he, af⯑ter ſome deliberation, began to find them more formidable than he had ſuppoſed, and ſecretly wiſhed for an accommodation. Yet there ſeemed no other way for terminating theſe diſ⯑putes, but by the king's appealing to the pope, as umpire between him and the arch⯑biſhop, and this promiſed no very favourable deciſion. However, perceiving that his au⯑thority was beginning to decline among his ſubjects, and that his rivals on the continent had actually availed themſelves of his perplex⯑ities, he reſolved at any rate to apply to the pope for his mediation.A.D. 1167 The pope, on the other hand, was every day threatened himſelf by the machinations of an antipope. He was apprehenſive that the king of England might join againſt him; he knew his great abilities, and was ſenſible that as yet no inſurrection had been made in conſequence of the threats and exhorta⯑tions of Becket. Thus the diſpoſition of both par⯑ties produced frequent attempts towards an ac⯑commodaion; but the mutual jealouſies that each bore [241] of the other, and their anxiety not to loſe the leaſt advantage in the negotiation, often pro⯑tracted this deſirable treaty. At one time the terms being agreed on, were poſtponed by the king's refuſing to ſign; but with a ſalvo to his royal dignity. At another time they were accommodated, but broke off by Becket's re⯑fuſing to ſubmit; but with a ſalvo to the ho⯑nour of God. A third and a fourth negotia⯑tion ſucceeded without effect. In this laſt, all the terms were completely adjuſted, when Becket took it into his head to demand a kiſs of peace. This the king refuſed to grant; and both parties once more prepared for mu⯑tual annoyance.

Theſe diſturbances continued for ſome time longer; Becket never loſing an opportunity of impeaching the king's miniſters, and obſtruct⯑ing all his meaſures. At length, however, by the mediation of the pope's legate, all diffi⯑culties were adjuſted; and while the king al⯑lowed Becket to return, that prelate conſented to wave the kiſs of peace. The ceremonial of the interview being regulated, when the arch⯑biſhop approached, the king advanced to meet him in the moſt gracious manner; and converſed with him for ſome time, with great eaſe, familiarity, and kindneſs. All material [242] points being adjuſted, Becket attended Henry on horſeback; and as they rode together, the prelate begged ſome ſatisfaction for the inva⯑ſions of his right by the archbiſhop of York, who had ſome time before crowned the young prince. To this Henry replied, that what was paſt could not be undone; but that he would take care that none but he ſhould crown the young queen, which ceremony was ſoon to be performed. Becket, tranſported at this inſtance of the king's condeſcenſion, alighted inſtantly, and threw himſelf at the feet of his ſovereign, who, leaping from his horſe at the ſame time, lifted him from the ground, and helped him to remount. The terms of their pre⯑ſent agreement were very advantageous to the prelate; and this might have inſpired him in the ardour of his gratitude to ſuch an humiliation. It was agreed, that he ſhould not give up any of the rights of the church, or reſign any of thoſe pretenſions, which had been the original ground of the quarrel; that Becket and his ad⯑herents ſhould be reſtored to their livings; and that all the poſſeſſors of ſuch benefices be⯑longing to the ſee of Canterbury, as had been inſtalled ſince the primate's abſence, ſhould be expelled, and Becket have liberty to ſupply the vacancies. In return for theſe conceſſions, [243] the king only reaped the advantage of ſeeing his miniſters abſolved from the ſentence of ex⯑communication, and of preventing an inter⯑dict, which was preparing to be laid upon all his dominions.

Becket having thus, in ſome meaſure, tri⯑umphed over the king, was reſolved to remit nothing of the power which he had acquired. He ſoon began to ſhew, that not even a tem⯑porary tranquillity was to be the reſult of his reconciliation. Nothing could exceed the in⯑ſolence with which he conducted himſelf upon his firſt landing in England. Inſtead of re⯑tiring quietly to his dioceſe, with that modeſty which became a man juſt pardoned by his king, he made a progreſs through Kent, in all the ſplendor and magnificence of a ſove⯑reign pontiff. As he approached Southwark, the clergy, the laity, men of all ranks and ages, came forth to meet him, and celebrated his triumphal entry with hymns of joy. Thus, confident of the voice and the hearts of the people, he began to launch forth his thunders againſt thoſe who had been his former oppo⯑ſers. The archbiſhop of York, who had crowned Henry's eldeſt ſon in his abſence, was the firſt againſt whom he denounced ſentence of ſuſpenſion. The biſhops of London and [244] Saliſbury he actually excommunicated. Ro⯑bert de Broc, and Nigel de Sackville, were expoſed to the ſame cenſures; and many of the moſt conſiderable prelates and miniſters, who had aſſiſted at the late coronation of the young prince, were partakers in the common calamity. One man he excommunicated for having ſpoken againſt him; and another, for having cut off the tail of one of his horſes.

Henry was then in Normandy, while the primate was thus triumphantly parading thro' the kingdom; and it was not without the ut⯑moſt indignation that he received information of his turbulent inſolence. When the ſuſ⯑pended and excommunicated prelates arrived with their complaints, his anger knew no bounds. He broke forth into the moſt acrimo⯑nious expreſſions againſt that arrogant church⯑man, whom he had raiſed from the loweſt ſtation, to be the plague of his life, and the continual diſturber of his government. The archbiſhop of York remarked to him, that ſo long as Becket lived, he could never expect to enjoy peace or tranquillity; and the king himſelf burſt out into an exclamation, that he had no friends about him, or he would not ſo long have been expoſed to the inſults of that ungrateful hypocrite. Theſe words excited [245] the attention of the whole court; and armed four of his moſt reſolute attendants to gratify their monarch's ſecret inclinations. The names of theſe knights and gentlemen of his houſhold, were Reginal Fitz-Urſe, William de Tracy, Hugh de Moreville, and Richard Brito, who immediately communicated their thoughts to each other. They inſtantly bound themſelves by an oath to revenge their king's quarrel; and ſecretly retiring from court, took ſhipping at different ports, and met the next day at the caſtle of Saltwode, within ſix miles of Can⯑terbury. Some menacing expreſſions which they had dropt, and their ſudden departure, gave the king reaſon to ſuſpect their deſign. He therefore ſent meſſengers to overtake and forbid them, in his name, to commit any vio⯑lence; but theſe orders arrived too late to pre⯑vent their fatal purpoſe. The conſpirators being joined by ſome aſſiſtants at the place of their meeting, proceeded to Canterbury with all that haſte their bloody intentions required. Advancing directly to Becket's houſe, and en⯑tering his apartment, they reproached him very fiercely for the raſhneſs and the inſolence of his conduct; as if they had been willing to enjoy his terrors before they deſtroyed him. Becket, however, was not in the leaſt terri⯑fied; [246] but vindicated his actions with that zeal and reſolution, which nothing probably but the conſciouſneſs of his innocence could in⯑ſpire. The conſpirators felt the force of his replies; and were particularly enraged at a charge of ingratitude, which he objected to three of them, who had been formerly retained in his ſervice. During this altercation, the time approached for Becket to aſſiſt at veſpers, whither he went unguarded, the conſpirators following, and preparing for their attempt. As ſoon as he had reached the altar, where it is juſt to think he aſpired at the glory of mar⯑tyrdom, they all fell upon him; and having cloven his head with repeated blows, he dropt down dead before the altar of St. Benedict, which was beſmeared with his blood and brains.

The circumſtances of the murder, the place where it was perpetrated, and the fortitude with which the prelate reſigned himſelf to his fate, made a moſt ſurprizing impreſſion on the people. No ſooner was his death known, than they ruſhed into the church to ſee the body; and dipping their hands in his blood, croſſed themſelves with it, as with that of a ſaint. The clergy, whoſe intereſt it was to have Becket conſidered as a ſaint, and per⯑haps [247] who were real in their belief, conſidering the times we treat of, did all that lay in their power to magnify his ſanctity, to extol the merits of his martyrdom, and to hold him out as the fitteſt object of the veneration of the people. Their endeavours ſoon prevailed. In⯑numerable were the miracles ſaid to be wrought at his tomb; for when the people are brought to ſee a miracle, they generally find or make one. It was not ſufficient that his ſhrine had the power of reſtoring dead men to life; it reſtored alſo cows, dogs, and horſes. It was reported, and believed, that he roſe from his coffin before he was buried, to light the tapers deſigned for his funeral: nor was he remiſs, when the funeral ceremony was over, in ſtretching forth his hands to give his bene⯑diction to the people. Thus Becket became a ſaint; and the king was ſtrongly ſuſpected of procuring his aſſaſſination.

Nothing could exceed the king's conſterna⯑tion upon receiving the firſt news of this pre⯑late's cataſtrophe. He was inſtantly ſenſible that the murder would be ultimately imputed to him. He was apprized that his death would effect what his oppoſition could not do; and would procure thoſe advantages to the church, which it had been the ſtudy of his whole reign [248] to refuſe. Theſe conſiderations gave him the moſt unfeigned concern. He ſhut himſelf up in darkneſs, refuſing even the attendance of his domeſtics. He even refuſed, during three days, all nouriſhment. The courtiers dread⯑ing the effects of his regret, were at laſt obliged to break into his ſolitude; and induced him at laſt to be reconciled to a meaſure that he could not redreſs. The pope ſoon after be⯑ing made ſenſible of the king's innocence, granted him his pardon; but upon condition that he would make every future ſubmiſſion, and perform every injunction that the holy ſee ſhould require. All things being thus ad⯑juſted, the aſſaſſins who had murdered Becket, retired in ſafety to the enjoyment of their former dignities and honours; and the king, in order to divert the minds of the people to a different object, undertook an expedition againſt Ireland.

Ireland was at that time in pretty much the ſame ſituation that England had been, after the firſt invaſion of the Saxons. They had been early converted to Chriſtianity; and, for three or four centuries after, poſſeſſed a very large proportion of the learning of the times; being undiſturbed by foreign invaſions, and perhaps too poor to invite the rapacity of con⯑querors, [249] they enjoyed a peaceful life, which they gave up to piety, and ſuch learning as was then thought neceſſary to promote it. Of their learning, their arts, their piety, and even their poliſhed manners, too many monuments remain to this day for us to make the leaſt doubt concerning them; but it is equally true, that in time they fell from theſe advantages; and their degenerate poſterity, at the time we are now ſpeaking of, were wrapt in the darkeſt barbarity. This may be imputed to the fre⯑quent invaſions which they ſuffered from the Danes, who over-ran the whole country, and every where ſpread their ravages, and con⯑firmed their authority. The natives, kept in the ſtricteſt bondage, grew every day more ignorant and brutal; and when at laſt they roſe upon their conquerors, and totally expelled them the iſland, they wanted inſtructors to re⯑ſtore them to their former attainments. From thence they continued in the moſt deplorable ſtate of barbariſm. The towns that had been formerly built were ſuffered to fall into ruin; the inhabitants exerciſed paſture in the open country, and ſought protection from danger by retiring into their foreſts and bogs. Al⯑moſt all ſenſe of religion was extinguiſhed; the petty princes exerciſed continual outrages [250] upon each others territories; and nothing but ſtrength alone was able to procure redreſs.

At the time when Henry firſt planned the invaſion of the iſland, it was divided into five principalities, namely, Leinſter, Meath, Mun⯑ſter, Ulſter, and Connaught; each governed by its reſpective monarch. As it had been uſual for one or other of thoſe to take the lead in their wars, he was denominated ſole monarch of the kingdom, and poſſeſſed of a power re⯑ſembling that of the early Saxon monarchs in England. Roderic O Connor, king of Con⯑naught, was then advanced to this dignity, and Dermot M' Morrogh was king of Leinſter. This laſt named prince, a weak licentious tyrant, had carried off and raviſhed the daughter of the king of Meath, who being ſtrengthened by the alliance of the king of Connaught, invaded the raviſher's dominions and expelled him from his kingdom. This prince, thus juſtly puniſh⯑ed, had recourſe to Henry, who was at that time at Guienne; and offered to hold his king⯑dom of the Engliſh crown, in caſe he recovered it by the king's aſſiſtance. Henry readily ac⯑cepted the offer; but being at that time embarraſſed by more near intereſts, he only gave Dermot letters patent, by which he em⯑powered all his ſubjects to aid the Iriſh prince [251] in the recovery of his dominions. Dermot, re⯑lying on this authority, returned to Briſtol, where, after ſome difficulty he formed a treaty with Richard, ſur-named Strongbow, earl of Pembroke, who agreed to re-inſtate him in his dominions, upon condition of his being married to his daughter Eva, and declared heir of all his territory. He at the ſame time con⯑tracted for ſuccours with Robert Fitzſtephen, and Maurice Fitzgerald, whom he promiſed to gratify with the city of Wexford, and the two adjoining diſtricts which were then in poſ⯑ſeſion of the Eaſterlings. Being thus aſſured of aſſiſtance, he returned privately to Ireland, and concealed himſelf during the winter in the monaſtery of Ferns, which he had founded. Robert Fitzſtephens was firſt able,A.D. 1172 the enſuing ſpring, to fulfil his engagements, by landing with an hundred and thirty knights, ſixty eſ⯑quires, and three hundred archers. They were ſoon after joined by Maurice Pendergaſt, who, about the ſame time, brought over ten knights and ſixty archers; and with this ſmall body of forces they reſolved on beſieging Wexford, which was to be theirs by treaty. This town was quickly reduced; and the adventu⯑rers being reinforced by another body of men to the amount of an hundred and fifty, [252] under the command of Maurice Fitzgerald, compoſed an army that ſtruck the barbarous natives with awe. Roderic the chief monarch of the iſland, ventured to oppoſe them, but he was defeated; and ſoon after the prince of Oſſory was obliged to ſubmit, and give hoſt⯑ages for his future conduct.

Dermot being thus re-inſtated in his here⯑ditary dominions, ſoon began to conceive hopes of extending the limits of his power, and making himſelf maſter of Ireland. With theſe views, he endeavoured to expedite Strong⯑bow; who, being perſonally prohibited by the king, was not yet come over. Dermot tried to enflame his ambition by the glory of the conqueſt, and his avarice by the advantages it would procure, he expatiated on the cowardice of the natives, and the certainty of his ſucceſs. Strongbow firſt ſent over Raymond, one of his retinue, with ten knights and ſeventy arch⯑ers; and receiving permiſſion ſhortly after for himſelf, he landed with two hundred horſe and an hundred archers. All theſe Engliſh forces, now joining together became irreſiſt⯑ible; and though the whole number did not amount to a thouſand, yet, ſuch was the bar⯑barous ſtate of the natives, that they were every where put to the rout. The city of [253] Waterford quickly ſurrendered; Dublin was taken by aſſault; and Strongbow, ſoon after marrying Eva according to treaty, became maſter of the kingdom of Leinſter upon Der⯑mot's deceaſe.

The iſland being thus in a manner wholly ſubdued, for nothing was capable of op⯑poſing the further progreſs of the Engliſh arms, Henry became jealous of their ſucceſs, and was willing to ſhare in perſon thoſe honours, which the adventurers had already ſecured. He therefore ſhortly after, landed in Ireland at the head of five hundred knights and ſome ſoldiers; not ſo much to conquer a diſputed territory, as to take poſſeſſion of a ſubject king⯑dom. In his progreſs through the country, he received the homage of the petty chieftains as he went along, and left moſt of them in poſ⯑ſeſſion of their ancient territories. In a place ſo uncultivated, and ſo ill peopled, there was ſtill land enough to ſatisfy the adventurers who had followed him. Strongbow was made ſeneſ⯑chal of Ireland, Hugh de Lacy was made go⯑vernor of Dublin, and John de Courcy receiv⯑ed a patent for conquering the province of Ulſter, which had as yet remained unſubdued. The Iriſh biſhops very gladly admitted the Engliſh, as they expected from their ſuperior [254] civilization, a greater degree of reverence and reſpect. Pope Adrian, who had, in the beginning, encouraged Henry to ſubdue the Iriſh, by his bull, granting him the kingdom, now confirmed him in his conqueſt, and the kings of England were acknowledged as lords over Ireland for ever. Thus, after a trifling effort, in which very little money was expend⯑ed, and little blood ſhed, that beautiful iſland became an appendage to the Engliſh crown, and as ſuch it has ever ſince continued, with unſhaken fidelity.

The joy which this conqueſt diffuſed was very great; and Henry ſeemed now to have attain⯑ed the ſummit of his utmoſt wiſhes. He was now undiſputed monarch of the greateſt do⯑main in Europe; father of a numerous pro⯑geny, that gave both luſtre and authority to his crown; victorious over all his enemies, and chearfully obeyed by all his ſubjects. Henry, his eldeſt ſon, had been anointed king, and was ac⯑knowledged as undoubted ſucceſſor; Richard, his ſecond ſon, was inveſted with the duchy of Guienne and Poitou; Geoffry, his third ſon, in⯑herited, in right of his wife, the duchy of Brit⯑tany; and John, his youngeſt, was deſigned as king in Ireland. Such was the flattering proſpect of grandeur before him; but ſuch is [255] the inſtability of human happineſs, that this very exaltation of his family, proved the means of embittering his future life, and diſturbing his government.

Among the few vices aſcribed to this mo⯑narch, unlimited gallantry was one. Queen Eleanor, whom he had married from motives of ambition, and who had been divorced from her former royal conſort for her incontinence, was long become diſagreeable to Henry; and he ſought in others, thoſe ſatisfactions he could not find with her. Among the number of his miſtreſſes we have the name of Fair Roſa⯑mond, whoſe perſonal charms, and whoſe death, make ſo conſpicuous a figure in the romances and the ballads of the time. It is true, that the ſeverity of criticiſm has rejected moſt of theſe accounts as fabulous; but even well-known fables, when much celebrated, make a part of the hiſtory, at leaſt of the man⯑ners of the age. Roſamond Clifford is ſaid to have been the moſt beautiful woman that was ever ſeen in England, if what ro⯑mances and poets aſſert be true. Henry loved her with a long and faithful attachment; and in order to ſecure her from the reſentment of his queen, who, from having been formerly incontinent herſelf, now became jealous of his [256] incontinence, he concealed her in a labyrinth in Woodſtock Park, where he paſſed in her company his hours of vacancy and pleaſure. How long this ſecret intercourſe continued is not told us; but it was not ſo cloſely concealed but that it came to the queen's knowledge, who, as the accounts add, being guided by a clew of ſilk to her fair rival's retreat, obliged her, by holding a drawn dagger to her breaſt, to ſwallow poiſon. Whatever may be the veracity of this ſtory, certain it is, that this haughty woman, though formerly offenſive by her own gallantries, was now no leſs ſo by her jealouſy; and ſhe it was who firſt ſowed the ſeeds of diſſenſion between the king and his children.

Young Henry was taught to believe himſelf injured; when upon being crowned as partner in the kingdom, he was not admitted into a ſhare of the adminiſtration. This prince had, from the beginning, ſhewn a degree of pride that ſeems to have been hereditary to all the Nor⯑man ſucceſſion: when the ceremony of his coronation was performing, the king, willing to give it all the ſplendour poſſible, waited upon him at table; and while he offered him the cup obſerved, that no prince ever before had been ſo magnificently attended. There is no⯑thing very extraordinary, replied the young [257] prince, in ſeeing the ſon of a count ſerving the ſon of a king. From this inſtance, nothing ſeemed great enough to ſatisfy his ambition; and he took the firſt opportunity to aſſert his aſpiring pretenſions. The diſcontent of young Henry was ſoon followed by that of Geoffry and Richard, whom the queen perſuaded to aſ⯑ſert their title to the territories aſſigned them; and upon the king's refuſing their undutiful demands, they all fled ſecretly to the court of France, where Lewis, who was inſtrumental in encreaſing their diſobedience, gave them coun⯑tenance and protection. Queen Eleanor her⯑ſelf was meditating an eſcape to the ſame court, and had put on man's apparel for that purpoſe, when ſhe was ſeized by the king's order and put into confinement. Thus Henry ſaw all his long perſpective of future hap⯑pineſs totally clouded; his ſons, ſcarce yet ar⯑rived at manhood, eager to ſhare the ſpoils of their father's poſſeſſions; his queen warmly encouraging thoſe undutiful princes in their rebellion, and many potentates of Europe not aſhamed to lend them aſſiſtance to ſupport their pretenſions. Nor was his proſpects much more pleaſing when he looked among his ſub⯑jects: his licentious barons, diſguſted with a vigilant government, deſired to be governed by [258] princes whom they could flatter or intimidate: the clergy had not yet forgot Becket's death; and the people conſidered him as a ſaint and a martyr. In this univerſal diſaffection, Henry ſupported that intrepidity which he had ſhown through life, and prepared for a conteſt from which he could expect to reap neither profit nor glory. Twenty thouſand mercenary ſoldiers, joined to ſome troops which he brought over from Ireland, and a few barons of approved fidelity, formed the ſole force with which he propoſed to reſiſt his opponents.

