was obliged to fly to the succour of Antioch, attacked by the Saracens
of Damascus and the Turcomans from the banks of the Euphrates. Roger of
Sicily, son of Richard, who since the death of Tancred governed Antioch
during the minority of the son of Bohemond, had been killed in a bloody
battle. Baldwin, accompanied by the count of Tripoli, hastened to the
banks of the Orontes, attacked the victorious Mussulmans, and dispersed
their army.[243]
After this victory he returned to Jerusalem, when he learnt that
Josselin de Courtenay had been made prisoner by the Turks. Baldwin flew
to the defence of the county of Edessa, which was threatened with an
invasion, and himself fell into the hands of the Mussulmans.
Old chronicles have celebrated the intrepid zeal of fifty Armenians,
who swore to deliver two princes so much beloved by their subjects, and
whose captivity spread desolation among the Christians of the East.
Their efforts broke the chains of Josselin, but after having braved a
thousand dangers without being able to release Baldwin du Bourg, they
were themselves taken by the infidels. They all died amidst tortures,
and received from Heaven alone, add the same chronicles, the reward of
their generous devotion.
Josselin, escaped from his prison, repaired to Jerusalem, where he
deposited in the church of the Holy Sepulchre the chains which he
had borne among the Turks, and entreated prompt assistance for the
deliverance of Baldwin. The mourning kingdom was menaced by the
Saracens of Egypt, who, seeking to take advantage of the captivity
of Baldwin, had assembled in the plains of Ascalon for the purpose
of driving the Franks from Palestine. In this pressing danger the
Christians of Jerusalem could pay attention to nothing but the defence
of the kingdom. After the example of the inhabitants of Nineveh, they
first sought to mitigate the anger of Heaven by penitence and prayer.
A rigorous fast was commanded, during which women withheld the milk of
their breasts from their children in the cradle, and the flocks even
were driven to a distance from their pastures and deprived of their
ordinary nourishment. War was proclaimed by the sound of the great bell
of Jerusalem. The Christian army, which consisted of little more than
three thousand combatants, was commanded by Eustache Grenier, count
of Sidon, named regent of the kingdom in the absence of Baldwin. The
patriarch of the holy city bore the true cross at the head of the army;
he was followed, says Robert of the Mount, by Pontius, abbot of Cluni,
carrying the lance with which the side of the Saviour was pierced, and
by the bishop of Bethlehem, who held in his hands a vase, in which the
Christian priests boasted of having preserved the milk of the Virgin
mother of God![244]
The Christians met the army of the Saracens on the plains of Ascalon.
The battle immediately began, and the Franks were at once surrounded
by the Mussulmans, who reckoned forty thousand men beneath their
standards. The defeat of the Christians appeared certain, when all at
once, says the historian we have just now quoted, a light like to
that of a thunderbolt darted through the air, and fell upon the army
of the Mussulmans. This light, which the Christians considered as a
miracle from Heaven, became the signal for the rout of the Saracens.
The Mussulman warriors, still more superstitious than the Christians,
were fascinated by a sudden terror, and no longer had either courage or
strength to defend themselves. Seven thousand of them fell on the field
of battle, and five thousand perished, swallowed up by the waves of
the sea. The victorious Christians returned to Jerusalem, singing the
praises of the God of armies.
The Christian knights thenceforth wept with less bitterness over the
captivity of a king without whom they had been able to conquer the army
of the Saracens; but the army of the Franks, employed in the defence
of cities and frontiers constantly threatened by the enemy, could not
leave the kingdom to make new conquests; and the warriors, who were
detained in the Christian cities, after so great a victory, were deeply
afflicted at their inaction, and appeared to place all their hopes in
succours from the West. It was just at this time that a Venetian fleet
arrived off the coast of Syria.
The Venetians, who for several centuries enjoyed the commerce of
the East, and feared to break their profitable relations with the
Mussulmans of Asia, had taken but very little interest in the first
crusade, or in the events that had followed it. They waited the issue
of this great enterprise, to take a part and associate themselves
without peril with the victories of the Christians; but at length,
jealous of the advantages that the Genoese and the Pisans had obtained
in Syria, they wished likewise to have a share in the spoils of the
Mussulmans, and prepared a formidable expedition against the infidels.
Their fleet, whilst crossing the Mediterranean, fell in with that of
the Genoese, which was returning from the East; they attacked it with
fury, and forced it to fly in great disorder. After having stained
the sea with the blood of Christians, the Venetians pursued their
course towards the coasts of Palestine, where they met the fleet of
the Saracens, just issuing from the ports of Egypt. A violent conflict
ensued, in which all the Egyptian vessels were dispersed or destroyed,
and covered the waves with their wrecks.
Whilst the Venetians were thus destroying the fleet of the Mussulmans,
an army sent by the caliph of Cairo was beaten by the Christians under
the walls of Jaffa. The doge of Venice, who commanded the Venetian
fleet, entered the port of Ptolemaïs, and was conducted in triumph to
Jerusalem. When celebrating the double victory, they resolved to profit
by it, by following it up by an important expedition. In a council,
held in presence of the regent of the kingdom and the doge of Venice,
it was proposed to besiege either the city of Tyre or the city of
Ascalon. As the opinions were divided, it was resolved to interrogate
God, and to follow his will. Two strips of parchment, upon which had
been written the names of Ascalon and Tyre, were deposited upon the
altar of the Holy Sepulchre. In the sight of a numerous crowd of
spectators, a young orphan advanced towards the altar, took one of the
strips, and the chance fell upon the city of Tyre.
The Venetians, more devoted to the interests of their commerce and of
their nation than to those of a Christian kingdom, demanded, before
beginning the siege of Tyre, that they should enjoy a church, a street,
a common oven, and a national tribunal in every city in Palestine. They
further demanded other privileges and the possession of a third of the
conquered city. The conquest of Tyre appeared to be so important, that
the regent, the chancellor of the kingdom, and the great vassals of the
crown accepted the conditions of the Venetians without hesitation: in a
deed which history has preserved,[245] they engaged not to acknowledge
Baldwin du Bourg or any other prince who would refuse to subscribe to
it.
When they had thus, by a treaty, shared the city they were about to
conquer, they began their preparations for the siege. Towards the
commencement of the spring, the Christian army set out from Jerusalem,
and the Venetian fleet sailed from the port of Ptolemaïs. The historian
of the kingdom of Jerusalem, who was for a long time archbishop of
Tyre, stops here to describe the antique wonders of his metropolis. In
his recital, at once religious and profane, he invokes by turns the
testimony of Isaiah and of Virgil; after having spoken of the king,
Hyram, and the tomb of Origen, he does not disdain to celebrate the
memory of Cadmus, and the country of Dido. The good archbishop boasts
above all of the industry and the commerce of Tyre; of the fertility
of its territory, its dyes so celebrated in all antiquity, that sand
which is changed into transparent vases, and those sugar-canes which,
from that time, were sought for by every region of the universe. Tyre,
in the time of Baldwin, was no longer that sumptuous city, whose rich
merchants, according to Isaiah, were princes; but it was yet considered
as the most populous and the most commercial of all the cities of
Syria. It was built upon a delightful beach, which mountains sheltered
from the blasts of the north; it had two large moles, which, like two
arms, stretched out into the waves, to form a port to which no tempest
could find access. Tyre, which had kept the victorious Alexander
seven months and a half before its walls, was defended on one side
by a stormy sea and steep rocks, and on the other by a triple wall
surmounted by high towers.
