"Il est bon de connaitre les delires de l'esprit humain. Chaque people
a ses folies plus ou moins grossieres."
MILLOT
MEMORIES OF EXTRAORDINARY POPULAR DELUSIONS
VOL II.
BY
CHARLES MACKAY
CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME.
THE CRUSADES
THE WITCH MANIA
THE SLOW POISONERS
HAUNTED HOUSES
THE CRUSADES ....
They heard, and up they sprung upon the wing
Innumerable. As when the potent rod
Of Amram's son, in Egypt's evil day,
Waved round the coast, up call'd a pitchy cloud
Of locusts, warping on the eastern wind
That o'er the realm of impious Pharaoh hung
Like night, and darken'd all the realm of Nile,
So numberless were they. * * *
* * * * * * * *
All in a moment through the gloom were seen
Ten thousand banners rise into the air,
With orient colours waving. With them rose
A forest huge of spears; and thronging helms
Appear'd, and serried shields, in thick array,
Of depth immeasurable.
Paradise Lost.
Every age has its peculiar folly--some scheme, project, or phantasy
into which it plunges, spurred on either by the love of gain, the
necessity of excitement, or the mere force of imitation. Failing in
these, it has some madness, to which it is goaded by political or
religious causes, or both combined. Every one of these causes
influenced the Crusades, and conspired to render them the most
extraordinary instance upon record of the extent to which popular
enthusiasm can be carried. History in her solemn page informs us, that
the crusaders were but ignorant and savage men, that their motives were
those of bigotry unmitigated, and that their pathway was one of blood
and tears. Romance, on the other hand, dilates upon their piety and
heroism and pourtrays in her most glowing and impassioned hues their
virtue and magnanimity, the imperishable honour they acquired for
themselves, and the great services they rendered to Christianity. In
the following pages we shall ransack the stores of both, to discover
the true spirit that animated the motley multitude who took up arms in
the service of the Cross, leaving history to vouch for facts, but not
disdaining the aid of contemporary poetry and romance to throw light
upon feelings, motives, and opinions.
In order to understand thoroughly the state of public feeling in Europe
at the time when Peter the Hermit preached the holy war, it will be
necessary to go back for many years anterior to that event. We must
make acquaintance with the pilgrims of the eighth, ninth, and tenth
centuries, and learn the tales they told of the dangers they had
passed, and the wonders they had seen. Pilgrimages to the Holy Land
seem at first to have been undertaken by converted Jews, and by
Christian devotees of lively imagination, pining with a natural
curiosity to visit the scenes which of all others were most interesting
in their eyes. The pious and the impious alike flocked to
Jerusalem,--the one class to feast their sight on the scenes hallowed
by the life and sufferings of their Lord, and the other, because it
soon became a generally received opinion, that such a pilgrimage was
sufficient to rub off the long score of sins, however atrocious.
Another and very numerous class of pilgrims were the idle and roving,
who visited Palestine then as the moderns visit Italy or Switzerland
now, because it was the fashion, and because they might please their
vanity by retailing, on their return, the adventures they had met with.
But the really pious formed the great majority. Every year their
numbers increased, until at last they became so numerous as to be
called the "armies of the Lord." Full of enthusiasm, they set the
danger and difficulty of the way at defiance, and lingered with holy
rapture on every scene described in the Evangelists. To them it was
bliss indeed to drink the clear waters of the Jordan, or be baptized in
the same stream where John had baptized the Saviour. They wandered with
awe and pleasure in the purlieus of the Temple, on the solemn Mount of
Olives, or the awful Calvary, where a God had bled for sinful men. To
these pilgrims every object was precious. Relics were eagerly sought
after; flagons of water from Jordan, or paniers of mould from the hill
of the Crucifixion, were brought home, and sold at extravagant prices
to churches and monasteries. More apocryphical relics, such as the wood
of the true cross, the tears of the Virgin Mary, the hems of her
garments, the toe-nails and hair of the Apostles--even the tents that
Paul had helped to manufacture--were exhibited for sale by the knavish
in Palestine, and brought back to Europe "with wondrous cost and care."
A grove of a hundred oaks would not have furnished all the wood sold in
little morsels as remnants of the true cross; and the tears of Mary, if
collected together, would have filled a cistern.
For upwards of two hundred years the pilgrims met with no impediment in
Palestine. The enlightened Haroun Al Reschid, and his more immediate
successors, encouraged the stream which brought so much wealth into
Syria, and treated the wayfarers with the utmost courtesy. The race of
Fatemite caliphs,--who, although in other respects as tolerant, were
more distressed for money, or more unscrupulous in obtaining it, than
their predecessors of the house of Abbas,--imposed a tax of a bezant
for each pilgrim that entered Jerusalem. This was a serious hardship
upon the poorer sort, who had begged their weary way across Europe, and
arrived at the bourne of all their hopes without a coin. A great outcry
was immediately raised, but still the tax was rigorously levied. The
pilgrims unable to pay were compelled to remain at the gate of the holy
city until some rich devotee arriving with his train, paid the tax and
let them in. Robert of Normandy, father of William the Conqueror, who,
in common with many other nobles of the highest rank, undertook the
pilgrimage, found on his arrival scores of pilgrims at the gate,
anxiously expecting his coming to pay the tax for them. Upon no
occasion was such a boon refused.