It was not long before the young princes had ſufficient influence upon the continent to raiſe a powerful confederacy in their favour. Be⯑ſide the king of France, Philip count of Flan⯑ders, Matthew count of Bologne, Theobald count of Blois, and Henry count of Eu, all declared themſelves in their intereſts. Wil⯑liam, king of Scotland, alſo made one of this aſſociation, and a plan was concerted for a ge⯑neral invaſion of Henry's extenſive dominions. This was ſhortly after put into execution. The king's continental dominions were invaded on one ſide, by the counts of Flanders and Bou⯑logne; on the other by the king of France, with a large army, which the young Engliſh princes animated by their preſence and popularity. But [259] Henry found means to oppoſe them on every quarter: the count of Boulogne, being mortally wounded in the aſſault of the town of Drincourt,A.D. 1173 his death ſtopped the progreſs of the Flemiſh arms on that ſide. The French army being oblig⯑ed to retire from the ſiege of Verneuil, Henry attacked their rear, put them to the rout, and took ſeveral priſoners. The barons of Brit⯑tany alſo, who had riſen in favour of the young princes, ſhared no better fate; their army was defeated in the field, and, taking ſhelter in the town of Dol, were there made priſoners of war. Theſe ſucceſſes repreſſed the pride and the expectations of the confe⯑derated forces, and a conference was demand⯑ed by the French king, to which Henry readily agreed. In this interview, he had the mortification to ſee his three ſons, ranged on the ſide of his mortal and inveterate ene⯑my; but he was ſtill more diſappointed to find that their demands roſe with their incapacity to obtain them by compulſion.

While Henry was thus quelling the inſo⯑lence of his foreign enemies, his Engliſh ſub⯑jects were in no ſmall danger of revolting from their obedience at home. The nobility were in general united to oppoſe him; and an irruption at this time by the king of Scotland, [260] aſſiſted their ſchemes of inſurrection. The earl of Leiceſter, at the head of a body of Flemmings, invaded Suffolk, but were repulſed with great ſlaughter. The earl of Ferrars, Roger de Mowbray, and many others of equal dignity, roſe in arms; while, the more to aug⯑ment the confuſion, the king of Scotland broke into the northern provinces with an army of eighty thouſand men, which laid the whole country into one extenſive ſcene of deſolation. Henry, from baffling his enemies in France, flew over to oppoſe thoſe in England; but his long diſſention with Becket ſtill was remem⯑bered againſt him, and it was his intereſt to perſuade the clergy, as well as the people, that he was no way acceſſory to his murder. All the world now began to think the dead prelate a ſaint; and if we conſider the ignorance of the times, perhaps Henry himſelf thought ſo too. He had ſome time before taken proper precautions to exculpate himſelf to the pope, and given him the moſt ſolemn promiſes to perform whatever penances the church ſhould inflict. He had engaged the Chriſtmas following to take the croſs; and, if the pope inſiſted on it, to ſerve three years againſt the infidels, either in Spain or Paleſtine; and promiſed not to ſtop appeals to the holy ſee. Theſe conceſſions ſeemed to [261] ſatisfy the court of Rome for that time; but they were, nevertheleſs, every day putting Henry in mind of his promiſe, and demand⯑ing thoſe humiliations for his offences to the ſaint, that could alone reconcile him to the church. He now, therefore, found it the moſt proper conjuncture to obey, and, knowing the influence of ſuperſtition over the minds of the people, and perhaps apprehenſive that a part of his troubles aroſe from the diſpleaſure of heaven, he reſolved to do penance at the ſhrine of St. Thomas of Canterbury, for that was the name given to Becket upon his canonization. As ſoon as he came within ſight of the church of Canterbury, alighting from his horſe, he walked barefoot towards the town, proſtrated himſelf before the ſhrine of the ſaint, re⯑mained in faſting and prayer a whole day, watched all night the holy relics, made a grant of fifty pounds a year to the convent, for a conſtant ſupply of tapers to illuminate the ſhrine; and, not ſatisfied with theſe ſubmiſſions, he aſſembled a chapter of monks, diſrobed be⯑fore them, put a ſcourge of diſcipline into each of their hands, and preſented his bare ſhoulders to their infliction. Next day he re⯑ceived abſolution; and departing for London, received the agreeable news of a victory over [262] the Scots, obtained on the very day of his ab⯑ſolution.

Having thus made his peace with the church, and brought over the minds of the people, he fought upon ſurer grounds; every victory he obtained was imputed to the favour of the re⯑conciled ſaint, and every ſucceſs thus tended to aſcertain the growing confidence of his party. The victory which was gained over the Scots was ſignal and deciſive. William, their king, after having committed the moſt horrible de⯑predations upon the northern frontiers, had thought proper to retreat upon the advance of an Engliſh army, commanded by Ralph de Glanville, the famous Engliſh lawyer. As he had fixed his ſtation at Alnwick, he thought himſelf perfectly ſecure, from the remoteneſs of the enemy, againſt any attack. In this however he was deceived; for Glanville, informed of his ſituation, made an haſty and fatiguing march to the place of his encampment, and ap⯑proached it very nearly during the obſcurity of a miſt. The Scotch, who continued in per⯑fect ſecurity, were ſurprized in the morning to find themſelves attacked by the enemy, which they thought at ſuch a diſtance; and their king venturing with a ſmall body of an hundred horſe to oppoſe the aſſailants, was [263] quickly ſurrounded and taken priſoner. His troops hearing of his diſaſter, fled on all ſides with the utmoſt precipitation, and made the beſt of their way to their own country.

From that time Henry's affairs began to wear a better aſpect; the barons, who had re⯑volted or were preparing for a revolt, made in⯑ſtant ſubmiſſion, they delivered up their caſtles to the victor, and England in a few weeks was reſtored to perfect tranquility. Young Henry, who was ready to embark with a large army, to ſecond the efforts of the Engliſh in⯑ſurgents, finding all diſturbances quieted at home, abandoned all thoughts of the expedi⯑tion. Lewis attempted in vain to beſiege Rou⯑en, which Henry haſtened over to ſuccour. A ceſſation of arms and a conference was once more agreed upon by the two monarchs. Henry granted his ſons much leſs advantageous terms than they formerly refuſed to accept: the moſt material, were ſome penſions for their ſupport, ſome caſtles for their reſidence, and an indemnity to all their adherents. Thus Eng⯑land once more emerged from the numerous calamities that threatened to overwhelm it, and the king was now left at free liberty to make various proviſions for the glory, the happineſs, and the ſecurity of his people.

[264]His firſt care was to make his priſoner, the king of Scots, undergo a proper puniſhment for his unmerited and ungenerous attack. That prince was content to ſign a treaty, by which he was compelled to do homage to Henry for his dominions in Scotland. It was agreed, that his barons and biſhops alſo ſhould do the ſame; and that the fortreſſes of Edinburgh, Stirling, Berwick, Roxborough, and Jedbo⯑rough, ſhould be delivered into the hands of the conqueror till the articles were performed. This treaty was punctually and rigorouſly exe⯑cuted; the king, barons, and prelates of Scot⯑land did homage to Henry in the cathedral of York; ſo that he might now be conſidered as the monarch of the whole iſland, the moun⯑tainous parts of Wales only excepted.

His domeſtic regulations were as wife as his political conduct was ſplendid. He enacted ſevere penalties againſt robbery, murder, falſe coining, and burning of houſes; ordaining that theſe crimes ſhould be puniſhed by the amputa⯑tion of the right-hand and right-foot. The or⯑deal trial by water, though it ſtill ſubſiſted, was yet ſo far weakened, as that if a perſon who came off in this ſcrutiny were legally convicted by creditable teſtimony, he ſhould neverthe⯑leſs ſuffer baniſhment. He partitioned out the [265] kingdom into four diviſions; and appointed itinerant juſtices to go their reſpective circuits to try cauſes, to reſtrain the cruelties of the barons, and to protect the lower ranks of the people in ſecurity. He renewed the trial by ju⯑ries, which, by the barbarous method of camp-fight, was almoſt grown obſolete. He demo⯑liſhed all the new-erected caſtles that had been built in the times of anarchy and general con⯑fuſion; and, to ſecure the kingdom more ef⯑fectually againſt any threatened invaſion, he eſtabliſhed a well-armed militia, which, with proper accoutrements, ſpecified in the act, were to defend the realm upon any emergency.

But it was not in the power of wiſdom to conciliate the turbulent and ambitious ſpirits of his ſons, who, not contented with rebel⯑ling againſt their father, now warmly proſe⯑cuted their enmities againſt each other. Rich⯑ard,A.D. 1180 whom Henry had made maſter of Gui⯑enne, and who had already diſplayed great marks of valour in humbling his mutinous barons, refuſed to obey his father's orders in doing homage to his elder brother for that duchy. Young Henry and Geoffry, uniting their arms, carried war into their brother's dominions; and while the king was endea⯑vouring to compoſe their differences, he found [266] himſelf ſecretly conſpired againſt by all. What the reſult of this conſpiracy might be, is uncertain; for it was defeated by the death of young Henry, who died in the twenty-ſixth year of his age, of a fever, at Martel, not with⯑out the deepeſt remorſe for his undutiful conduct towards his father.

A.D. 1183 As this prince left no poſterity, Richard was become heir in his room; and he ſoon diſcovered the ſame ardent ambition that had miſled his elder brother. He refuſed to obey his father's commands in giving up Guienne, which he had been put in poſſeſſion of; and even made preparations to attack his brother Geoffry, who was poſſeſſed of Brittany. No ſooner was this breach made up, at the inter⯑ceſſion of the queen, than Geoffry broke out into violence, and demanded Anjou to be an⯑nexed to his dominions of Brittany. This being refuſed him, he followed the old undu⯑tiful method of procuring redreſs, fled to the court of France, and prepared to levy an army againſt his father. Henry was freed from the danger that threatened him on that quarter, by the affliction of his ſon's death, who was killed in a tournament at Paris. The loſs of this prince gave few, except the king himſelf, any uneaſineſs, as he was univerſally hated, and [267] went among the people under the opprobious name of The Child of Perdition.

But the death of the prince did not wholly remove the cauſe of his revolt; for Philip, the king of France, diſputed his title to the wardſhip of Arthur, the ſon of Geoffry, who was now become duke of Brittany, upon the death of his father. Some other cauſes of diſſenſion enflamed the diſpute between the two monarchs. Philip had once more de⯑bauched Richard from his duty; and inſiſted upon his marriage being completed with Ade⯑lais, the ſiſter of France; and threatened to enforce his pretenſions by a formidable inva⯑ſion. In conſequence of this claim, another conference was held between Giſors and Trie, the uſual place of meeting, under a vaſt elm, that is ſaid to have ſhaded more than an acre. It was in the midſt of this conference upon their mutual rights, that a new object of in⯑tereſt was offered to their conſideration; and that quickly bore down all ſecular conſidera⯑tions before it. The archbiſhop of Tyre ap⯑peared before the aſſembly in the moſt miſer⯑able habit, and with looks calculated to in⯑ſpire compaſſion. He had come from the Holy Land, and had ſeen the oppreſſion of the Chriſtians, who were appointed to defend [268] the Holy Sepulchre, and was a witneſs of the triumph of the infidels. He painted the diſtreſſes of thoſe champions of the croſs in the moſt pa⯑thetic manner; he deplored their bravery and their misfortunes. The Chriſtians, about a century before, had attacked and taken Jeruſalem; but the Saracens recovered courage after the firſt torrent of ſucceſs was paſt, and being every day reinforced by freſh ſupplies, at laſt conquered by perſeverance a land of warriors, who, in common, preferring celibacy to mar⯑riage, had not multiplied in the ordinary me⯑thods of population. The holy city itſelf was ſoon re-taken by the victorious arms of Saladin; and all Paleſtine, except a few ma⯑ritime towns, was entirely ſubdued. Nothing now therefore remained of thoſe boaſted con⯑queſts, that had raiſed the glory, and enflamed the zeal of the weſtern world; and nothing was to be ſeen, of what near a century before had em⯑ployed the efforts of all the nobleſt ſpirits of Eu⯑rope to acquire. The weſtern Chriſtians were aſtoniſhed at receiving this diſmal intelligence; the whole audience burſt into tears; the two kings laid aſide their animoſity, and agreed to convert their whole attention to the reſcuing Jeruſalem from the hands of the infidels. They inſtantly therefore took the croſs; many of [269] their moſt conſiderable vaſſals imitated their example; and as the emperor Frederic I. en⯑tered into the ſame confederacy, it was univer⯑ſally expected that nothing could reſiſt their united endeavours. But it was the fate of Henry to be croſſed in his moſt darling purſuits by his undutiful and ungrateful children.

Richard, who had long wiſhed to have all the glory of ſuch an expedition to himſelf, and who could not bear to have even his father a partner in his victories, entered into a confe⯑deracy with the king of France, who promiſed to confirm him in thoſe wiſhes, at which he ſo ardently aſpired. He therefore began by mak⯑ing an inroad into the territories of the count of Thoulouſe, a vaſſal to the king of France; and this monarch, in order to retaliate, carried war into the provinces of Berri and Auvergne. Henry, who was apprized of their ſecret confe⯑deracy, nevertheleſs attempted to make depre⯑dations in turn upon the dominions of the French king. Conferences were propoſed, attended, and diſmiſſed. At length, Henry found himſelf obliged to give up all hopes of taking the croſs, and compelled to enter upon a war with France and his eldeſt ſon, who were unnaturally lea⯑gued againſt him. He now ſaw the confe⯑deracy daily gaining ground. Ferte Ber⯑nard [270] fell firſt into the hands of the enemy; Mans was next taken by aſſault; Amboiſe, Chaumont, and Chatteau de Loire, opened their gates upon the enemies appearance; Tours was inveſted; and the king, who had retired to Saumur, and had daily inſtances of the cowardice and infidelity of his governors, expected the moſt diſmal iſſue of all his en⯑terprizes. While he was in this ſtate of de⯑ſpondency, the duke of Burgundy, the count of Flanders, and archbiſhop of Rheims, in⯑terpoſed their good offices; and at laſt a treaty was concluded, in which he ſubmitted to many mortifying conceſſions. It was agreed that Richard ſhould marry the princeſs Ade⯑lais, and be crowned king of England during the life-time of his father. It was ſtipulated, that Henry ſhould pay twenty thouſand marks to the king of France, as a compenſation for the charges of the war; that his own barons ſhould engage to make him obſerve this treaty; and in caſe of violating it, to join Philip and Richard againſt him; and that all his vaſſals who eſpouſed the cauſe of Richard, ſhould re⯑ceive an indemnity for the offence. Theſe were terms ſufficiently humiliating to a prince accuſtomed to give, not receive, commands; but what was his reſentment, when, upon de⯑manding [271] a liſt of the barons that were to be thus pardoned, he found his ſon John, his fa⯑vourite child, among the number. He had long borne an infirm ſtate of body with calm reſignation; he had ſeen his children rebel without much emotion; he ſaw his own ſon his conqueror, himſelf bereft of his power, re⯑duced to the condition of a fugitive, and al⯑moſt ſuppliant, in his old age; and all this he endured with tranquillity of temper: but when he ſaw that child, whoſe intereſts always lay next his heart, among the number of thoſe who were in rebellion againſt him, he could no longer contain his indignation. He broke out into expreſſions of the utmoſt deſpair; curſed the day in which he had received his miſerable being; and beſtowed on his ungrate⯑ful children a malediction, which he never af⯑ter could be prevailed upon to retract. The more his heart was diſpoſed to friendſhip and affection, the more he reſented this barbarous return; and now, not having one corner in his heart where he could look for comfort, or fly for refuge from his conflicting paſſions, he loſt all his former vivacity. A lingering fever, cauſed by a broken heart, ſoon after terminated his life and his miſeries. He died at the caſtle of Chinon, near Saumur.

[272]His corpſe was conveyed by his natural ſon Geoffry, who of all his children behaved with duty, to the nunnery of Fontevrault; and next day, while it lay in the abbey-church, Rich⯑ard chancing to enter, was ſtruck with horror at the ſight. At his approach, the blood was ſeen to guſh out at the mouth and noſtrils of the corpſe; and this which, without doubt, was accidental, was interpreted by the ſuper⯑ſtition of the times, as the moſt dreadful re⯑buke. Richard could not endure the ſight. He exclaimed, that he was his father's mur⯑derer; and expreſſed a ſtrong, though late, ſenſe of that undutiful conduct, which brought his parent to an untimely grave.

A.D. 1189 Thus died Henry, in the fifty eighth year of his age, and the thirty-fifth of his reign; in the courſe of which he diſplayed all the abilities of a politician, all the ſagacity of a legiſlator, and all the magnanimity of an hero. He was of a middle ſtature, ſtrong and well proportioned, his countenance was lively and engaging; his converſation affable and enter⯑taining; his elocution eaſy, perſuaſive, and ever at command. When he could enjoy lei⯑ſure, he recreated himſelf, either in learned converſation or reading, and he cultivated his natural talents by ſtudy above any prince of his [273] time. During his reign, all foreign improve⯑ments in literature and politeneſs, in laws and arts, ſeem to have been, in a good meaſure, tranſ⯑planted into England. The little learning of the Saxon prieſts, which was confined to church hiſtory, and legendary tales, was now exchanged for the ſubtleties of ſchool-philoſophy. The homely manners of the great were ſoftened by the pomps of chivalry. The people, how⯑ever, were as yet far from being civilized; and even in their cities, where the ſocial arts were beſt cultivated, there were amazing in⯑ſtances of barbarity. It was common, for in⯑ſtance, in London, for great numbers, to the amount of an hundred, or more, of the ſons and relations of eminent citizens, to form themſelves into a confederacy to plunder and rob their more wealthy neighbours. By theſe crimes it was become ſo dangerous to walk the ſtreets at night, that the citizens, af⯑ter dark, were obliged to continue within doors. A band of theſe ruffians had one day attacked the houſe of a rich citizen, with an intention to plunder it. They had already broke through a ſtone wall with hammers and wedges; and were actually entering the houſe ſword in hand, when the citizen, in compleat armour, ſupported by his ſervants, appeared [274] in the paſſage to oppoſe them. He cut off the right hand of the firſt robber that entered; and made ſuch a noble reſiſtance, that his neighbours had time to aſſemble, and come to his relief. The man who loſt his hand was caught; and was tempted by the promiſe of a pardon to reveal his confederates, among whom was one John Senex, eſteemed among the richeſt and the beſt born citizens of London. He was convicted by the ordeal trial; and though he offered five hundred marks for his life, the king refuſed the money, and ordered him to be hanged.

Henry left only two legitimate ſons, Rich⯑ard who ſucceeded him; and John, who inhe⯑rited no territory, and therefore received the ſurname of Lackland. He left three legiti⯑mate daughters, Maud, who was married to the duke of Saxony, Eleanor married to Al⯑phonſo, king of Caſtile, and Joan, to William, king of Sicily. He left two natural ſons by Roſamond; Richard Longſword, who was af⯑terwards married to the daughter, and heireſs, of the earl of Saliſbury; and Geoffry, who was afterwards archbiſhop of York.

CHAP. IX. RICHARD I. ſurnamed COEUR DE LION.

RICHARD, who ſucceeded to the throne without oppoſition, ſeemed reſolved to diſcou⯑rage future diſobedience, by diſmiſſing from his ſervice all thoſe who had aſſiſted him in his former undutiful conduct. Thoſe who had ſeconded his rebellion, inſtead of meeting with that truſt and honour which they expected, were treated with ſcorn and neglect. He re⯑tained [276] in his ſervice all the loyal adherents of the late king; and more than once obſerved, that thoſe who were faithful to one ſovereign, would probably continue ſo to another. He inſtantly, upon his acceſſion, releaſed his mo⯑ther from confinement; and was profuſe in heaping favours upon his brother John, who afterwards made but a very indifferent return for this indulgence.

