KING GUY DE LUSIGNAN. A.D. 1186-1187.
Heu! voce flebili cogor enarrare
Facinus quod accidit nuper ultra mare,
Quando Saladino concessum est vastare
Terram quam dignatus est Christus sic amare.
_Contemporary Poem._
When the little King Baldwin had been buried,[69] Sybille went to
the Patriarch, the Grand Master of the Templars, and the Grand
Master of the Hospitallers, to ask their advice and assistance. The
first two bade her be under no anxiety, because they would procure
her coronation, the former out of love for her mother, the Lady
Agnes, and the latter out of the great hatred he bore for Raymond of
Tripolis. And they advised her to send at once for Renaud de
Chatillon, as a man likely to be of great service to her. Unluckily
for Renaud, he came. At the same time she was to send to the Count
of Tripoli and the barons, summoning them to her coronation, because
the crown had devolved upon her. These, however, refused to be
present, and sent a formal protestation against the coronation.
Heraclius and the Master of the Templars laughed at the protest, but
the Master of the Hospitallers refused to attend the ceremony. The
gates of the city were shut, and no one allowed to enter or go out.
The barons, who were at Nablous, sent a trustworthy messenger,
disguised as a monk, to see what went on. Denied admittance at the
gates, he went to the lazar house, which was close to the walls, and
where he knew of a little postern. Here he was admitted, and, like a
modern reporter, went to the church and took notes of the
proceedings. The Queen elect was brought into the church by Renaud
and the Master of the Templars. The patriarch asked the latter for
his key—there were three—of the treasury, where were laid up the
crowns. He gave it up. Next he asked the Master of the Hospitallers
for his. He refused to give it up. Now, without the three keys,
those in the hands of the grand master and that kept by the
patriarch, the coronation could not proceed, for the simple reason
that the crown and sceptre were not to be got at. The Master of the
Hospitallers, when they pressed him, declared that he had hidden the
key. They searched for it, but could not find it. Then they pressed
him again, the coronation ceremony waiting all this time in the
church, until, in a rage, he dashed his key down on the ground, and
told them they might do as they pleased.
Footnote 69:
The history of William of Tyre, from which most of the preceding
account of the Christian kingdom has been taken, ends abruptly
just before the death of Baldwin. This chapter is mainly taken
from Bernard the Treasurer.
The patriarch brought out two crowns: one he placed on the altar,
the other he placed on the head of Sybille. When she was crowned he
said to her, “Lady, you are a woman, and it is fitting that you have
with you a man, who may aid you to govern the realm. Take this
crown, and bestow it upon one capable of ruling.”
It must be mentioned that, previous to her coronation, Sybille, in
the hope of conciliating the barons, had announced her intention of
getting a divorce from her husband. In this hope she was deceived,
for not one was present. There was therefore no occasion for further
pretence. Taking the crown she called Guy de Lusignan, and said to
him, “Sir, advance and receive this crown, for I know not how better
to bestow it.”
He knelt before her, she placed the crown upon his head, and so Guy
de Lusignan became King of Jerusalem, the only incapable king the
little kingdom had, the only worthless king. When his brother
Geoffrey heard of the election, he remarked, “If they have made him
a king, I suppose they would have made me a god had they known me.”
When the spy got back to Nablous, and told what had happened,
Baldwin of Ramleh offered to lay a wager that he would not be king
for a year, a bet which he would have won, as the event proved.
“As for me,” said Baldwin, “the country is lost, and I shall go,
because I do not wish to share the shame and disgrace of having
assisted in the ruin of our kingdom. And for you, my lords, do what
you please.”
“Sir Baldwin,” cried Raymond, “have pity on Christianity and remain
to help us. Here is Count Humphry with his wife Isabelle, also the
daughter of King Amaury. Let us go to Jerusalem and crown them
there. We shall have with us at least all the knights of St. John.
And I have a truce with the Saracens, who will even help us if we
want them.”
It was decided to make Humphry King: but Humphry had no mind for a
crown which brought with it so many anxieties and troubles as that
of Jerusalem. In the dead of night he rode off to Queen Sybille; and
when the barons came to crown him in the morning, they found to
their great disgust that he was gone.