The doge of Venice, with his fleet, entered the port and closed up all
issue on the side of the sea. The patriarch of Jerusalem, the regent
of the kingdom, and Pontius, count of Tripoli, commanded the army by
land. In the early days of the siege, the Christians and the Mussulmans
fought with obstinate ardour, and with equal success; but the divisions
among the infidels soon came in to second the efforts of the Franks.
The caliph of Egypt had yielded half of the place to the sultan of
Damascus, to induce him to defend it against the Christians. The Turks
and the Egyptians were divided among themselves, and would not fight
together. The Franks profited by these divisions, and every day gained
great advantages. After a siege of some months, the walls crumbled away
before the machines of the Christians; provisions began to be short
in the city, and the infidels were ready to capitulate, when discord
arose to disunite the Christians in their turn, and was on the point of
rendering useless the prodigies of valour, and the labours of the long
siege.
The land army complained aloud of being obliged to support alone, both
fighting and fatigue; the knights and their soldiers threatened to
remain as motionless under their tents, as the Venetians did in their
ships. To prevent the effect of their complaints, the doge of Venice
came into the camp of the Christians, with his sailors armed with their
oars, and declared that he was ready to mount the breach. From that
time a generous emulation animated equally the zeal and courage of the
land and sea forces. The Mussulmans, being without hope of succour,
after a siege of five months and a half, were obliged to surrender.
The standards of the king of Jerusalem and the doge of Venice waved
over the walls of Tyre; the Christians made their triumphal entry
into the city, whilst the inhabitants, according to the terms of the
capitulation, went out with their wives and children.[246]
The day on which they received at Jerusalem the news of the conquest of
Tyre, was a festival for the population of the holy city. To the sound
of the bells the _Te Deum_ was sung on bended knees; flags were hoisted
on the towers and the ramparts of the city; branches of olive, and
garlands of flowers were suspended in the streets and public places,
and rich stuffs were hung upon the outsides of the houses, and upon
the doors of the churches. Old men reminded their neighbours of the
splendour of the kingdom of Judah, and young virgins repeated in chorus
the psalms in which the prophets had celebrated the city of Tyre.
The doge of Venice, on his return to the holy city, was saluted by the
acclamations of the people and the clergy. The barons and the principal
inhabitants did all in their power to detain him in Palestine; they
even went so far as to offer him the crown of Baldwin; some believing
that that prince had died among the infidels, others only recognising
a king when at the head of an army, or on the field of battle. The doge
refused the crown they offered him; and, satisfied with the title of
prince of Jerusalem, sailed with his victorious fleet back to Italy.
Whilst they were offering the throne of Jerusalem to a foreign prince,
the captivity of Baldwin du Bourg was drawing to an end. The emir
Balac,[247] who held him prisoner, after having conquered in a battle
ten thousand Christians commanded by Josselin, besieged the citadel
of a Mussulman city of Syria, and was preparing to succour the city
of Tyre, when he was wounded by a javelin, and died regretted by the
most ardent disciples of Mahomet. Baldwin was then enabled to purchase
his liberty, and, after a captivity of eighteen months, appeared
once again among the Christians. The king of Jerusalem had promised
the Saracens a considerable sum as his ransom; but it was much more
easy for him to fight and conquer his enemies than to fulfil such a
promise. The Mussulmans, besides, by ill-treating the hostages he had
left with them,[248] furnished him with a pretext to attack them. When
the infidels demanded of him the stipulated price of his liberty, he
only replied by gaining victories over them. The Christian knights,
who seemed to have forgotten him, now that they saw him once again in
arms, returned thanks to Heaven for his deliverance, and came in troops
to range themselves under his banners, and recognised with joy the
authority of a prince who appeared only to have issued from his prison
to lead them to new combats.
The Christian states at that period numbered as enemies the caliphs
of Bagdad and Damascus, the emirs of Mossoul and Aleppo, and the
descendants of Ortoc, who were masters of several places on the
Euphrates.[249] The Egyptians were weakened by their numerous defeats,
and of all their ancient conquests on the coasts of Syria, only
retained the city of Ascalon. But the garrison of this place, formed
of the wrecks of several conquered armies, still threatened the
territories of the Christians. Although the Egyptians had lost the
cities of Tyre, Tripoli, and Ptolemaïs, they still continued masters
at sea, and their fleets cruised without obstacle along the coasts
of Syria, when the maritime nations of Europe did not happen to send
succour to the Franks established in Palestine.
The Turks, accustomed to the military and pastoral life, did not aspire
to the empire of the seas, but they never left the Christians at rest.
They made themselves dreaded, not so much by their great armies, which
were frequently nothing but confused and undisciplined multitudes, but
by their continual, harassing incursions. Docile and patient, they
endured hunger, thirst, and fatigue, better than they would face an
enemy. Their knowledge of the country, their being accustomed to the
climate, and the intelligence they kept up with the inhabitants, gave
them, in all their warlike expeditions, a decided advantage over the
Christians. Their soldiers surpassed the Franks in the arts of shooting
with the bow, or hurling a javelin, as well as in horsemanship; and
their leaders were practised, and excelled in all the stratagems of
war. Their tactics consisted in wearing out their enemies, in preparing
ambushes for them, or in drawing them into difficult positions,
where they might triumph without fighting. The endless discord which
prevailed among the Mussulman princes of Syria, and the revolutions
which daily threatened their power, prevented them from following up,
for any length of time, the same plan of defence or attack; but when
in the enjoyment of a transient tranquillity, sometimes excited by
a thirst for plunder, or sometimes animated by the prayers and the
counsels of the caliph of Bagdad, they would burst like a sudden and
unexpected storm over the territories of Antioch, Edessa, Tripoli, or
the kingdom of Jerusalem. If the Mussulmans experienced a defeat, they
retired with the hope of finding a more favourable opportunity; if they
were conquerors, they ravaged the cities and the plains, and returned
to their country, loaded with booty, singing these words: “_The Koran
rejoices, and the Gospel is in tears_.”
The hopes of booty every year attracted new hordes and tribes, which
poured down from Mount Caucasus, Mount Taurus, from Koraçan and
the banks of the Tigris. These tribes, for the most part wild and
barbarous, mingled among the Mussulmans of Syria and Mesopotamia, and
replaced in armies and cities the hosts which war had swept away. Among
the tribes which had thus established themselves in Syria, history must
not forget that of the _assassins_ or Ismaëlians, whose sect had sprung
up, towards the commencement of the eleventh century, in the mountains
of Persia. A short time before the first crusade, they took possession
of a part of Libanus, and founded a colony between Tripoli and Tortosa,
which colony was governed by a chief whom the Franks called—_the
Old Man, or the Lord of the Mountain_. The chief of the Ismaëlians
only reigned over about twenty castles or towns, and scarcely more
than sixty thousand subjects; but he had converted despotism into a
species of worship, and his authority was without bounds. His subjects
considered that he alone was the depositary of the laws of Mahomet,
and that all who opposed his will merited death. The Old Man of the
Mountains, according to the belief of the Ismaëlians, could distribute,
at his pleasure, the delights of Paradise to his servants; that he who
died in an act of obedience to his chief, ascended to heaven, whither
the prophet of Mecca welcomed him, whilst he who died in his bed went
through long probationary pains in the next world.
