HOW RICHARD TOOK THE CROSS
With the dawn that twenty-sixth day of November a great multitude was
pouring through the gates of Clermont. A bleak wind was whistling from
the north, mist banks hung heavy on the eastern hills, veiling the
sun; but no one had turned back. A silent crowd, speaking in whispers;
but all manner of persons were in it--seigneur and peasant, monk and
bishop, graybeard and child, lord's lady and serf's wife,--all headed
for the great square. Richard, with Duke Godfrey and Renard of Toul,
fought their way through the throng; for what counted feudal rank that
day! They came on a richly dressed lady, who struggled onward,
dragging a bright-eyed little boy of four.
"Help, kind cavaliers!" came her appeal. "In the press my husband has
been swept from me."
The three sprang to aid. She was a sweet-faced lady, reminding Richard
of Mary Kurkuas. "And who may your husband be?" he asked, setting the
lad on his own firm shoulder.
"He is Sir Tescelinde de Fontaines of Burgundy," answered she, "and I
am the Lady Alethe. We wished our little Bernard here should say when
he grew old, 'I heard the Holy Father when he sent the knights to
Jerusalem.'"
"And he shall see and hear him, by St. Michael!" cried Richard, little
knowing that his stout shoulder bore him whom the world in threescore
years would hail as the sainted Bernard of Clairvaux. The boy stared
around with great sober eyes, looking wisely forth after the manner of
children.
"Yes," repeated Richard, while Godfrey and Renard cleared a way to the
very centre of the square, right under the rude pulpit set for the
occasion. There was a high stone cross standing in front of the
platform, and Richard seated his burden on one of its long arms. "Now,
my little lord," cried he, "you shall be under the Pope's own eye, and
your mother shall sit on the coping below and watch you."
"You are a good man!" declared the child, impulsively, stretching out
his little fat arms.
"Ah!" replied Richard, half wistfully, as his glance lit on Louis, who
had struggled to the front, "would that all might say likewise!"
Richard looked about. The ground rose a little around the pulpit; he
could see a great way,--faces as far as the eye could reach, velvet
caps and bare heads, women's bright veils and monkish cowls,
silver-plated helmets of great lords, iron casques of men-at-arms,--who
might number them? Pennoned lances tossed above the multitude, banners
from every roof and dark street whipped the keen wind. Each window
opening on the wide square was crowded with faces.
The Norman did not see a certain, dark-visaged hunchback, who strove
to thrust himself through the throng to a station beside him. For when
Godfrey's sharp eyes and frown fell on the rascal, he vanished
instantly in the press. But Longsword waited, while men climbed the
trees about and perched like birds on the branches, and still the
multitude pressed thicker and thicker; more helmets, more lances, more
bright veils and brilliant scarfs. Would the people come forever? Yet
all was wondrously silent; no clamor, no rude pressure; each took post
and waited, and listened to the beating of his own heart.
"The Pope is in the cathedral. He is praying for the special presence
of the Holy Ghost," went the low whisper from lip to lip. And the
multitude stood thus a long time, many with heads bowed in prayer. The
chill wind began to die away as the sun mounted. Richard could see
rifts in the heavy cloud banks. The shadow over the arena lifted
little by little. Why was it that every breath seemed alive with
spirits unseen? that the sigh of the flagging wind seemed the rustle
of angels' wings? that he, and all others, half expected to see
bright-robed hosts and a snow-white dove descending from the dark
cathedral tower? More waiting; little Bernard began to stir on his
hard seat. He was weary looking at the crowd. His mother touched him.
"Be quiet, dear child, bow your head, and say your 'Our Father'; the
Holy Spirit is very near to us just now."
At last--slowly the great central portal of the cathedral opened. They
could hear the low, sweet strains of the processional streaming out
from the long nave; the doors swung wider; and forth in slow
procession came priests and prelates in snow-white linen, two by two,
the bishops crowned with white mitres, and around them floated a pale
haze as the faint breeze bore onward the smoke from a score of censers
swinging in the acolytes' hands, as they marched beside. But before
all, in a cope where princely gems were blazing, marched the grave and
stately Adhemar of Monteil, Lord Bishop of Puy, and in his hands, held
on high, a great crucifix of gold and ivory. And as the white-robed
company advanced the multitude could hear them singing the noble
sequence of St. Notker:--
"The grace of the Holy Ghost be present with us,
And make our hearts a dwelling-place to itself;
And expel from them all spiritual wickedness!"
While the procession advanced, the people gave way to right and left
before it; and a great swaying and murmur began to run through them,
waxing more and more when, at the end, the clear voices sang:--
"Thyself, by bestowing on the apostles of Christ a gift immortal
and unheard of from all ages,
Hast made this day glorious."