He went straight to his sister-in-law, and, being brought into her
presence, saluted her as Queen. But she took no notice of him,
because he had not been present at her coronation. “Whereupon
Humphry began to scratch his head like a child that is ashamed of
himself, and said, ‘Dame! I could not. Why, they wanted to make me
king in spite of myself. That is why I ran away!’”
Evidently a simple straightforward knight, this Humphry of Toron and
of sound, rather than brilliant, parts.
“Since it is so,” said the queen, “I have no longer any animosity
towards you. But first do homage to the king.”
Which Humphry did.
The barons, acting on the advice of Raymond, were not slow in coming
to tender their allegiance, with the exception of Sir Baldwin of
Ramleh, who only sent his little son, praying Guy to receive his
homage, which the king refused to do. Thereupon Baldwin came
himself, and went through the necessary forms, saying, “Sir Guy, I
do you homage, but as a man who would rather not hold lands under
you.”
It was for his son’s sake, for the knight would not remain any
longer in the country, and went away, “to the great joy of the
Saracens.”
Raymond, meantime, was gone to Tiberias, where he waited to see what
would happen. The first thing that happened was a succession of
signs from heaven, manifestly importing disaster. As they happened
on Mohammedan soil as well as Christian, it is presumed that the
followers of Islam interpreted them in a contrary spirit. There were
tempests and impetuous winds, hail as big as hens’ eggs,
earthquakes, great waves, and _rades de mer_, while fire ran across
the heavens, “and you would have sworn that all the elements were
wrathful, detesting the excesses and vices of man.” It will be
observed that even in portents there is a decadence in the Christian
kingdom. Time was when knights in armour assailed cities in the
heavens, and when great comets blazed in the east like swords
hanging over a doomed country. We fall back now on hail and storm.
Raymond called in Saladin on learning that it was the king’s
intention to besiege Tiberias. Saladin was glad of an excuse, and
sent his son in command of a small army—Bernard says of seven
thousand.[70]
Footnote 70:
Others say five hundred, which is more probable.
The Grand Master of the Templars went out to meet them. He had in
all one hundred and forty knights with whom to confront this host.
The knights fought, as they always did, gallantly and bravely; so
bravely that they perished almost to a man, only the Master himself
and a very few escaping. One knight, Jacques de Maillé, a Templar,
performed such prodigies of valour that after he had fallen, the
Turks cut up his garments and divided them, in memory of so valiant
a man. It was in May that this disaster happened, the result of
internal dissension. “And in this month,” says a chronicler, “when
it is most fitting that roses should be gathered, the people of
Nazareth went out to gather together the dead bodies of their
valiant knights, and to give them burial.”
The Master of the Templars had got hastily back to Nazareth, and
sent out messengers in all directions that he had gotten a signal
victory over the Turks, and that all who wanted booty must hasten to
his standard. They all flocked to him, like vultures, at the mention
of booty, and he led them to the field where the dead bodies of his
knights lay, the flower of the two orders. It is the keenest sarcasm
on the cowardice and meanness of the people that we read of.
“Pudet hæc opprobria nobis
Et dici potuisse et non potuisse refelli.”
But after this misfortune, further quarrels between king and barons
were useless, and Raymond hastened to make his submission. He met
the king at the Castle of St. George, at Ramleh, where a
reconciliation was effected, real and complete, so far as Raymond
was concerned, half-hearted and suspicious on the part of the
weak-minded king.
Raymond, whose advice was generally sound, recommended Guy to
convoke all the forces at his disposition, and meet at the fountain
of Sefúríyeh. He also advised that the wood of the Cross should be
brought out by Heraclius, as the emergency was great. Heraclius, who
was afraid and probably foresaw disaster, declined to come, alleging
illness, but sent it by two of his bishops.