The sums drawn from this source were a mine of wealth to the Moslem
governors of Palestine, imposed as the tax had been at a time when
pilgrimages had become more numerous than ever. A strange idea had
taken possession of the popular mind at the close of the tenth and
commencement of the eleventh century. It was universally believed that
the end of the world was at hand; that the thousand years of the
Apocalypse were near completion, and that Jesus Christ would descend
upon Jerusalem to judge mankind. All Christendom was in commotion. A
panic terror seized upon the weak, the credulous, and the guilty, who
in those days formed more than nineteen twentieths of the population.
Forsaking their homes, kindred, and occupation, they crowded to
Jerusalem to await the coming of the Lord, lightened, as they imagined,
of a load of sin by their weary pilgrimage. To increase the panic, the
stars were observed to fall from heaven, earthquakes to shake the land,
and violent hurricanes to blow down the forests. All these, and more
especially the meteoric phenomena, were looked upon as the forerunners
of the approaching judgments. Not a meteor shot athwart the horizon
that did not fill a district with alarm, and send away to Jerusalem a
score of pilgrims, with staff in hand and wallet on their back, praying
as they went for the remission of their sins. Men, women, and even
children, trudged in droves to the holy city, in expectation of the day
when the heavens would open, and the Son of God descend in his glory.
This extraordinary delusion, while it augmented the numbers, increased
also the hardships of the pilgrims. Beggars became so numerous on all
the highways between the west of Europe and Constantinople that the
monks, the great alms-givers upon these occasions, would have brought
starvation within sight of their own doors, if they had not economized
their resources, and left the devotees to shift for themselves as they
could. Hundreds of them were glad to subsist upon the berries that
ripened by the road, who, before this great flux, might have shared the
bread and flesh of the monasteries.
But this was not the greatest of their difficulties. On their arrival
in Jerusalem they found that a sterner race had obtained possession of
the Holy Land. The caliphs of Bagdad had been succeeded by the harsh
Turks of the race of Seljook, who looked upon the pilgrims with
contempt and aversion. The Turks of the eleventh century were more
ferocious and less scrupulous than the Saracens of the tenth. They were
annoyed at the immense number of pilgrims who overran the country, and
still more so because they showed no intention of quitting it. The
hourly expectation of the last judgment kept them waiting; and the
Turks, apprehensive of being at last driven from the soil by the swarms
that were still arriving, heaped up difficulties in their way.
Persecution of every kind awaited them. They were plundered, and beaten
with stripes, and kept in suspense for months at the gates of
Jerusalem, unable to pay the golden bezant that was to facilitate their
entrance.
When the first epidemic terror of the day of judgment began to subside,
a few pilgrims ventured to return to Europe, their hearts big with
indignation at the insults they had suffered. Everywhere as they passed
they related to a sympathizing auditory the wrongs of Christendom.
Strange to say, even these recitals increased the mania for pilgrimage.
The greater the dangers of the way, the more chance that sins of deep
dye would be atoned for. Difficulty and suffering only heightened the
merit, and fresh hordes issued from every town and village, to win
favour in the sight of Heaven by a visit to the holy sepulchre. Thus
did things continue during the whole of the eleventh century.
The train that was to explode so fearfully was now laid, and there
wanted but the hand to apply the torch. At last the man appeared upon
the scene. Like all who have ever achieved so great an end, Peter the
hermit was exactly suited to the age; neither behind it, nor in advance
of it; but acute enough to penetrate its mystery ere it was discovered
by any other. Enthusiastic, chivalrous, bigoted, and, if not insane,
not far removed from insanity, he was the very prototype of the time.
True enthusiasm is always persevering and always eloquent, and these
two qualities were united in no common degree in the person of this
extraordinary preacher. He was a monk of Amiens, and ere he assumed the
hood had served as a soldier. He is represented as having been ill
favoured and low in stature, but with an eye of surpassing brightness
and intelligence. Having been seized with the mania of the age, he
visited Jerusalem, and remained there till his blood boiled to see the
cruel persecution heaped upon the devotees. On his return home he shook
the world by the eloquent story of their wrongs.
