Greek fire. The King, on seeing these coming, would kneel down, and cry,
“Lord, spare my people!” But worse enemies were at work. Warrior after
warrior succumbed to his sufferings, and the clergy, going about among
the dying, caught the infection, till there were hardly sufficient to
perform the daily offices of religion. Joinville rose from his bed to
lift up his chaplain, who, while singing mass, fainted on the step of
the altar. Supported in his arms, he finished the mass, but, says the
Seneschal, “he never chanted more.”
Patiently and steadfastly all was borne: the Christians repented
of their late license, and suffered without murmurs, desertion, or
submission, encouraged by their good King, who spent his time in going
from one bed to another to encourage the sick, attend to their wants,
and offer his prayers with them. He was vainly entreated not to expose
himself to the infection. But love and duty equally led him among his
people, and his sad, resigned face never failed to cheer the sufferers,
till he too was laid on a bed of sickness.
Easter came, but famine was added to their miseries, and those who were
recovering from illness died of hunger. The new Sultan, Touran Chah, or
Almoadan, had at length arrived, and Louis tried to negotiate with him,
offering to surrender the town of Damietta, provided Jerusalem were
placed in his hands. The Sultan would have agreed, but required hostages,
and, when Louis offered his two brothers, refused any guarantee but the
person of the King himself. With one voice the French knights vowed that
they would all be killed rather than make a pledge of their King, and the
project was ineffectual.
Louis now resolved to attempt to retreat in secret, and on the 5th of
April he collected as many boats as possible upon the canal, there by
night to embark the sick, that they might ascend the Nile to Damietta.
Those who yet had strength to fight were to go by land; and he, though
very ill, refused to desert his army, and resolved to accompany them. In
the midst of the embarkation the Saracens discovered what was going on,
and fell upon them, shooting arrows at the sick as they were carried on
board. They hurried the vessels off, notwithstanding loud cries from the
land army of “Wait for the King! wait for the King!”--for the French
soldiery only longed to see their King in safety; but he came not, and
they pushed off. Before long the Sultan’s galleys met them with such
showers of Greek fire, that Joinville, one of those unfortunate sick,
declares that it seemed as if all the stars were falling. Soon they
were boarded by the enemy; Joinville gave himself up for lost, threw
overboard all his relics, lest they should be profaned, and prayed
aloud; but a Saracen renegade who knew him, came up to him, and by
calling out, “The King’s cousin!” saved his life, and that of a little
boy in his company. All who seemed capable of paying a ransom were made
prisoners; the rest had the choice of death or apostasy, and too many
chose the last.
The rest of the army fared no better by land. Louis had mounted his
horse, though so weak that he could not wear his armor, and rode among
the knights, who strove to cut their way through the foe. The two good
knights, Geoffroi de Sargines and Gautier de Chatillon rode on each side
of him, and, as he afterward said, guarded, him from the Saracens as a
good servant guards his master’s cup from flies. They were obliged to
support him in his saddle after a time, so faint and exhausted did he
become; and at last, on arriving at a little village named Minieh,
Sargines look him from his horse, and laid him down just within a house,
his head on the lap of a Frenchwoman whom he found there, and watched
over him, expecting each breath to be the last.
Chatillon defended the entrance, rushing each moment on the Saracens,
and only resting to draw out the arrows with which he was covered. At
last he was overcome by numbers, and slaughtered; and another knight,
Philippe de Montfort, making his way to the King, who had somewhat
revived, told him that five hundred knights remained in full force, and,
with his permission, he could make good terms. Louis consented, and the
Saracen Emir was in the act of concluding a truce, when a traitor cried
out, “Sir French knights, surrender! the King bids you! Do not cause him
to be slain!” They instantly laid down their arms unconditionally, and
the Emir, whose ring had been already off his finger, looking round,
said, “We make no truce with prisoners.”
All was thus lost. The Saracens entered the village, and finding the
King, loaded him with chains, and placed him on board a vessel. His
brothers were likewise taken, and even the knights who were far advanced
on the way to Damietta, on hearing of their monarch’s captivity, dropped
their arms, and became an easy prey. The crosses and images of the
Saints were trodden under foot and reviled by the Mussulmans, and the
prisoners, when all those of importance had been selected, were placed
in an enclosure, and each man who would not deny his faith was beheaded.