Meantime, the king, by permission of the Master of the Templars, had
laid hands upon the treasure which Henry II. of England had sent
year by year, since the death of Thomas-à-Becket, to be used when he
should find time to accomplish his vow of a crusade. By means of
this money Guy found himself, when Saladin sat down before Tiberias,
at the head of the finest army which had marched under the banner of
the Cross since Godfrey besieged Jerusalem. The Countess of Tripoli
was in Tiberias, with her four sons, all knights. She wrote to Guy
saying that unless assistance came she must surrender the place. Guy
called a council and read the letter. Raymond was the first to
advise.
“Sir,” he said, “let them take Tiberias, and I will tell you why.
The city is mine, and my wife is in it; if it is lost no one,
therefore, will lose so much as I. But if the Saracens take it, they
will occupy it, and will not come here after us, and then I shall
get it back again whenever I please. Now I prefer to lose my city
for a time than that the whole country should be lost, and between
this place and Tiberias there is not a drop of water. We shall all
die of thirst before we get there.”
Thereupon, quoth the Master of the Templars, “Here is some of the
hair of the wolf.” But Raymond took no notice of this offensive
remark. “If it is not exactly as I have said,” he went on, “take my
head and cut it off.”
All agreed that the advice given was sound and just, except the
Master of the Templars, who in his blind rage against Raymond could
not agree that anything he said was right. And in the night he went
to the king’s tent, just as he was going to bed. “Do you believe,”
he said, “in the advice of Raymond? It was given for the sole
purpose of bringing shame and disgrace upon us all.... Strike your
tents, call to arms, and march at once.”
The king who owed to this man his crown, and the money with which
the army was raised, obeyed immediately, and to the grief and
surprise of the barons, the order was given to break up the camp.
And on this sad night, the 1st of July 1187, the Christian host
marched in silence and sadness to its fate.
The Count of Tripoli led the first division; in the centre was the
king with the Holy Cross, borne by the Bishops of Acre and Lydda;
and the Templars, with Balian of Ibelin, brought up the rear. The
whole army consisted of twelve hundred knights, a considerable body
of light horse, and about twenty thousand foot. The words of Count
Raymond proved exactly true: there was no water at all on the way.
The Christians were harassed by the Turkish cavalry, by the heat of
the day, by the clouds of dust, and by the burning of the grass
under their feet, which was set fire to by the enemy as they marched
along. They halted for the night, and the camp of the Saracens was
so close to that of the Christians that “you could have seen a cat
run from one to the other.” It was a night of dreadful suffering for
want of water, and when the morning dawned some of those who could
bear their sufferings no longer went over to the camp of Saladin,
and threw down their arms, begging for a drink of water. “Sir,” said
one of these deserters to Saladin, “fall on them—they cannot help
themselves—they are all dead already.” King Guy, in hopes of ending
the sufferings of his men by victory, gave the signal for the battle
to commence. It was lost as soon as begun. For men, who had not
quenched their thirst for nearly four and twenty hours, had no
‘last’ in them. The knights, as usual, fought manfully, but even
these soon gave way. All round them was an arid plain or arid rocks,
while beneath their feet, and hardly a mile away, lay the calm and
placid Lake of Galilee, mocking their thirst by the serenity of its
aspect. The Holy Cross was lost in the midst of the fight, and when
the news went through the army there was no longer any hope. Some
tossed away their arms and sat down to be killed or to be taken
prisoners; some threw themselves upon the swords of the Mohammedans.
A little band of a hundred and fifty knights gathered round the
royal standard and defended the king to the last. Raymond, with
Balian of Ibelin, and a few more, cut their way through and escaped
to Tyre; but at last all resistance ceased, and King Guy, his
brother Geoffrey, with Renaud de Chatillon, the Grand Master of the
Templars, and all the chivalry of Palestine that were not killed,
were taken prisoners and brought before Saladin.[71]
Footnote 71:
See also Chapter xvi., page 380.
As for the wood of the Holy Cross, some years after the battle of
Tiberias had been fought and lost, a brother of the Temple came to
Henry, Count of Champagne, and told him that, in order to save it
from falling into the hands of the Saracens, he had himself buried
it with his own hands, and that he knew where to look for it. He
took with him certain men to help in digging, and they searched for
three consecutive nights, but failed to find it. So, that for a
time, there was an end of one mischievous imposture at least.