"Verily the Holy Spirit is not far from us," said Duke Godfrey,
softly, as the last strains rang out. Still more prelates, more
priests; forth came Dalmace, archbishop of Narbonne, William, bishop
of Orange, Matfred of Beziers, Peter, abbot of Aniane, and a hundred
great churchmen more. Then, last of all, with his cardinals all about
him, and a heavy cross of crystal carried aloft, came the Vicar of God
on earth. Richard beheld the glowing whiteness of the bands of his
pallium, whereon black crosses were embroidered; the jewels flashing
on the cope and its golden clasp; the gold on his mitre higher than
all the rest. He could see the face of the pontiff, pale, wrapt,
spiritual, looking not at the mighty crowd about, that was beginning
to sink to its knees, but up into the heavens, as though beyond the
dun clouds he had vision of fairer heavens and fairer earth. Then the
chanting clerics sang again, and advanced more boldly. And as they
moved, two knights striding at either side of the Pope raised lances,
and shook out long banners of white silk, upon each a blood-red cross.
Loud and joyful now was the singing:--
"The Royal Banners forward go;
The Cross shines forth with mystic glow;
Where He in flesh, our flesh who made,
Our sentence bore, our ransom paid.
"O Tree of beauty! Tree of light!
O Tree with royal purple dight!
Elect on whose triumphal breast,
Those holy limbs should find their rest!"
Louder the singing. As the people gave way, the prelates and priests
stood at either side, while the Pope ascended the pulpit, at his side
Peter the Hermit. First spoke Peter. The little monk was eloquent as
never before. He told the familiar tale of the woes of the Jerusalem
Christians, so that not a soul was untouched by mortal pang. At times
it seemed the multitude must break forth; but no sound came: only a
swaying and sobbing as from ten thousand hearts. Then a long silence,
when he ceased. It was so still, all could hear the gentle wind
crooning over the tree-tops, and when a little child began to wail,
its cry was hushed--affrighted at its own clamor.
Then stood forth the Pope. And if it had been silent before, there
was deeper silence now. The very wind grew still, and every breath was
bated. Far and wide over that mighty throng the pontiff threw his
voice, clear as a trumpet, yet musical and soulful. His words were not
in the stately Latin, but in the sweet familiar Languedoc, and entered
men's hearts like live coals from off the altar.
"Nation of France: nation whose boast it is you are the elect of God,
glorious in your faith and love of Holy Church, you I address. For you
have heard and your souls are torn with the sorrows wrought at
Jerusalem by that race so hateful to God. You have heard, and I know
well what moves within your hearts. Shall I repeat the words of this
holy hermit? Shall I tell how churches are beaten down, or--Christ
forbid--become temples of the accursed worship? Shall I tell how
Christians have bathed the very altars in their blood; how your
brethren have chosen martyrdom, rather than deny Christ's name? O Holy
Cross of Christ, verily thy dumb wood must cry out, nay, the stones
break silence if the Christians of the West harden their hearts and
will not hear; if no sword flashes forth in vengeance, no army hastes
to succor the Sacred City."
And Urban had gone no further when there was again a swaying,
throbbing, sobbing in the crowd. For an instant the Pope's voice was
drowned, not by outcry, but by one vast murmur. He beckoned; there was
silence, then higher rose his voice.
"O saintly spirits of Charlemagne, and of Louis his pious son,
scourges of Saracens, why do ye sleep? Awake; awake; tell your
children of France that holy war is theirs! O souls of the martyrs,
long at rest, awake, awake; stir the cold hearts of these Christians
that I may not speak in vain! O Holy Tomb of Our Lord, and thou
Calvary, where the price for all our sins was paid, speak forth the
sorrows of Christ's servants to these hard Western hearts. Kindle our
hearts, O Lord, and grant Thine own spirit, that I may speak as
becometh Thee and Thy Holy City--Jerusalem!
"Sweet children in Christ, hear the cry of that city; hear the cry of
those holy fields where trod the Son of God; hear the moan of the
Christian virgins torn to captivity by paynim hands; hear the cry to
God of ten thousand souls whose blood smokes to heaven! How long! O
Lord, how long! When will come vengeance on the oppressor!"--Again the
multitude were quaking,--a deep roar springing from a myriad throats,
and hands were on hilts, and pennons shook madly. But Urban dropped
his voice, and again commanded silence.