The news of the ruin of the army and the captivity of her husband
reached Queen Marguerite at Damietta, where she was daily awaiting the
birth of an infant. Her despair and terror were such, that her life was
in the utmost danger, and nothing soothed her except holding the hand of
an old knight, aged eighty years, who did his utmost to calm her. If she
slept for a few moments, she awoke starting, and fancying the room was
full of Saracens, and the old knight had to assure her that he was
there, and she need fear nothing. Once she sent every one else out of
the room, and, kneeling down, insisted that he should make oath to do
what she should require of him. It was, that, should the enemy take the
city, he would sweep off her head with his sword, rather than let her
fall into their hands. “Willingly,” said the old knight. “Had you not
asked it of me, I had thought of doing so.”
The morning after, a son was born to her, and named Jean Tristan, on
account of the sadness that reigned around. On that very day word was
brought to her that the Genoese and Pisans, who garrisoned the town,
were preparing their vessels to depart. The poor Queen sent for their
leaders, and as they stood round her bed, she held up her new-born babe,
and conjured them not to desert the town and destroy all hopes for the
King. They told her that they had no provisions: on which she sent
to buy up all in the town, and promised to maintain them at her own
expense; thus awakening sufficient compassion and honor to make them
promise at least to await her recovery. Her first pledge of hope was
a bulbous root, on which, with a knife, had been cut out the word
“_Espérance_,” the only greeting the captive King could send to her. No
wonder that plant has ever since borne the well-omened name.
Louis, meanwhile, was carried by water to Mansourah, where he lay very
ill, and only attended by one servant and two priests. A book of Psalms
and the cloak that covered him were the sole possessions that remained
to him; but with unfailing patience he lay, feebly chanting the Psalms,
never uttering one word of complaint, and showing such honor to the
office of the priests, that he would not endure that they should perform
for him any of the services that his helplessness required. Nor did he
make one request from his enemies for his own comfort; though Touran
Chah, struck with his endurance, sent to him a present of fifty robes
for himself and his nobles; but Louis refused them, considering that to
wear the robes of the Saracen would compromise the dignity of his crown.
The Sultan next sent his physician, under whose care his health began to
return, and negotiations were commenced. The King offered as his ransom,
and that of his troops, the town of Damietta and a million of bezants;
but the Sultan would not be contented without the cities of the
Crusaders in Palestine, Louis replied that these were not his own; and
when Touran Chah threatened him with torture or lifelong captivity, his
only reply was, “I am his prisoner; he can do as he will with me.”
His firmness prevailed, and the Sultan agreed to take what he offered.
Louis promised the town and the treasure, provided the Queen consented;
and when the Mahometans expressed their amazement at a woman being
brought forward, “Yes,” he said, “the Queen is my lady; I can do
nothing without her consent.”
The King ransomed all his companions at his own expense, and there was
general rejoicing at the hopes of freedom; but, alas! the Sultan, Touran
Chan, was murdered by his own Mamelukes, who hunted him into the river,
and killed him close to the ship where Joinville had embarked. They then
rushed into the vessels of the Christians, who, expecting a massacre to
follow, knelt down and confessed their sins to each other. “I absolve you,
as far as God has given me power,” replied each warrior to his brother.
Joinville, seeing a Saracen with a battle-axe lifted over him, made the
sign of the Cross, and said, “Thus died St. Agnes.” However, they were
only driven down into the hold, without receiving any hurt.
Louis was in his tent with his brothers, unable to account for the
cries he heard, and fearing that Damietta had been seized, and that the
prisoners were being slain. At last there rushed in a Mameluke with a
bloody sword, crying, “What wilt thou give me for delivering thee from
an enemy who intended thy ruin and mine?”
Louis made no answer.
“Dost thou not know,” said the furious Mameluke, “that I am master of
thy life? Make me a knight, or thou art a dead man.”
“Make thyself a Christian,” said the undaunted King, “and I will make
thee a knight.”
