The Story of Peter the Hermit
_Great troops of people travelled thitherward
Both day and night, of each degree and place
But Jew returned, having 'scaped hard
With hateful beggary or foul disgrace._
SPENSER: _Faery Queene._
Some twenty years after the death of Hakim, the countries round about
the Holy Land began to be harassed by a new and terrible foe. From
far-off Turkestan had migrated a fierce fighting tribe, the descendants
of one Seljuk, and known to history as the Seljukian Turks. Wherever
they went they conquered, until half-way through the eleventh century,
their leader drove out the Saracen rulers of Bagdad and made himself
Caliph.
His successor was converted to Islam, and with added power, swept over
Asia Minor and settled in the city of Nicæa, in threatening proximity
to Constantinople.
This invasion was the more terrible in that it brought in its train a
relapse to barbarism, for these Turks were barbarians, hordes of
robbers and brigands, who cared for nothing but plunder and violence.
Alexios, the weak Emperor of the Eastern Empire, quailed at their
approach, and looked on in terror at the spectacle of Christian
churches destroyed and Christian {55} children sold into slavery. But
he appealed in vain for aid to the kingdom of the West. To unite
Western Christendom against a far-off foe was a task beyond the powers
of the tottering Empire of the East.
That inspiration, however, was at hand. In 1076, the Seljukian Turks
conquered Jerusalem, and at once began a reign of terror for Christian
inhabitants and pilgrims. The Patriarch, or Bishop of Jerusalem, was
dragged through the street by his white hair, and flung into a dungeon,
until his people could gather a sum sufficient to pay his ransom. The
holiest sacrament of the Church was profaned by the barbarians, who
invaded the buildings and insisted upon sharing in the rite. Pilgrims
were stripped and beaten on the roads and passes that led to the Holy
City; many suffered martyrdom as they knelt before the Holy Tomb. Out
of seven thousand who set out from Germany in one year, only two
thousand returned to tell a tale of cruel murder and outrage. The
marvel is that such a terrible state of things was allowed to exist so
long, without anything being done to remedy it. Pope Gregory VII.
(Hildebrand) did indeed gather an army in the latter part of the
eleventh century, but his energy was dissipated in the hopeless task of
asserting the power of the Pope over the Emperor, and his army was
eventually dispersed.
Robert Guiscard, the Norman, actually crossed the sea with his troops
in 1081, when death overtook him; and for a time the unhappy pilgrims
seemed to be left to their fate. Then suddenly was heard a "voice
calling in the wilderness," the voice of one who was to be the herald
of the First Crusade.
The story goes that a certain poor hermit named Peter, a native of the
French city of Amiens, set out to {56} go to Jerusalem in the year
1098. He had, like every one else, heard of the horrors he might be
called upon to endure, but pushed on, undeterred, until, possibly
because of his poverty, he arrived safely within the Holy City. He
found the condition of things even worse than he expected. The very
stones of the great church were stained with the blood of the martyrs;
the cries of tortured women rang in his ears; the patriarch Simeon
confessed that he had lost heart and was little better than a slave in
the Moslem's hands. It was clear that the Emperor of the East, their
proper protector, would never act up to his responsibilities. To whom,
then, could they look for aid?
"The nations of the West shall take up arms in your cause," cried the
dauntless Peter, and he forthwith promised to visit the Pope and obtain
his help and sympathy on his return journey, if the Patriarch would
give him letters to the Church of Rome.
That night, says the legend, Peter meant to spend in watching at the
tomb of the Saviour, and there he fell asleep. And as he slept, the
figure of the Redeemer stood before him, and with hand outstretched,
bade him hasten to fulfil his great task, saying, "So shalt thou make
known the woes of My people, and rouse the faithful to cleanse the Holy
Places from the infidel; for through danger and trial of every kind
shall the elect now enter the gates of Paradise."
With these words ringing in his ears, the Hermit at once hurried to the
coast and sailed for Italy. He came before Pope Urban II. at the very
time when the envoys of the Emperor of Constantinople were knocking
very hard at the doors of Rome. Urban therefore did not hesitate to
bless the enterprise of Peter, and to {57} bid him go forth and preach
a Crusade in his own way.