Before entering into any further details of the astounding results of
his preaching, it will be advisable to cast a glance at the state of
the mind of Europe, that we may understand all the better the causes of
his success. First of all, there was the priesthood, which, exercising
as it did the most conspicuous influence upon the fortunes of society,
claims the largest share of attention. Religion was the ruling idea of
that day, and the only civiliser capable of taming such wolves as then
constituted the flock of the faithful. The clergy were all in all; and
though they kept the popular mind in the most slavish subjection with
regard to religious matters, they furnished it with the means of
defence against all other oppression except their own. In the
ecclesiastical ranks were concentrated all the true piety, all the
learning, all the wisdom of the time; and, as a natural consequence, a
great portion of power, which their very wisdom perpetually incited
them to extend. The people knew nothing of kings and nobles, except in
the way of injuries inflicted. The first ruled for, or more properly
speaking against, the barons, and the barons only existed to brave the
power of the kings, or to trample with their iron heels upon the neck
of prostrate democracy. The latter had no friend but the clergy, and
these, though they necessarily instilled the superstition from which
they themselves were not exempt, yet taught the cheering doctrine that
all men were equal in the sight of heaven. Thus, while Feudalism told
them they had no rights in this world, Religion told them they had
every right in the next. With this consolation they were for the time
content, for political ideas had as yet taken no root. When the clergy,
for other reasons, recommended the Crusade, the people joined in it
with enthusiasm. The subject of Palestine filled all minds; the
pilgrims' tales of two centuries warmed every imagination; and when
their friends, their guides, and their instructors preached a war so
much in accordance with their own prejudices and modes of thinking, the
enthusiasm rose into a frenzy.
But while religion inspired the masses, another agent was at work upon
the nobility. These were fierce and lawless; tainted with every vice,
endowed with no virtue, and redeemed by one good quality alone, that of
courage. The only religion they felt was the religion of fear. That
and their overboiling turbulence alike combined to guide them to the
Holy Land. Most of them had sins enough to answer for. They lived with
their hand against every man; and with no law but their own passions.
They set at defiance the secular power of the clergy, but their hearts
quailed at the awful denunciations of the pulpit with regard to the
life to come. War was the business and the delight of their existence;
and when they were promised remission of all their sins upon the easy
condition of following their favourite bent, is it to be wondered at
that they rushed with enthusiasm to the onslaught, and became as
zealous in the service of the Cross as the great majority of the
people, who were swayed by more purely religious motives? Fanaticism
and the love of battle alike impelled them to the war, while the kings
and princes of Europe had still another motive for encouraging their
zeal. Policy opened their eyes to the great advantages which would
accrue to themselves, by the absence of so many restless, intriguing,
and blood-thirsty men, whose insolence it required more than the small
power of royalty to restrain within due bounds. Thus every motive was
favourable to the Crusades. Every class of society was alike incited to
join or encourage the war; kings and the clergy by policy, the nobles
by turbulence and the love of dominion, and the people by religious
zeal and the concentrated enthusiasm of two centuries, skilfully
directed by their only instructors.
It was in Palestine itself that Peter the Hermit first conceived the
grand idea of rousing the powers of Christendom to rescue the
Christians of the East from the thraldom of the Mussulmans, and the
sepulchre of Jesus from the rude hands of the infidel. The subject
engrossed his whole mind. Even in the visions of the night he was full
of it. One dream made such an impression upon him, that he devoutly
believed the Saviour of the world himself appeared before him, and
promised him aid and protection in his holy undertaking. If his zeal
had ever wavered before, this was sufficient to fix it for ever.
Peter, after he had performed all the penances and duties of his
pilgrimage, demanded an interview with Simeon, the Patriarch of the
Greek Church at Jerusalem. Though the latter was a heretic in Peter's
eyes, yet he was still a Christian, and felt as acutely as himself for
the persecutions heaped by the Turks upon the followers of Jesus. The
good prelate entered fully into his views, and, at his suggestion,
wrote letters to the Pope, and to the most influential monarchs of
Christendom, detailing the sorrows of the faithful, and urging them to
take up arms in their defence. Peter was not a laggard in the work.
Taking an affectionate farewell of the Patriarch, he returned in all
haste to Italy. Pope Urban II. occupied the apostolic chair. It was at
that time far from being an easy seat. His predecessor, Gregory, had
bequeathed him a host of disputes with the Emperor Henry IV. of
Germany, and he had made Philip I. of France his enemy by his strenuous
opposition to an adulterous connexion formed by that monarch. So many
dangers encompassed him about, that the Vatican was no secure abode,
and he had taken refuge in Apulia, under the protection of the renowned
Robert Guiscard. Thither Peter appears to have followed him, though in
what spot their meeting took place is not stated with any precision by
ancient chroniclers or modern historians. Urban received him most
kindly; read, with tears in his eyes, the epistle from the Patriarch
Simeon, and listened to the eloquent story of the Hermit with an
attention which showed how deeply he sympathised with the woes of the
Christian church. Enthusiasm is contagious, and the Pope appears to
have caught it instantly from one whose zeal was so unbounded. Giving
the Hermit full powers, he sent him abroad to preach the holy war to
all the nations and potentates of Christendom. The Hermit preached,
and countless thousands answered to his call. France, Germany, and
Italy started at his voice, and prepared for the deliverance of Zion.
One of the early historians of the Crusade, who was himself an
eye-witness of the rapture of Europe, [Guibert de Nogent] describes the
personal appearance of the Hermit at this time. He says, that there
appeared to be something of divine in every thing which he said or did.