The Ismaëlians were divided into three classes: the people, the
soldiers, and the _guards_. The people lived by the cultivation of the
lands and by commerce; they were docile, laborious, sober, and patient:
nothing could exceed the skill, strength, and courage of the soldiers,
whose qualities were particularly valued in the defence or sieges of
cities. The greater part of the Mussulman princes were very desirous of
having them in their pay.
The most distinguished class was that of the _guards or fédaïs_.
Nothing was neglected in their education. From their infancy their
bodies were strengthened by constant and violent exercises, and their
minds were cultivated by the study of the arts. They were taught the
languages of Asia and Europe, in order that they might be sent into
those countries to execute the orders of their master. All sorts of
means were employed to inflame their imaginations and heighten their
courage; during their sleep, which was provoked by intoxicating drinks,
they were transported into delicious gardens, and awoke surrounded by
the seductions of voluptuousness. It was there that the Old Man of the
Mountains, by showing them the image of the joys of Paradise, inspired
them with a blind obedience. In the midst of illusions which fascinated
them, their master could order them to cast themselves from the height
of a tower, to precipitate themselves into flames, or to pierce
themselves with mortal wounds. When the Old Man of the Mountains had
pointed out to them any one he wished to punish, they went, armed with
a poniard, indifferently, to seek him in palaces or camps, and were
impeded by neither obstacles nor dangers.
Princes often intrusted the charge of their revenge to the chief of
the Ismaëlians, and looked to him for the death of their rivals or
enemies. Powerful monarchs were his tributaries. The fears which he
inspired, and the murders committed by his orders, heaped up his
treasures. Surrounded by his intrepid soldiery, he sent death into
distant regions; the terror of his name was spread everywhere, whilst
he himself had nothing to fear from his enemies.
The Ismaëlians, as implacable sectarians, entertained a profound
aversion for the Turks of Syria. Many of them were in the pay of the
emirs and the sultans of that nation; but they sold their services
at a very high price, and often took an active part in the bloody
revolutions which precipitated from thrones the Mussulman dynasties of
the East. They had less hatred for the Christians, because the latter
fought against the Turks; nay, sometimes they became useful auxiliaries
to the Franks. When Baldwin du Bourg was liberated, they proposed to
deliver up Damascus to him, a great number of their warriors being in
that city; but the plot being discovered, they miscarried in their
enterprise, and six thousand Ismaëlians were slaughtered by the
Mussulmans.[250]
The Old Man of the Mountains commanded the death of the emir of
Mossoul, who had defended the city of Damascus against the Christians.
The murder of the Mussulman emir threw Syria into a state of excitement
and trouble; but from the bosom of this disorder arose a new and
formidable power. Zengui, son of Aksancar, one of the most skilful
captains of his age, obtained the principality of Mossoul, got
possession of Emessa and Aleppo, with several other cities of Syria,
and founded the dynasty of the Atabecks, or governors of the prince,
which was destined to dominate over the East, and render itself
formidable to the Christians.[251]
Whilst this new power was rising in Syria, the Christian states of the
East were at their highest point of prosperity. The county of Edessa,
which contained a great portion of the rich provinces of Mesopotamia,
had all the Armenian princes as its allies and auxiliaries. Several
cities of Cœlesyria, Cilicia, and Lower Armenia constituted the
principality of Antioch, the most extensive and the most flourishing of
the Christian provinces.
The county of Tripoli comprised several places situated on the Sea of
Phœnicia, from Margath to the river Adonis. This river, celebrated in
both sacred and profane history, bounded on the north the kingdom of
Jerusalem, which, towards the south, extended on the sea-coast as far
as the gates of Ascalon, and towards the east, to the deserts of Arabia.
These four states formed a redoubtable confederacy. Europe beheld with
pride these Christian colonies, which had cost her so much blood; she
was afflicted at their reverses, and rejoiced at their progress. The
safety of Christianity appeared identified with their preservation. The
bravest of the Christians were always ready to devote themselves for
the heritage of Christ; religion offered no recompense equal to that
promised to their valour, and charity itself became warlike.
From the bosom of an hospital consecrated to the service of pilgrims
and the poor, issued heroes armed against the infidels,—the
humanity and the bravery of the knights of St. John[252] were equally
conspicuous. Whilst some grew old in the offices of hospitality, others
went forth to combat with the enemies of their faith. After the example
of these pious knights, several men of gentle birth met near the place
where the temple of Solomon had stood, and took an oath to protect and
defend the pilgrims who repaired to Jerusalem. Their union gave birth
to the order of the Templars, which, from its origin, was approved of
by a council, and owed its statutes to St. Bernard.
These two orders were governed by the same principle that had given
birth to the crusade, the union of the military spirit with the
religious spirit. Retired from the world, they had no other country but
Jerusalem, no other family but that of Jesus Christ. Wealth, evils,
and dangers were all in common amongst them; one will, one spirit,
directed all their actions and all their thoughts; all were united in
one house, which appeared to be inhabited but by one man. They lived
in great austerity, and the severer their discipline became, the
stronger appeared the bonds by which it enchained their hearts and
their wills. Arms formed their only decoration; precious ornaments were
never seen in their houses or churches; but lances, bucklers, swords,
and standards taken from the infidels abounded. At the cry of battle,
says St. Bernard,[253] they armed themselves with faith within and
with steel without; they feared neither the number nor the fury of the
barbarians, they were proud to conquer, happy to die for Jesus Christ,
and believed that every victory came from God.
Religion had sanctified the perils and the violences of war. Every
monastery of Palestine was a fortress, in which the din of arms was
mingled with the voice of prayer. Humble cenobites sought glory in
fight; the canons, instituted by Godfrey to pray near the holy tomb,
after the example of the Hospitallers and the Templars, had clothed
themselves with the casque and the cuirass, and, under the name of the
Knights of the Holy Sepulchre, distinguished themselves amongst the
soldiers of Christ.
The glory of these military orders was soon spread throughout the
Christian world. Their renown penetrated even to the isles and the most
remote nations of the West. All who had sins to expiate hastened to the
holy city to share the labours of the Christian warriors. Crowds of
men, who had devastated their own country, came to defend the kingdom
of Jerusalem, and take part in the perils of the most firm defenders of
the faith.
There was not an illustrious family in Europe which did not send at
least one knight to the military orders of Palestine. Princes even
enrolled themselves in this holy militia, and laid aside the insignia
of their dignity to assume the red coat of arms of the Hospitallers, or
the white mantle of the knights of the Temple. In all the nations of
the West castles and cities were bestowed upon them, which offered an
asylum and succour to pilgrims, and became auxiliaries to the kingdom
of Jerusalem. As monks, as soldiers of Christ, they were remembered
in every will, and not unfrequently became the heirs of monarchs and
princes.