To induce kings, princes, and nobles, to leave their lands and go to
fight in a cause from which they could gain no apparent profit, needed
considerable time, and Urban himself undertook the difficult task. But
he was wise enough to see that the peculiar power of Peter the Hermit
could be used in stirring up the ordinary people, the simple-minded and
the poor, to take up arms for the cause of Christ. So, as a writer of
his own time puts it, "The hermit set out, from whence I know not, but
we saw him passing through the towns and villages, preaching
everywhere, and the people surrounding him in crowds, loading him with
offerings and celebrating his sanctity with such great praises that I
never remember such honour bestowed on any one."
Throughout Italy and France and along the banks of the Rhine journeyed
the strange inspired figure, with head and feet bare, his thin frame
wrapped in a coarse cloak, holding before him a great crucifix as he
rode upon an ass.
"He preached to innumerable crowds in the churches, the streets and the
highways; the Hermit entered with equal confidence the palace and the
cottage; and the people were impetuously moved by his call to
repentance and to arms. When he painted the sufferings of the natives
and pilgrims of Palestine, every heart was melted to compassion; every
breast glowed with indignation when he challenged the warriors of the
age to defend their brethren and rescue their Saviour."[1]
[1] Gibbon.
While Southern Europe was thus being stirred to enthusiasm by being
brought into personal contact with {58} one who had seen for himself
the woes of the Holy Land, Pope Urban had already called a council to
consider the matter in a practical form. At this Council of Placentia,
however, the chief part of the attention of those present was drawn to
the representations of the Greek Emperor, on whose behalf ambassadors
pleaded the cause of the city of Constantinople. If that city fell
before the threatened onslaught of the Turks, they said, Christianity
must perish for ever in the East, and nothing but a narrow stretch of
sea kept the Moslems from the gates of the capital city of the Eastern
Empire.
At these words the deepest sympathy was expressed, but it was suggested
that the best way of succouring the threatened city was to draw off the
attention of the Turks by an attack upon Palestine itself. This was
just what Urban desired. A definite march upon Jerusalem would fire
the imaginations of men of all ranks far more than an attempt to defend
Constantinople before it was actually besieged. The old jealousy
between the Eastern and Western Empire had to be reckoned with; and the
Emperor Alexios was no heroic figure to stand for the Cause of Christ.
The whole question, was, therefore, deferred until the autumn of 1095,
when a Council was summoned at Clermont in France.
That dull November day witnessed a most striking scene. The vast open
square in front of the Cathedral was crammed with people of all classes
drawn from all quarters by the rumour that the subject of a Crusade
would be discussed. From the great western door, immediately after
High Mass, emerged the figure of the Pope, and a number of bishops and
cardinals, dressed in vestments glowing with colour, followed him upon
the high scaffold covered with red cloth.
[Illustration: _The Preaching of Peter the Hermit_]
{61}
With cross outstretched in his left hand, the Pope held up his right to
command attention, and then began to speak. "Who can preserve the
force of that eloquence?" says one who stood by, and heard him point
out that the Turks, having pushed their way to the edge of the Western
World, and even then holding parts of Spain and Sicily, must now be
driven forth from that holiest place, where Christianity alone had a
right to enter.
Turning to the knights who stood by, leaning upon their swords, Urban
addressed them in words of fire.
"Were they spending their days in empty quarrels, shearing their
brethren like sheep? Let them go forth and fight boldly for the Cause
of God. Christ himself would be their leader as, more valiant than the
Israelites of old, they fought for their Jerusalem. A goodly thing
would it be for them to die in that city, where Christ for them laid
down His life. Let them, as valiant knights, descendants of
unconquered sires, remember the vigour of their ancestors and go forth
to conquer or to die."
This appeal stirred the multitude to its depths.
"DEUS VULT! DEUS VULT!"[2] went up to heaven in one great roar of
voices, and the cry was at once seized upon by Urban.