His calm dignity overawed the assassin; and though several others came
in, brandishing their swords and using violent language, the sight of
the majestic captive made them at once change their demeanor; they spoke
respectfully, and tried to excuse the murder; then, putting their hands
to their brow, and salaaming down to the ground, retired. They sounded
their drums and trumpets outside the tent, and it is even said they
deliberated whether to offer their crown--since the race of Saladin was
now extinct--to the noble Frank prince. Louis had decided that he would
accept it, in hopes of converting them, but the proposal was never made.
The Mamelukes returned to the former conditions of the treaty with the
King, but, when the time came for making oaths on either side for its
observance, a new difficulty arose. The Emirs, as their most solemn
denunciation, declared that, “if they violated their promises, they
would be as base as the pilgrim who journeys bareheaded to Mecca, or as
the man who takes back his wives after having put them away.”
In return, they required the King to say that, if he broke his oath, he
should be as one who denied his religion; but the words in which this
was couched seemed to Louis so profane, that he utterly refused to
pronounce them.
The Mahometans threatened.
“You are masters of my body,” he said, “but you have no power over
my will.” His brothers and the clergy entreated in vain, though the
Mamelukes, fancying that his resistance was inspired by the latter,
seized the Patriarch of Jerusalem, an old man of eighty, and tied him up
to a stake, drawing the cords so tight round his hands that the blood
started.
“Sire, sire, take the oath!” he cried; “I take the sin upon myself.”
But Louis was immovable, and the Emirs at last contented themselves with
his word, and retired, saying that this was the proudest Christian that
had ever been seen in the East.
They knew not that his pride was for the honor of his God.
On the 6th of May, Geoffroi de Sargines came to Damietta, placed the
Queen and her ladies on board the Genoese vessels, and gave up the keys
to the Emirs.
The King was, on this, set free, but his brother Alfonso was to remain
as a hostage till the bezants were paid. The royal coffers at Damielta
could not supply the whole, and the rest was borrowed of the Templars,
somewhat by force; for Joinville, going to their treasurer in his
worn-out garments and his face haggard from illness, was refused the
keys, till he said “he should use the royal key,” on which, with a
protest, the chests were opened.
Philippe de Montfort managed to cheat the Mamelukes of 10,000 bezants,
and came boasting of it to the King; but Louis, much displeased, sent
him back with the remaining sum.
The King then embarked, still in much anxiety whether the Emirs would
fulfil their engagements and liberate his brother; but, late at night,
Montfort came alongside of the vessel, and called out, “Sire, speak to
your brother, who is in the other ship!”
In great joy Louis cried, “Light up! light up!” and the signals of the
two princes joyfully answered each other in the darkness.
The King sailed for Acre, and after some stay there, finding that his
weakened force could effect nothing, and hearing that the death of his
mother, Queen Blanche, had left France without a regent, he returned
home, and landed 5th of September, 1254, six years after his departure.
The Countess Ella and her son Nicholas, Bishop of Salisbury, raised an
effigy to William like that of his father, and the figures of the father
and son lie opposite to each other in the new cathedral founded by
Bishop Poore.
CAMEO XXX. SIMON DE MONTFORT. (1232-1266.)
_King of England._
1216. Henry III.
_Kings of Scotland._
1214. Alexander II.
1249. Alexander III.
_Kings of France._
1226. Louis IX.
_Emperor of Germany._
1209. Friedrich II.
1249. Conrad IV.
1255. William.
_Popes._
1227. Gregory IX.
1241. Celestin IV.
1242. Innocent IV.
1254. Alexander IV.
1261. Urban IV.
The lawlessness of John Lackland led to the enactment of Magna Charta;
the extravagance of Henry of Winchester established the power of
Parliament, and the man who did most in effecting this purpose was a
foreigner by birth.
Amicia, the heiress of the earldom of Leicester, was the wife of Simon,
Count de Montfort, an austere warrior, on whom fell the choice of
Innocent III. to be leader of the so-called crusade against the
unfortunate Albigenses. Heretics indeed they were; but never before had
the sword of persecution been employed by the Church, and their fate is
a grievous disgrace to Rome, and to the Dominican order. Strict in life,
but of cruel temper, Count Simon was a fit instrument for the massacres
committed; and being a leader of great skill, he gained complete
victories over the native princes of the heretics, who, though not
holding their opinions, were unwilling to let them perish without
protection. Raymond de St. Gilles Count de Toulouse, Gaston Count de
Béarn, and all the most famous names of the south of France, took up
arms in their defence; and even Pedro, King of Aragon, joined, the
confederacy; but at the battle of Muret all were totally defeated, and
Pedro lost his life.