"Wherefore has God suffered this? Does He take pleasure in the woes of
His children? Is He glad when unbelievers pollute His altars, hew in
pieces His holy bishops, and cry, 'See how helpless is your crucified
Lord!' Ah, sweet children, look into your own hearts, and search if
you are meet instruments to do His pleasure. Let us weep, let us weep
over Jerusalem! Let us weep, let us weep over our own sins, for each
one of us has more than the hairs of his head; and in the sight of God
none is worthy even to behold the Holy City from afar; and if not
worthy of the earthly city, how much less of the heavenly! All, all
have sinned in God's pure sight. I see cavaliers, sworn defenders of
Holy Church; your hands are red with Christian blood wantonly shed. I
see great prelates, touched with the sacred chrism,--unworthy
shepherds of Christ's sheep; you are stained with pride, hypocrisy,
lust of power. I see men and women of mean estate; selfishness, lust,
unholy hate, are strong within you. All, all have sinned!"
And now strong men were kneeling and groaning, "No more!"--were
stretching out their arms to heaven, and moaning, "Mercy! mercy!" and
here one man and there another was crying out that he had committed
some direful deed, calling on all around to pray God with him for
pardon. But Urban kept on.
"Be of good cheer, sweet children; your sins are great, but greater is
the mercy of God. For I stand before you clothed with power from on
high. Mine are the keys of heaven and earth and hell. And I say to
you, despite your sins, you are forgiven. Shed no bootless tears; for
deeds, not tears, to-day avail. The heritage of the Lord is wasted;
the Queen of cities groans in chains--who, who will spring to her
release?
"Warriors who own the name of Christ, you I address,--you, who have
slain wickedly in unholy war, rejoice! A holy war awaits! You who have
sped fellow-Christians to death, rejoice! God will give you to trample
down the alien! Draw forth the sword of the Maccabees, and go forward.
To him who lives, God will give the spoils of the heathen for an
inheritance; him who dies, Christ Jesus will confess before his
Father. Draw forth the sword, Christians of France! Draw forth, and
let it flush red in the unbelievers' blood! For this is the Lord's
doing, and he who enters upon it, casting out all hate for his brother
from his heart, and with the love of Christ strong within, is purged
of all sin, be it however great, and his name is written in the book
of life!"--A mighty din was rising, but Urban's voice swelled above it
all. "_Soldiers of Hell, become soldiers of the living God!_" was his
cry, facing straight upon Richard; "lands, fame, home, friends,
love,--put them all by; remember the wounds of Christ, the moans of
Jerusalem; for now again Christ says to you, 'He who loveth father and
mother more than me is not worthy of me; if any man will come after
me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me--" No
more; for there rose a thunder as when storm-driven billows break upon
the beach.
"God wills it!" From Richard's lips it had sprung, all unbidden.
Godfrey had caught it--Hildebrand's battle-cry. And as if the shout
had reached high heaven, that instant the dun clouds parted. The sun
streamed on naked swords and tossing lances innumerable; the flashing
of the brightness was terrible as celestial light.
"God wills it!"
Every tongue had caught the cry. It swelled forth, unbidden, the
voicings of the passion in ten thousand breasts. The sun glanced on
the crystal cross in the Pope's hand: those who saw were dazzled, and
looked away.
"Yes," cried Urban, across the sea of quivering steel, "God sends His
own sign from on high. Truly, thus 'God wills it!' To-day is fulfilled
the Saviour's promise, that where His faithful are He will be. He it
is that has put these words in your hearts; choose them as battle-cry;
for on your side will be the God of battles, and at His will you shall
trample down the unbeliever."
Then Urban raised on high the fire-bathed cross. "See," cried he once
more, his voice rising above the swelling din, "Christ Himself issues
from the tomb, and gives to you this cross. It shall be the sign
lifted among the nations which is to gather together the outcasts of
Israel. Wear it upon your shoulders, upon your breasts; let it shine
upon your arms, surety of victory or palm of martyrdom; unceasing
reminder that as Christ died for you, so ought you to die for Him and
His glory!"
Again rose the clamor, and until they chanted his death-mass Richard
forgot not that hour. One wild cry went up, the scope of heaven shook,
the earth quaked; and now the shout was, "The Cross! the Cross! to
Jerusalem!" The swords danced more madly, and little Bernard rose from
his seat, tossed his tiny fists in the air, and joined the mighty cry.
Louis de Valmont, who had stood opposite Richard all the time, and
drunk in each word, ran out before all men, flung his mailed arms
round Longsword's neck and kissed him, while tears streamed down his
face.
"O sweet brother," cried the Auvergner, all melted, "I too have sinned
greatly in God's sight. I cannot go to Jerusalem with hate upon my
soul. I forgive the death of Gilbert; pray that Our Lord may forgive
me!"