But the king was no way ſuſpicious in his temper; nor did he give much attention to his own ſecurity, being more earneſtly ſolici⯑tous of fame. A romantic deſire for ſtrange adventures, and an immoderate zeal for the external rites of Chriſtianity, were the ruling paſſions of the times. By theſe alone glory was to be acquired; and by theſe Richard only hoped for glory. The Jews, who had been for ſome time encreaſing in the kingdom, were the firſt who fell a ſacrifice to the enthuſiaſtic zeal of the people; and great numbers of them were ſlaughtered by the citizens of Lon⯑don, upon the very day of the king's corona⯑tion. Five hundred of that infatuated peo⯑ple had retired into York caſtle for ſafety; but finding themſelves unable to defend the place, they reſolved to periſh by killing one another, rather than truſt the fury of their perſecutors. [277] Having taken this gloomy reſolution, they firſt murdered their wives and children; next threw the dead bodies over the wall againſt their ene⯑mies, who attempted to ſcale it; and then ſet⯑ting fire to the houſes, periſhed in the flames.

This horrid maſſacre, which was in itſelf ſo impolitic and unjuſt, inſtead of tarniſhing the luſtre of this monarch's reign, was then conſi⯑dered as a moſt ſplendid commencement of his government; and the people were from thence led to form the moſt favourable ſenti⯑ments of his future glory. Nor was it long before he ſhewed himſelf perfectly fitted to gratify their moſt romantic deſires. Perhaps impelled more by a love of military glory, than actuated by ſuperſtition, he reſolved upon an expedition to the Holy Land, and took every method to raiſe money for ſo expenſive an undertaking. His father had left him a treaſure of above an hundred thouſand marks; and this ſum he endeavoured to augment by all expedients, however pernicious to the pub⯑lic, or dangerous to royal authority. He ſet up to ſale the revenues and manors of the crown, and ſeveral offices of the greateſt truſt and power. Liberties, charters, caſtles, and employments, were given to the beſt bidders. When ſome of his friends ſuggeſted the dan⯑ger [278] attending this venality, he told them he would ſell the city of London itſelf, if he could find a purchaſer. In theſe times we find but one man who was honeſt enough to retire from employment, when places were become thus ignominious. This was the great lawyer Glan⯑ville, who reſigned his poſt of juſticiary, and took the croſs. Richard was not much diſ⯑pleaſed at his reſignation, as he was able ſhortly after to ſell his employment to Hugh, biſhop of Durham, who gave a thouſand marks for the office. Thus the king, elated with the hopes of fame, was blind to every other con⯑ſideration. Numerous exactions were practiſed upon people of all ranks and ſtations; me⯑naces, promiſes, expoſtulations, were uſed to fright the timid, or allure the avaricious. A zealous preacher of thoſe times was ſo far em⯑boldened as to remonſtrate againſt the king's conduct; and adviſed him to part with his three daughters, which were pride, avarice, and ſenſuality. To this Richard readily re⯑plied, ‘"You counſel right, my friend; and I have already provided huſbands for them all. I will diſpoſe of my pride to the templars; my avarice to the monks; and as for my ſenſuality, the clergy ſhall ſhare that among them."’ At length, the king having got [279] together a ſufficient ſupply for his undertaking; and having even ſold his ſuperiority over the kingdom of Scotland, which had been acquired in the laſt reign, for a moderate ſum, he ſet out for the Holy Land, whither he was impelled by repeated meſſages from the king of France, who was ready to embark in the ſame enter⯑prize.

The firſt place of rendezvous for the two armies of England and France was the plain of Verelay, on the borders of Bur⯑gundy, where, when Richard and Philip ar⯑rived, they found their armies amounting to an hundred thouſand fighting men. Theſe were all ardent in the cauſe; the flower of all the military in both dominions, and provided with all the implements and accoutrements of war. Here the French prince, and the Engliſh, en⯑tered into the moſt ſolemn engagements of mutual ſupport; and having determined to conduct their armies to the Holy Land by ſea, they parted, one for Genoa, the other for Marſeilles, with a view of meeting the fleets that were to attend them at their reſpective ſtations. It was not long after that both fleets put to ſea; and nearly about the ſame time were obliged, by ſtreſs of weather, to take ſhelter in Meſſina, the capital of Sicily, where [280] they were detained during the whole winter. Richard took up his quarters in the ſuburbs, and poſſeſſed himſelf of a ſmall fort, which commanded the harbour. Philip quartered his troops in the town, and lived upon good terms with the Sicilian king.

It is now unknown what gave riſe to a quar⯑rel, which happened ſoon after, between the Sici⯑lians and the Engliſh; it is doubtful whether the intrigues of the French king, or the violent proceedings of Richard. Certain it is, that the Meſſineſe ſoon took occaſion to treat the Eng⯑liſh with great inſolence; ſhut their gates, manned their walls, and ſet Richard at defi⯑ance. Richard, who had hitherto acted as a friend, endeavoured to uſe the mediation of Philip to compromiſe this quarrel; but while the two monarchs were yet in deliberation, a body of Sicilians iſſued from the town, and at⯑tacked the Engliſh with great impetuoſity. This inſult was ſufficient to excite the fury of Richard, who naturally bold, and conſcious of his own ſuperior force, aſſaulted the city with ſuch fury, that it was ſoon taken, and the ſtandard of England diſplayed on the ram⯑parts. Philip, who conſidered the place as his quarters, exclaimed againſt the inſult, and ordered ſome of his troops to pull down that [281] mark of his diſgrace. To this, however, Rich⯑ard returned for anſwer, that he was willing to take down the ſtandard, ſince it diſpleaſed his aſſociate; but that no power on earth ſhould compel him to do ſo. This was ſufficient to produce a mutual jealouſy between theſe two princes, which never after ſubſided; but which was ſtill more enflamed by the oppoſition of their tempers.

Many were the miſtruſts, and the mutual reconciliations between theſe two monarchs, which were very probably inflamed by the Si⯑cilian king's endeavours. At length, however, having ſettled all controverſies, they ſet ſail for the Holy Land, where the French arrived long before the Engliſh. The little knowlege that was then had of the art of ſailing, made that paſſage by ſea very long and dangerous, which is now conſidered as ſo trifling. Richard's fleet was once more encountered by a tempeſt, and two of the ſhips driven upon the coaſt of the iſland of Cyprus. Iſaac, who was then prince of that country, either impelled by ava⯑rice, or willing to diſcourage the reſt of Rich⯑ard's fleet from landing, pillaged the ſhips that were ſtranded, and threw the ſeamen and ſol⯑diers into priſon. But Richard, who ſoon af⯑ter arrived, took ample vengeance for that in⯑jury. [282] He diſembarked his troops, defeated the tyrant, entered the capital by ſtorm, obliged Iſaac to ſurrender at diſcretion, and took the iſland into his own poſſeſſion. It was there that Richard married Berengaria, daughter to the king of Navarre, who had attended him in his expedition; and whom he had preferred to Adelais, the king of France's ſiſter, whoſe charms were not ſo powerful, or whoſe fidelity was more ſuſpected.

Upon the arrival of the Engliſh army in Paleſtine, fortune was ſeen to declare more open⯑ly in favour of the common cauſe. The French and Engliſh princes ſeemed to forget their ſecret jealouſies, and act in concert. In be⯑ſieging the city of Acres, while the one made the attack the other guarded the trenches; and this duty they formed each day alternately. By this conduct that garriſon, after a long and obſtinate reſiſtance, was obliged to capitulate; and, upon condition of having their lives ſpared, they promiſed to reſtore all the priſoners that had been made by the Saracens, and to deliver up the wood of the true croſs. Such were the amazing advantages that attended an enter⯑prize that had laid Aſia in blood; and had, in a great meaſure, depopulated Europe of its braveſt forces.

[283]Immediately after the conqueſt of this place, Philip, either diſguſted at the aſcendant aſſumed by Richard, and perhaps diſpleaſed at his ſupe⯑rior popularity, declared his reſolution of reti⯑ring to France. He pleaded the bad ſtate of his health in excuſe for his deſertion; and, to give a colour to his friendly profeſſions, he left Richard ten thouſand of his troops under the command of the duke of Burgundy. Richard,A.D. 1191 being now left ſole conductor of the war, went on from victory to victory. The chriſtian adventurers, under his command, determined to beſiege the renowed city of Aſcalon, in order to prepare the way for attacking Jeruſalem with greater advantage. Saladin, the moſt renowned of all the Saracen monarchs, was reſolved to diſ⯑pute their march, and placed himſelf upon the road with an army of three hundred thouſand men. This was a day equal to Richard's wiſhes, this an enemy worthy his higheſt am⯑bition. The Engliſh cruſades were victorious. Richard, when the wings of his army were de⯑feated, led on the main body in perſon, and re⯑ſtored the battle. The Saracens fled in the utmoſt confuſion; and no leſs than forty thou⯑ſand of their number periſhed on the field of battle. Aſcalon ſoon ſurrendered after this victory; other cities of leſs note followed the [284] example, and Richard was at laſt able to ad⯑vance within ſight of Jeruſalem, the object of his long and ardent expectations. But, juſt at this glorious juncture, his ambition was to ſuffer a total overthrow; upon reviewing his forces, and conſidering his abilities to proſe⯑cute the ſiege, he found that his army was ſo waſted with famine, fatigue, and even with victory, that they were neither able, nor willing to ſecond the views of their commander. It appeared, therefore, abſolutely neceſſary to come to an accommodation with Saladin; and a truce for three years was accordingly con⯑cluded, in which it was agreed, that the ſea⯑port towns of Paleſtine ſhould remain in the hands of the chriſtians; and that all of that religion ſhould be permitted to make their pilgrimage to Jeruſalem in perfect ſecurity.

Richard, having thus concluded his expe⯑dition with more glory than advantage, be⯑gan to think of returning home, and of en⯑joying in tranquility thoſe honours which he had reaped with ſo much danger. But he was at a loſs how to proceed. If he ſhould take ſhipping, and return by the way he came, he muſt neceſſarily put himſelf into the power of the king of France, from whoſe reſentment he had every thing to fear. No way, there⯑fore, [285] was left but by going more to the north; wherefore taking ſhipping for Italy, he was once more wrecked near Aquileia. From thence directing his travels towards Ragufa, and putting on the diſguiſe of a pilgrim, he reſolved to make his way, in that private man⯑ner, through Germany. But unfortunately, his intentions and perſon were not ſo concealed, but that his quality was ſuſpected; and the gover⯑nor of Iſtria purſued him, in order to make him a priſoner. Being thus forced from the direct road, and now become a fugitive, he was obliged to paſs by Vienna, where his expences and libe⯑ralities betraying his dignity, tho' diſguiſed in the habit of a pilgrim, he was arreſted by Leo⯑pold duke of Auſtria, who commanded him to be impriſoned and loaded with ſhackles, to the diſgrace of honour and humanity. This prince had ſerved under Richard at the ſiege of Acres; and being diſguſted on ſome af⯑front, offered him by his commander on that occaſion, he took this baſe method of retaliat⯑ing the injury. His avarice, alſo, might have had a ſhare in this procedure, as he expected a large ſhare of that ranſom which he knew would be given by the Engliſh to extricate their king from bondage. Henry the ſixth, who was then emperor of Germany, was equal⯑ly [286] an enemy to Richard, on account of the al⯑liance contracted between him, and Tancred king of Sicily, by his marriage with Berenga⯑ria. When therefore, ſhortly after, he re⯑ceived the news of Richard's being in cuſtody, he required the priſoner to be delivered up to him, and ſtipulated a large ſum of money to the duke as a reward for this ſervice. Thus the king of England, who had long filled the world with his fame, was baſely thrown into a dungeon, and loaded with irons, by thoſe who expected to reap a ſordid advantage from his misfortunes. It was a long time before his ſubjects in England knew what was become of their beloved monarch. So little intercourſe was there between different nations at that time, that this diſcovery is ſaid by ſome to have been made by a poor French minſtrel, who playing upon his harp near the fortreſs in which Ri⯑chard was confined, a tune which he knew that unhappy monarch was fond of, he was anſwered by the king from within, who with his harp played the ſame tune; and thus diſ⯑covered the place of his confinement.

In the mean time, while Richard was thus fruitleſsly victorious, and afterwards miſerably confined, his affairs in England were in a very unproſperous ſituation. The kingdom, as has [287] been before obſerved, was put under the go⯑vernment of two prelates, one of whom had bought his place, and the other had ariſen to it by the meaneſt arts of adulation. The biſhop of Durham was ignorant and avaricious. Long⯑champ his colleague was naturally proud, and ſtill more elated by the conſciouſneſs of poſ⯑ſeſſing his maſter's favour. Tempers ſo oppo⯑ſite ſoon began their enmity; and Longchamp went even ſo far, as to arreſt the perſon of his colleague; who was obliged to reſign his power to obtain his liberty. It was to no purpoſe, that the king by his letters commanded Long⯑champ to re-place his co-adjutor; this haughty prelate refuſed to obey, alledging that he knew the king's ſecret intentions better than to com⯑ply. He proceeded, therefore, ſtill to govern the kingdom alone; and as he knew his ſitua⯑tion was precarious, he encreaſed the number of his guards, without which he never ventured from his palace. In the univerſal diſguſt, which ſo much power and magnificence na⯑turally produced againſt him, there were none in the kingdom hardy enough to controul his will, except John the king's brother, who, hav⯑ing been perſonally diſobliged by this prelate, was willing to catch the preſent favourable oc⯑caſion, of univerſal diſcontent, to oppoſe him⯑ſelf [288] to his power. He accordingly ventured to ſummon, at Reading, a general council of the nobility and prelates; and cited Long⯑champ to appear before them. Longchamp, ſenſible of his own inſolence, and their enmity, was unwilling to truſt himſelf into their power, but ſhut himſelf up in the Tower of London. From thence he fled, in the diſguiſe of a female habit, beyond ſea; upon which the archbiſhop of Rouen was made juſticiary in his room. Theſe diſſenſions were ſoon known by the king of France, who was by this time returned from the Holy Land. He made all poſ⯑ſible uſe of Longchamp's reſentment to divide the Engliſh ſtill more effectually; and even had almoſt prevailed upon John, to throw off his allegiance, by an offer of putting him in poſſeſſion of all Richard's continental domi⯑nions.

It was in this precarious ſituation of af⯑fairs, that the Engliſh were firſt informed of the captivity of their beloved monarch, and the baſe treatment he had received, without even the colour of juſtice to gloſs over the injury. The Queen Dowager was particularly enraged at the treatment of her favourite ſon. She wrote reiterated letters to Pope Celeſtine, to ex⯑cite his compaſſion, or his indignation; but all [289] to very little purpoſe. The people teſtified their regard for him with all the marks of violence and deſpair. The clergy conſidered him as a ſufferer in the cauſe of the church; and all mouths were filled with the nobleneſs of his actions, and the greatneſs of his fall. But while theſe teſtified the ſincerity of their ſorrow, there were ſome that ſecretly rejoiced in his diſaſter, and did all they could to prolong the term of his captivity. Of this number was the king of France, his ancient enemy, and his own bro⯑ther John, who, forgetting every tie of kin⯑dred, duty, or gratitude, on the firſt invitation from Philip ſuddenly went abroad, and held a conference with him, in which the perpetual captivity of Richard was agreed upon. He ſtipu⯑lated to deliver into Philip's hands a great part of Normandy; and in return, he received the French king's aſſurances of being ſecured on the Engliſh throne; and ſome ſay that he did ho⯑mage for the crown of England. In conſe⯑quence of this treaty, Philip invaded Norman⯑dy, the fortreſſes of which were delivered up to him after a colour of oppoſition; and all but Rouen were ſubjected to his authority. John, on his ſide, was equally aſſiduous to ſecure Eng⯑land; and, upon his arrival in London, claim⯑ed the throne, as being heir to his brother, of [290] whoſe death he pretended to have received cer⯑tain intelligence. But in this the traitor's ex⯑pectations were diſappointed. His claim was rejected by all the barons, who took ſuch mea⯑ſures to provide for the ſecurity of the king⯑dom, that John was obliged to return to the continent, and openly to acknowledge his al⯑liance with the king of France.

In the mean time, the unhappy Richard ſuf⯑fered all the mortifications that malicious ty⯑ranny could inflict. The emperor, in order to ren⯑der him more impatient for the recovery of his li⯑berty, and make him ſubmit to the payment of a larger ranſom, treated him with the greateſt ſeve⯑rity, and reduced him to a condition worſe than that of the meaneſt malefactor. Richard, however, was too noble-ſpirited to be meanly depreſſed by thoſe indignities. As he did not know what extremities he might be reduced to, or what condeſcenſions he might be obliged to make, he wrote to the juſticiary of England to obey no orders that ſhould come from him, if they ſeemed in the leaſt contrary to his honour, or the good of the nation. His precautions were well founded; for the emperor, willing to intimidate him, had him even accuſed at the diet of Worms of many crimes and miſdemean⯑nors, partly to juſtify his own cruelty, and [291] partly to ſwell the ranſom. There he was charged with making an alliance with Tan⯑cred, the uſurper of Sicily; of turning the arms of the cruſade againſt a chriſtian prince; of af⯑fronting the duke of Auſtria before Acres; of obſtructing the progreſs of the chriſtian arms, by his conteſts with the king of France; of con⯑cluding a truce with Saladin, and leaving Jeru⯑ſalem in the hands of the infidels. Theſe frivolous charges were heard by Richard with becoming indignation. He even waved his dignity to anſwer them; and ſo fully vindicated himſelf before the princes who compoſed the diet, that they exclaimed loudly againſt the conduct of the emperor, while the pope even threatened him with excommunication. This barbarous monarch now ſaw that he could no longer de⯑tain his priſoner. He therefore was willing to liſten to terms of accommodation. A ranſom was agreed upon, which amounted to an hundred and fifty thouſand marks, or about three hun⯑dred thouſand pounds of our money. Of this, Richard was to pay one hundred thouſand, before he received his liberty; and ſixty-ſeven hoſtages were to be delivered for the remain⯑der. The agreement being thus made, Ri⯑chard ſent Hubert, one of his faithful follow⯑ers in the Holy Land, to England, with the [292] terms upon which he was to receive his liberty, and with a commiſſion to raiſe money for that purpoſe.

In the feudal times, every military tenant was, by law, obliged to give aid for the ranſom of his lord from captivity. The tax ariſing from this obligation was accordingly raiſed through⯑out the kingdom, and aſſeſſed by itinerant juſ⯑tices. But the ardour of the people out-went the cool offerings of their duty; great ſums were raiſed by voluntary contribution, to purchaſe the freedom of their king. The churches and monaſteries melted down their plate; the biſhops, abbots, and nobles, paid a fourth of their annual income; the inferior clergy contributed a tenth of their tythes, and the requiſite ſum was thus at length amaſſed; with which queen Eleanor, and the juſticiary immediately ſet out for Germany.

While the Engliſh were thus piouſly em⯑ployed, in preparing for the ranſom of their king, Philip was as aſſiduouſly occupied in endeavouring to prolong Richard's captivity. As he had the paſſions of the emperor to work upon, whom he knew to be avaricious to the laſt degree, he made him freſh propoſals ſtill more lucrative than thoſe which had been agreed upon for Richard's ranſom. He offer⯑ed [239] to marry the emperor's daughter, and to gra⯑tify him with a ſum equal to the ranſom, if he would only detain his priſoner for one year more in captivity. The emperor therefore per⯑ceived, that he had concluded a treaty with Ri⯑chard too haſtily, and repented of his raſhneſs. He was very willing to ſacrifice every conſide⯑ration of honour or juſtice; but then he feared the reſentment of his princes, who, in theſe feudal times, had power to puniſh his injuſtice. Thus he continued fluctuating between his ava⯑rice and his fears, between different motives, equally ſordid, until the day fixed for the king's deliverance arrived. His releaſement from cap⯑tivity was performed with great ceremony at Mentz, in preſence of the German nobility; the money was paid by queen Eleanor, the hoſtages were delivered as a ſecurity for the remainder, and Richard once more reſtored to freedom. In the mean time, the emperor beheld his releaſement with an agitation of all the malignant paſſions. He could not bear to ſee one he had made his enemy in a ſtate of felicity; he could not bear to loſe the ſuperior advantages that were of⯑fered for his detention. All his terrors, from his own ſubjects, gave way to the ſuperior dictates of avarice; he therefore once more reſolved to ſend him back to his former priſon, and [294] gave orders to have him purſued and arreſted. But luckily, the meſſengers were too late. Ri⯑chard, well acquainted with his perfidy, and ſe⯑cretly apprized of the offers of the French king, had ordered ſome ſhipping to attend him at the mouth of the Scheld; ſo that upon his arrival at the place of embarking, he went inſtantly on board, although the wind was againſt him, and was out of ſight of land when his purſuers reached Antwerp.