The knights of St. John and of the Temple for a length of time were
deserving of the greatest praises; more happy and more worthy of the
benedictions of posterity would they have been, if, in the end, they
had not allowed themselves to be corrupted by their success and their
wealth; and if they had not frequently disturbed the welfare of the
state of which their bravery was the support! These two orders were
like a crusade that was unceasingly renewed, and preserved emulation in
the Christian armies.
The military customs and manners of the Franks who were then engaged
in Palestine, present an object worthy of fixing the attention of the
historian and the philosopher, and may serve to explain the rapid rise
and the following decline of the kingdom of Jerusalem. The spirit of
honour which animated the warriors, and permitted them not to fly, even
in an unequal fight, was the most active principle of their bravery,
and with them took the place of discipline. To abandon a companion in
danger, or to retire before an enemy, was an action infamous in the
sight of God or man. In battle, their close ranks, their lofty stature,
their war-horses, like themselves covered with steel, overturned,
dispersed, or bore down the numerous battalions of the Saracens. In
spite of the weight of their armour, nothing could exceed the rapidity
with which they passed to places the most distant. They were to be seen
fighting almost at the same time in Egypt, on the Euphrates, and on
the Orontes; and only left these their customary theatres of victory
to threaten the principality of Damascus, or some city of Arabia. In
the midst of their exploits they recognised no other law but victory,
abandoned and rejoined at pleasure the standards which led them to the
enemy, and required nothing of their chief but the example of bravery.
As their militia had under its colours warriors of divers nations,
the opposition of characters, the difference of manners and language
kept alive amongst them a generous emulation; but sometimes, likewise,
gave birth to discord. Very frequently chance, or some unexpected
circumstance, decided an enterprise or the fate of a campaign. When the
Christian knights believed themselves in a condition to fight an enemy,
they went to seek him, without taking the least pains to conceal their
march; confidence in their strength, in their arms, and, above all,
in the protection of Heaven, made them neglect the stratagems and the
artifices of war, and even the precautions most necessary to the safety
of an army. Prudence in their chiefs frequently appeared to them an
evidence of timidity or weakness, and many of their princes paid with
their lives or their liberty for the vain glory of encountering useless
perils in the Christian cause.
The Franks of Palestine saw scarcely any dangers or enemies except such
as met them in the field of battle. Several important enterprises,
which fortune alone seemed to direct, were necessary to assure the
safety and the prosperity of the Christian states in Asia. The first of
these enterprises was to lower the power of the caliphs of Egypt; the
second, to conquer and preserve the maritime cities of Syria, in order
to receive fleets and succour from the West; the third was to defend
the frontiers, and oppose on all sides a barrier against the Turks
and Saracens. Each of those great interests, or rather all of these
interests united, constantly occupied the Franks established in Asia,
without their having any other policy but that of circumstances, and
without their employing, in order to succeed, any other means but their
swords. It is in this view we must admire their efforts, and find the
bravery, which supplied the place of everything, wonderful.
Among the illustrious pilgrims who at this time repaired to Palestine,
and took part in the labours of the Christian knights, history ought
not to forget Foulque, count of Anjou. He was the son of Foulque le
Rechin and Bertrade de Montfort, who became the wife of Philip I.,
and for whose sake the king of France had braved all the thunders
of the Church. Foulque of Anjou could not be consoled for the death
of his wife Eremberge, daughter of Elie, count of Maine. His grief
led him into Palestine, where he maintained during a year a hundred
men-at-arms, whom he led to battle. He united piety with valour, and
attracted admiration by displaying all the qualities of a good prince.
Baldwin, who had no male offspring, offered him his daughter Melisende
in marriage, and promised to have him nominated his successor. Foulque
accepted the proposition with joy, and became son-in-law to the king of
Jerusalem.
From that time the two princes gave all their attention to promote the
prosperity of the kingdom and to defend it against the Saracens. Their
union served as a model to Christian princes, and lasted till the death
of Baldwin, who, seeing his last hour approach, ordered himself to be
carried to the spot where Christ had risen again, and died in the arms
of his daughter and his son-in-law, to whom, with his latest breath, he
recommended the glory of the Christians of the East.
Baldwin had a right mind, a lofty spirit, and unalterable mildness.
Religion presided over his least actions and inspired all his thoughts;
but he perhaps had more devotion than was suited to a prince or a
warrior. He was constantly seen prostrated on the earth, and, if we may
believe William of Tyre, his hands and knees were hardened by practices
of piety. He passed eighteen years on the throne of Edessa, and twelve
on that of Jerusalem; he was made prisoner twice, and remained seven
years in the chains of the infidels. He had neither the faults nor the
high qualities of his predecessor. His reign was rendered illustrious
by conquests and victories in which he bore no part; but he was not the
less regretted by the Christians, who loved to contemplate in him the
last of the companions of Godfrey.
Under his reign the public manners began to decline: by his directions
a council was assembled at Naplouse to check licentiousness, and
punish offenders against order and morality. But the decrees of this
council,[254] deposited in the churches, only served to prove the
existence of disorders among the Christians, and did not, in any
way, stop the progress of corruption, which rapidly increased under
the following reigns. Baldwin was more happy in the measures which
he undertook to increase the number of his subjects and enrich his
capital. An edict suppressed all duties upon grain and vegetables
brought into the holy city by the Syrians. Baldwin, by this means,
improved the trade and population of Jerusalem, and revived agriculture
in the neighbouring provinces.
Foulque, count of Anjou, was crowned king of Jerusalem after the death
of Baldwin. At his accession to the throne, discord disturbed the
Christian states, and even threatened with speedy ruin the principality
of Antioch. The son of Bohemond, who had recently assumed the reins
of government, had been killed in a battle against the Turks of Asia
Minor, and a daughter, whom he had had by Alise, sister of Melisende,
was called to the inheritance of her father’s throne; but the weakness
of her sex and age did not permit her to make good her claim. Alise,
her mother, wished to get possession of the royal seat, and in the
prosecution of her projects did not scruple to avail herself of the
aid of the Saracens. Another candidate appeared in Roger, king of
Sicily, who, as a member of the family of Bohemond and Tancred, had
pretensions to the principality of Antioch. The people, the clergy, and
the nobility were divided into several factions.
The king of Jerusalem, as protector of the confederation of the Franks
in Asia, determined to re-establish order, and took the road to Antioch
with his barons and the knights of the Temple and St. John. The count
of Tripoli, who had embraced the party of Alise, undertook to stop the
king of Jerusalem on his passage. The powers of these two princes met;
a battle ensued, and the plains of Phœnicia were stained with the blood
of Christians shed in unnatural strife. Foulque of Anjou, after having
routed the troops of the count of Tripoli, gained the banks of the
Orontes, silenced the contending factions, and re-established peace.
To perfect his work, he resolved to bestow the daughter of Bohemond on
a husband able to defend her rights, who would merit the confidence of
the Christian warriors. Syria presenting to him no prince or knight
worthy of his choice, he turned his eyes towards the princes of Europe,
and nominated Raymond of Poictiers governor of Antioch, as Baldwin II.
had chosen him himself governor of Jerusalem. Thus Europe, which had
found defenders for the Christian states of Asia, supplied them also
with princes and kings. Raymond of Poictiers, brother of William, duke
of Aquitaine, left France with the scrip and staff of a pilgrim, and
came into Syria to espouse the daughter of Baldwin, and reign with her
on the banks of the Orontes.