[2] It is the will of God! It is the will of God!
"Let these words be your war-cry," he exclaimed. "When you attack the
enemy, let the words resound from every side, 'God wills it.' Go forth
then; many sufferings will be yours, but you may redeem your souls at
the expense of your bodies. Rid God's sanctuary of the wicked; expel
the robbers; bring in the holy souls. These things I command, and for
their carrying out I fix the end of next spring. If you have rich {62}
possessions here, you are promised better ones in the Holy Land. Those
who die will enter the mansions of heaven, while the living shall
behold the sepulchre of their Lord. Ye are soldiers of the Cross; wear
then on your breasts, or on your shoulders, the blood-red sign of Him
who died for the salvation of your souls. Wear it as a token that His
help will never fail you; wear it as a pledge of a vow which can never
be recalled."
Another mighty burst of applause followed these words.
Crowds of bishops and knights at once pressed forward to take the red
cross badges which had been prepared, and Adhemar, Bishop of Puy, the
first to do so, was at once appointed as spiritual head of the
expedition, with Raymond, Count of Toulouse, as its military leader.
In the months that followed, all Southern Europe rang with the sounds
of riveting armour and of forging steel. The actual departure of the
Crusaders had been finally appointed for the August of 1090, but this
was not early enough for the fervent spirits who had been already
stirred to the depths by Peter the Hermit.
In the month of March, without preparation or provision for the
journey, a vast concourse of some sixty thousand men and women turned
their faces to the East, with Peter as their leader. As a writer of
the time says, "Lands were deserted of their labourers; houses of their
inhabitants; even whole cities migrated. You might see the husband
departing with his wife, yea, with all his family, you would smile to
see the whole household laden on a waggon, about to proceed on their
journey. The road was too narrow for the passengers, the paths too
hedged-in for the travellers, so thickly were they thronged by endless
multitudes."
{63}
About fifteen thousand pilgrims, mostly French, assembled in this way
at Cologne, about Easter 1096; and finding Peter unwilling to start
before the German contingent had come up, they set off under a leader
known as Walter the Penniless, and made for Constantinople. To do this
they had to pass through Hungary, a wild and barren tract, the people
of which had only lately been converted to Christianity; and here the
rough discipline which Walter, by mere force of character, had managed
to impose upon the horde that followed him, entirely broke down. Food
being denied them, the pilgrims began to plunder. The Hungarians at
once took up arms, and soon scattered the so-called troops in all
directions. Hundreds took refuge in a church, which was promptly
fired, and most of those within were burnt to death. Only a few
thousand managed to hide in the woods and so escape; and this poor
remnant, being collected with pain and difficulty by Walter the
Penniless, made their way to Constantinople and put themselves under
the protection of the Emperor until Peter should arrive.
Meantime, the Hermit had started, with a German following of about
forty thousand people. Amongst these were quite a large number of
women and children, many of whom doubtless did their part by cheering
and helping their men-folk on the long road. But the hardships of the
way told heavily on them, many fell out and lingered behind, beseeching
the men to wait for them. Long forced marches were an impossibility,
and a disorderly progress was made, in spite of the fact that they had
more provisions and more money than their predecessors on the road.
At length they came to the spot where so many of {64} Walter's
followers had lost their lives. The place was but too well marked out
by the weapons and crosses of the pilgrims which now adorned the walls
and houses of the neighbouring town. In a wild outburst of fury, the
mob threw itself upon the inhabitants, all unsuspecting as they were,
and massacred them by the thousand. Enraged at this treatment of his
people, the Hungarian King came down upon them with his forces, just as
the pilgrims were endeavouring to cross the river into Bulgaria, and
many perished before they could escape.
Once again, in crossing through Bulgaria, the undisciplined host came
to blows with their fellow-Christians living in those lands. In vain
did Peter represent that valuable lives, time and money was being
wasted. About ten thousand lost their lives. Peter himself barely
escaped to a wood, where he wandered about all night in misery,
thinking that all his host was slain. Next day, however, he managed to
collect about seven thousand, and as he marched on, other refugees
joined him, until at length he found himself at the head of about half
the force with which he had set out. Famished and gaunt, having lost
nearly all the women and children, as well as food, clothes and money,
Peter hurried them on till at length quite exhausted, they reached the
walls of Constantinople.