Nothing could exceed the joy of the Eng⯑liſh, upon ſeeing their monarch return, after all his atchievements and ſufferings. He made his entry into London in triumph; and ſuch was the profuſion of wealth ſhewn by the ci⯑tizens, that the German lords, who attended him, were heard to ſay, that if the emperor had known of their affluence, he would not ſo eaſily have parted with their king. He, ſoon after, ordered himſelf to be crowned a-new at Wincheſter. He convoked a general council at Nottingham, at which he confiſcated all his traiterous brother's poſſeſſions; and then hav⯑ing made proper preparations for avenging himſelf on the king of France, he ſet ſail with a ſtrong body of forces for Normandy.

Richard was but one day landed, when his faithleſs brother John came to make ſubmiſ⯑ſion, [295] and to throw himſelf at his monarch's feet. It was not without ſome degree of reſentment,A.D. 1194 that Richard received a prince, who had all along been leagued with his mortal enemy againſt him. However, at the interceſſion of queen Eleanor, he was received into favour. ‘"I forgive him," ſaid the king; "and I wiſh I could as eaſily forget his offences as he will forget my pardon."’ This condeſcenſion was not loſt upon a man, whoſe heart, though naturally bad, was not yet dead to every ſentiment of humanity. From that time he ſerved him faithfully; and did him ſignal ſervices in his battles with the king of France, which follow⯑ed ſoon after. Theſe wars, which produced no remarkable event, nor were ſucceeded by any permanent conſequences, only ſerved to keep the animoſity of the two nations alive,A.D. 1195 without fixing their claims or pretenſions. The moſt remarkable circumſtance, in the te⯑dious journals of thoſe tranſactions, is the tak⯑ing the biſhop of Beauvais captive at the head of his vaſſals, and his being put in priſon by Ri⯑chard. When the pope demanded his liberty, and claimed him as a child of the church, the king ſent his holineſs the bloody coat of mail, which that prelate had worn in battle; aſking whether that was the coat of his ſon. The [296] cruelty of both parties was in this manner en⯑flamed by inſult and revenge. Both kings frequently put out the eyes of their priſoners, and treaties were concluded and broke with very little repugnance. At length, the pope's le⯑gate induced them to commence a treaty, which promiſed to be attended with a firmer reconciliation; but the death of Richard put an end to the conteſt.

A.D. 1199 Aymar, viſcount of Limoges, a vaſſal of the crown, had taken poſſeſſion of a treaſure, which was found by one of his peaſants in digging a field; and to ſecure the remainder, he ſent a part of it to the king. Richard, as ſu⯑perior lord, ſenſible that he had a right to the whole, inſiſted on its being ſent him; and, up⯑on refuſal, attacked the caſtle of Chalus, where he underſtood this treaſure had been depoſited. On the fourth day of the ſiege, as he was riding round the place to obſerve where the aſſault might be given with the faireſt ſuc⯑ceſs, he was aimed at by one Bertram de Jour⯑don, an archer from the caſtle, and pierced in the ſhoulder with an arrow. The wound was not in itſelf dangerous; but an unſkilful ſur⯑geon endeavouring to diſengage the arrow from the fleſh, ſo rankled the wound that it mortified, and brought on fatal ſymptoms. [297] Richard, when he found his end approaching, made a will, in which he bequeathed the king⯑dom, with all his treaſure, to his brother John, except a fourth part which he diſtributed a⯑mong his ſervants. He ordered alſo, that the archer who had ſhot him, ſhould be brought into his preſence, and demanded what injury he had done him that he ſhould take away his life? The priſoner anſwered with deliberate in⯑trepidity: ‘"You killed, with your own hands, my father, and my two brothers; and you in⯑tended to have hanged me. I am now in your power, and my torments may give you revenge; but I will endure them with plea⯑ſure, ſince it is my conſolation, that I have rid the world of a tyrant."’ Richard, ſtruck with this anſwer, ordered the ſoldier to be preſented with one hundred ſhillings, and ſet at liberty; but Marcade the general who com⯑manded under him, like a true ruffian, or⯑dered him to be flead alive, and then hanged. Richard died in the tenth year of his reign, and the forty-ſecond of his age, leaving only one natural ſon, called Philip, behind him.

Richard had all the qualities that could gain the admiration and love of a barbarous age, and few of thoſe that could enſure the ap⯑probation of his more refined poſterity. He [298] was open, magnanimous, generous, and brave, to a degree of romantic exceſs. But then he was cruel, proud, and reſentful. He valued neither the blood, nor the treaſure of his ſub⯑jects; and he enfeebled his ſtates by uſeleſs expeditions, and wars calculated rather to pro⯑mote his own revenge than their intereſts. Du⯑ring this reign, the inferior orders of the people ſeemed to encreaſe in power, and to ſhew a degree of independent obſtinacy. Formerly, they were led on to acts of treaſon by their ba⯑rons; they were now found to aim at vindicating their rights, under a leader of their own rank and denomination. The populace of London placed at their head one William Fitzoſbern, commonly called Longbeard, who had been bred to the law; but who fonder of popula⯑rity than buſineſs, renounced his profeſſion, and eſpouſed the cauſe of the poor with un⯑common enthuſiaſm. He ſtiled himſelf the ſaviour of the poor; and upon a certain oc⯑caſion even went over to Normandy, where he repreſented to the king, that the poorer citi⯑zens were oppreſſed by an unequal aſſeſſment of taxes, and obtained a mitigation. His fame for this became ſo great among the lower orders of his fellow-citizens, that above fifty thouſand of them entered into an engage⯑ment [299] to defend, and to obey him. Murders were in conſequence daily committed in the ſtreets; but whether by Longbeard's order is uncertain. The juſticiary (for the king was then abſent) ſummoned him before the coun⯑cil to anſwer for his conduct; but he came with ſuch a formidable train, that none were found hardy enough to accuſe him. How⯑ever, he was purſued ſome time after by a de⯑tachment of officers of juſtice; but killing one of them, he eſcaped with his concubine to the church of St. Mary Le Bow, where he de⯑fended himſelf with determined reſolution. There he was ſupplied with arms and provi⯑ſions, and expected to be joined by the popu⯑lace; but being deceived in his expectations, he was at laſt forced from his retreat by the ſmoke of wet ſtraw kindled for the purpoſe at the door. He was then taken, tried, and convicted; and being drawn at an horſe's tail through the ſtreets of London, he was hung in chains, with nine more of his accomplices. The lower claſs of people when he was dead, began to revere a man that they had not ſpirit to relieve. They ſtole his gibbet, and paid it a veneration like that offered to the wood of the croſs. The turf on which it ſtood was carried away, and kept as a preſervative from ſickneſs and mis⯑fortune; [300] and had not the clergy withſtood the torrent of popular ſuperſtition, his memory might have probably received honours ſimilar to thoſe paid at the ſhrine of St. Thomas of Canterbury.

CHAP. X. JOHN.

WERE the claims of princes ſettled on the ſame principles that govern the lower or⯑ders of mankind, John had nothing to fear from a diſputed ſucceſſion. The king of France, who was the only monarch that could aſſiſt the pretenſions of a rival, had long de⯑clared for John's title; and during the life of his brother, had given him the moſt convinc⯑ing [302] proofs of ſincerity in his aſſiſtance. But it was otherwiſe, now that Richard was no more. Philip began to ſhew, that his for⯑mer alliances and friendſhips were calculated not to ſerve John, but to diſtreſs England; not to diſtribute juſtice, but to encreaſe his own power. There was an old claimant of the crown, whom indeed Richard, upon his taking the croſs, declared heir to the throne; but who was afterwards ſet aſide, at the inſtance of the dowager-queen. This was Arthur, the ſon of his late brother Geoffry, a youth, who, though then but twelve years of age, promiſed to be deſerving of the kingdom. Philip, who only deſired an occaſion to embarraſs John, ſoon re⯑ſolved to ſecond this young claimant's preten⯑ſions; and ſeveral of the continental barons immediately declared in favour of Arthur's ſucceſſion.

John, who was readily put in poſſeſſion of the Engliſh throne, loſt no time to ſecond his intereſt on the continent; and his firſt care was to recover the revolted provinces from young Arthur, his nephew. The war, therefore, be⯑tween the Engliſh and French king was re⯑newed with all its former animoſity, and all its uſual detail of petty victories, and undeciſive engagements. At length, a treaty put an end [303] to thoſe conteſts that only ſerved to thin man⯑kind, and it was haſtened by a circumſtance peculiarly favourable. John's nephew, Ar⯑thur, together with Conſtantia, his mother, diſtruſting the deſigns of the king of France, who only intended to betray them, came to throw themſelves on his mercy, and reſtored the provinces which ſtill continued in their in⯑tereſt. Thus this monarch, after a ſhort con⯑teſt, ſaw himſelf undiſputed monarch of all the dominions which were annexed to the Eng⯑liſh throne. But he was ill able to preſerve that power by his prudence, which was thus eaſily obtained by the mutual jealouſies of his enemies. His firſt tranſgreſſion was his mar⯑riage with Iſabella, the daughter of count An⯑gouleme, while the queen was yet alive; A.D. 1220 and what ſtill encreaſed the offence, while Iſabella properly belonged to another huſband, the count de la Marche, who ardently loved her. This produced an inſurrection againſt him; to repreſs which, he was obliged to have recourſe to his Engliſh ſubjects for aſſiſtance, by whoſe means the confederacy was ſoon broken; and John found, by his preſent ſucceſs, that he might future commit violences with impu⯑nity.

As the method of deciding all diſputes by [304] duel was ſtill in full force, John reſolved to avail himſelf of this advantage againſt all his refractory barons. He kept a ſet of hired bra⯑voes, under the title of his champions; and theſe he deputed to fight his cauſe whenever any of the nobility oppoſed his encroachments. Such contemptible opponents very juſtly gave the haughty barons diſguſt, and an univerſal diſcontent prevailed amongſt them, which at laſt produced another dangerous confederacy. John attempted to break it by oaths, proteſta⯑tions, and perfidies; but every attempt of this kind only ſerved to connect his enemies, and render his perſon contemptible.

Something ſtill remained to render John hateful to his ſubjects; and this ill diſpoſed prince took the firſt opportunity of becoming ſo. Young Arthur, who, with his mother, had ſo imprudently reſigned themſelves to his protection, ſoon perceived their error, and found that nothing honourable was to be expect⯑ed from a prince of his abandoned character. Obſerving ſomewhat very ſuſpicious in his man⯑ner of conducting himſelf to them, they fled from Mans, where he detained them, and re⯑tired in the night to Angers, from whence they went once more to take refuge with their old protector. As it was Philip's intereſt to [305] treat them with all poſſible indulgence, they were received with great marks of diſtinction; and young Arthur's intereſts were ſoon after very vigorouſly ſupported. One town after another ſubmitted to his authority; and all his attempts ſeemed attended with ſucceſs. But his unfortunate ardour ſoon put an end to his hopes and his claims. Being of an enterpriz⯑ing diſpoſition, and fond of military glory, he had laid ſiege to a fortreſs in which the dow⯑ager-queen was protected; and defended by a weak garriſon. John therefore falling upon his little army, before they were aware of his ap⯑proach, the young prince was taken priſoner, to⯑gether with the moſt conſiderable of the re⯑volted barons. The greater part of the pri⯑ſoners were ſent over to England; but the un⯑fortunate prince himſelf was ſhut up in the caſtle of Falaiſe. John thus finding a rival at his mercy, from whom he had every thing to dread, began to meditate upon meaſures which would moſt effectually remove his fu⯑ture apprehenſions. No other expedient ſug⯑geſted itſelf, but what is foremoſt in the ima⯑gination of tyrants, namely, the young prince's death. How this brave youth was diſpatched is not well known: certain it is, that from the moment of his confinement he was never [306] heard of more. The moſt probable account of this horrid tranſaction is as follows. The king having firſt propoſed to one of his ſer⯑vants, William de la Braye, to diſpatch Ar⯑thur, this brave domeſtic replied, that he was a gentleman, and not an executioner. This of⯑ficer having poſitively refuſed to comply, John had recourſe to another inſtrument, who went with proper directions, to the caſtle where Ar⯑thur was confined to deſtroy him. But ſtill this prince's fate ſeemed ſuſpended; for Hu⯑bert de Bourg, chamberlain to the king, and conſtable of the place, willing to ſave him, un⯑dertook the cruel office himſelf, and ſent back the aſſaſſin to his employer. However, he was ſoon obliged to confeſs the impoſture; for Ar⯑thur's ſubjects vowing the ſevereſt revenge, Hubert, to appeaſe them, revealed the ſecret of his pretended death, and aſſured them, that their prince was ſtill alive, and in his cuſtody. John now finding that all his emiſſaries had ſtill more compunction than himſelf, reſolved, with his own hands, to execute this bloody deed; and for that purpoſe had Arthur re⯑moved to the caſtle of Rouen, ſituated upon the river Seine. It was at midnight when John came in a boat to the place, and ordered the young prince to be brought before him. Long [307] confinement, ſolitude, and the continuance of bad fortune, had now broken this generous youth's ſpirit; and perceiving that his death was meditated, he threw himſelf in the moſt im⯑ploring manner upon his knees before his un⯑cle, and begged for mercy. John was too much hardened in the ſchool of tyranny, to feel any pity for his wretched ſuppliant. His youth, his affinity, his merits, were all diſ⯑regarded, or were even obnoxious in a rival. The barbarous tyrant making no reply, ſtab⯑bed him with his own hands; and faſtening a ſtone to the dead body, threw it into the Seine. This inhuman action thus rid John of an hated rival; but happily, for the inſtruction of future princes, it opened the way to his fu⯑ture ruin. Having in this manner ſhewn him⯑ſelf the enemy of mankind, in the proſperity of his reign, the whole world ſeemed to turn their back upon him in his diſtreſs.

John was now deteſted by all mankind, and the reſt of his reign he only ſupported himſelf in power, by making it the intereſt of ſome to protect him, and letting others feel the effects of his reſentment, if they offered to offend. The loſs of all his French provinces immediately followed his laſt tranſgreſſion. Not but that he attempted a defence; and even laid ſiege to [308] Alençon, one of the towns that had revolted from him. But Philip, his active rival, per⯑ſuaded a body of knights, who were aſſembled at a tournament, to take his part; and theſe rea⯑dily joining againſt the parricide, quickly oblig⯑ed him to raiſe the ſiege. John, therefore, re⯑pulſed, and ſtript of his dominions, was ob⯑liged to bear the inſult with patience; though, indeed, ſuch was the ridiculous abſurdity of his pride, that he aſſured thoſe about him of his being able to take back in a day, what coſt the French years in acquiring.

A.D. 1205 Normandy ſoon followed the fate of the French provinces. Chateau Gaillard, one of its ſtrongeſt fortreſſes, being taken after an ob⯑ſtinate ſiege, the whole duchy lay open to the invader; and while John baſely ſought ſafety by flying into England, Philip, ſecure of his prey, puſhed his conqueſts with vigour. The whole duchy ſubmitted to his authority; and thus, after being for near three centuries diſmembered from the French monarchy, was again reunited.

John being thus ſtript of all his continental dominions, was reſolved to wreak his vengeance on that part of the monarchy which ſtill acknow⯑ledged ſubjection. Upon his arrival therefore in England, he began to lay the blame of his ill [309] ſucceſs upon his barons, who he pretended had deſerted his ſtandard in Normandy. To puniſh them for this imputed offence, he le⯑vied large ſums upon their eſtates and effects, under colour of preparations for a Norman expedition; which, however, he deferred till the next year. When the ſeaſon came for making it, he ſummoned all his barons to attend him; and then capriciouſly deferred the execution of his projects to another opportu⯑nity. The year following he put to ſea, as if with a firm reſolution to do wonders; but re⯑turned ſoon after, without making the ſmalleſt attempt. Another year elapſed, when he pro⯑miſed that he would then redeem his country's reputation by a moſt ſignal blow. He ſet ſail, landed at Rochelle, marched to Angers, laid the city in aſhes; and hearing that the enemy were preparing to oppoſe him, he reimbarked his troops, and returned once more to his indig⯑nant country, loaden with ſhame and con⯑fuſion.

Hitherto John was rather hateful to his ſub⯑jects than contemptible; they rather dreaded than deſpiſed him. But he ſoon ſhewed that he might be offended, if not without reſentment at leaſt with impunity. It was the fate of this vi⯑tious prince to make thoſe the enemies of him⯑ſelf [310] whom he wanted abilities to make the ene⯑mies of each other. The clergy had for ſome time acted as a community independent on the crown, and had their elections of each other generally confirmed by the pope, to whom alone they owned ſubjection. However, the election of archbiſhops had for ſome time been a continual ſubject of diſpute between the ſuf⯑fragan biſhops, and the Auguſtine monks, and both had precedents to confirm their preten⯑ſions. Things being in this ſituation, Hubert the archbiſhop of Canterbury, died; and the Auguſtine monks, in a very private manner, made choice of Reginald, their ſub-prior. The biſhops exclaimed at this election, as a mani⯑feſt invaſion of their privileges; and a furious theological conteſt was likely to enſue. A po⯑litic prince would have ſeized ſuch a conjunc⯑ture with joy; and would have managed the quarrel in ſuch a manner as to enfeeble the ex⯑orbitant power of the clergy, by enflaming their mutual animoſity. But John was not a politic prince. He immediately ſided with the ſuffragan biſhops; and John de Gray, biſhop of Norwich, was unanimouſly choſen. To decide the mutual claims of both parties, it was expedient to appeal to the ſee of Rome; an agent was ſent by the biſhops to maintain their [311] cauſe, while the monks diſpatched twelve of their order to ſupport their pretenſions. Inno⯑cent III. who then filled the chair, poſſeſſed an unbounded ſhare of power, and his talents were equal to the veneration in which he was held. He ſeized with avidity that conjuncture which John failed to uſe; and vacating the claims of both parties, as uncanonical and illegal, he enjoined the monks to chuſe Cardinal Stephen Langton, an Engliſhman, then at the court of Rome, as a fit perſon to fill the vacant dignity.

This was an encroachment of power that the ſee of Rome had long been aiming at, and that it was now reſolved to maintain. The being able to nominate to the greateſt dignity in the kingdom, next that of the king, was an acquiſi⯑tion that would effectually give the court of Rome an authority, which it had hitherto vainly pretended to aſſume. So great an inſult was to be introduced to this weak prince with perſua⯑ſions adapted to his capacity; and the pope ac⯑cordingly ſent him a moſt affectionate letter, with a preſent of four gold rings, ſet with precious ſtones. He begged John to conſider ſeriouſly the form of the rings, their number, their mat⯑ter, and their colour. Their form being round, ſhadowed out eternity, for which it was his duty to prepare. Their number four, denoted [312] the four cardinal virtues, which it was his du⯑ty to practiſe. Their matter being gold, the moſt precious of metals, denoted wiſdom, the moſt precious of accompliſhments, which it was his duty to acquire; and as to their colour, the green colour of the emerald repreſented faith; the yellow of the ſaphire, hope; the redneſs of the ruby, charity; and the ſplendor of the topaz, good works. John received the rings, thought all the pope's illuſtrations very beauti⯑ful; but was reſolved not to admit Stephen Langton as archbiſhop of Canterbury.