The troubles of Antioch had revived the pretensions of the emperors
of Constantinople. John Comnenus, son and successor of Alexius, put
himself at the head of an army, took possession of some places in
Cilicia, and encamped before the walls of Antioch. After several
conflicts, in which victory remained uncertain, negotiations were
opened, which ended in the oath of obedience to the emperor being taken
by Raymond of Poictiers. The two princes, united by a treaty, resolved
to turn their arms against the Saracens. Their troops, which they
commanded in person, attacked without success Aleppo and several other
cities of Syria; the want of a good understanding, which accompanied
the Greeks and Latins at all times, was sure to defeat their
enterprises. The emperor returned with vexation to Antioch, of which
he endeavoured to make himself master, but was compelled by a sedition
to leave the city hastily. He then formed the project of visiting
Jerusalem at the head of his army, with the intention, if the Latins
are to be believed, of obtaining possession of Palestine. Foulque
sent ambassadors to inform him that he could only be received in the
holy city in the character of a simple pilgrim; whereupon John, who
did not dare to complain, sent presents to Foulque of Anjou, and gave
up, without much pain, his idea of a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. After a
campaign, for which he had drawn out all the strength of the empire, he
returned to his capital, having obtained nothing by his enterprise but
the vain and hollow homage of the prince of Antioch.
Foulque of Anjou, after having re-established peace among his
neighbours, found, on his return, that discord not only prevailed in
his states, but had even made its way into his own house. Walter, count
of Cæsarea, accused Hugh, count of Jaffa, of the crime of treason
towards his king. This latter noble had drawn upon himself the hatred
of the king and the principal people of the kingdom, some say by his
pride and disobedience, and others by his guilty connection with the
queen Melisende. When the barons had heard Walter of Cæsarea, they
decided that a battle, _en champ clos_, should take place between the
accused and the accuser; and as the count of Jaffa did not appear in
the lists on the day nominated, he was declared guilty.
Hugh was descended from the famous lord of Puyset, who raised the
standard of revolt against the king of France, and who, conquered
in the end by Louis le Gros,[255] despoiled of his possessions and
banished his country, had taken refuge in Palestine, where his exploits
had secured him the county of Jaffa, which he had transmitted to his
son. Hugh possessed the turbulent and impetuous character of his
father, and, like him, could neither pardon an injury nor submit to
an act of authority. On learning that he was condemned without being
heard, he set no bounds to his anger, but hastened immediately to
Ascalon, to implore the aid of the infidels against the Christians. The
Mussulmans, highly pleased with the division which had sprung up among
their enemies, at once took the field, and ravaged the country as far
as the city of Asur. Hugh, after having contracted a criminal alliance
with the Saracens, shut himself up in Jaffa, where he was soon besieged
by the king of Jerusalem.
The thirst of vengeance animated both parties; Foulque of Anjou had
sworn to punish the treason of his vassal; and Hugh was equally
determined to succeed, or bury himself under the ruins of Jaffa. Before
the king’s forces commenced the attack, the patriarch of Jerusalem
interposed his mediation, and recalled to the minds of the Christian
warriors the precepts of Gospel charity. Hugh at first rejected all
mention of peace with indignation; but having been abandoned by his
followers, he at last lent an unwilling ear to the pacific appeals
of the patriarch, and consented to lay down his arms. The king of
Jerusalem sent home his army, and the count of Jaffa agreed to quit
the kingdom, into which he was not to return till after three years
of exile. He was awaiting at Jerusalem the favourable moment for his
departure, when an unexpected circumstance was on the point of renewing
stifled quarrels. “It happened,” says William of Tyre,[256] “as the
count was playing at dice in the street of the Furriers, before the
shop of a merchant named Alpham, that a soldier, a Breton by nation,
having drawn his sword, fell suddenly upon the said count, who, being
attentive to his game, expected nothing less than such an attack, and
with the first cut, without the least warning, dealt him such a blow
with the said sword on the face as stretched him upon the ground.”
At the sight of such a tragical scene the people gathered round in
crowds, anxiously inquiring the cause of it. The whole city was filled
with rumours of various kinds; all mourned the fate of the count of
Jaffa, and thought no more of his rebellion. They did not even hesitate
to whisper complaints against the king, whom they accused of having
himself directed the poniard of the assassin. The king, however, caused
the murderer to be immediately arrested, and he was tried with the
utmost rigour of the laws. He was ordered to have his limbs broken; and
the king, whilst confirming the sentence, only added that the assassin
of the count of Jaffa should not, as was usual, have his tongue cut
out, in order that he might name his accomplices. The unhappy wretch
expired, declaring that no one had induced him to commit the deed, but
that he thought he should serve religion and his king by it. Every
one was thus left free to form conjectures according to the feeling
that animated him, or the party he had adopted. The count of Jaffa was
not long in recovering from his wound; at the end of a few months he
quitted Palestine, and went to Sicily, where he died before the time
fixed for the end of his exile.
Queen Melisende entertained a deep resentment at all which had taken
place; by which she proved that she was not a stranger to the origin
of these fatal discords. “From the day on which the count left the
kingdom,” says William of Tyre, “all who had against him been informers
to the king, and brought him into his ill graces, so incurred the
indignation of the queen that they were not in too great safety of
their persons, and even the king did not seem to be quite at his
ease among the relations and favourites of the queen.” The anger of
the queen, however, yielded to time, and did not outlive the count
of Jaffa. Foulque himself, whether it was that age had blunted his
feelings, or that it appeared more prudent to him to efface the last
traces of an unfortunate affair, repented of having compromised the
honour of the queen, and neglected nothing that could make her forget
the excess of his jealousy and the rigours he had employed.
Amidst these disagreeable events the king of Jerusalem had reason to
congratulate himself at having no invasion of the Mussulmans to repel.
The prince of Mossoul, Zengui, attacked some Christian fortresses, but
he was soon diverted from his enterprises against the Franks by the
project of uniting the principality of Damascus to his states. The
Mussulman prince who reigned at Damascus could find no other means of
resisting Zengui than by calling in the Christians to his help. The
king of Jerusalem, after having received hostages and considerable sums
of money, took the field at the head of his army, for the purpose of
defending a Mussulman city; but Zengui, who feared to try his strength
with the Franks, did not venture to attack Damascus. According to the
conditions of the alliance with the Christians, the city of Paneas,
or Cæsarea of Philippi, which had recently fallen into the hands of
the Saracens, was to be given up to them. The warriors of Damascus and
Jerusalem marched together to lay siege to that city, situated at the
foot of Libanus, and near the sources of the Jordan. For the second
time the standards of Christ and Mahomet were seen floating over one
army and one camp. Cæsarea of Philippi capitulated after a siege of a
few days, and was given up to the king of Jerusalem.