And now the highest ambition of Saladin was to be crowned with
success. Of all the holy places of his religion, only one was more
sacred than Jerusalem. It was destined for him to restore that
sacred Dome of the Rock which Omar had founded to the purposes for
which it was built, and to remove from the midst of the Mohammedan
Empire that hornet’s nest of Christians which, for nearly a hundred
years, had checked their conquests, insulted their faith, and
perpetually done them injury.
The gates of the cities of Palestine flew open at the approach of
the conqueror. Tiberias yielded at once, and Saladin sent Raymond’s
wife to her husband. Raymond, however, was dying, and of a broken
heart. Almost alone among the chiefs he had still some nobility
left, and he could not bear to survive the fall of the country, his
country, and the end of so many high hopes and glorious
achievements. Acre resisted two days, and then opened its gates.
Nablous, Ramleh, Cæsarea, Jericho, Jaffa, Beyrout, had no knights
left to make defence with, and perforce capitulated. Tyre, Tripoli,
Ascalon, alone remained to the Christians. Saladin vainly attempted
the first, and desisted from the siege for more important matters.
But Ascalon was too necessary, in consequence of its communications
with Egypt, to be passed over, and he laid siege to the place in due
form. Guy was with him, in fetters. A breach was effected in the
walls, and Guy was put forward to urge upon the inhabitants not to
make a useless resistance. These sent deputies to the Sultan. “On
these conditions only shall you enter Ascalon, except across our
bodies. Give life to our wives and children, and restore the king to
liberty. Else we will fight.” Saladin granted the conditions. Guy
was to be set at liberty within a year; the people of Ascalon were
to leave the city freely and to carry with them all that they
pleased.
And now, at length, came the turn of Jerusalem. Balian of Ibelin had
obtained of Saladin a safe conduct to the city, in order to take out
his wife and children, but on the sole condition that he was not to
stay there more than one night. He promised, and went. He found the
city defended by women and monks. A few pilgrims were there, and
some fugitive soldiers who had escaped the slaughter of Tiberias.
The people pressed round him with tears, cries, and lamentations,
when he told them of his word given to Saladin. “Sir;” said the
patriarch, “I absolve you from your oath; know well that it would be
a greater sin to keep it than to break it, for great shame would it
be for you and for your heirs, if you were thus to leave the city in
its hour of danger.” Then Balian of Ibelin yielded, and sent to
Saladin that he had been forced to break his word. Saladin by this
time was used to the perjury of Christians. For some years the
Mohammedans, simple in their faith, could not understand a religion
which permitted the most solemn treaties to be broken whenever a
priest could be prevailed on to give absolution for the perjury. But
they were wiser now. Raymond and Jocelyn, Renaud and Amaury, had
taught them the worth of a Christian’s promise, the value of a
Christian’s oath. Still, in Balian’s case there was much to be said.
It was not in human nature to resist the pleadings of the women and
the sight of all these helpless beings whose fate seemed placed in
his hands.
There were only two knights in all the city. Balian knighted fifty
sons of the bourgeois. There was no money, because Guy had taken it
all. Balian took off the silver from the Holy Sepulchre, and coined
it into money for his soldiers. Every day all the men that he could
spare rode out into the country and brought in provisions, of which
they might have direful need, because the city was so full of women
and children that the houses were crowded and the unfortunate
creatures were lying about in the streets. Some sparks of courage
lived yet among the defeated soldiers, and all swore to defend the
city to the last. Balian, of course, knew perfectly well that the
cause was hopeless, and only remained to make what terms he could
for the people. But it was necessary to make at least some
resistance for the sake of honour, barren honour though it might be.
Before the siege began, Saladin sent a message to the city to the
effect that if they made any resistance he had sworn to enter it by
assault only. Before this message, and after the taking of Ascalon,
his offers there were those which nothing but the most extreme
confidence in his own power would justify. “I know,” he said, “that
Jerusalem is the house of God: that is a part of my religion. I
would not willingly assail the house of God, if I can get possession
of it by treaty and friendship. I will give you thirty thousand
byzants if you promise to give up this city. You shall be allowed
five miles all round the city as your own ground to cultivate and
use as you please, and I will cause such an abundance of provisions
to be sent in that yours shall be the cheapest market in the world.