As all John's meaſures were conducted with violence, he ſent two knights of his train, who were fit inſtruments for ſuch a prince, to ex⯑pel the monks from their convent, and to take poſſeſſion of their revenues. The pope was not diſpleaſed at this inſtance of his impetuoſi⯑ty; he was ſenſible that John would ſink in the conteſt, and therefore perſevered the more vigorouſly in his pretenſions. He began his attempts to carry his meaſures by ſoothing, im⯑ploring, and urging; he proceeded to threats, and at laſt ſent three Engliſh prelates to the king to inform him, that if he perſevered in his diſobedience, he would put the kingdom un⯑der the ſentence of an interdict. All the other prelates threw themſelves on their knees before [313] the king; entreated him in the moſt earneſt manner not to bring upon them the reſent⯑ment of the holy tribunal; exhorted him to receive the new elected primate, and to reſtore the monks to their convent, from whence they had been expelled. But theſe entreaties ſerved only to enflame his reſentment. He broke out into the moſt violent invectives; and ſwore by God's teeth, his uſual oath, that if the king⯑dom was put under an interdict, he would ba⯑niſh the whole body of the clergy, and confiſ⯑cate all their poſſeſſions. This idle threat only ſerved to haſten the reſentment of the pontiff. Perceiving the king's weakneſs, and how little he was loved by his ſubjects, he iſſued at laſt the ſentence of the interdict, which was ſo much dreaded by the whole nation. This in⯑ſtrument of terror in the hands of the ſee of Rome, was calculated to ſtrike the ſenſes in the higheſt degree, and to operate upon the ſu⯑perſtitious minds of the people. By it a ſtop was immediately put to divine ſervice, and to the adminiſtration of all the ſacraments but bap⯑tiſm. The church doors were ſhut, the ſtatues of the ſaints were laid on the ground. The dead were refuſed chriſtian burial, and were thrown into ditches and on the highways, with⯑out the uſual rites, or any funeral ſolemnity. [314] Marriage was celebrated in the church-yards, and the people prohibited the uſe of meat, as in times of public penance. They were de⯑barred from all pleaſure; they were prohibited from ſhaving their beards, from ſaluting each other, and giving any attention to their appa⯑rel. Every circumſtance ſeemed calculated to inſpire religious terror; and teſtified the appre⯑henſions of divine vengeance and indignation. Againſt ſuch a calamity, encreaſed by the deplor⯑able lamentations of the clergy, it was in vain that John exerted all his authority, threatened, and puniſhed, and oppoſed the terrors of his tempo⯑ral power to their eccleſiaſtical cenſures. It was in vain that he baniſhed ſome, and confined others; it was in vain that he treated the adherents of Langton with rigour, and ordered all the con⯑cubines of the clergy to be impriſoned. The church conquered by perſeverance; and John ſaw himſelf every day growing more obnoxious and more contemptible. The barons, many of whoſe families he had diſhonoured by his li⯑centious amours, were almoſt to a man his de⯑clared enemies. The clergy repreſented him in the moſt odious light to the people; and nothing remained to him but the feeble re⯑lics of that power, which had been ſo ſtrongly fixed by his grandfather, that all his vices were hitherto unable totally to overthrow.

[315]In the mean time, the pope ſeeing all the conſequences he expected attending the inter⯑dict; and that the king, was thus rendered per⯑fectly diſagreeable to his ſubjects, reſolved to ſe⯑cond his blow; and while the people were yet impreſſed with terror, determined to take ad⯑vantage of their conſternation. The church of Rome had artificially contrived a gradation of ſentences; by which, while ſhe inflicted one puniſhment, ſhe taught the ſufferers to expect more formidable conſequences from that which were to enſue. On the back of the interdict therefore, came the ſentence of excommuni⯑cation, by which John was at once rendered impious, and unfit for human ſociety.A.D. 1209 No ſooner was this terrible ſentence denounced againſt him, than his ſubjects began to think of oppoſing his authority. The clergy were the firſt to ſet an example of diſobe⯑dience. Geoffry, archdeacon of Norwich, who was entruſted with a conſiderable office in the court of Exchequer, reſigned his em⯑ployment, which ſo exaſperated the king that he had him confined; and ordering his head to be covered with a great leaden cope, thus kept him in torment till he died. Moſt of the other biſhops dreading his fate, left the kingdom. Many of the nobility alſo, ter⯑rified [316] at the king's tyranny, went into vo⯑luntary exile, and thoſe who remained, only employed their time in cementing a confe⯑deracy againſt him. The next gradation of papal indignation, was to abſolve John's ſubjects from their oaths of fidelity and allegiance; and to declare every one excom⯑municated who had any commerce with him in public or private; at his table, in his coun⯑cil, or even in private converſation. John, however, ſtill continued refractory; and only one ſtep more remained for the pope to take, and this was to give away the kingdom to an⯑other.

No ſituation could be more deplorable than that of John upon this occaſion. Furious at his indignities, jealous of his ſubjects, and apprehending an enemy in every face; it is ſaid, that fearing a conſpiracy againſt his life, he ſhut himſelf up a whole night in the caſtle of Nottingham, and ſuffered none to approach his perſon. Being informed that the king of Wales had taken part againſt him, he ordered all the Welſh hoſtages to be inſtantly put to death. Being apprehenſive of the fidelity of his barons, he required their ſons and daughters as hoſtages for their obedience. When his of⯑ficers repaired on this odious duty to the caſtle [317] of William Brauſe, a nobleman of great note, that baron's wife reſolutely told them, that ſhe would never truſt her children in the hands of a man, who had ſo barbarouſly murdered his own nephew. John was ſo provoked at this merited reproach, that he ſent a body of forces to ſeize the perſon of Brauſe, who fled into Ireland with his wife and family. But John's indignation purſued them there; and diſcover⯑ing the unhappy family in their retreat, he ſeiz⯑ed the wife and ſon, whom he ſtarved to death in priſon, while the unfortunate father narrowly eſcaped by flying into France.

Mean while the pope, who had reſolved on giving the kingdom to another, was employed in fixing upon a perſon, who was willing to accept the donation, and had power to vindi⯑cate his claim. Philip, the king of France, ſeemed of all others the fitteſt of ſuch an un⯑dertaking; he was politic and powerful, he had already deſpoiled John of his continental dominions, and was the moſt likely perſon to deprive him of the remainder. To him, there⯑fore, the pope made a tender of the kingdom of England; and Philip very ardently em⯑braced the offer. To ſtrengthen the hands of Philip ſtill more, the pope publiſhed a cruſade againſt the depoſed monarch all over Europe; [318] exhorting the nobility, the knights, and men of every condition, to take up arms againſt that perſecutor of the church, and to enliſt under the French banner. Philip was not leſs active on his part; he levied a great army, and ſum⯑moning all the vaſſals of the crown to attend him at Rouen, he collected a fleet of ſeventeen hundred veſſels in the ſea-ports of Normandy and Picardy,A.D. 1213 already devouring in imagina⯑tion the kingdom he was appointed to poſ⯑ſeſs.

John, who, unſettled and apprehenſive, ſcarcely knew where to turn, was ſtill able to make an expiring effort to receive the ene⯑my. All hated as he was, the natural enmity between the French and the Engliſh, the name of king which he ſtill retained, and ſome re⯑maining power, put him at the head of ſixty thouſand men, a ſufficient number indeed, but not to be relied on, and with theſe he advan⯑ced to Dover. Europe now regarded the im⯑portant preparations on both ſides with im⯑patience; and the deciſive blow was ſoon ex⯑pected, in which the church was to triumph, or to be overthrown. But neither Philip nor John had ability equal to the pontiff by whom they were actuated; he appeared on this occa⯑ſion too refined a politician for either. He [319] only intended to make uſe of Philip's power to intimidate his refractory ſon, not to deſtroy him. He expected more advantages from his agreement with a prince, ſo abject both in character and fortune, than from his alliance with a great and victorious monarch; who, having nothing elſe left to conquer, might convert his power againſt his benefactor. He therefore, ſecretly commiſſioned Pandolf his legate, to admit of John's ſubmiſſion, in caſe it ſhould be offered, and he dictated the terms which would be proper for him to impoſe. In conſequence of this, the legate paſſed through France, where he beheld Philip's great arma⯑ment ready to ſet ſail, and highly commended that monarch's zeal and expedition. From thence he went in perſon; or as ſome ſay, ſent over an envoy, to Dover, under pretence of negociat⯑ing with the barons, and had a conference with John upon his arrival. He there repreſented to this forlorn prince, the numbers of the ene⯑my, the hatred of his own ſubjects, and the ſecret confederacy there was in England againſt him. He intimated, that there was but one way to ſecure himſelf from impending danger; which was, to put himſelf under the pope's protection, who was a merciful father, and ſtill willing to receive a repentent ſinner to [320] his boſom. John was too much intimidat⯑ed, by the manifeſt danger of his ſituation, not to embrace every means offered for his ſafety. He aſſented to the truth of the le⯑gate's remonſtrances, and took an oath to per⯑form whatever ſtipulations the pope ſhould impoſe. Having thus ſworn to the perform⯑ance of an unknown command, the artful Italian ſo well managed the barons, and ſo effectually intimidated the king, that he per⯑ſuaded him to take the moſt extraordinary oath in all the records of hiſtory, before all the people, kneeling upon his knees, and with his hands held up between thoſe of the legate.

"I John, by the grace of God, king of England, and lord of Ireland, in order to expiate my ſins, from my own free will, and the advice of my barons, give to the church of Rome, to pope Innocent, and his ſucceſſors, the kingdom of England, and all other prerogatives of my crown. I will hereafter hold them as the pope's vaſſal. I will be faithful to God, to the church of Rome, to the pope my maſter, and his ſuc⯑ceſſors legitimately elected. I promiſe to pay him a tribute of a thouſand marks yearly; to wit, ſeven hundred for the king⯑dom of England, and three hundred for [321] the kingdom of Ireland." Having thus done homage to the legate, and agreed to re⯑inſtate Langton in the primacy, he received the crown, which he had been ſuppoſed to have forfeited, while the legate trampled un⯑der his feet the tribute which John had con⯑ſented to pay.

Thus, after all his armaments and expecta⯑tions, Philip ſaw himſelf diſappointed of his prey, and perceived that the pope had over⯑reached him in this tranſaction. Nevertheleſs, as he had undertaken the expedition at the pope's requeſt, he was reſolved to proſecute the war, in oppoſition to him and all his cenſures. He laid before his vaſſals the ill treatment he had received from the court of Rome; and they all vowed to ſecond his enterprize, except the earl of Flanders, who declared againſt the impiety of the undertaking. In the mean time, while the French king was reſolving to bring this refractory nobleman to his duty, the Eng⯑liſh admiral attacked the French fleet in their harbours, where he took three hundred ſhips, and deſtroyed an hundred more. Philip find⯑ing it impoſſible to prevent the reſt from fall⯑ing into the hands of the enemy, ſet fire to them himſelf, and was thus obliged to give up all deſigns upon England.

[322] A.D. 1213 John was now once more, by the moſt ab⯑ject ſubmiſſions, reinſtated in power; but his late humiliations did not in the leaſt ſerve to re⯑lax his cruelty or inſolence. One Peter of Pomfret, an hermit, had foretold, that the king this very year ſhould loſe his crown; and for that raſh prophecy he had been thrown into Corfe caſtle: John now determined to puniſh him as an impoſtor, and had him arraigned for that purpoſe. The poor hermit, who was pro⯑bably ſome wretched enthuſiaſt, aſſerted the truth of his prediction, alledging, that the king had given up his crown to the pope, from whom he again received it. This argument would have prevailed with any perſon leſs cruel than John. The defence was ſuppoſed to aug⯑ment the crime. Peter was dragged at horſes tails to the town of Warham, and there hanged on a gibbet, with his ſon.

In this manner, by repeated acts of cruelty, by expeditions without effect, and humiliations without reſerve, John was long become the de⯑teſtation of all mankind. Equally odious and contemptible, both in public and private life, he affronted the barons by his inſolence, and diſhonoured their families by his debaucheries; he enraged them by his tyranny, and impove⯑riſhed them by his exactions. But now hav⯑ing [323] given up the independence of his kingdom to a foreign power, his ſubjects thought they had a right to claim a part of that power which he had been granting ſo liberally to ſtrangers.

The barons had been long forming a con⯑federacy againſt him; but their union was bro⯑ken, or their aims diſappointed, by various and unforeſeen accidents. Nothing at preſent ſeem⯑ed ſo much to forward their combination, as the concurrence of Langton the primate, who, tho' forced upon the kingdom by the ſee of Rome, amply compenſated to his countrymen by his attachment to their real intereſts.

This prelate, either a ſincere friend of the people, or a ſecret enemy to the king, or ſuppoſing that in their mutual conflict the cler⯑gy would become ſuperior, or, perhaps, inſti⯑gated by all theſe motives, had formed a plan for reforming the government, which ſtill continued in a very fluctuating ſituation. At a ſynod of his prelates and clergy, convened in St. Paul's, on pretence of examining into the loſſes ſuſtained by the exiled biſhops, he conferred privately with a number of barons, and expa⯑tiated upon the vices and the injuſtice of their ſovereign. He ſhewed them a copy of Henry the firſt's charter, which was luckily found in a monaſtery; for ſo little had thoſe charters, [324] extorted from kings at their coronation, been hi⯑therto obſerved, that they ſoon came into diſ⯑uſe, and were ſhortly after buried in total ob⯑livion. There was but one copy of this im⯑portant charter now left in the kingdom; and that, as was obſerved, was found in the rub⯑biſh of an obſcure monaſtery. However, it contained ſo many articles tending to reſtore and fix the boundaries of juſtice, that Lang⯑ton exhorted the confederating barons to inſiſt on the renewal and obſervance of it. The barons ſwore they would loſe their lives ſooner than forego thoſe claims that were found⯑ed on nature, on reaſon, and precedent. The confederacy every day began to ſpread wider, and to take in almoſt all the barons of England.

A new and a more numerous meeting was ſummoned by Langton, at St. Edmundſbury, under colour of devotion. He again produced to the aſſembly the charter of Henry; and re⯑newed his exhortations to continue ſtedfaſt and zealous in their former laudable conſpiracy. The barons, enflamed by his eloquence, and ſtill more by their injuries, as alſo encouraged by their numbers, ſolemnly ſwore before the high altar to adhere to each other, to inſiſt on their de⯑mands, and to perſevere in their attempts, until they obtained redreſs. They agreed, that after [325] Chriſtmaſs they would prefer their common petition in a body; and in the mean time ſepa⯑rated, with reſolutions of putting themſelves in a poſture of defence; to enliſt men, and forti⯑fy their caſtles. Purſuant to their promiſe and obligations, they repaired in the beginning of January to London, accoutered in military garb and equipage, and preſented their demands to the king; alledging, that he had promiſed to grant them, at the time he was abſolved from his ex⯑communication when he conſented to a confir⯑mation of the laws of Edward the Confeſſor. On the other hand, John, far from complying with their requeſt, reſented their preſumption; and even inſiſted upon a promiſe, under their hands and ſeals, that they would never demand, or at⯑tempt to extort, ſuch privileges for the future. This, however, they boldly refuſed, and conſider⯑ed as an unprecedented act of power; ſo that, per⯑ceiving their unanimity, in order for a while to break their combination, he deſired further time to conſider of an anſwer to their demands. He promiſed, that at the feſtival of Eaſter, he would give a poſitive reply to their petition; and offer⯑ed them the archbiſhop of Canterbury, the bi⯑ſhop of Ely, and the earl mareſchal, as ſure⯑ties for fulfilling his engagements. The ba⯑rons accepted the terms, and peaceably re⯑turned [326] to their habitations. They ſaw their own ſtrength, and were certain at any time to enforce their demands.

Freedom could never have found a more fa⯑vourable conjuncture for its extertions, than un⯑der the government of a weak and vicious monarch, ſuch as John was, whoſe reſiſtance only ſerved to give ſplendour to every oppoſi⯑tion. Although he had granted the barons aſſu⯑rances of his good intentions, yet nothing was farther from his heart than complying with their demands. In order to break their league, he had recourſe to the power of the clergy, of whoſe influence he had experience, from his own recent misfortunes. He courted their favour, by granting them a charter, eſtabliſh⯑ing all thoſe rights, of which they were already in poſſeſſion, and which he now pretended li⯑berally to beſtow, when he had not the ability to refuſe. He took the croſs, to ingratiate himſelf ſtill farther; and, that he might enjoy thoſe privileges annexed to the profeſſion, he appealed to the pope againſt the uſurpation of his barons, and craved his holy protection. Nor were the barons remiſs in their appeals to the pontiff. They alledged, that their juſt pri⯑vileges were abridged, and entreated the inter⯑poſition of his authority with the king. The [327] pope did not heſitate in taking his party. A king who had already given up all to his pro⯑tection, who had regularly paid the ſtipulated tributes, and who took every occaſion to advance the intereſts of the church, was much more meritorious in his eyes, than a confederacy of barons, whom, at beſt, he could manage with difficulty, and whoſe firſt endeavours would perhaps be to ſhake off his authority. He, therefore, wrote letters to England, reproach⯑ing Langton, and the biſhops, for favouring theſe diſſenſions, and commanding them to pro⯑mote peace between the parties. He exhorted the barons to conciliate the king, not with me⯑naces, but humble entreaties; and promiſed, up⯑on their obedience, to interpoſe his own autho⯑rity in favour of ſuch of their petitions as he ſhould find to be juſt. At the ſame time he an⯑nulled their aſſociation, and forbad them to engage in any confederacy for the future.

Neither the biſhops nor barons paid the leaſt regard to the pope's remonſtrance; and as for John's pretences of taking the croſs, they turned them into ridicule. They had for ſome time been ſpectators of the intereſted views of the ſee of Rome. They found, that the pope, inſtead of advancing the intereſts of the church, his own individual intereſts always were [328] promoted. They continued, indeed, to re⯑verence his authority as much as ever, when exerted on points of duty; but they now began to ſeparate between his religious and his political aims, adhering to the one, and rejecting the other. The biſhops and ba⯑rons, therefore, on this occaſion, employed all their arts and emiſſaries to kindle a ſpirit of revolt in the nation; and there was now ſcarce a nobleman in the kingdom, who did not ei⯑ther perſonally engage in the deſign, or ſe⯑cretly favour the undertaking. After waiting till Eaſter, when the king promiſed to re⯑turn them an anſwer, upon the approach of that feſtival they met, by agreement, at Stam⯑ford. There they aſſembled a force of above two thouſand knights, and a body of foot, to a prodigious number. From thence, elated with their power,A.D. 1215. Apr. 27. they marched to Brackley, about fifteen miles from Oxford, the place where the court then reſided. John, hearing of their approach, ſent the archbiſhop of Can⯑terbury, the earl of Pembroke, and others of his council, to know the particulars of their requeſt, and what thoſe liberties were which they ſo earneſtly importuned him to grant. The barons delivered a ſchedule, containing the chief articles of their demands, and of which [329] the charters of Henry and Edward formed the groundwork. No ſooner were theſe ſhewn to the king, than he burſt into a furious paſſion, and aſked why the barons did not alſo demand his kingdom, ſwearing, that he would never comply with ſuch exorbitant demands. But the confederacy was now too ſtrong to fear much from the conſequences of his reſent⯑ment. They choſe Robert Fitzwalter for their general, whom they dignified with the titles of ‘"Mareſchal of the army of God, and of the Holy Church,"’ and proceeded without fur⯑ther ceremony to make war upon the king. They beſieged Northampton, they took Bed⯑ford, they were joyfully received into Lon⯑don. They wrote circular letters to all the nobility and gentlemen who had not yet de⯑clared in their favour, and menaced their eſtates with devaſtation, in caſe of refuſal or delay.

In the mean time, the timid king was left at a place called Odiham in Surry, with a mean retinue of only ſeven knights, where he vainly endeavoured to avert the ſtorm, by the me⯑diation of his biſhops and miniſters. He ap⯑pealed to Langton againſt theſe fierce remon⯑ſtrants, little ſuſpecting that the primate him⯑ſelf was leagued againſt him. He deſired him to [330] fulminate the thunders of the church upon thoſe who had taken arms againſt their prince; and aggravated the impiety of their oppoſition, as he was engaged in the pious and noble du⯑ties of the cruſade. Langton permitted the tyrant to waſte his paſſions in empty com⯑plaints, and declared he would not paſs any cenſure, where he found no delinquent. He promiſed indeed, that much might be done in caſe ſome foreign auxiliaries, which John had lately brought over, were diſmiſſed; and the weak prince, ſuppoſing his advice ſincere, diſbanded a great body of Germans and Flemings, whom he had retained in his ſer⯑vice. When the king had thus left himſelf without protection, he then thought it was the duty of Langton to perform his promiſe; and to give him the aid of the church, ſince he had diſcarded all temporal aſſiſtance. But what was his ſurprize, when the archbiſhop refuſed to excommunicate a ſingle baron, but peremp⯑torily oppoſed his commands. John, ſtung with reſentment and regret, knew not where to turn for advice or comfort; as he had hitherto ſported with the happineſs of mankind, he found none that did not ſecretly rejoice in his ſufferings. He now began to think, that any [331] terms were to be complied with; and that it was better to reign a limited prince, than ſacri⯑fice his crown, and perhaps his life to ambi⯑tion. But firſt he offered to refer all differences to the pope alone, or to eight barons, four to be choſen by himſelf, and four by the confe⯑derates. This the barons ſcornfully rejected. He then aſſured them, that he would ſubmit at diſcretion; and that it was his ſupreme pleaſure to grant all their demands: a confe⯑rence was accordingly appointed, and all things adjuſted for this moſt important treaty.