The people so highly reverenced him, that they plucked hairs from the
mane of his mule, that they might keep them as relics. While preaching,
he wore in general a woollen tunic, with a dark-coloured mantle, which
fell down to his heels. His arms and feet were bare, and he ate neither
flesh nor bread, supporting himself chiefly upon fish and wine. "He set
out," says the chronicler, "from whence I know not; but we saw him
passing through the towns and villages, preaching every where, and the
people surrounding him in crowds, loading him with offerings, and
celebrating his sanctity with such great praises that I never remember
to have seen such honours bestowed upon any one." Thus he went on,
untired, inflexible, and full of devotion, communicating his own
madness to his hearers, until Europe was stirred from its very depths.
While the Hermit was appealing with such signal success to the people,
the Pope appealed with as much success to those who were to become the
chiefs and leaders of the expedition. His first step was to call a
council at Placentia, in the autumn of the year 1095. Here, in the
assembly of the clergy, the Pope debated the grand scheme, and gave
audience to emissaries who had been sent from Constantinople by the
Emperor of the East to detail the progress made by the Turks in their
design of establishing themselves in Europe. The clergy were of course
unanimous in support of the Crusade, and the council separated, each
individual member of it being empowered to preach it to his people.
But Italy could not be expected to furnish all the aid required; and
the Pope crossed the Alps to inspire the fierce and powerful nobility
and chivalrous population of Gaul. His boldness in entering the
territory, and placing himself in the power of his foe, King Philip of
France, is not the least surprising feature of his mission. Some have
imagined that cool policy alone actuated him, while others assert, that
it was mere zeal, as warm and as blind as that of Peter the Hermit. The
latter opinion seems to be the true one. Society did not calculate the
consequences of what it was doing. Every man seemed to act from impulse
only; and the Pope, in throwing himself into the heart of France, acted
as much from impulse as the thousands who responded to his call. A
council was eventually summoned to meet him at Clermont, in Auvergne,
to consider the state of the church, reform abuses, and, above all,
make preparations for the war. It was in the midst of an extremely cold
winter, and the ground was covered with snow. During seven days the
council sat with closed doors, while immense crowds from all parts of
France flocked into the town, in expectation that the Pope himself
would address the people. All the towns and villages for miles around
were filled with the multitude; even the fields were encumbered with
people, who, unable to procure lodging, pitched their tents under the
trees and by the way-side. All the neighbourhood presented the
appearance of a vast camp.
During the seven days' deliberation, a sentence of excommunication was
passed upon King Philip for adultery with Bertrade de Montfort,
Countess of Anjou, and for disobedience to the supreme authority of the
apostolic see. This bold step impressed the people with reverence for
so stern a church, which in the discharge of its duty showed itself no
respecter of persons. Their love and their fear were alike increased,
and they were prepared to listen with more intense devotion to the
preaching of so righteous and inflexible a pastor. The great square
before the cathedral church of Clermont became every instant more
densely crowded as the hour drew nigh when the Pope was to address the
populace. Issuing from the church in his frill canonicals, surrounded
by his cardinals and bishops in all the splendour of Romish
ecclesiastical costume, the Pope stood before the populace on a high
scaffolding erected for the occasion, and covered with scarlet cloth.
A brilliant array of bishops and cardinals surrounded him; and among
them, humbler in rank, but more important in the world's eye, the
Hermit Peter, dressed in his simple and austere habiliments.
Historians differ as to whether or not Peter addressed the crowd, but
as all agree that he was present, it seems reasonable to suppose that
he spoke. But it was the oration of the Pope that was most important.
As he lifted up his hands to ensure attention, every voice immediately
became still. He began by detailing the miseries endured by their
brethren in the Holy Land; how the plains of Palestine were desolated
by the outrageous heathen, who with the sword and the firebrand carried
wailing into the dwellings and flames into the possessions of the
faithful; how Christian wives and daughters were defiled by pagan lust;
how the altars of the true God were desecrated, and the relics of the
saints trodden under foot. "You," continued the eloquent pontiff, (and
Urban the Second was one of the most eloquent men of the day,) "you,
who hear me, and who have received the true faith, and been endowed by
God with power, and strength, and greatness of soul,--whose ancestors
have been the prop of Christendom, and whose kings have put a barrier
against the progress of the infidel,--I call upon you to wipe off these
impurities from the face of the earth, and lift your oppressed
fellow-christians from the depths into which they have been trampled.
The sepulchre of Christ is possessed by the heathen, the sacred places
dishonoured by their vileness. Oh, brave knights and faithful people!
offspring of invincible fathers! ye will not degenerate from your
ancient renown. Ye will not be restrained from embarking in this great
cause by the tender ties of wife or little ones, but will remember the
words of the Saviour of the world himself, 'Whosoever loves father and
mother more than me is not worthy of me. Whosoever shall abandon for
my name's sake his house, or his brethren, or his sisters, or his
father, or his mother, or his wife, or his children, or his lands,
shall receive a hundredfold, and shall inherit eternal life.'"