You shall have a truce from now to Pentecost; if, after that time,
you seem to see hope of success, keep your town if you can: if not,
give it up, and I will see you all safe and sound on Christian
soil.” But the deputies went away with many boasts that they were
going to die for the glory of God. In the end, nobody died who could
by any means avoid it. But at first, when Saladin’s camp was fixed
to the west, where, nearly a hundred years before, had been that of
Godfrey de Bouillon, the Christians made gallant sorties, and the
Saracens could do nothing against the impetuosity of their charges.
They observed, however, that after midday the sun was at their own
backs and in the faces of the enemy; and they reserved their attacks
for the afternoon, throwing dust in the air and into the eyes of the
besieged.
After eight days of ineffectual fighting, Saladin changed his camp
to the east side, pitching it at the gate of St. Stephen, where the
valley of the Kedron has no great depth. In this new position,
Saladin was able to erect machines for casting stones and arrows
into the city. He also set his men to work undermining the walls. In
two days they had undermined fifteen toises of the wall, the
Christians not being able to countermine “because they were afraid
of the showers of missiles from the mangonels and machines.” The
Saracens fired the supports of their mines, and as much of the wall
as had been mined fell down.
Then the besieged, finding that no hope remained of holding the
town, held a hasty council as to what should be done. For now a
universal panic had seized the soldiers; they ran to the churches
instead of to the ramparts, and while the defenders of the city
prayed within the walls of the church, the priests formed
processions and walked round the streets chanting psalms.
Let Bernard the Treasurer tell this story in his own words:
“The bourgeois, knights, and men of arms, in the council, agreed
that it would be better to sally forth and for all to die. But the
patriarch advised them to the contrary. ‘Sirs, if there were no
other way, this would be good advice, but if we destroy ourselves
and let the lives perish which we may save, it is not well, because
for every man in this town there are fifty women and children, whom,
if we die, the Saracens will take and will convert to their own
faith, and so they will all be lost to God. But if, by the help of
God, we can gain permission, at least, to go out from here and
betake ourselves to Christian soil, that would seem to me the better
course.’ They all agreed to this advice. Then they took Balian of
Ibelin and prayed him to go to Saladin and make what terms of peace
he could. He went and spoke to him. And while he was yet speaking
with Saladin about delivering up the city, the Turks, bringing
ladders and fixing them against the walls, made another assault.
And, indeed, already ten or twelve banners were mounted upon the
ramparts, or had entered where the wall had been undermined and had
fallen down. When Saladin saw his men and his banners on the walls,
he said to Balian, ‘Why do you talk to me about delivering up the
city, when you see my people ready to enter? It is too late now; the
city is mine already.’ And even while they spoke, our Lord gave such
courage to the Christians who were on the walls, that they made the
Saracens thereon give way and fall to the ground, and chased them
out of the moat. Saladin, when he saw it, was much ashamed and
troubled. Then he said to Balian that he might go back, because he
would do nothing more at the time, but that he might come again the
next day, when he would willingly listen to what he had to say....
The ladies of Jerusalem took cauldrons and placed them before Mount
Calvary, and having filled them with cold water, put their daughters
in them up to the neck, and cut off their tresses, and threw them
away. Monks, priests, and nuns went barefooted round the walls of
the city, bearing in procession the said Cross before them. The
priests bore on their heads the _Corpus Domini_, but our Lord Jesus
Christ would not listen to any prayer that they made, by reason of
the stinking luxury and adultery in the city which prevented any
prayer from mounting up to God.... When Balian came to Saladin, he
said that the Christians would give up the city if their lives were
saved. Saladin replied that he spoke too late; but he added, ‘Sir
Balian, for the love of God and of yourself, I will take pity on
them in a manner, and, to save my oath (that he would only take them
by force), they shall give themselves up to me as if they were taken
by force, and I will leave them their property to do as they please,
but their bodies shall be my prisoners, and he who can ransom
himself shall do so, and he who cannot shall be my prisoner.’