The ground where the king's commiſſioners met the barons was between Staines and Windſor, at a place called Runimede, ſtill held in reverence by poſterity, as the ſpot where the ſtandard of freedom was firſt erected in England. There the barons appeared, with a vaſt number of knights and warriors, on the fifteenth day of June, while thoſe on the king's part, came a day or two after. Both ſides encamped apart, like open enemies. The debate between power and precedent are ge⯑nerally but of ſhort continuance. The barons, determined on carrying their aims, would ad⯑mit of few abatements; and the king's agents being for the moſt part in their intereſts, few debates enſued. After ſome days, the king, [332] with a facility that was ſomewhat ſuſpicious, ſigned and ſealed the charter required of him; a charter which continues in force to this day, and is the famous bulwark of Engliſh liber⯑ty, which now goes by the name of MAGNA CHARTA. This famous deed, either granted or ſecured very important privileges to thoſe or⯑ders of the kingdom that were already poſſeſſed of freedom, namely, to the clergy, the barons, and the gentlemen; as for the inferior, and the greateſt part of the people, they were as yet held as ſlaves, and it was long before they could come to a participation of legal pro⯑tection.

The clergy, by this charter, had their for⯑mer grants confirmed. All check upon ap⯑peals to Rome was removed, by allowance to every man to depart the kingdom at pleaſure; and the fines upon the clergy, for any offence, were ordained to be proportionable to their tem⯑poral, not their eccleſiaſtical poſſeſſions. With reſpect to the barons, they were ſecured in the cuſtody of the vacant abbies and convents, which were under their patronage. The re⯑liefs or duties to be paid for earldoms, baro⯑nies, and knights fees were fixed, which be⯑fore were arbitrary. This charter decreed, that barons ſhould recover the lands of their [333] vaſſals, forfeited for felony, after being a year and a day in poſſeſſion of the crown; that they ſhould enjoy the wardſhips of their military tenants, who held other lands of the crown by a different tenure; that a perſon knighted by the king, though a minor, ſhould enjoy the privileges of a full grown man, provided he was a ward of the crown. It enacted, that heirs ſhould be married without diſparage⯑ment, and before the marriage was contracted, the neareſt relations were to be informed of it. No ſcutage, or tax, was to be impoſed upon the people by the great council of the nation, except in three particular caſes, the king's captivity, the knighting his eldeſt ſon, and the marrying his eldeſt daughter. When the great council was to be aſſembled, the prelates, earls, and great barons were to be called to it by a particular writ, the leſſer barons by a ſummons of the ſheriff. It went on to ordain, that the king ſhall not ſeize any baron's land for a debt to the crown, if the baron poſſeſſes perſonal property ſufficient to diſcharge the debt. No vaſſal ſhall be allowed to ſell ſo much of his land, as to incapacitate him from performing the neceſſary ſervice to his lord. With reſpect to the people, the following were the principal clauſes calculated for their benefit. It was ordained, that all the privileges, and [334] immunities, granted by the king to his barons, ſhould be alſo granted by the barons to their vaſ⯑ſals. One weight, and one meaſure, ſhall be ob⯑ſerved throughout the whole kingdom; mer⯑chants ſhall be allowed to tranſact all buſineſs, without being expoſed to any arbitrary tolls and impoſitions; they, and all freemen, ſhall be allowed to go out of the kingdom, and return to it at pleaſure; London, and all cities and boroughs ſhall preſerve their ancient liberties, immunities, and free cuſtoms; aids or taxes, ſhall not be required of them, except by the conſent of the great council; no towns, or in⯑dividuals, ſhall be obliged to make, or ſup⯑port bridges but by ancient cuſtoms; the goods of every freeman ſhall be diſpoſed of according to his will; if he die inteſtate, his heirs ſhall ſucceed to them; no officer of the crown ſhall take any horſes, carts, or wood, without the conſent of the owner; the king's courts of juſtice ſhall be ſtationary, and ſhall no longer follow his perſon; they ſhall be open to every one, and juſtice ſhall no longer be bought, refuſed, or delayed by them; the ſheriffs ſhall be incapacitated to hold pleas of the crown, and ſhall not put any perſon upon his trial, from rumour or ſuſpicion alone, but upon the evidence of lawful witneſſes; no [335] freeman ſhall be taken or impriſoned, or diſ⯑poſſeſſed of his free tenement and liberties, or outlawed, or baniſhed, or anywiſe hurt or in⯑jured, unleſs by the legal judgment of his peers, or by the law of the land; and all who ſuffered otherwiſe in this, and the two for⯑mer reigns, ſhall be reſtored to their rights and poſſeſſions; every freeman ſhall be fined in proportion to his fault, and no fine ſhall be levied on him to his utter ruin. Such were the ſtipulations in favour of that part of the people, who, being either merchants, or the deſcendants of the nobles, or of the clergy, were thus independent of any immediate lord. But that part of the people who tilled the ground, who conſtituted, in all probability, the majority of the nation, had but one ſingle clauſe in their favour, which ſtipulated, that no villain or ruſtic ſhould by any fine be be⯑reaved of his carts, ploughs, and inſtruments of huſbandry. As for the reſt, they were con⯑ſidered as a part of the property belonging to an eſtate, and paſſed away, with the horſes, cows, and other moveables, at the will of the owner.

This great charter being agreed to by all, ratified, and mutually ſigned by both parties, the barons, in order to ſecure the obſervance [336] of it, and knowing the perfidious diſpoſition of the king, prevailed upon him to appoint twenty-five of their order as conſervators of the public liberty. Theſe were to admoniſh the king, if he ſhould act contrary to his written obligations; and, in caſe of reſiſtance, they might levy war againſt him, and attack his caſtles. John, with his uſual perfidy, ſeemed to ſubmit paſſively to all theſe regulations, however in⯑jurious to majeſty; and even ſent writs to the ſheriffs, ordering them to conſtrain every one to ſwear obedience to the twenty-five barons. He pretended that his government, was hence⯑forth to undergo a total reformation, more in⯑dulgent to the liberty and independence of the people. His ſubjects therefore flattered them⯑ſelves with brighter proſpects; and it was thought the king's misfortunes had huma⯑nized his diſpoſition.

But John's ſeeming tranquillity was but diſſimulation. The more care his barons had taken to bind him to their will, the more impatient he grew under their reſtrictions. He burned with deſire to ſhake off the conditions they had impoſed upon him. The ſubmiſſions he had paid to the pope, and the inſults he had ſuſtained from the king of France, ſlightly af⯑fected him, as they were his equals; but the [337] ſenſe of his ſubjection to his own vaſſals, ſunk deep on his mind; and he was determined at all events, to recover his former power of doing miſchief. He grew ſullen, ſilent, and reſerved. He ſhunned the ſociety of his for⯑mer companions; and even retired into the Iſle of Wight, as if to hide his diſgrace in ſo⯑litude. But he was ſtill, however, employed in machinations to obtain revenge. He had ſent to the continent to enliſt a large body of mer⯑cenary troops; he had made complaints to the pope of the inſurrections of his ſubjects againſt him; and the pontiff very warmly eſpouſed his cauſe. A bull was ſent over, annulling the whole charter; and at the ſame time the fo⯑reign forces arrived, whom John intended to employ in giving his intentions efficacy.

He now, no longer took ſhelter under the arts of diſſimulation; but acted the bold ty⯑rant, a character that became him much bet⯑ter. The barons, after obtaining the char⯑ter, ſeemed to have been lulled into a fatal ſe⯑curity; and took no meaſures for aſſembling their forces, in caſe of the introduction of a foreign army. The king, therefore, was for ſome time undiſputed maſter of the field, at the head of an army of Germans, Braban⯑tines, and Flemings, all eager for battle, and [338] inſpired with the hopes of dividing the king⯑dom among them. The caſtle of Rocheſter was firſt inveſted; and, after an obſtinate re⯑ſiſtance, was obliged to ſurrender at diſcretion. John, irritated at the length of the ſiege, was going to hang the governor, and all the gar⯑riſon, contrary to the laws of war; but at the interceſſion of one of his generals, he only put the inferior priſoners to death. After the reduction of this important fortreſs, the royal intereſts began to prevail; and two armies were formed, with one of which the king marched northward, ſubduing all fortreſſes and towns that lay in his way. The other army, commanded by the earl of Saliſbury, was equally vigorous and ſucceſsful; ſeveral ſub⯑mitted at its approach, and London itſelf was in the utmoſt danger. The foreign mer⯑cenaries committed the moſt horrible cruelties in their march, and ravaged the country in a moſt dreadful manner. Urged on at once by their natural rapacity, and the cruelty of the king, nothing was ſeen but the flames of villages and caſtles; conſternation and miſery were pic⯑tured in the looks of the people; and tortures were every where exerciſed by the ſoldiers, to make the inhabitants reveal their riches. Where⯑ever the king marched, the provinces were laid [339] waſte on each ſide his paſſage; as he conſidered every eſtate, which was not his immediate pro⯑perty, as entirely hoſtile, and a proper object of military execution.

The barons,A.D. 1215 reduced to this deplorable ſi⯑tuation, their eſtates deſtroyed, their liberties annihilated, and their perſons expoſed to the revenge of a malicious tyrant, loſt all power of ſelf-defence. They were able to raiſe no army in England, that could ſtand before their ravagers, and yet they had no hopes from ſub⯑miſſion. In this deſperate exigence, they appli⯑ed to the old enemy of their country, Philip, king of France; and offered to acknowledge Lewis, the eldeſt ſon of that monarch, as their ſovereign, on condition of his affording them protection againſt their domeſtic deſtroy⯑er. No proffer could have been more agreeable to this ambitious monarch, who long wanted to annex England to the reſt of his dominions. He therefore inſtantly embraced the propoſal of the barons; of whom, however, he de⯑manded five and twenty hoſtages for the per⯑formance of their promiſe. Theſe being ſent over, he began to make the moſt diligent pre⯑parations for this expedition, regardleſs of the menaces of the pope, who threatened Philip with excommunication, and actually excom⯑municated Lewis the ſon ſome time after. The [340] firſt detachment conſiſted of a body of ſeven thouſand men, which he reinforced ſoon after by a powerful army, commanded by Lewis himſelf, who landed at Sandwich without op⯑poſition.

John, who but juſt now ſaw himſelf in the career of victory, upon the landing of the French army was ſtopped all of a ſud⯑den, and found himſelf blaſted in his re⯑venge and ambition. The firſt effect of their appearance was, that moſt of the foreign troops deſerted, refuſing to ſerve againſt the heir of their monarchy. Many conſiderable noblemen alſo deſerted his party; and his caſtles daily fell into the hands of his enemies. Thus England ſaw nothing but a proſpect of being every way undone. If John ſucceeded, a tyrannical and implacable mo⯑narch was to be their tormentor; if Lewis ſhould prevail, the country was ever after to ſubmit to a more powerful monarchy, and was to become a province of France. What neither human prudence could foreſee, nor policy ſug⯑geſt, was brought about by an happy and unex⯑pected concurrence of events. Neither John nor Lewis ſucceeded in their deſigns upon the people's happineſs and freedom.

Lewis having vainly endeavoured to pacify the pope's legate, reſolved to ſet the pope at [341] defiance, and marched his army againſt the caſtle of Rocheſter, which he quickly reduced. Thence he advanced to London, where the barons and burghers did him homage, and took the oath of fealty, after he had ſworn to confirm the liberties and privileges of the peo⯑ple. Though never crowned king of Eng⯑land, yet he exerciſed ſovereign authority, granting charters, and appointing officers of ſtate. But how flattering ſoever the proſpect before him appeared, yet there was a ſecret jealouſy that was deſtroying his ambition, and undermining all his pretenſions. Through a great degree of imprudence he on every occaſion ſhewed a viſible preference to his natural French ſubjects, to the detriment of thoſe he came to govern. The ſuſpi⯑cions of the Engliſh againſt him were ſtill farther encreaſed, by the death-bed confeſ⯑ſion of the count de Melun, one of his cour⯑tiers, who declared to thoſe about him, that it was the intention of Lewis to exterminate the Engliſh barons as traitors, and to beſtow their dignities and eſtates upon his own French ſubjects, upon whoſe fidelity he could ſafely rely. Whatever truth there might be in this confeſſion, it greatly operated upon the minds of the people; ſo that the earl of Saliſbury, and other noblemen, who had forſaken John's [342] party, once more deſerted to him, and gave no ſmall luſtre to his cauſe.

In the mean time, John was aſſembling a conſiderable army, with a view to make one great effort for the crown; and at the head of a large body of troops, he reſolved to pe⯑netrate into the heart of the kingdom. With theſe reſolutions he departed from Lynn, which, for its fidelity, he had diſtinguiſhed with many marks of favour, and directed his route towards Lincolnſhire. His road lay along the ſhore, which was overflowed at high-water; but not being appriſed of this, or being igno⯑rant of the tides of the place, he loſt all his car⯑riages, treaſure, and baggage, by their influx. He himſelf eſcaped with the greateſt difficulty, and arrived at the abbey of Swinſtead, where his grief for the loſs he had ſuſtained, and the diſtracted ſtate of his affairs, threw him into a fever, which ſoon appeared to be fatal. Next day, being unable to ride on horſeback, he was carried in a litter to the caſtle of Seaford, and from thence removed to Newark, where, after having made his will, he died in the fifty-firſt year of his age, and the eighteenth of his reign.

This monſter's character is too ſtrongly marked, in every tranſaction of his life, to [343] leave the ſmalleſt neceſſity for diſentangling it, from the ordinary occurrences of his reign. It was deſtructive to the people, and ruinous to himſelf. He left two legitimate ſons behind him; Henry, who ſucceeded him on the throne, and was now nine years of age; Richard, who was about ſeven. He left alſo three daughters; Jane, married to Alex⯑ander, king of Scots; Eleanor, married to the earl of Pembroke; and Iſabella, married to the emperor Frederic II. His illegitimate children were numerous, but unnoted.

CHAP. XI. HENRY III.

THE Engliſh being now happily rid of a tyrant, who threatened the kingdom with de⯑ſtruction, had ſtill his rival to fear, who only aimed at gaining the crown, to make it ſub⯑ſervient to that of France. The partiality of Lewis on every occaſion was the more diſguſt⯑ing, as it was the leſs concealed. The diffi⯑dence which he conſtantly diſcovered of the [345] fidelity of the barons, encreaſed that jealouſy which was ſo natural for them to entertain on the preſent occaſion. An accident happened, which rendered him ſtill more diſagreeable to his new ſubjects. The government of the caſtle of Hert⯑ford becoming vacant, it was claimed as of right by Robert Fitzwalter, a nobleman who had been extremely active in his ſervice: but his claim was rejected. It was now, there⯑fore, apparent, that the Engliſh would be ex⯑cluded from every truſt under the French go⯑vernment; and that foreigners were to engroſs all the favour of their new ſovereign. Nor was the excommunication denounced againſt Lewis by the pope entirely without its effect. In fact the people were eaſily perſuaded to con⯑ſider a cauſe as impious and profane, for which they had already entertained an unſurmountable averſion.

In this diſpoſition of the people, the claims of any native, with even the ſmalleſt preten⯑ſions to favour, would have had a moſt proba⯑ble chance of ſucceeding. A claim was accord⯑ingly made in favour of young Henry, the ſon of the late king, who was now but nine years of age. The earl of Pembroke, a nobleman of great worth and valour, who had faithfully adhered to John in all the fluctuations of his [346] fortune, was, at the time of that prince's death, marſhal of England, and conſequently at the head of the army. This nobleman determined to ſupport the declining intereſts of the young prince, and had him ſolemnly crowned by the biſhops of Wincheſter and Bath, at Glouceſter. In order alſo to enlarge and confirm his own authority upon the pre⯑ſent occaſion, a general council of the barons was ſummoned at Briſtol, where the earl was choſen guardian to the king, and protector of the kingdom. His firſt act was highly pleaſing to the people, and reconciled them to the intereſts of the young prince. He made young Henry grant a new charter of liberties, which con⯑tained but very few exceptions from that al⯑ready extorted from his predeceſſor. To this was added alſo a charter, aſcertaining the ju⯑riſdiction, and the boundaries of the royal fo⯑reſts, which from thence was called the Charta Foreſta. By this it was enacted, that all the fo⯑reſts which had been encloſed ſince the reign of Henry the ſecond, ſhould be again reſtor⯑ed to the people, and new perambulations made for that purpoſe. Offences on the fo⯑reſts were no longer declared to be capital, but puniſhable by gentler laws; and all the proprietors of land were granted a power of [347] cutting and uſing their own wood at pleaſure. To theſe meaſures, which gave univerſal ſa⯑tisfaction, Pembroke took care to add his more active endeavours againſt the enemy. He wrote letters, in the king's name, to all the malecontent barons, aſſuring them of his re⯑ſolutions to govern them by their own charters; and repreſented the danger which they in⯑curred by their adherence to a French mo⯑narch, who only wanted to oppreſs them. Theſe aſſurances were attended with the de⯑ſired effect. The party in the intereſts of Lewis began to loſe ground every day, by the deſertion of ſome of its moſt powerful lead⯑ers. The earls of Saliſbury, Arundel, and Warene, together with William Marſhall, eldeſt ſon of the protector, came over to the young king; and all the reſt of the barons appeared deſirous of an opportunity of follow⯑ing their example.

The protector was ſo much ſtrengthened by theſe acceſſions, that he took the field; but the French army appearing, he was obliged to retire. The count de Perche, who command⯑ed for Lewis, was ſo elated with his ſuperiori⯑ty, that he marched to Lincoln; and being admitted into the town, began to attack the caſtle, which he ſoon reduced to extremity. [348] The protector, now finding that a deciſive blow was to be ſtruck, ſummoned all his forces from every quarter, in order to relieve a place of ſo much importance; and he, in turn, appear⯑ed ſo much ſuperior to the French, that they ſhut themſelves up within the city, and reſolv⯑ed to take ſhelter behind the walls. But the garriſon of the caſtle having received a ſtrong reinforcement, made a vigorous ſally upon the beſiegers, while the Engliſh army aſſaulted them from without; and ſcaling the walls, entered the city ſword in hand. Lincoln was delivered over to be pillaged; the French army was to⯑tally routed, the commander in chief was kill⯑ed, and ſeveral of the reſt made priſoners of war. This misfortune of the French was but the forerunner of another. Their fleet, which was bringing over reinforcements, both of men and money, was attacked by the Engliſh, un⯑der the command of Philip d'Albiney, and was repulſed with conſiderable loſs. d'Albiney is ſaid to have practiſed a ſtratagem againſt them, to which he owed his victory. Having got the wind of the French, he ordered his men to throw quicklime in the faces of the enemy, which blinding them, they were diſabled from further defence. Theſe repeated loſſes ſerved, at length, to give peace to the kingdom. [349] Lewis finding his cauſe every day declining, and that it was at laſt grown wholly deſperate, began to be anxious for the ſafety of his perſon; and was glad to ſubmit to any conditions fa⯑vourable to his retreat. He concluded a peace with the protector; in which he agreed to leave the kingdom; and in which he exacted, in return, an indemnity for all his adherents. Thus ended a civil war, which had for ſome time drenched the kingdom in blood; and in which not only its conſtitution, but all its happineſs ſeemed irretrievable. The death of John, and the abdication of Lewis, were circumſtances that could hardly be expected, even by the moſt ſanguine well-wiſhers of their coun⯑try. The one was brought about by accident, and the other by the prudence and intrepidity of the earl of Pembroke, the protector, who himſelf did not long ſurvive his ſucceſs.