The nobles were imprisoned, the peasants murdered by wholesale, villages
burnt down and the inhabitants slain, with out distinction of Catholic
or heretic, and all the time the followers of Montfort deemed themselves
religious men. The Lateran Council actually invested Simon with the
sovereignty of the counties of Toulouse and Carcassonne; but he was
extremely hated there, and Count Raymond, recovering his liberty,
attacked him, and regained great part of his own dominions. Montfort was
besieging the town of Toulouse, when, while hearing mass, intelligence
was brought to him that the garrison were setting fire to his machines.
He rose from his knees, repeating the first verse of the Song of Simeon,
and rushing out to the battle, was struck on the head by a stone from a
mangonel on the walls, and killed on the spot, June 25, 1218. He was a
remarkable type of that character fostered by the system of the Middle
Ages, where ambition and cruelty existed side by side with austere
devotion, and were encouraged as if they did service to Heaven.
His second son, Simon, had the same strong sense of religion, together
with equal talents, and unusual beauty of person, skill in arms, and
winning grace of deportment. The elder son, Amaury, was the heir of
the county of Montfort, and for some time Simon remained landless, the
earldom of Leicester having been forfeited on account of the adherence
of the family to the party of Louis the Lion in the wars that followed
the signing of Magna Charta.
In 1232, however, young Simon came to England to attempt the recovery of
his mother’s inheritance, and his graceful manners and Southern tongue
at once delighted Henry III. Another heart was at the same time gained;
the King’s sister, Eleanor, who had been left a widow at sixteen by the
death of the brave Earl of Pembroke, had, in her first despair, made a
vow of perpetual widowhood, and received the ring of dedication from the
Archbishop; but at the end of six years all this was forgotten; she
fell in love with the handsome Provençal, and prevailed on the King to
sanction with his presence a hasty private wedding in St. Stephen’s
Chapel.
For some time the marriage remained a secret, and when it became known,
great was the indignation alike of clergy and laity. The Barons even
collected troops, and headed by Richard, the King’s brother, whom they
called the Staff of Fortitude, assembled at Southwark, and dreadfully
alarmed the poor King; but Montfort, who always possessed a great power
over men’s minds, managed to reconcile himself to Prince Richard, and to
disperse the other nobles. Still, the Archbishop termed it no marriage
at all, and Simon therefore set out at once for Rome, carrying letters
from Henry, and raising money by every means in his power, till he was
able to offer a sufficient bribe to obtain from the Pope a dispensation,
with which he returned to England a few days before the birth of his
eldest child, Henry.
Simon was now in high favor; the Barons, who at first looked on him as
one of the hated Southern adventurers, were gained over by his address
and adoption of their manners; and when, by the royal favor and the
formal cession by his brother Amaury, he obtained the earldom of
Leicester, they readily identified him with themselves. At court he was
highly beloved; his children were constantly at the palace; and in 1239,
when Edward, heir of the crown, was baptized, he was one of the nine
godfathers--an honor, perhaps, chiefly owing to his wealth, for this was
at one of the times when Henry’s finances were at so low an ebb that
he, or his messengers, made the birth of the child an excuse for their
rapacity. Each noble to whom the tidings were sent was obliged to make a
costly gift; and if he did not offer enough, his present was returned on
his hands with intimation that it must be increased. “God has given us
this child,” said a jester; “the King sells him to us.”
Montfort’s English popularity seems suddenly to have rendered the fickle
King jealous; for, to his great surprise, on the day of the churching
of the Queen, Henry suddenly met him, and forbade him to join in the
service, reviling him furiously for the circumstances of his marriage,
and ordering him at once to leave his dominions. Returning with his wife
to his lodgings, he was at once followed by messengers, ordering them
both away; and before sunset he was obliged to embark with Eleanor in a
small vessel, leaving behind them their infant son.