This conquest was the most important event that signalized the latter
years of the reign of Foulque of Anjou. The king of Jerusalem, whilst
hunting in the plain of Ptolemaïs, fell from his horse, and died of
the fall, leaving no one to succeed him but two children of tender
age. He was less regretted on account of his personal qualities than
for the sad condition in which his death left the kingdom. William of
Tyre, who praises the virtues of Foulque of Anjou, remarks, with a
_naïveté_ worthy of these remote times, that this prince had red hair,
and yet he could not be reproached with any of the faults usually
attributed to men of that colour. He was more than sixty years of age
when he ascended the throne of Jerusalem; in the last years of his
life his memory was so weakened that he did not know his own servants,
and had not sufficient strength and activity to be the head of a
kingdom surrounded by enemies. He employed himself more in building
fortresses than in collecting armies, and in defending his frontiers
than in making new conquests. Under his reign the military ardour of
the Christians seemed to grow weaker, and was displaced by a spirit
of discord, which brought about calamities much greater than those of
war. At the period of the coronation of Foulque of Anjou, the Christian
states were at the highest degree of their prosperity; towards the end
of his reign they showed a tendency to decline.
Baldwin III., thirteen years of age, succeeded his father, and Queen
Melisende became regent of the kingdom. Thus the reins of government
fell from the weak and powerless hands of an old man into those of
a woman and a child. Parties soon sprung up around the throne; the
clergy, the knights, the barons, even the people took a dangerous part
in affairs of state, and the authority of the prince, which hitherto
had been but that of the general of an army, lost under the regency of
Queen Melisende the consideration and splendour it had derived from
victory. The government insensibly assumed the turbulent form of a
republic, and in the political relations which the Christians held at
this period with the Saracens,[257] the latter believed that several
chiefs were at the head of the kingdom of Jerusalem.
Baldwin did not wait for the period of his majority to be crowned king,
being scarcely fourteen years old, when, in the presence of the barons
and the clergy, he received the sword[258] with which he was to defend
religion and justice; the ring, the symbol of faith; the sceptre and
the crown, marks of dignity and power; and the apple or globe, as an
image of the earth and the kingdom he was called upon to govern. Young
Baldwin already displayed courage above his age; in the very first
days of his reign he achieved a glorious expedition beyond the Jordan,
in which he gained possession of the Valley of Moses; but he had not
experience enough to know what enemies he ought to attack or what
allies he ought to defend. On his return from the expedition of the
Jordan he undertook an unjust and unfortunate war, the presage of a sad
future for the kingdom of Jerusalem.
An Armenian, who governed the city of Bosra in the name of the sultan
of Damascus, came to Jerusalem to offer to deliver up to the Christians
the place which he commanded, and the barons and principal people were
convoked to hear his proposals. The wiser part of the assembly referred
to the alliance made with the Saracens of Damascus; the promises of an
unknown soldier appeared to them to have no security, and to inspire no
confidence; they said the kingdom of Jerusalem did not want for enemies
to combat, or conquests to attempt; it was their duty to attack the
most formidable, and protect the others as useful auxiliaries. This
advice, which was the most reasonable, was that which obtained the
smallest number of suffrages. Wonders were related of the country they
were about to conquer; Bosra was the capital of Upper Arabia, all the
riches of that country appeared already to belong to the Christians,
and all who opposed a conquest so brilliant and so easy were accused of
treason. They deliberated in the midst of tumult,[259] and the cries
of a misled multitude smothered the voice of reason and prudence.
The council of the barons and the principal people decided that an
expedition, upon which so many hopes were built, should be undertaken.
The Christian army was soon on its march, and across the mountains
of Libanus. When it arrived in the territory of Damascus, its first
conflict was with the Saracens gathered together to oppose its passage.
After sustaining several severe encounters, the Christians succeeded
in gaining the country called Traconite, where they found nothing
but plains burnt up by the ardent rays of the sun. The roads were
difficult, and the locusts having fallen into the wells and cisterns,
had poisoned all the waters. The inhabitants, concealed in subterranean
caverns, laid ambushes in all directions for the Christian army; whilst
the Mussulman archers, planted upon all the hills and acclivities, left
the warriors of Jerusalem not a moment’s repose. The misfortunes of
the army ’it is William of Tyre who speaks) increased every day, _and
there was poured upon the Christians such a quantity, and as it were
continually, of all sorts of arrows, that they appeared to descend
upon them like hail or heavy rain upon houses covered with slates and
tiles, men and beasts being stuck all over with them_. Nevertheless,
the hope of winning a rich city sustained the courage of the Christian
soldiers, and enabled them to brave all these perils. But when they
arrived within sight of Bosra, it was announced to them that the wife
of the Armenian commandant had called the garrison to arms, and that
she was prepared to defend the city which her husband had promised to
give up to the king of Jerusalem. This unexpected news at once spread
consternation and discouragement through the Christian army. The
knights and barons, struck with the misfortunes that threatened the
Christian soldiers, pressed the king to abandon his army, and save his
person and the cross of Christ. Young Baldwin rejected the advice of
his faithful barons, and insisted upon sharing all their perils.
As soon as the order for retreat was given, the Mussulmans, with loud
cries, set out in pursuit of the Christians. The soldiers of Jerusalem
closed their ranks, and marched in silence, sword in hand, bearing
away their wounded and dead. The Saracens, who could not shake or
break through their enemy, and who, in their pursuit, found no trace
of carnage, believed they were actually fighting against men of iron.
The region which the Christians were traversing was covered with
heath, thistles, and other plants dried by the heat of the summer. The
Saracens set fire to these; the wind bore the flames and smoke towards
the Christian army, and the Franks marched over a burning plain, with
clouds of smoke, ashes, and dust floating over and around them. William
of Tyre, in his history, compares them to smiths, to such a degree were
their clothes and their faces blackened by the fire which devoured the
plain. The knights, the soldiers, and the people who followed the army,
gathered in a crowd around the bishop of Nazareth, who bore the wood
of the true cross, and conjured him with tears to put an end by his
prayers to calamities they were no longer able to bear.
The bishop of Nazareth, touched by their despair, raised the cross,
imploring the mercy of Heaven,—and, at the moment the direction of
the wind was changed. The flames and the smoke which desolated the
Christians were immediately wafted against the Mussulmans. The Franks
pursued their march, persuaded that God had wrought a miracle to save
them. A knight, whom they had never before seen, mounted on a white
horse, and bearing a red standard, preceded the Christian army, and
conducted it out of danger. The people and the soldiers took him for
an angel from heaven, and his miraculous presence reanimated their
strength and their courage. At length the army of Baldwin, after
having undergone all sorts of misery, returned to Jerusalem, where
the inhabitants rejoiced at its arrival, singing these words from the
Scriptures, “_Let us give ourselves up to joy, for that people that was
dead is resuscitated; it was lost, and behold here it is found again._”
But whilst the inhabitants of Jerusalem were rejoicing at the return of
their warriors, the Christian states lost one of their most important
places, and experienced an irreparable misfortune. Zengui, whom the
caliph of Bagdad and all true Mussulmans considered as the buckler
and the support of Islamism, extended his empire from Mossoul to the
frontiers of Damascus, and was continuing without intermission the
course of his victories and conquests. The Christians made no effort to
stop the progress of so redoubtable a power. Zengui, who united with
bravery all the resources of a skilful policy, left them in a deceitful
security, and determined only to awaken them from their long sleep when
he had it in his power to give a mortal blow to their empire. He knew,
by experience, that nothing was more fatal to the Christians than too
long a repose; the Franks, who owed everything to their arms, were
almost always weakened by peace, and when not fighting against the
Saracens, generally fell out among themselves.