The young king was of a character the very oppoſite of his father; A.D. 1216 as he grew up to man's eſtate, he was found to be gentle, merciful, and humane; he appeared eaſy and good-natured to his dependents; but no way formidable to his enemies. Without activity or vigour, he was unfit to conduct in war; without diſtruſt or ſuſ⯑picion, he was impoſed upon in times of peace. A king of ſuch beneficent and meek qualifica⯑tions, was very little fitted to hold the reins of [350] a kingdom, ſuch as England was at that time, where every order was aſpiring to independence, and endeavouring to plume themſelves with the ſpoils of the prerogative. The protector was ſucceeded in his office by Peter, biſhop of Win⯑cheſter, and Hubert de Burgh, high juſticiary; but no authority in the governors could control a people, who had been long uſed to civil diſcord, and caught every ſlight occaſion to magnify ſmall offences into public grievances. The no⯑bles were now, in effect, the tyrants of the peo⯑ple; for having almoſt totally deſtroyed the power of the crown; and being encouraged by the weakneſs of a minority, they conſidered the laws as inſtruments made only for their de⯑fence, and with which they alone were to go⯑vern. They therefore, retained by force the royal caſtles, which they had uſurped during the former convulſions; they oppreſſed their vaſſals; they infeſted their weaker neighbours; and they invited all diſorderly people to take protection under their authority. It is not then to be wondered, that there were many complaints againſt thoſe who were placed over them; Hubert de Burgh, who ſeemed to take the lead in government, at this time expe⯑rienced many conſpiracies formed not only a⯑gainſt his authority, but his perſon; and ſo lit⯑tle did the confederates regard ſecrecy, that [351] they openly avowed their intentions of remov⯑ing him from his office. The barons being required by him to give up their caſtles, they not only refuſed, but ſeveral of them entered into a confederacy to ſurpriſe London; and, with the Earls of Cheſter and Albemarle at their head, they advanced as far as Waltham with that in⯑tention. At that time, however, their aims were fruſtrated by the diligence of the government: but they did not deſiſt from their enterprize; for meeting ſome time after at Leiceſter, in order to ſeize the king, they found them⯑ſelves diſappointed in this, as in their former attempt. In this threatening commotion, the power of the church was obliged to inter⯑poſe; and the archbiſhops and prelates threa⯑tened the barons with the ſentence of excom⯑munication, ſhould they perſiſt in either of their attempts upon the king, or in detaining his caſtles. This menace at laſt prevailed. Moſt of the fortreſſes were ſurrendered; and the number at that time is ſaid to have amounted to above a thouſand. But though Henry gain⯑ed this advantage by the prudence and perſe⯑verance of his miniſter, yet his power was ſtill eſtabliſhed upon a very weak foundation. A conteſt with his brother Richard, who had a⯑maſſed ſuch ſums of money, as to be reckoned the richeſt prince in Europe, ſoon ſhewed [352] the weakneſs both of his power and his diſpoſi⯑tion. Richard had unjuſtly expelled an infe⯑rior baron from his manor; and the king inſiſt⯑ed upon his reſtoring him. The other perſiſt⯑ing in his refuſal, a powerful confederacy was formed, and an army aſſembled; which the king had neither power nor courage to reſiſt. Richard's injuſtice was declared legal; and his reſentment was obliged to be mollified by grants of much greater importance than the manor which had been the firſt ground of the quarrel. Thus was the king obliged to ſub⯑mit to all the demands of his haughty vaſſals; and he had ſcarce any perſon who ſeemed ſoli⯑citous for his intereſts, but Hubert de Burgh, whom nevertheleſs, he diſcarded in a ſudden ca⯑price; and thus expoſed his faithful ſervant to the violent perſecution of his enemies. Among the many frivolous crimes objected to him, he was accuſed of gaining the king's affections by enchantment, and of ſending the prince of Wales a jewel, which he had ſtolen from the treaſury, that rendered the wearer invulnera⯑ble. Hubert, when he found his ruin reſolv⯑ed on, was compelled to take ſanctuary in a church; but the king was prevailed upon to give orders for his being dragged from thence. Thus irreſolute and timid, the orders of one moment contradicted thoſe of the preceding. [353] He quickly recalled the orders he had given, and again renewed them. The clergy inter⯑poſed, and obliged the king to permit him to return to his ſanctuary; but he was once more conſtrained to ſurrender himſelf a priſoner, and was confined to the caſtle of Deviſes. From thence Hubert made his eſcape; and, though he afterwards obtained the king's pardon, he never teſtified any deſire to encounter future dangers in his ſervice.

But as weak princes are never to be without governing favourites, the place of Hubert was ſoon ſupplied by Peter de Roches, biſhop of Wincheſter, a Poictevin by birth, one equally remarkable for his arbitrary conduct, and for his courage and abilities. Henry, in pur⯑ſuance of this prelate's advice, invited over a great number of Poictevins, and other foreign⯑ers,A.D. 1231 who having neither principles nor fortunes at home, were willing to adopt whatever ſchemes their employer ſhould propoſe. Every office and command was beſtowed on theſe un⯑principled ſtrangers, whoſe avarice and rapaci⯑ty were exceeded only by their pride and in⯑ſolence. So unjuſt a partiality to ſtrangers very naturally excited the jealouſy of the barons; and they even ventured to aſſure the king, that if he did not diſmiſs all foreigners from court, [354] they would drive both him and them out of the kingdom. But the biſhop of Wincheſter had taken his meaſures ſo well, that he brought over many of the moſt powerful of the confede⯑rates, and the eſtates of the more obnoxious ba⯑rons were confiſcated, for the benefit of his needy countrymen. In theſe violent meaſures the king was a calm conſenting ſpectator; he was contented with preſent advantages; and while theſe confiſcations procured immediate wealth, he little regarded the conſequence. But as this king was chiefly ſwayed by tu⯑multuary remonſtrances, another confederacy, at the head of which the archbiſhop of Canter⯑bury was, induced him to diſmiſs his miniſter, and to ſend him and his needy countrymen out of the kingdom. Encouragement to fo⯑reigners was the chief complaint againſt the king; and it was now expected that the people were to be no longer aggrieved by ſeeing ſuch advanced above them. But their hopes were quickly diſappointed; for the king having married Eleanor,A.D. 1236 daughter of the count of Provence, he transferred his affections to the ſtrangers of that country, whom he careſſed with the fondeſt affection, and enriched with the moſt imprudent generoſity. Places, digni⯑ties, and vaſt treaſures, were laviſhed upon [355] them; many young noblemen, who were wards to the crown, were married to wives of that country; and when the ſources of the king's liberality were dried up, he reſumed all the grants he had formerly made, in order to con⯑tinue his favours. The reſentment of every rank of people was excited by this miſchievous attachment; but their anger was ſcarce kept within bounds when they ſaw a new ſwarm of theſe intruders come over from Gaſcony, with Iſabella, the king's mother, who had been ſome time before married to the count de la Marche. To theſe juſt cauſes of complaint were added the king's unſucceſsful expeditions to the con⯑tinent, his total want of oeconomy, and his op⯑preſſive exactions, which were but the reſult of the former. The kingdom therefore waited with gloomy reſolution, reſolving to take vengeance, when the general diſcontent was arrived at ma⯑turity.

To theſe temporal diſcontents, thoſe ariſing from the rapacity of the ſee of Rome were add⯑ed ſhortly after. The clergy of England, while they were contending for the power of the pope, were not aware that they were effectually op⯑poſing their own intereſts; for the pontiff hav⯑ing, by various arts, obtained the inveſtiture of all livings and prelacies in the kingdom, [356] failed not to fill up every vacancy with his own creatures. His power being eſtabliſhed, he now began to turn it to his profit, and to enrich the church by every art of extortion and avarice.A.D. 1253 At this time, all the chief benefices of the kingdom were conferred on Italians. Great numbers of that nation were ſent over at one time to be provided for; the king's chaplain alone is ſaid to have held at once ſeven hundred eccleſiaſtical livings. Theſe abuſes became too glaring even for the blind ſuperſtition of the people to ſubmit to; they roſe in tumults a⯑gainſt the Italian clergy, pillaged their barns, waſted their fields, and inſulted their perſons. But theſe were tranſient obſtacles to the papal en⯑croachments. The pontiff exacted the revenues of all vacant benefices, the twentieth of all eccleſiaſtical livings without exception, the third of ſuch as exceeded an hundred marks a year, and the half of ſuch as were held by non⯑reſidents: he claimed the goods of all inteſtate clergymen: he pretended a right of inheriting all money got by uſury, and he levied voluntary contributions on the people. The indignities which the people ſuffered from theſe intruding eccleſiaſtics were ſtill more oppreſſive than their exactions. On a certain occaſion, while the Engliſh were complaining of the avarice of [357] their king, and his profuſion to foreign favou⯑rites, the pope's legate made his triumphal en⯑try into England, and ſome buſineſs induced him to viſit Oxford before his return. He was received there with all poſſible ſplendour and ceremony; and the moſt ſumptuous pre⯑parations were made for his table. One day, as the legate's dinner was preparing, ſeveral ſcholars of the univerſity entered his kitchen, ſome incited by motives of curioſity, others of hunger: while they were thus employed, in ad⯑miring the luxury and opulence in which this dignitary was ſerved, and of which they were only to be ſpectators, a poor Iriſh ſcholar ven⯑tured to beg relief from the cook, who was an Italian, as were all the legate's domeſtics. This brutal fellow, inſtead of giving the poor Iriſh⯑man an alms, threw a ladle full of boiling water in his face, and ſeemed to exult in his brutality. The indignity ſo provoked a Welſh ſtudent, who was near, that with a bow, which he happened to have in his hand, he ſhot the cook dead with an arrow. The legate hearing the tumult, retired in a fright to the tower of the church, where he remained till night-fall. As ſoon as he found that he might retire in ſafety, he haſtened to the king, who was then at London, and complained to him of the outrage. The king, with his uſual [358] ſubmiſſion to the church, appeared in a violent paſſion, and offered to give immediate ſatis⯑faction, by putting the offenders to death. The legate at firſt ſeemed to inſiſt upon ven⯑geance, but at length was appeaſed by a pro⯑per ſubmiſſion from the univerſity. All the ſcholars of that ſchool, which had offended him, were ordered to be ſtript of their gowns; and to go in proceſſion bare-footed, with halters about their necks, to the legate's houſe, and there were directed humbly to crave his abſo⯑lution and pardon.

But the impoſitions of the church appeared in their moſt conſpicuous point of view in a tranſaction between the pope and the king. The court of Rome, ſome time before, had reduced the kingdom of Sicily to the ſame ſtate of vaſſalage to which England had ſub⯑mitted; but Mainfroy, an uſurper, under pretence of governing the kingdom for the lawful heir, had ſeized upon the crown, and was reſolved to reject the pope's authority. As the pontiff found that his own force alone was not ſufficient to vindicate his claims, he had recourſe to Richard, the king's brother, whoſe wealth he was not ignorant of; and to him, and his heirs, he offered the kingdom of Sicily, with only one condition, that he ſhould regain it from the hands of the uſurper. [359] Richard was too well acquainted with the dif⯑ficulty of the enterprize to comply with ſuch a propoſal; but when it was made to the king himſelf, the weak monarch, dazzled with the ſplendour of the conqueſt, embraced the pro⯑poſal with ardour. Accordingly, without re⯑flecting on the conſequences, or ever conſult⯑ing the parliament, he gave the pope unlimited credit to expend whatever ſums he ſhould think proper for completing the conqueſt of that kingdom. This was what the pope ex⯑pected and deſired; he ſoon brought Henry in creditor for more than an hundred thouſand marks, a debt which he had never been adviſed with in the contracting. Henry was mortified at the greatneſs of the ſum, and ſtill more at the little proſpect of its being laid out with ſucceſs; but he dreaded the pope's diſ⯑pleaſure, and therefore he reſolved to have recourſe to parliament for a ſupply.

In this univerſal ſtate of indignation, it may readily be imagined, that the barons were more liberal of their complaints than their ſupplies. They determined not to laviſh their money on favourites without merit, and expe⯑ditions without a proſpect of ſucceſs. The clergy themſelves began to turn againſt their ſpiritual father; and the biſhop of London boldly aſſerted, that if the king, and the pope, [360] ſhould take the mitre from his head, he would clap on an helmet. But though the biſhops and clergy were obliged to acquieſce in furniſhing a part of this abſurd expence, the barons ſtill continued refractory; and inſtead of ſupplies, for ſome time anſwered with ex⯑poſtulations. They urged the king's partiality to foreigners, they aggravated the injuries of his ſervants, and the unjuſt ſeizures made by his of⯑ficers from men of mercantile profeſſions. The parliament therefore was diſſolved, (for ſo now the general aſſembly of the nation began to be called) and another ſoon after was convened with as little ſucceſs. The urgency of the king's af⯑fairs, required that money ſhould be procured at any rate; and yet the legate never failed, upon thoſe occaſions, to obſtruct the king's demands by making ſeveral for himſelf. It was now, there⯑fore, that Henry went amongſt ſuch of his ſub⯑jects as were firmly attached to him, and begged for aſſiſtance at their own houſes. At one time, he would get money by pretending to take the croſs; at another he would prevail by aſſert⯑ing, that he was reſolved to re-conquer his French dominions. At length his barons, per⯑ceiving the exigencies to which he was reduced, ſeemed, in mere pity, willing to grant him aid; and, upon his promiſing to grant them [361] plenary redreſs, a very liberal ſupply was ob⯑tained,A.D. 1255 for which he renewed their charter with more than uſual ſolemnity. All the prelates and abbots were aſſembled, with burning ta⯑pers in their hands; the Magna Charta was read in their preſence; and they denounced ſentence of excommunication againſt all who ſhould infringe upon its deciſions; they then put out their tapers on the ground, and ex⯑claimed, ‘"May every ſoul that proves falſe to this agreement, ſo ſtink and corrupt in hell."’ The king had his part in the cere⯑mony, and ſubjoined, ‘"So help me God, I will inviolably keep all theſe things, as I am a man, as I am a chriſtian, as I am a knight, and as I am a king crowned and anointed."’ Thus ſolemn was their mutual engagements; but the wretched Henry had no ſooner receiv⯑ed the ſupplies, for which his parliament had been convoked, than he forgot every article of what he had ſo ſolemnly agreed to obſerve.

Though the king, in the laſt convention, had ſolemnly engaged to follow the advice of Eng⯑liſh counſellors, yet he was directed in all his meaſures by foreigners, and William de Va⯑lence, on whom he conferred various honours, graſped at every poſt of profit that was in the royal power to beſtow. This imprudent pre⯑ference, [362] joined to a thouſand other illegal eva⯑ſions of juſtice, at laſt impelled Simon Mont⯑fort, earl of Leiceſter, to attempt an innova⯑tion in the government, and to wreſt the ſceptre from the feeble hand that held it. This nobleman was the ſon of the famous general who commanded againſt the Albigenſes, a ſect of enthuſiaſts that had been deſtroyed ſome time before in the kingdom of Savoy. He was married to the king's ſiſter; and, by his power and addreſs, was poſſeſſed of a ſtrong intereſt in the nation, having gained equally the affec⯑tions of the great and the little. The king was the only perſon whoſe favour he diſdained to cul⯑tivate. He ſo much diſregarded Henry's friend⯑ſhip or enmity, that when the monarch, upon a certain occaſion, called him traitor, Leiceſter gave him the lie; and told him, that if he were not his ſovereign, he would ſoon make him repent of his inſult. Being poſſeſſed of pow⯑er too great for a ſubject, he had long, though ſecretly, aſpired at the throne, and filled all places with complaints of the king's injuſtice, partiality, and inability to govern. Having at laſt found his deſigns ripe for execution, he called a meeting of the moſt conſiderable barons; and concealing his private ambition under the maſk of public concern, he repre⯑ſented [363] to them the neceſſity of reforming the ſtate. He exaggerated the oppreſſions of the lower orders of people, the violations of the barons' privileges, the continued plun⯑der of the clergy, and the perfidy of the king. His popularity and his power add⯑ed weight to his eloquence; and the barons entered into a reſolution of redreſſing public grievances, by taking the adminiſtration of the government into their own hands.

The firſt place where this formidable confe⯑deracy firſt diſcovered itſelf, was in the parli⯑ament-houſe, where the barons appeared in complete armour. The king, upon his entry, aſked them what was their intention; to which they ſubmiſſively replied, to make him their ſovereign, by confirming his power, and to have their grievances redreſſed. Henry, who was ready enough to promiſe whatever was de⯑manded, inſtantly aſſured them of his intenti⯑ons to give all poſſible ſatisfaction; and for that purpoſe, ſummoned another parliament at Ox⯑ford, to digeſt a new plan of government, and to elect proper perſons who were to be entruſted with the chief authority. This parliament, afterwards called the mad parliament, went ex⯑peditiouſly to work upon the buſineſs of refor⯑mation. Twenty-four barons were appointed, [364] with ſupreme authority, to reform the abuſes of the ſtate, and Leiceſter was placed at their head. Their firſt ſtep was calculated for the good of the people, as it contained the rude out-line of the houſe of commons, which makes a part of the conſtitution at this day. They or⯑dered, that four knights ſhould be choſen by each county, who ſhould examine into the grievances of their reſpective conſtituents, and to attend at the enſuing parliament, to give information of their complaints. They ordained, that three ſeſ⯑ſions of parliament ſhould be regularly held every year; that a new high ſheriff ſhould be annually elected; that no wards nor caſtles ſhould be entruſted to foreigners; no new foreſts made; nor the revenues of any counties let to farm. Theſe conſtitutions were ſo juſt, that ſome of them have been continued to the preſent time; but it was not the ſecurity of the people, but the eſtabliſhment of their own power, that this odious confederacy endeavour⯑ed to effect. Inſtead of reſigning their power, when they had fulfilled the purpoſes of their appointment, they ſtill maintained themſelves in an uſurped authority; at one time pre⯑tending that they had not as yet digeſted all ne⯑ceſſary regulations for the benefit of the ſtate; at another, that their continuance in power [365] was the only remedy the people had againſt the faithleſs character of the king: in ſhort, they reſolved to maintain their ſtations till they ſhould think proper to reſign their authority. The whole ſtate accordingly underwent a complete alteration; all its former officers were diſplaced, and creatures of the twenty-four barons were put in their room; they had even the effrontery to impoſe an oath upon every in⯑dividual of the nation, declaring an implicit obe⯑dience to all the regulations executed, and to be yet executed, by the barons, who were thus appointed as rulers. They not only abridged the authority of the king, but the efficacy of parliament, giving up to twelve perſons all parliamentary power between each ſeſſion. Thus theſe inſolent nobles, after having tram⯑pled upon the crown, now threw proſtrate all the rights of the people, and a vile oligarchy was on the point of being eſtabliſhed for ever.

The firſt oppoſition that was made to theſe uſurpations, was from that very power, which ſo lately began to take place in the conſtitu⯑tion. The knights of the ſhire, who, for ſome time, had begun to be regularly aſſembled in a ſeparate houſe, now firſt perceived thoſe griev⯑ances, which they ſubmitted to the ſuperior aſ⯑ſembly of the barons for redreſs. Theſe bold [366] and patriotic men ſtrongly remonſtrated againſt the ſlowneſs of the proceedings of their twenty-four rulers; and, for the firſt time, began to ſhew that ſpirit of juſt reſiſtance, which has ever ſince actuated their councils in a greater or a leſs degree. They repreſented, that though the king had performed all the conditions re⯑quired of him, the barons had hitherto done nothing on their part, that ſhewed an equal re⯑gard for the people; that their own intereſts and power ſeemed the only aim of all their de⯑crees; and they even called upon the king's eldeſt ſon, prince Edward, to interpoſe his au⯑thority, and ſave the ſinking nation.

Prince Edward was at this time about twenty-two years of age, when the hopes which were conceived of his abilities and his integrity ren⯑dered him an important perſonage in the tranſ⯑actions of the times, and in ſome meaſure a⯑toned for his father's imbecillity. Upon this occaſion his conduct was fitted to impreſs the people with the higheſt idea of his piety and juſtice. He alledged, when appealed to, that he had ſworn to the late Conſtitutions of Oxford, which, though contrary to his own private ſen⯑timents, he yet reſolved by no means to in⯑fringe. At the ſame time, however, he ſent a meſſage to the barons, requiring them to bring [367] their undertaking to an end, or otherwiſe to ex⯑pect the moſt vigorous oppoſition to their uſur⯑pations. To this the barons were obliged to reply, by publiſhing a new code of laws, which, though it contained ſcarce any thing mate⯑rial, yet they ſuppoſed would, for a while, dazzle the eyes of the people, until they could take meaſures to confirm their authority upon a ſecurer foundation. In this manner, under various pretences, and ſtudied delays, they continued themſelves in power for three years; while the whole nation perceived their aims, and loudly condemned their treachery. The pope himſelf beheld their uſurpations with in⯑dignation, and abſolved the king and all his ſub⯑jects from the oath which they had taken to obſerve the Proviſions of Oxford.