He placed his wife in safety in France, and proceeded to the Holy Land,
where he highly distinguished himself, and, as usual, gained every one’s
affection, so that the Barons of Palestine would fain have had him
for their leader in the absence of their young Queen Yolande and her
husband, Friedrich II. of Germany.
King Henry had forgotten his displeasure by the time he returned, and
the next ten years were spent in peace by the Earl and Countess, at
their castles of Kenilworth and Odiham, and the government of Gascony.
Their five sons were brought up as the playfellows of their royal
cousins, and were under the tutorship of the great Robert Grosteste,
while the noble and magnificent earl stood equally well with sovereign
and people. His chaplain, Adam de Marisco, seems to have been an
admirable man, who never failed to administer suitable reproofs to the
Countess for love of dress and other failings, all which she seems to
have taken in good part.
Meantime Henry was plunging deeper in debt and difficulty. Every time
his council met they charged him with breaches of the Great Charter, and
refusing, in spite of his promises and pleas, to grant him any money,
left him to devise means of obtaining it by extortion. The Jews had
always been considered a sort of lawful property of the sovereign,
who plundered them without remorse; but even this resource was not
inexhaustible, and he looked with covetous eyes on the prosperous
citizens of London. Once, when he was in great distress, and it was
suggested to him to pawn to them his plate and jewels, he broke out
passionately: “If the treasures of Augustus were put up to sale, these
clowns would buy them. Is it for them to assume the style of Barons,
and live sumptuously, while we are in want of the necessaries of life?”
Thenceforth he made still more unscrupulous demands of the citizens,
under the name of New-Year’s gifts, loans, &c.; and Queen Eleanor had
even less consideration, so that their Majesties became the objects of
the utmost hatred in the city.
In 1252 the Earl of Leicester was summoned from Gascony to answer
various charges of maladministration. His brother-in-law, Prince
Richard, took his part, with the two great Earls of Gloucester and
Hereford, and it was reported that he had pledged the Gascons by a
solemn oath not to make any complaint of his government. At any rate,
they declared their intention of withdrawing their allegiance if he were
superseded, and he himself refused to resign his post unless he were
repaid the sums he had expended.
“I am not bound to keep my word with a traitor,” said Henry--words which
put Simon into a passion, and he replied:
“It is a lie! and whoever said so, I will compel to eat his words. Who
can believe you to be a Christian prince? Do you ever go to confession?”
“A Christian I am; I have often been to confession.”
“Vain confession, without repentance and reparation!”
“I repent of nothing so much,” cried the King, “as having fattened one
who has so little gratitude and so much ill manners.”
The friends of Simon checked further reply. Henry’s wrath was like straw
on fire; but he forgot that by it he lighted a flame more enduring,
though at first less visible; and he was vexed when the offended
Montfort removed his eldest son, Henry, from court. However, Gascony was
wanted as a government for Prince Edward, who was only thirteen years
old, and therefore Leicester was forced to resign, though he would not
do so without full compensation, such as Henry was ill able to afford.
Yet, affronted as he was, when the office of high steward of France was
offered to him, he would not accept it, by the advice of Grosteste, lest
he should seem unfaithful to his master.
To carry Prince Edward to Guienne was at present Henry’s favorite
scheme, and for this end every means of raising money was resorted
to. The King met the parliament, as he had done often before, with
entreaties for a grant to enable him to go and redeem the Holy
Sepulchre; but this had been far too frequently tried, and was
unnoticed; so he next tried the bribe of confirmation of the charters.
All the assembly went to Westminster Abbey, the bishops and abbots
carrying tapers, and there the Archbishop of Canterbury pronounced
sentence of excommunication against whosoever should infringe these
charters. As he spoke, the tapers were dashed at once on the ground,
with the words, “May his soul who incurs this sentence be thus
extinguished for ever!” while Henry added, “So help me God! I will
keep these charters, as I am a man, as I am a Christian, as I am a
knight, as I am a king crowned and anointed.”
Yet a few days after, when the parliament was dismissed and the money in
his hands, the temptation to transgress the charter again occurred. His
conscience was still overawed, and he hesitated; but his uncles and
half-brothers bade him remember that, while he kept his oath, he was but
the shadow of a King, and that, should he scruple, three hundred marks
sent to the Pope would purchase his dispensation and discharge him of
guilt.