The kingdom of Jerusalem had two formidable barriers, the principality
of Antioch and the county of Edessa. Raymond of Poictiers defended
the Orontes from the invasion of the Saracens, and old Josselin de
Courtenay had been for a long time the terror of the infidels on the
banks of the Euphrates; but he was recently dead. He had fought to his
last breath, and even on his bed of death made his arms and his bravery
respected.
Josselin was besieging a castle near Aleppo, when a tower fell down
near him and covered him with its ruins. He was transported in a dying
state to Edessa, and as he lay languishing on his bed, expecting
nothing but death, it was announced to him that the sultan of Iconium
had laid siege to one of his strong places; upon which he sent for
his son and commanded him to go instantly and attack the enemy. Young
Josselin hesitated, and represented to his father that he had not a
sufficient number of troops to meet the Turks. The old warrior, who had
never acknowledged the existence of obstacles, was determined before he
died to leave an example to his son, and caused himself to be borne in
a litter at the head of his soldiers. As they approached the besieged
city, he was informed that the Turks had retired, whereupon he ordered
his litter to stop, raised his eyes towards heaven as if to return
thanks for the flight of the Saracens, and expired surrounded by his
faithful warriors.
His mortal remains were transported to Edessa, the inhabitants of which
city came out to meet and join the funeral procession, which presented
a most affecting spectacle. Here were to be seen the mourning soldiers
bearing the coffin of their chief; and there a whole people lamenting
the loss of their support and defender, and celebrating the last
victory of a Christian hero.
Old Josselin died deploring the fate of Edessa, about to be governed
by a weak and pusillanimous prince; for from his childhood the son
of Courtenay had been addicted to drunkenness and debauchery. In an
age and a country in which these vices were sufficiently common, the
excesses of young Josselin had frequently scandalized the Christian
warriors. As soon as he was master, he quitted the city of Edessa, to
take up his abode at Turbessel, a delicious retreat on the banks of the
Euphrates. There, entirely abandoned to his vicious inclinations, he
neglected the pay of his troops and the fortifications of his forts,
equally heedless of the cares of government and the menaces of the
Saracens.
Zengui had been for a length of time watching for a favourable
opportunity of surprising the city of Edessa; as this conquest would
not only flatter his pride and ambition, but would render him dearer
to all the disciples of Mahomet. In order to retain Josselin in his
fancied security, the prince of Mossoul feigned to make war against
the Saracens; but at the moment he was supposed to be most busily
engaged in an attack upon several Mussulman castles in the east of
Mesopotamia, he appeared at the head of a formidable army before the
walls of Edessa.[260] A great number of Curds and Turcomans, wandering
and barbarous tribes, had joined his standard, attracted by the hopes
of a rich booty. At the first signal given by Zengui, the city was
surrounded on all sides; seven enormous wooden towers were raised
higher than the ramparts; numbers of formidable machines unceasingly
battered the walls, or hurled into the city stones, javelins, and
inflammable matters; whilst the foundations of the towers of the
fortifications were being undermined by the infidels. The walls, which
were only supported by slight, ill-fixed posts, were falling to pieces,
and, covering the earth with their ruins, seemed ready to offer an easy
passage to the Mussulman soldiers.
When on the point to give the signal for destruction, the fierce
Mussulmans stopped, and summoned the city to surrender. The sight of
the death which threatened them did not at all weaken the courage of
the inhabitants, and they answered that they would all perish sooner
than give up a Christian city to the infidels. They exhorted each
other to merit the crown of martyrdom: “Let us not fear,” said they,
“these stones launched against our towers and our houses; he who made
the firmament, and created legions of angels, defends us against
his enemies, or prepares us an abode in heaven.” Animated by such
discourses, the inhabitants of Edessa exerted themselves to destroy the
towers and the works of the besiegers, the hopes of being succoured
redoubling their zeal and courage. They expected, says an Armenian
author, _assistance from a nation which they called the valiant_, and
every day looked to see, from the height of their walls, the standards
of the victorious Franks.
The hoped-for succours were vainly expected. When Josselin learnt the
danger of his capital, he aroused himself from his sloth, and sent
information of it to Raymond of Poictiers, and the queen regent of
Jerusalem. But the prince of Antioch, who disliked Josselin, refused
to assist Edessa, and the troops of Jerusalem, although set forward on
their march, could not arrive in time. Josselin ought to have devoted
himself to repair the consequences of his faults, but he had not the
courage to seek death under the walls of a city he could not save, and
whose defence he had neglected.
On the twenty-eighth day of the siege, several towers fell down with
a horrible crash; and Zengui at once ordered his army to enter the
place. To paint the frightful scenes of this last attack, I must borrow
the words of a contemporary author: “The moment at which the sun began
to shine above the horizon, appeared like a night illumined by the
fires of the storm. As soon as the ramparts and towers fell, all the
city was filled with terror. Nevertheless the defenders of Edessa
thought not, for a moment, of flight, but all joined in the cry of the
brave, _conquer or die_. Some employed themselves in propping up the
walls, whilst others boldly flew to meet the enemy; the clergy, clothed
in helmet and cuirass, marching at their head. The bishops, bearing
each a cross in his hands, bestowed their benedictions on the people
and animated them to the fight.”
The enemy advanced uttering frightful cries; even amidst the din of a
general assault, the voices of the Saracen heralds-at-arms were heard
encouraging the soldiers, and promising the pillage of the city to the
conquerors. Then, to employ the expression of an Armenian poet, the
pusillanimous were seen shedding torrents of tears, whilst the brave,
heedless of the stroke of the sabre, rushed amidst the ranks of the
Mussulmans.
Neither prodigies of valour, nor the last efforts of despair could save
the city or its inhabitants. A great part of the Mussulman army was
already in the place; and all who crossed the steps of the conquerors
fell beneath the sword. Most of those who sought safety in the citadel,
found death under its ramparts, and were trampled upon and stifled
by the crowd. The city of Edessa presented, everywhere, the most
lamentable scenes; some fell whilst flying, and died, crushed to death
by the feet of the horses; whilst others, hastening to the succour
of their friends and neighbours, were themselves slaughtered by the
barbarians. Neither the weakness of a timid sex, nor age on the brink
of the tomb; neither the cries of infants, nor the screams of young
girls who sought safety in the arms, or beneath the garments of their
parents, could abate the rage of the Saracens. They whom the sword
had not yet reached, looked for nothing but death; some crept to the
churches to await it, and died embracing the altars of Christ; whilst
others, yielding to their despair, remained motionless in their houses,
where they were massacred with their families.