The people now only wanted a leader to ſubvert this new tyranny impoſed upon them; but they knew not where, nor whom they could apply to for ſuccour. The king himſelf, weak, timid, irreſolute, and ſuperſtitious, was in a manner leagued with thoſe who oppoſed and depreſſed his own intereſts; the clergy, who formerly gave the people redreſs, were become an independent body, and little concerned in the commotions of the ſtate, which they re⯑garded as tame ſpectators. In this diſtreſsful [368] ſituation, they had recourſe to young prince Edward, who, at a very early age, had given the ſtrongeſt proofs of courage, of wiſdom, and of conſtancy. At firſt, indeed, when applied to, ap⯑pearing ſenſible of what his father had ſuffered by levity and breach of promiſe, he refuſed ſome time to take advantage of the pope's abſolu⯑tion, and the people's earneſt application; but being at laſt perſuaded to concur, a parliament was called, in which the king reſumed his for⯑mer authority; and the barons, after making one fruitleſs effort to take him by ſurprize at Wincheſter, were obliged to acquieſce in what they could not openly oppoſe.

In the mean time the earl of Leiceſter, no way diſcouraged by the bad ſucceſs of his paſt enterprizes, reſolved upon entirely overturn⯑ing that power, which he had already humbled. For this purpoſe he formed a moſt powerful confederacy with the prince of Wales, who in⯑vaded England with a body of thirty thouſand men. To theſe babarous ravagers Leiceſter quickly joined his own forces, and the whole kingdom was ſoon expoſed to all the devaſt⯑ations of a licentious army. The citizens of London alſo were not averſe to his cauſe. Under the command of their mayor, Thomas Fitz-Richard, a furious and licentious man, they [369] fell upon the Jews, and many of the more wealthy inhabitants, pillaging and deſtroying where-ever they came. The fury of the fac⯑tion was not confined to London only, but broke out in moſt of the populous cities of the kingdom; while the king, with his uſual puſillanimity, deplored the turbulence of the times, and in vain applied to the pope for his holy protection.

In this diſtreſsful ſtate of the nation, nothing now remained, but an accommodation with the inſurgent barons; and after ſome time a trea⯑ty of peace was concluded, but upon the moſt diſadvantageous terms to the king and his par⯑ty.A.D. 1623 The Proviſions of Oxford were again re⯑ſtored, and the barons re-eſtabliſhed in the ſo⯑vereignty of the kingdom. They took poſ⯑ſeſſion of all the royal caſtles and fortreſſes; they even named the officers of the king's houſhold; and ſummoned a parliament to meet at Weſtminſter, in order the more fully to ſettle the plan of their government. By this aſſembly it was enacted, that the autho⯑rity of the twenty four barons ſhould continue; and that not only during the reign of the king, but alſo during that of prince Edward.

But theſe were conditions which, though the puſillanimous king could very eaſily ſub⯑mit to, yet the young prince would by no [370] means acquieſce in. He appealed to the king of France, to whom he conſented to refer the ſubject of his infringed pretenſions; and when that juſt monarch declared in his favour, he reſolved to have recourſe to arms, the laſt re⯑fuge of oppreſſed royalty. Accordingly, ſum⯑moning the king's military vaſſals from all quarters, and being reinforced by many of the more equitable barons, he reſolved to take the field. His firſt attempts were ſucceſsful; Northampton, Leiceſter, and Nottingham, ſub⯑mitted to his power; and he proceeded into the county of Derby, in order to ravage with fire and ſword the eſtates of ſuch as had eſpouſed the oppoſite cauſe. On the other ſide, the earl of Leiceſter was beſieging Rocheſter, when he was informed of the king's ſucceſſes; upon which he raiſed the ſiege, and retreated to London, where he was joined by a body of the citizens, amounting to fifteen thouſand men. Both armies being thus pretty near equal, they reſolved to come to an engage⯑ment, and Leiceſter halted within about two miles from Lewes in Suſſex; offering, at the ſame time, terms of accommodation, which he well knew the king would reject. Upon the refuſal of theſe with contempt, both ſides prepared for a battle with the utmoſt rancour and animoſity. The earl advanced with his [371] troops near Lewes, where the king had drawn up his forces to give him a proper reception. The royal army was formed in three diviſions; prince Edward commanded on the right; Richard, the king's brother, who had been ſome time before made king of the Romans, was poſted on the left wing, and Henry him⯑ſelf remained in the center. The earl's army was divided into four bodies; the firſt was con⯑ducted by Henry de Montfort, ſon of the ge⯑neral; the ſecond was commanded by the earl of Glouceſter; the third was under the com⯑mand of the earl himſelf; and the fourth, con⯑ſiſting of Londoners, was under the direction of Nicholas Seagrave. To encourage theſe inſurgents ſtill farther, the biſhop of Chicheſter gave a general abſolution to their party; ac⯑companied with aſſurances, that if any of them fell in the action, they would infallibly be re⯑ceived into heaven, as a reward for their ſuf⯑fering in ſo meritorious a cauſe. The battle was begun by prince Edward, who ruſhed upon the Londoners, placed foremoſt in the poſt of honour, with ſo much fury, that they were unable to ſuſtain the charge, but giving way, fled with great precipitation. The prince, tranſported with a deſire of revenging the in⯑ſults they had offered to his mother, purſued them four miles off the field of battle, cauſing [372] a terrible ſlaughter. While he was making this imprudent uſe of his victory, the earl of Leiceſter, who was a ſkilful commander, puſhed with all his forces againſt the ene⯑mies left wing, ſoon put them to the route, and took both the king and his brother pri⯑ſoners. It was a dreadful proſpect, therefore, to the young prince, who was now returning victorious from the purſuit, to behold the field covered with the bodies of his friends; and ſtill more, when he heard that his father and his uncle were defeated and taken. In this deplorable ſtate, he at firſt endeavoured to in⯑ſpire his remaining troops with ardour; but being artfully amuſed by Leiceſter with a pre⯑tended negotiation, he quickly found his lit⯑tle body of troops ſurrounded, and he himſelf obliged to ſubmit to ſuch terms as the conque⯑ror thought fit to impoſe. Theſe were ſhort, and very conformable to his wretched ſitua⯑tion. He, together with another general named Henry d'Almain, were to ſurrender themſelves priſoners, as pledges in the place of the king and his brother, who were to be releaſed. The Proviſions of Oxford were to continue in full force; but to be reviſed by ſix Frenchmen, appointed by the king of France; three pre⯑lates, and three noblemen, who, with three more of their own chuſing, were to be inveſted [373] with full powers to ſettle all diſturbances that then ſubſiſted. Such was the convention called the Miſe of Lewes.

Theſe great advantages were no ſooner ob⯑tained, than Leiceſter reſolved to poſſeſs him⯑ſelf of that power,A.D. 1264 for which he had ſo long been ſtruggling. Inſtead of referring the ſub⯑ject in diſpute to the king of France, as was agreed on, he kept Richard ſtill a priſoner; and though he had already confined prince Ed⯑ward in the caſtle of Dover, yet he effectually took care ſtill to the king continue alſo in bondage. To add to his injuſtice, he made uſe of his name for purpoſes the moſt prejudi⯑cial to the royal intereſts; and while he every where diſarmed the king's adherents, he was cautiouſly ſeen to keep his partizans in a poſ⯑ture of defence. The king, a poor contemptible ſpectator of his own degradation, was carried about from place to place, and obliged to give his governors directions to deliver their caſ⯑tles into the hands of his enemy. To this uſurpation of the king's authority, Leiceſter added the moſt barefaced and rapacious ava⯑rice. He ſeized the eſtates of no leſs than eighteen barons, as his ſhare of the ſpoil gain⯑ed in the battle of Lewes. He engroſſed to himſelf the ranſom of all the priſoners; he monopolized the ſale of wool to foreign mar⯑kets; [374] and to fix himſelf compleatly in autho⯑rity, he ordained that all power ſhould be ex⯑erciſed by a council of nine perſons, who were to be choſen by three perſons, or the majority of them; and theſe were the earl himſelf, the earl of Glouceſter, and the biſhop of Chicheſter.

In this ſtretch of power, Leiceſter was not ſo entirely ſecure, but that he ſtill feared the combinations of the foreign ſtates againſt him, as well as the internal machinations of the royal party. The king of France, at the in⯑terceſſion of the queen of England, who had taken refuge at his court, actually prepared to reinſtate Henry in his dominions; the pope was not ſparing in his eccleſiaſtical cenſures; and there were many other princes that pitied the royal ſufferings, and ſecretly wiſhed the uſur⯑per's fall. The miſerable ſituation of the king⯑dom in the end produced the happineſs of poſte⯑rity. Leiceſter, to ſecure his ill-acquired power, was obliged to have recourſe to an aid till now entirely unknown in England, namely, that of the body of the people. He called a par⯑liament, where, beſides the barons of his own party, and ſeveral eccleſiaſtics, who were not immediate tenants of the crown, he ordered returns to be made of two knights from every ſhire; and alſo deputies from the burroughs, which had been hitherto conſidered as too in⯑conſiderable [375] to have a voice in legiſlation.A.D. Jan. 20. 1265. This is the firſt confirmed outline of an Eng⯑liſh houſe of commons. The people had been gaining ſome conſideration ſince the gradual diminution of the force of the feudal ſyſtem. The eſtabliſhment of corporation charters, by which many of the ruſtic ſlaves were in a ca⯑pacity of reſcuing themſelves from the power of their maſters, encreaſed not only the power of the people, but their ardour to be free. As arts encreaſed, the number of theſe little in⯑dependent republics, if they may be ſo called, increaſed in proportion; and we find them, at the preſent period, of conſequence enough to be adopted into a ſhare of the legiſlature. Such was the beginning of an inſtitution, that has ſince been the guardian of Britiſh liberty, and the admiration of mankind. In this man⯑ner it owed its original to the aſpiring aims of an haughty baron, who flattered the people with the name of freedom, with a deſign the more completely to tyrannize.

A parliament aſſembled in this manner, to ſecond the views of the earl, was found not ſo very complying as he expected. Many of the barons, who had hitherto ſtedfaſtly adhered to his party, appeared diſguſted at his immode⯑rate ambition; and many of the people, who found that a change of maſters was not a [376] change from miſery to happineſs, began to wiſh for the re-eſtabliſhment of the royal fa⯑mily. In this exigence, Leiceſter finding him⯑ſelf unable to oppoſe the concurring wiſhes of the nation, was reſolved to make a merit of what he could not prevent; and he accord⯑ingly releaſed prince Edward from confine⯑ment, and had him introduced at Weſtmin⯑ſter hall, where his freedom was confirm⯑ed by the unanimous voice of the barons. But though Leiceſter, had all the populari⯑ty of reſtoring the prince, yet he was politic enough to keep him ſtill guarded by his emiſ⯑ſaries, who watched all his motions, and fru⯑ſtrated all his aims.

On the other hand, prince Edward, who had too much penetration not to perceive that he was made the tool of Leiceſter's ambition, ardently watched an opportunity to regain that freedom, of which he then enjoyed but the ap⯑pearance. An opportunity ſoon offered for pro⯑curing him a reſtoration of his former liberty with his power. The duke of Glouceſter, one of the heads of Leiceſter's party, being diſcontent⯑ed at that nobleman's great power, retired from court in diſguſt, and went, for ſafety, to his eſtates on the borders of Wales. Leiceſter was not ſlow in purſuing him thither; and to give greater authority to his arms, carried the [377] king and the prince of Wales along with him. This was the happy opportunity that young Ed⯑ward long wanted in order to effect his eſcape. Being furniſhed by the earl of Glouceſter with an horſe of extraordinary ſwiftneſs, under a pretence of taking the air with ſome of Leiceſter's re⯑tinue, who were in reality appointed to guard him, he propoſed that they ſhould run their horſes one againſt the other. When he perceiv⯑ed that he had thus ſufficiently tired their horſes, immediately mounting Glouceſter's horſe that was ſtill freſh, he bid his attendants very politely farewel. They followed him indeed for ſometime; but the appearance of a body of troops belong⯑ing to Glouceſter ſoon put an end to the purſuit. This happy event ſeemed the ſignal for the whole body of the royaliſts to riſe. The well known valour of the young prince, the long train of grievances which the people endured; and the countenance of the earl of Glouceſter, a man of great power, all combined to encreaſe their numbers, and inſpire their activity. An army was ſoon aſſembled which Leiceſter had no power to withſtand; and he ſaw his hard-earned power every day raviſhed from him, without being able to ſtrike a ſingle blow in its de⯑fence. His ſon, attempting to bring him a reinforcement of troops from London, was, by a vigorous march of young Edward, ſur⯑prized, and his army cut to pieces.

[378]It was not long after, that the earl himſelf, ignorant of his ſon's fate, paſſed the Severne, in expectation of the London army; but in⯑ſtead of the troops he expected, he ſoon per⯑ceived, that the indefatigable prince was com⯑ing up to give him battle. Nor was it without a ſtratagem that his little army was aſſaulted. While the prince led a part of his troops by a circuit to attack him behind, he ordered ano⯑ther body of them to advance with the banners of the London army that was juſt defeated, which, for a long time, the earl miſtook for an actual reinforcement, and made diſpoſitions acccrdingly. At laſt, however, this proud but unfortunate general, perceived his miſtake; and ſaw that the enemy was advancing againſt him on all ſides, with the moſt regular diſ⯑poſition and determined bravery. He now, therefore, found that all was loſt; and was ſo ſtruck with diſmay, that he could not help ex⯑claiming, ‘"The Lord have mercy upon our ſouls, for our bodies are doomed to deſtruc⯑tion."’ He did not, however, abandon all hopes of ſafety; but drew up his men in a compact circle, and exhorted them to fight like men who had all to gain or all to ſuffer. At the ſame time, he obliged the old king to put on armour, and to fight againſt his own cauſe, in the front of the army. The battle [379] ſoon began; but the earl's army having been exhauſted by famine on the mountains of Wales, were but ill able to ſuſtain the impetu⯑oſity of young Edward's attack, who bore down upon them with incredible fury. Du⯑ring this terrible day, Leiceſter behaved with aſtoniſhing intrepidity; and kept up the ſpirit of the action from two o'clock in the afternoon, till nine at night. At laſt, his horſe being kill⯑ed under him, he was compelled to fight on foot; and tho' he demanded quarter, the adverſe par⯑ty refuſed it, with a barbarity common enough in the times we are deſcribing. The old king, who was placed in the front of the battle, was ſoon wounded in the ſhoulder; and not being known by his friends, he was on the point of being killed by a ſoldier; but crying out, I am Henry of Wincheſter the king, he was ſaved by a knight of the royal army. Prince Edward hear⯑ing the voice of his father, inſtantly ran to the ſpot where he lay, and had him conducted to a place of ſafety. The body of Leiceſter being found among the dead, was barbarouſly mang⯑led by one Roger Mortimer; and then, with an accumulation of inhumanity, ſent to the wretched widow, as a teſtimony of the royal party's ſucceſs.

This victory proved deciſive; and thoſe who were formerly perſecuted, now be⯑came [380] oppreſſors in their turn. The king, who was grown vindictive from his ſufferings, was now reſolved to take a ſignal vengeance on the citizens of London, who had ever for⯑warded the intereſts of his opponents. In this exigence, ſubmiſſion was their only reſource; and Henry was hardly prevailed upon from totally deſtroying the city. He was at laſt contented to deprive it of its military en⯑ſigns and fortifications, and to levy upon the inhabitants a very heavy contribution. Fitz-Richard,A.D. 1265. Aug. 5. the ſeditious mayor, was impriſoned, and purchaſed his pardon with the loſs of his ſubſtance. The rebels every were ſubmitted, or were purſued with rigour. Their caſtles were taken and demoliſhed; and ſcarce any were found that diſputed the king's authori⯑ty. Among the few who ſtill continued re⯑fractory, was one Adam Gordon, formerly go⯑venor of Dunſter caſtle, and very much cele⯑brated for his prodigious ſtrength, and great bravery. This courageous baron maintained himſelf for ſome time in the foreſts of Hamp⯑ſhire, and ravaged the counties of Berks and Surrey. Prince Edward was, at length, obli⯑ged to lead a body of troops into that part of the country to force him from thence; and at⯑tacked his camp with great bravery. Being tranſported with the natural impetuoſity of [381] youth, and the ardour of the action, he leapt over the trench, by which it was defended, attend⯑ed by a few followers; and thus found himſelf unexpectedly cut off from the reſt of his army. Gordon ſoon diſtinguiſhed him from the reſt of his attendants; and a ſingle combat began be⯑tween theſe two valiant men, which, for a long time, continued doubtful. But the prince's for⯑tune at laſt prevailed: Adam's foot happening to ſlip, he received a wound, which diſabled him from continuing the action, and he remained at the mercy of the conqueror. Edward was as mer⯑ciful as he was brave; he not only granted him his life, but introduced him that very night to his conſort at Guilford; procured him his par⯑don and eſtate, and received him into favour. Gordon was not ungrateful for ſuch mercy; he ever after followed the prince; and was of⯑ten found combating by his ſide in the moſt dangerous ſhock of battle. In this manner, the generoſity of the prince tempered the inſo⯑lence of victory; and ſtrength was gradually reſtored to the different members of the conſti⯑tution, that had been ſo long weakened by the continuance of civil diſcord.

Edward having thus reſtored peace to the kingdom, found his affairs now ſo firmly eſta⯑bliſhed, that it was not in the power of any ſlight diſguſt taken by the licentious barons [382] to ſhake them. The earl of Glouceſter, indeed, who had been ſo inſtrumental in reſtoring the king to the crown, thought that no recom⯑pence could equal his merits. He therefore engaged once more in open rebellion; but was ſoon brought to ſubmiſſion by the prince, who obliged him to enter into a bond of twenty thouſand marks, never to enter into ſimilar ſchemes for the future. The kingdom being thus tolerably compoſed, that ſpirit of adventure and ardour for military glory, which ſhone forth in all this prince's actions, now impelled him to undertake the expedition againſt the in⯑fidels in the Holy Land. The cruſade was at that time the great object of ambition; all other wars were conſidered as trifling, and all other ſucceſſes as mean, in compariſon of thoſe gained over the enemies of Chriſt and his re⯑ligion. To that renowned field of blood flocked all the brave, the pious, the ambitious, and the powerful.

In purſuance of this reſolution, which, tho' ſucceeding faſhions of thinking have condemn⯑ed, yet certainly then was proſecuted upon the nobleſt motives. Edward ſailed from England with a large army, and arrived at the camp of Lewis, the king of France, which lay before Tu⯑nis; and where he had the misfortune to hear of that good monarch's death before his arrival. The [383] prince, however, no way diſcouraged by this event, continued his voyage, and arrived at the Holy Land in ſafety.

He was ſcarce departed upon this pious expe⯑dition, when the health of the old king began to decline; and he found not only his own conſti⯑tution, but alſo that of the ſtate, in ſuch a dan⯑gerous ſituation, that he wrote letters to his ſon, preſſing him to return with all diſpatch. The former calamities began to threaten the kingdom again; and the barons, taking ad⯑vantage of the king's weakneſs, oppreſſed the people with impunity. Bands of robbers in⯑feſted various parts of the nation; and the po⯑pulace of London once more reſumed their ac⯑cuſtomed licentiouſneſs. To add to the king's uneaſineſs, his brother Richard died, who had long aſſiſted him with his advice in all emer⯑gencies. He therefore, ardently wiſhed for the return of his gallant ſon, who had placed the ſceptre in hands that were too feeble to hold it. At laſt overcome by the cares of go⯑vernment, and the infirmities of age, he order⯑ed himſelf to be removed, by eaſy journies, from St. Edmund's to Weſtminſter, where, ſending for the earl of Glouceſter, he obliged him to ſwear that he would preſerve the peace of the kingdom; and, to the utmoſt of his power, maintain the intereſts of his ſon. That [384] ſame night be expired, and the next morning the great ſeal was delivered to the archbiſhop of York, and the lords of the privy-council.

Thus died Henry, in the ſixty-fourth year of his age, and the fifty-ſixth of his reign, the longeſt to be met with in the Engliſh annals. He was a prince more adapted for pri⯑vate than for public life; his eaſe, ſimpli⯑city, and good nature, would have ſecured him that happineſs in a lower ſtation, of which they deprived him upon a throne. How⯑ever, from his calamities, the people after⯑wards derived the moſt permanent bleſſings; that liberty which they extorted from his weak⯑neſs they continued to preſerve under bolder princes, who ſucceeded him. The flame of free⯑dom had now diffuſed itſelf from the incorpo⯑rated towns through the whole maſs of the peo⯑ple, and ever afterwards blazed forth at con⯑venient ſeaſons; ſo that in proportion as the upper orders loſt, the people were ſure to be gainers. In this conteſt, though they often laid down their lives, and ſuffered all the calamities of civil war, yet thoſe calamities were conſi⯑dered as nothing, when weighed againſt the ad⯑vantages of freedom and ſecurity.