‘Sire,’ said Balian, ‘what shall be the price of the ransom?’
Saladin replied that the price should be for poor and rich alike,
for a man thirty byzants, for every woman and every child, ten. And
whoever could not pay this sum was to be a slave....
“Balian went back with these hard terms, and during the night
prevailed upon the Master of the Knights Hospitallers to give up,
for the ransom of the poor, all that was left of the treasure of
King Henry of England. And the next day he obtained of Saladin a
reduction of the ransom by one half.
“Then said Balian to Saladin, ‘Sire, you have fixed the ransom of
the rich; fix now that of the poor, for there are twenty thousand
who cannot pay the ransom of a single man. For the love of God put
in a little consideration and I will try to get from the Temple, the
Hospitallers, and the bourgeois, as much as will deliver all.’
Saladin said that he would willingly have consideration, and that a
hundred thousand byzants should let all the poor go free. ‘Sire,’
said Balian, ‘when all those who are able have ransomed themselves,
there will not be left half of the ransom which you demand for the
poor.’ Saladin said that it should not be otherwise. Then Balian
bethought him that he should not make so cheap a bargain by
ransoming all together as if he ransomed part at a time, and that by
the help of God he might get the rest at a cheaper rate. Then he
asked Saladin for how much he would deliver seven thousand men. ‘For
fifty thousand byzants.’ ‘Sire,’ said Balian, ‘that cannot be; for
God’s sake let us have reason.’
“It was finally arranged that seven thousand men should be ransomed
for thirty thousand byzants, two women or ten children to count as
one man. When all was arranged Saladin gave them fifty days to sell
and mortgage their effects and pay their ransom, and announced that
he who should be found in the city after fifty days should belong to
the conquerors, body and goods.
“All the gates were closed except that of David. Guards were placed
at this to prevent any Christian from going out, the Saracens being
admitted to buy what the Christians had to sell. The day on which
the city was given up was Friday, the 2nd day of October, 1187.
Saladin placed officers in the town of David to receive the ransom,
and ordered that no delay was to be granted beyond the fifty days.
The patriarch and Balian went immediately to the Hospital and
carried away the thirty thousand byzants for the ransom of the poor.
When this was paid, they summoned the bourgeois of the city, and,
choosing from their body the two most trustworthy men of each
street, they made them swear on the relics of saints that they would
spare neither man nor woman through hatred or through love, but
would make one and all declare on oath what they had, and would
allow them to keep back nothing, but would ransom the poor with what
remained after their own ransoms had been paid. They took down the
number of the poor in each street, and making a selection, they made
up the number of seven thousand, who were allowed to go out of the
city. Then there was hardly anything left for the remainder.... But
when all those who were ransomed were out of the city, and there
remained yet many poor people, Seif-ed-dín went to Saladin, his
brother, and said to him, ‘Sire, I have helped to conquer the land
and the city. I pray you to give me a thousand slaves of those that
are still within it. Saladin asked him what he would do with them.
Seif-ed-dín replied that he would do with them as seemed him best.
Saladin granted his request, and his brother released them all. When
Seif-ed-dín had taken out his thousand captives, the patriarch
prayed Saladin to deliver the poor which yet remained. He gave the
patriarch seven hundred. Then Balian asked Saladin for some of those
left. He gave Balian five hundred. ‘And now,’ said Saladin, ‘I will
make my own alms.’ Then he commanded his bailiffs to open the
postern towards Saint Lazarus, and to make proclamation through all
the city that the poor might go out by this way, only that if there
were among them any who had the means of ransom, they were to be
taken to prison. The deliverance of the poor lasted from sunrise to
sunset, and yet there were eleven thousand left. The patriarch and
Balian went then to Saladin and prayed him that he would hold
themselves in hostage until those who were left could obtain from
Christendom enough to pay their ransom. Saladin said that he would
certainly not receive two men in place of eleven thousand, and that
they were to speak no more of it.”