The warmth of the pontiff communicated itself to the crowd, and the
enthusiasm of the people broke out several times ere he concluded his
address. He went on to pourtray, not only the spiritual but the
temporal advantages, that should accrue to those who took up arms in
the service of the Cross. Palestine was, he said, a land flowing with
milk and honey, and precious in the sight of God, as the scene of the
grand events which had saved mankind. That land, he promised, should be
divided among them. Moreover, they should have full pardon for all
their offences, either against God or man. "Go, then," he added, "in
expiation of your sins; and go assured, that after this world shall
have passed away, imperishable glory shall be yours in the world which
is to come." The enthusiasm was no longer to be restrained, and loud
shouts interrupted the speaker; the people exclaiming as if with one
voice, "Dieu le veult! Dieu le veult!" With great presence of mind
Urban took advantage of the outburst, and as soon as silence was
obtained, continued: "Dear brethren, to-day is shown forth in you that
which the Lord has said by his evangelist, 'When two or three are
gathered together in my name, there will I be in the midst of them to
bless them.' If the Lord God had not been in your souls, you would not
all have pronounced the same words; or rather God himself pronounced
them by your lips, for it was He that put them in your hearts. Be they,
then, your war-cry in the combat, for those words came forth from God.
Let the army of the Lord when it rushes upon His enemies shout but that
one cry, 'Dieu le veult! Dieu le veult!' Let whoever is inclined to
devote himself to this holy cause make it a solemn engagement, and bear
the cross of the Lord either on his breast or his brow till he set out,
and let him who is ready to begin his march place the holy emblem on
his shoulders, in memory of that precept of our Saviour, 'He who does
not take up his cross and follow me is not worthy of me.'"
The news of this council spread to the remotest parts of Europe in an
incredibly short space of time. Long before the fleetest horseman could
have brought the intelligence it was known by the people in distant
provinces, a fact which was considered as nothing less than
supernatural. But the subject was in everybody's mouth, and the minds
of men were prepared for the result. The enthusiastic only asserted
what they wished, and the event tallied with their prediction. This
was, however, quite enough in those days for a miracle, and as a
miracle every one regarded it.
For several months after the council of Clermont, France and Germany
presented a singular spectacle. The pious, the fanatic, the needy, the
dissolute, the young and the old, even women and children, and the halt
and lame, enrolled themselves by hundreds. In every village the clergy
were busied in keeping up the excitement, promising eternal rewards to
those who assumed the red cross, and fulminating the most awful
denunciations against all the worldly-minded who refused or even
hesitated. Every debtor who joined the crusade was freed by the papal
edict from the claims of his creditors; outlaws of every grade were
made equal with the honest upon the same conditions. The property of
those who went was placed under the protection of the church, and St.
Paul and St. Peter themselves were believed to descend from their high
abode, to watch over the chattels of the absent pilgrims. Signs and
portents were seen in the air to increase the fervour of the multitude.
An aurora-borealis of unusual brilliancy appeared, and thousands of the
crusaders came out to gaze upon it, prostrating themselves upon the
earth in adoration. It was thought to be a sure prognostic of the
interposition of the Most High; and a representation of his armies
fighting with and overthrowing the infidels. Reports of wonders were
everywhere rife. A monk had seen two gigantic warriors on horseback,
the one representing a Christian and the other a Turk, fighting in the
sky with flaming swords, the Christian of course overcoming the Paynim.
Myriads of stars were said to have fallen from heaven, each
representing the fall of a Pagan foe. It was believed at the same time
that the Emperor Charlemagne would rise from the grave, and lead on to
victory the embattled armies of the Lord. A singular feature of the
popular madness was the enthusiasm of the women. Everywhere they
encouraged their lovers and husbands to forsake all things for the holy
war. Many of them burned the sign of the cross upon their breasts and
arms, and coloured the wound with a red dye, as a lasting memorial of
their zeal. Others, still more zealous, impressed the mark by the same
means upon the tender limbs of young children and infants at the breast.
Guibert de Nogent tells of a monk who made a large incision upon his
forehead in the form of a cross, which he coloured with some powerful
ingredient, telling the people that an angel had done it when he was
asleep. This monk appears to have been more of a rogue than a fool, for
he contrived to fare more sumptuously than any of his brother pilgrims,
upon the strength of his sanctity. The crusaders everywhere gave him
presents of food and money, and he became quite fat ere he arrived at
Jerusalem, notwithstanding the fatigues of the way. If he had
acknowledged in the first place that he had made the wound himself, he
would not have been thought more holy than his fellows; but the story
of the angel was a clincher.