Here they found the remnant of the army of Walter the Penniless, who
had, from the first, kept his men under better control than had the
Hermit. It was only too clear, however, that neither army was in a fit
state to carry on a difficult warfare with the fighting Turks. The
Emperor Alexios, therefore, persuaded them to rest and recruit until
the organised Crusading Army should appear, {65} meantime giving them
all they could require, and treating them with the greatest kindness.
But it seemed as though a curse, instead of a blessing, rested upon
these forerunners of the First Crusade.
The pilgrims became quite unruly, burnt the houses of their hosts,
stripped the lead from some of the churches and actually tried to sell
it to the inhabitants of the city. The Greeks naturally turned against
their ill-mannered guests, and Alexios, dreading the consequences,
persuaded Peter to take them with him over the Bosphorus into Asia
Minor.
Thankful for his aid in transporting them, Peter got his men across the
strait, but, all too soon after they had encamped on the other side, a
fresh quarrel broke out between the followers of Walter and those of
Peter. Utterly unable to control his own men, Peter threw up his task
and retired to Constantinople alone.
Freed from all pretence of control, and mad with the knowledge that
they were free, about ten thousand of these pilgrims began to plunder
the neighbouring country, and finally made their way under the very
walls of Nicæa, where the Turks were encamped. Here, under the daring
leadership of one Reinaldo, they actually took a fortress, and, when
the Turkish Sultan advanced against them from Nicæa, left a good part
of their army to defend it while the rest came face to face with the
troops of Islam.
Needless to say, the pilgrims were hopelessly defeated; only their
leaders and a handful of men escaped to the fortress, but even here
there was no safety for them. The Sultan did not even trouble to
besiege it. He merely starved them out until they were forced to
yield. {66} The end of the story is a dismal one, seeing to what end
the pilgrims had pledged themselves. Offered the alternative of death
or Islam, by far the greater number accepted the latter, and the few
faithful were slain before their eyes.
A cruel trap was laid for that section of the army which had stayed
behind with Walter the Penniless. The Turks, whose troops were now
harassing the Christian camp, caused a rumour to be spread that
Reinaldo and his men had taken possession of Nicæa. At once the camp
rose like one man and demanded a share in the plunder. In vain Walter
warned, entreated, threatened; heedless of his warning, the infatuated
pilgrims rushed towards the city, unhindered, until they found
themselves in the midst of a large plain before the walls. Then, all
at once the troops of the Sultan David flung themselves upon them from
every side. Helpless they fell, with Walter in their midst. About
three thousand managed to escape, and fled back to Constantinople, the
rest of that vast host either perished on the field or were brutally
massacred afterwards by their conquerors.
Knowing nothing of the awful failure of their predecessors, a third
army, led by a German priest named Gotschalk, advanced as far as
Hungary. There the story almost repeats itself. The people of Hungary
refused to let them pass through; and their king, panic-stricken at
their appearance, captured them by a cruel trick. Calling them to his
presence, he told them that his people only opposed them because they
came in hostile fashion; but if they would lay down their arms, they
should be protected during their passage through his country, and have
their weapons restored on the {67} frontier. This the unhappy pilgrims
did, to be immediately massacred by the Hungarians.
Twice again we hear of the setting out of lawless troops, bent even
more openly on plunder than their predecessors, and twice again we hear
of the Danube running red with the blood of those slain by the hosts of
Carloman of Hungary.
Nothing, of course, could have been hoped from such undisciplined
hordes; but perhaps they served the purpose, at the cost of a quarter
of a million lives, of warning the more thoughtful Crusaders of the
dangers of the way, and, of the need of absolute control and able
guidance.
And thus, "the chaff being winnowed with the fan out of God's store,
the good grain began to appear."
{68}