But Saladin was open to prayers from all quarters. The widows and
children of those who had fallen at Tiberias came to him weeping and
crying. “When Saladin saw them weeping, he was moved with great
pity; and, hearing who they were, he told them to inquire if their
husbands and fathers were yet living, and in prison, those who were
his captives he ordered to be released; and, in those cases where it
was proved that their husbands were dead, he gave largely from his
own private purse to all the ladies and the noble maidens, so that
they gave thanks to God for the honour and wealth that Saladin
bestowed upon them.” Clearly a magnanimous prince, this Saladin, and
one who was accustomed to return good for evil.
There were so many Christians who came out of the city that the
Saracens marvelled how they could have all got in. Saladin separated
them into three divisions; the Templars led one, the Hospitallers
another, and Balian the third. To each troop he assigned fifty of
his own knights to conduct them into Christian territory.... These,
when they saw men, women, or children fatigued, would make their
squires go on foot, and put the wearied exiles on horseback, while
they themselves carried the children. Surely this is a tender and
touching picture of the soft-hearted soldiers of Islam, too pitiful
to let the little children cry while they had arms to carry them, or
to drive the weary forward while they could walk on foot themselves.
When the exiles got to Tripoli they found themselves worse off than
on the march. Raymond would not let them enter, but sent out his
knights, who caught all the rich bourgeois, and brought them
prisoners into the city. Then Raymond deprived them of all that they
brought out of Jerusalem. The poorer of them dispersed into Armenia
and the neighbouring countries, and disappear from history. The
names of the Christians linger yet, however, in the Syrian towns,
and many of their descendants, long since converted to the faith of
the country, may be found in every town and village between Antioch
and Ascalon.
Jerusalem was fallen, and the kingdom of the Christians was at last
at an end. It had lasted eighty-eight years. It had seen the
exploits of six valiant, prudent, and chivalrous kings. It was
supported during all its existence solely by the strength and
ability of its kings; it fell to pieces at once when its king, a
poor leper, lost his authority with his strength. Always corrupt,
always self-seeking, the Christians of the East became a by-word and
proverb at last for treachery, meanness, and cowardice. It was time
that a realm so degraded from its high and lofty aims should perish;
there was no longer any reason why it should continue to live; the
Holy City might just as well be kept by the Saracens, for the
Christians were not worthy. They had succeeded in trampling the name
of Christian in the dust; the Cross which they protected was their
excuse for every treachery and baseness which a licentious priest
could be bribed to absolve. The tenets and preaching of their faith
were not indeed forgotten by them, for they had never been known;
there was nothing in their lives by which the Saracens could judge
the religion of Christ to be aught but the blindest worship of a
piece of wood and a gilded cross; while the worst among them—the
most rapacious, the most luxurious, the most licentious, the most
haughty, the most perjured—were the very men, the priests and the
knights of the orders, sworn to chastity, to self-denial, to
godliness. It appears to us that Christianity might have had a
chance in the East against Islam but for the Christians; and had men
like Saladin been able to comprehend what was the religion which,
like an ancient painting begrimed and overladen with dirt and dust,
lay under all the vices and basenesses of the Christianity they
witnessed, the world would at least have been spared some of the
bitterness of its religious wars.
As for Guy de Lusignan, it matters very little what became of that
poor creature. He made one or two feeble attempts to get back
something of his kingdom, but always failed. He finally sold his
title to King Richard, in exchange for that of King of Cyprus, and
ruled in great tranquillity in his new kingdom for a year, when he
died.
So disastrous an event as the fall of Jerusalem must needs be
accompanied by signs and wonders from heaven. On the day that the
city surrendered, one of the monks of Argenteuil, as he remembered
afterwards, saw the moon descend from heaven to earth. It is
remarkable that nothing was said at the time of this very curious
phenomenon. In many churches the crucifixes shed tears of blood,
which was their customary and recognised way of expressing regret
when the monks thought anything was going wrong with the power of
the Church. And a Christian knight saw in a dream an eagle flying
over an army, holding seven javelins in its claws, and crying, “Woe,
woe to Jerusalem.”