The citadel soon surrendered; the soldiers who defended it only asking
their lives; but, notwithstanding the capitulation, many were put to
the sword. A great part of the priests who had survived the carnage
were condemned to slavery; an Armenian patriarch was stripped of his
vestments, dragged through the streets, and beaten with rods. Matthew
of Edessa, one of the most celebrated historians of Armenia, fell
under the sword of the Mussulmans. Hugh, a Latin archbishop, having
endeavoured to escape, was, with all his clergy, slaughtered by the
infidels. His treasures, which he carried with him, and which might
have been usefully employed for the defence of the city, became the
prey of the enemy. Pious historians impute the fall of Edessa to the
avarice of this prelate, and appear to believe that he was punished
in another world for having preferred his gold to the safety of his
fellow-citizens.[261]
When the Mussulmans had become masters of the citadel, their priests
ascended the steeples of the churches to proclaim these words: “Oh
Mahomet! prophet of heaven, we have gained a great victory in thy name;
we have destroyed the people that worshipped _stone_, and torrents of
blood have been shed to make thy law triumph.” After this proclamation,
the Saracens redoubled their excesses. The Gazis or conquerors satiated
themselves with blood; the dead bodies were mutilated, and their
heads sent to Bagdad; and even to Khorasan. All who remained alive in
the city of Edessa were treated as a flock of animals, and sold in
the public places. The Christians, loaded with chains, after having
lost their property, their country, and their liberty, had the still
further grief of seeing their religion, which was all they had left
to console them in their misfortunes, made a subject of ridicule by
the infidels. The churches were plundered of their ornaments, and the
sanctuary became the scene of the most shocking debaucheries. Many of
the faithful whom the horrors of war had spared, could not support the
sight of such profanations, and died with despair.[262]
Thus a city, whose citadel, ramparts, and position on two mountains,
rendered one of the strongest places in Asia, fell into the power of
the Mussulmans. The traditions of religion and history carry back its
origin to the highest antiquity. Narses, in a pathetic elegy, deplores
the fall of this celebrated city, and makes itself speak of its ancient
splendour.[263] “I was,” says she, “as a queen in the midst of her
court; sixty towns standing around me formed my train; my numerous
children passed their days in pleasures; the fertility of my fields,
the freshness of my limpid waters, and the beauty of my palaces were
admired; my altars, loaded with treasures, shed their splendour afar,
and appeared to be the abode of angels. I surpassed in magnificence the
proudest cities of Asia, and I was as a celestial edifice built upon
the bosom of the earth.”
The conquest of Edessa exalted the pride of the Saracens. The caliph of
Bagdad ordered that the barbarous destroyer of the Christians should
be named in the public prayers of the Fridays, and that the whole
Mussulman people should offer up thanks to Heaven for his victories.
Zengui left some troops in the conquered city, and pursued the course
of his triumphs; but fortune did not permit him to finish that which he
had begun. He was besieging the castle of Schabar, in Mesopotamia, when
he was assassinated by some slaves whom ill-treatment had irritated.
The news of his death consoled the Christians for their defeats, and
they expressed a joy as immoderate as if they had beheld the whole
power of the Mussulmans fall at once. But this joy was of very short
duration, for abundance of new enemies and new misfortunes soon
followed to overwhelm them.
Josselin, who had taken advantage of the troubles which ensued upon
the death of the prince of Mossoul to retake the city of Edessa,
ill-guarded by the Mussulmans, found himself unexpectedly besieged
by Noureddin, the second son of Zengui. Noureddin had received, as
his share of the heritage of his father, the principality of Aleppo,
and was eager to signalize his zeal against the Christians. Josselin
and his companions, who had surprised the city of Edessa amidst the
darkness of night, were wanting in machines of war to besiege and get
possession of the citadel. When the city was invested by the prince of
Aleppo, the Christian warriors who were placed between the garrison of
the fortress and the Mussulman army, saw at once the danger of their
position. As in desperate circumstances, a thousand resolutions are,
by turns, formed and rejected; whilst they deliberated, the enemy
pressed and threatened them. There soon remained no safety for them in
a city which they had entered as conquerors; and, after having braved
death to get possession of it, they decided upon facing equal perils
to get out of it. The soldiers of Josselin, consisting of Christians
who had gathered to the city, and of the small number of inhabitants
who had survived the massacre of their brethren, had now nothing left
but their endeavours to escape the barbarity of the Mussulmans. They
made their preparations for flight in silence; the gates were opened
in the middle of the night, and every one bearing away that which he
esteemed most valuable, a weeping crowd pressed along the streets.
Already a great number of these unhappy fugitives had passed the gates
of the city, headed by the warriors commanded by Josselin, and had
advanced into the plain where the Saracens were encamped, when the
garrison of the citadel, warned by the tumult, made a _sortie_, and
uniting themselves with the soldiers of Noureddin, who hastened towards
the city, gained possession of the gates by which the Christians were
issuing. Many severe conflicts were here maintained, of which darkness
increased the horrors. The Christians succeeded in opening themselves a
passage, and spread themselves about in the neighbouring fields. They
who carried arms united in battalions, and endeavoured to pass through
the camp of the enemy; whilst others, separated from the troop of
warriors, went on at hazard, wandered about the plains, and everywhere
found death following their footsteps. Whilst relating the events of
this horrible night, William of Tyre cannot restrain his tears. “Oh
disastrous night!” cries the historian Aboulfarage, “dawn of hell,
day without pity, day of misfortune which arose upon the children of
a city formerly worthy of envy!” In Edessa, out of Edessa, nothing
was heard but cries of death. The warriors who had formed battalions,
after having pierced through the army of the infidels, were pursued
as far as the banks of the Euphrates, and the roads were strewed with
their remains, their arms, and their baggage. Only a thousand of them
succeeded in gaining the city of Samosata, which received them within
its walls, and deplored their misfortunes, without being able to avenge
them.
History relates that more than thirty thousand Christians were
slaughtered by the soldiers of Zengui and Noureddin. Sixteen thousand
were made prisoners, and dragged out their lives in misery and slavery.
Noureddin in his vengeance did not spare either the ramparts or
buildings of a rebel city; he razed the towers, the citadel, and the
churches of Edessa to the ground. He banished all the Christians from
it, and left nothing but a few mendicants to dwell amidst the ruins of
their country.
Zengui had been considered as a saint, as a warrior beloved by Mahomet,
for having conquered the city of Edessa; the blood-stained expedition
of Noureddin rendered him dear to the Mussulmans, contributed much
to the extension of his renown and his power, and already the Imans
and the poets promised to his arms the much more glorious conquest of
Jerusalem.
The inhabitants of Jerusalem and other Christian cities shed tears
of despair on learning the fall and destruction of Edessa, sinister
presages adding much to the terror which the news from the banks of
the Euphrates inspired them with. Thunder fell upon the churches of
the Holy Sepulchre and Mount Sion; a comet with shining hair was seen
in the heavens, and spread general consternation; several other signs
appeared, says William of Tyre, _contrary to custom, and out of time,
indicative of future things_. As a crowning misfortune, Rodolphe,
chancellor of Jerusalem, was taken by force to the siege of Tyre,
and scandal prevailed in the sanctuary. All the faithful of the East
were persuaded that Heaven had declared itself against them, and that
horrible calamities were about to fall upon the Christian people.