All those who had property of any description rushed to the mart to
change it into hard cash. Lands and houses could be had for a quarter
of their value, while arms and accoutrements of war rose in the same
proportion. Corn, which had been excessively dear in anticipation of a
year of scarcity, suddenly became plentiful; and such was the
diminution in the value of provisions, that seven sheep were sold for
five deniers.[Guibert de Nogent] The nobles mortgaged their estates for
mere trifles to Jews and unbelievers, or conferred charters of immunity
upon the towns and communes within their fiefs, for sums which, a few
years previously, they would have rejected with disdain. The farmer
endeavoured to sell his plough, and the artisan his tools, to purchase
a sword for the deliverance of Jerusalem. Women disposed of their
trinkets for the same purpose. During the spring and summer of this
year (1096) the roads teemed with crusaders, all hastening to the towns
and villages appointed as the rendezvous of the district. Some were on
horseback, some in carts, and some came down the rivers in boats and
rafts, bringing their wives and children, all eager to go to Jerusalem.
Very few knew where Jerusalem was. Some thought it fifty thousand miles
away, while others imagined that it was but a month's journey, while at
sight of every town or castle, the children exclaimed, "Is that
Jerusalem? Is that the city?" [Guibert de Nogent] Parties of knights
and nobles might be seen travelling eastward, and amusing themselves as
they went with the knightly diversion of hawking to lighten the
fatigues of the way.
Guibert de Nogent, who did not write from hearsay, but from actual
observation, says, the enthusiasm was so contagious, that when any one
heard the orders of the Pontiff, he went instantly to solicit his
neighbours and friends to join with him in "the way of God," for so
they called the proposed expedition. The Counts Palatine were full of
the desire to undertake the journey, and all the inferior knights were
animated with the same zeal. Even the poor caught the flame so
ardently, that no one paused to think of the inadequacy of his means,
or to consider whether he ought to yield up his house and his vine and
his fields. Each one set about selling his property, at as low a price
as if he had been held in some horrible captivity, and sought to pay
his ransom without loss of time. Those who had not determined upon the
journey, joked and laughed at those who were thus disposing of their
goods at such ruinous prices, prophesying that the expedition would be
miserable and their return worse. But they held this language only for
a day. The next, they were suddenly seized with the same frenzy as the
rest. Those who had been loudest in their jeers gave up all their
property for a few crowns, and set out with those they had so laughed
at a few hours before. In most cases the laugh was turned against them,
for when it became known that a man was hesitating, his more zealous
neighbours sent him a present of a knitting needle or a distaff, to
show their contempt of him. There was no resisting this, so that the
fear of ridicule contributed its fair contingent to the armies of the
Lord.
Another effect of the crusade was, the religious obedience with which
it inspired the people and the nobility for that singular institution
"The Truce of God." At the commencement of the eleventh century, the
clergy of France, sympathizing for the woes of the people, but unable
to diminish them, by repressing the rapacity and insolence of the
feudal chiefs, endeavoured to promote universal good-will by the
promulgation of the famous "Peace of God." All who conformed to it
bound themselves by oath not to take revenge for any injury, not to
enjoy the fruits of property usurped from others, nor to use deadly
weapons; in reward of which they would receive remission of all their
sins. However benevolent the intention of this "Peace," it led to
nothing but perjury, and violence reigned as uncontrolled as before. In
the year 1041 another attempt was made to soften the angry passions of
the semi-barbarous chiefs, and the "Truce of God" was solemnly
proclaimed. The truce lasted from the Wednesday evening to the Monday
morning of every week, in which interval it was strictly forbidden to
recur to violence on any pretext, or to seek revenge for any injury. It
was impossible to civilize men by these means; few even promised to
become peaceable for so unconscionable a period as five days a week;
or, if they did, they made ample amends on the two days left open to
them. The truce was afterwards shortened from the Saturday evening to
the Monday morning; but little or no diminution of violence and
bloodshed was the consequence. At the council of Clermont, Urban II.
again solemnly proclaimed the truce. So strong was the religious
feeling, that every one hastened to obey. All minor passions
disappeared before the grand passion of crusading; the noble ceased to
oppress, the robber to plunder, and the people to complain; but one
idea was in all hearts, and there seemed to be no room for any other.
The encampments of these heterogeneous multitudes offered a singular
aspect. Those vassals who ranged themselves under the banners of their
lord, erected tents around his castle; while those who undertook the
war on their own account, constructed booths and huts in the
neighbourhood of the towns or villages, preparatory to their joining
some popular leader of the expedition. The meadows of France were
covered with tents. As the belligerents were to have remission of all
their sins on their arrival in Palestine, hundreds of them gave
themselves up to the most unbounded licentiousness: the courtezan, with
the red cross upon her shoulders, plied her shameless trade with
sensual pilgrims, without scruple on either side: the lover of good
cheer gave loose rein to his appetite, and drunkenness and debauchery
flourished. Their zeal in the service of the Lord was to wipe out all
faults and follies, and they had the same surety of salvation as the
rigid anchorite. This reasoning had charms for the ignorant, and the
sounds of lewd revelry and the voice of prayer rose at the same instant
from the camp.