The other men who had nursed unholy wrath one to the other began to
embrace, and to beg for pardon; and many more kneeling stretched up
their arms, calling heaven to witness they would shed no more
Christian blood till the Holy City was redeemed. Urban stood upon the
platform, silent, and looking out upon the throng with a smile that
the beholders thought was not of this world. But when the surgings of
the multitude were a little stayed, the Pope again beckoned, and there
was great silence. Then Cardinal Gregory came forward, and all knelt
and beat their breasts, repeating the _Confiteor_.
"I have sinned exceedingly in thought, word, and deed, through my
fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault," repeated the
thousands; "therefore I beseech the blessed Mary, ever Virgin, the
blessed Michael, the archangel, the blessed John the Baptist, the Holy
Apostles, Peter and Paul, and all the saints to pray to the Lord Our
God for me."
Then when every casqued head was bowed low, the Cardinal proclaimed in
a voice which the most distant might hear, "To as many as shall from
pure love of Christ take the cross to go for the deliverance of
Jerusalem, the same I do absolve from all their sins, and declare them
spotless and perfect, in sight of God the Father, God the Son, and God
the Holy Ghost. Amen!" And the words fell on Richard's soul like water
on fevered lips. Another great cry, "The Cross! the Cross!" and the
thousands surged with one impulse toward the pulpit, demanding the
sacred token at the pontiff's own hands. And nigh foremost was
Richard; not first, for Bishop Adhemar of Puy, his heart burning with
holy fire, was already kneeling before the Pope, and Urban was pinning
a red-cloth cross upon his shoulder. But Richard had sprung upon the
platform and was next.
The Pope smiled when he saw his mighty frame and sinews of iron--a
direful foe of the infidels!
"Father, Holy Father, do you not know me?" cried Richard.
"I do not, sweet son," said Urban, pinning fast the cross.
"I am that lad Richard who stood by Pope Gregory's bedside; but I have
greatly sinned."
"Be of good cheer!" said the pontiff, gently; "you have remembered
your vow. Your sin, however great, is forgotten of God."
So Richard stood back, while Godfrey of Bouillon knelt to receive the
cross. At sight of him Urban smiled again, and would have spoken; for
he recognized the great Duke. But Godfrey whispered, "Not here, Holy
Father, not here; but soon from Metz to Antwerp I will be calling out
my vassals to go to Jerusalem." Then Godfrey stepped back, with the
red badge upon his breast; after him came Renard of Toul; after him
Louis de Valmont; and then the merry priest Raymond of Agiles, merry
no longer, but with a grave and consequential cast upon his face. As
he knelt before the Holy Father, he said he took the cross both in his
own name and in that of his lord and patron Raymond, sovereign Count
of St. Gilles and Toulouse, who pledged himself to the war with all
his southern chivalry. Then there was more shouting and rejoicing, and
it seemed as if the clamor would never end, nor the train of knights
and barons cease advancing to kneel before the Pope and receive the
cross.
Hour after hour sped by, still Urban stood and gave his blessing, and
a brave and pious word to each stout cavalier who came. The priests
brought red cloth from the presses in the bishop's palace, and more
and more. Still not enough; and gayly dressed knights gave up their
scarlet bleaunts for the Holy Father to tear into the sacred emblem.
Then at last, when the sun was near its setting and men finally felt a
bleak wind biting, the Pope spoke again.
"Dear children," said he in closing, "you have done a great thing this
day. What you have promised may cost you dear in blood and worldly
estate; yet, remember the warning to him who putteth the hand to the
plough and looketh back. I bid any who would withdraw, to do it now;
and he commits no sin." Again the cry, "To Jerusalem! God wills it!"
and no man stirred. "Then," continued Urban, "let him who hereafter
shall turn back, be excommunicate and anathema. Anathema upon him who
shall hinder the soldiers of the Cross! Anathema upon him who shall
harm their family or estate, while they fight the Lord's battles.
Gladly would I go with you to win the crown of martyrdom or of
victory, but the Antipope is still in Italy; the Emperor and the king
of France still defy Holy Church. Adhemar of Puy I appoint my legate,
and under his guidance you shall go forth. And now my blessing and
absolution upon you all. Amen."
So the great multitude scattered far and wide; upon the breast of
every man a red cross, and in his heart a joy as of another world; for
it was as if a voice had spoken to each and all out of a cloud, "Thy
sins which are many are forgiven." Richard strode back to his tent
with Louis de Valmont beside him; and all the air seemed sweet, and
their words came fast, as between two long-time friends, while above
in the crisp night the stars burned like cressets lit by the angels.