It is now time to speak of the leaders of the expedition. Great
multitudes ranged themselves under the command of Peter the Hermit,
whom, as the originator, they considered the most appropriate leader of
the war. Others joined the banner of a bold adventurer, whom history
has dignified with no other name than that of Gautier sans Avoir, or
Walter the Pennyless, but who is represented as having been of noble
family, and well skilled in the art of war. A third multitude from
Germany flocked around the standard of a monk, named Gottschalk, of
whom nothing is known, except that he was a fanatic of the deepest dye.
All these bands, which together are said to have amounted to three
hundred thousand men, women, and children, were composed of the vilest
rascality of Europe. Without discipline, principle, or true courage,
they rushed through the nations like a pestilence, spreading terror and
death wherever they went. The first multitude that set forth was led by
Walter the Pennyless early in the spring of 1096, within a very few
months after the Council of Clermont. Each man of that irregular host
aspired to be his own master: like their nominal leader, each was poor
to penury, and trusted for subsistence on his journey to the chances of
the road. Rolling through Germany like a tide, they entered Hungary,
where, at first, they were received with some degree of kindness by the
people. The latter had not yet caught sufficient of the fire of
enthusiasm to join the crusade themselves, but were willing enough to
forward the cause by aiding those embarked in it. Unfortunately, this
good understanding did not last long. The swarm were not contented with
food for their necessities, but craved for luxuries also: they attacked
and plundered the dwellings of the country people, and thought nothing
of murder where resistance was offered. On their arrival before Semlin,
the outraged Hungarians collected in large numbers, and, attacking the
rear of the crusading host, slew a great many of the stragglers, and,
taking away their arms and crosses, affixed them as trophies to the
walls of the city. Walter appears to have been in no mood or condition
to make reprisals; for his army, destructive as a plague of locusts
when plunder urged them on, were useless against any regular attack
from a determined enemy. Their rear continued to be thus harassed by
the wrathful Hungarians until they were fairly out of their territory.
On his entrance into Bulgaria, Walter met with no better fate; the
cities and towns refused to let him pass; the villages denied him
provisions; and the citizens and country people uniting, slaughtered
his followers by hundreds. The progress of the army was more like a
retreat than an advance; but as it was impossible to stand still,
Walter continued his course till he arrived at Constantinople, with a
force which famine and the sword had diminished to one-third of its
original number.
The greater multitude, led by the enthusiastic Hermit, followed close
upon his heels, with a bulky train of baggage, and women and children,
sufficient to form a host of themselves. If it were possible to find a
rabble more vile than the army of Walter the Pennyless it was that led
by Peter the Hermit. Being better provided with means, they were not
reduced to the necessity of pillage in their progress through Hungary;
and had they taken any other route than that which led through Semlin,
might perhaps have traversed the country without molestation. On their
arrival before that city, their fury was raised at seeing the arms and
red crosses of their predecessors hanging as trophies over the gates.
Their pent-up ferocity exploded at the sight. The city was
tumultuously attacked, and the besiegers entering, not by dint of
bravery, but of superior numbers, it was given up to all the horrors
which follow when Victory, Brutality, and Licentiousness are linked
together. Every evil passion was allowed to revel with impunity, and
revenge, lust, and avarice,--each had its hundred victims in unhappy
Semlin. Any maniac can kindle a conflagration, but it requires many
wise men to put it out. Peter the Hermit had blown the popular fury
into a flame, but to cool it again was beyond his power. His followers
rioted unrestrained, until the fear of retaliation warned them to
desist. When the King of Hungary was informed of the disasters of
Semlin, he marched with a sufficient force to chastise the Hermit, who
at the news broke up his camp and retreated towards the Morava, a broad
and rapid stream that joins the Danube a few miles to the eastward of
Belgrade. Here a party of indignant Bulgarians awaited him, and so
harassed him as to make the passage of the river a task both of
difficulty and danger. Great numbers of his infatuated followers
perished in the waters, and many fell under the swords of the
Bulgarians. The ancient chronicles do not mention the amount of the
Hermit's loss at this passage, but represent it in general terms as
very great.
At Nissa the Duke of Bulgaria fortified himself, in fear of an assault;
but Peter, having learned a little wisdom from experience, thought it
best to avoid hostilities. He passed three nights in quietness under
the walls, and the duke, not wishing to exasperate unnecessarily so
fierce and rapacious a host, allowed the townspeople to supply them
with provisions. Peter took his departure peaceably on the following
morning, but some German vagabonds falling behind the main body of the
army, set fire to the mills and house of a Bulgarian, with whom, it
appears, they had had some dispute on the previous evening. The
citizens of Nissa, who had throughout mistrusted the crusaders, and
were prepared for the worst, sallied out immediately, and took signal
vengeance. The spoilers were cut to pieces, and the townspeople
pursuing the Hermit, captured all the women and children who had lagged
in the rear, and a great quantity of baggage. Peter hereupon turned
round and marched back to Nissa, to demand explanation of the Duke of
Bulgaria. The latter fairly stated the provocation given, and the
Hermit could urge nothing in palliation of so gross an outrage. A
negotiation was entered into which promised to be successful, and the
Bulgarians were about to deliver up the women and children when a party
of undisciplined crusaders, acting solely upon their own suggestion,
endeavoured to scale the walls and seize upon the town. Peter in vain
exerted his authority; the confusion became general, and after a short
but desperate battle, the crusaders threw down their arms and fled in
all directions. Their vast host was completely routed, the slaughter
being so great among them as to be counted, not by hundreds, but by
thousands.
It is said that the Hermit fled from this fatal field to a forest a few
miles from Nissa, abandoned by every human creature. It would be
curious to know whether, after so dire a reverse,
. . . . . . . . . . "His enpierced breast
Sharp sorrow did in thousand pieces rive,"
or whether his fiery zeal still rose superior to calamity, and pictured
the eventual triumph of his cause. He, so lately the leader of a
hundred thousand men, was now a solitary skulker in the forests, liable
at every instant to be discovered by some pursuing Bulgarian, and cut
off in mid career. Chance at last brought him within sight of an
eminence where two or three of his bravest knights had collected five
hundred of the stragglers. These gladly received the Hermit, and a
consultation having taken place, it was resolved to gather together the
scattered remnants of the army. Fires were lighted on the hill, and
scouts sent out in all directions for the fugitives. Horns were sounded
at intervals to make known that friends were near, and before nightfall
the Hermit saw himself at the head of seven thousand men. During the
succeeding day he was joined by twenty thousand more, and with this
miserable remnant of his force he pursued his route towards
Constantinople. The bones of the rest mouldered in the forests of
Bulgaria.
On his arrival at Constantinople, where he found Walter the Pennyless
awaiting him, he was hospitably received by the Emperor Alexius. It
might have been expected that the sad reverses they had undergone would
have taught his followers common prudence; but, unhappily for them,
their turbulence and love of plunder were not to be restrained.
Although they were surrounded by friends, by whom all their wants were
liberally supplied, they could not refrain from rapine. In vain the
Hermit exhorted them to tranquillity; he possessed no more power over
them, in subduing their passions, than the obscurest soldier of the
host, They set fire to several public buildings in Constantinople, out
of pure mischief, and stripped the lead from the roofs of the churches,
which, they afterwards sold for old metal in the purlieus of the city.
From this time may be dated the aversion which the Emperor Alexius
entertained for the crusaders, and which was afterwards manifested in
all his actions, even when he had to deal with the chivalrous and more
honourable armies which arrived after the Hermit. He seems to have
imagined that the Turks themselves were enemies less formidable to his
power than these outpourings of the refuse of Europe: he soon found a
pretext to hurry them into Asia Minor. Peter crossed the Bosphorus with
Walter, but the excesses of his followers were such, that, despairing
of accomplishing any good end by remaining at their head, he left them
to themselves, and returned to Constantinople, on the pretext of making
arrangements with the government of Alexius for a proper supply of
provisions. The crusaders, forgetting that they were in the enemy's
country, and that union, above all things, was desirable, gave
themselves up to dissensions. Violent disputes arose between the
Lombards and Normans, commanded by Walter the Pennyless, and the Franks
and Germans, led out by Peter. The latter separated themselves from the
former, and, choosing for their leader one Reinaldo, or Reinhold,
marched forward, and took possession of the fortress of Exorogorgon.
The Sultan Solimaun was on the alert, with a superior force. A party of
crusaders, which had been detached from the fort, and stationed at a
little distance as an ambuscade, were surprised and cut to pieces, and
Exorogorgon invested on all sides. The siege was protracted for eight
days, during which the Christians suffered the most acute agony from
the want of water. It is hard to say how long the hope of succour or
the energy of despair would have enabled them to hold out: their
treacherous leader cut the matter short by renouncing the Christian
faith, and delivering up the fort into the hands of the Sultan. He was
followed by two or three of his officers; all the rest, refusing to
become Mahometans, were ruthlessly put to the sword. Thus perished the
last wretched remnant of the vast multitude which had traversed Europe
with Peter the Hermit.
Walter the Pennyless and his multitude met as miserable a fate. On the
news of the disasters of Exorogorgon, they demanded to be led instantly
against the Turks. Walter, who only wanted good soldiers to have made a
good general, was cooler of head, and saw all the dangers of such a
step. His force was wholly insufficient to make any decisive movement
in a country where the enemy was so much superior, and where, in case
of defeat, he had no secure position to fall back upon; and he
therefore expressed his opinion against advancing until the arrival of
reinforcements. This prudent counsel found no favour: the army loudly
expressed their dissatisfaction at their chief, and prepared to march
forward without him. Upon this, the brave Walter put himself at their
head, and rushed to destruction. Proceeding towards Nice, the modern
Isnik, he was intercepted by the army of the Sultan: a fierce battle
ensued in which the Turks made fearful havoc; out of twenty-five
thousand Christians, twenty-two thousand were slain, and among them
Gautier himself, who fell pierced by seven mortal wounds. The remaining
three thousand retreated upon Civitot, where they intrenched themselves.