The Story of Bernard of Clairvaux
and the Second Crusade
_The rhythm of their feet,
The ineffable low beat
Of the vast throngs pacing slowly,
Floats on the sea of Time
Like a musical low chime
From a far Isle, mystic, holy._
L. MORRIS, _Marching._
The First Crusade, with all its errors and shortcomings, may yet be
counted as a success so far as the rescuing of Jerusalem from infidel
hands was concerned.
The Second Crusade is one of the great failures of history. Yet the
movement is associated with the name of one of the most notable
characters of his age, the monk Bernard of Clairvaux. Just as in the
First Crusade, the uneducated hermit, Peter, had appealed to the
popular feeling of Europe, and had stirred up the poor and ignorant to
do their best for the cause of God, so St Bernard, himself the son of a
noble house, made his appeal first to the wealthy, to the crowned heads
of Europe and the flower of their knighthood, and afterwards, by his
zeal, his self-denying life, and his religious {108} faith, to all
those amongst whom he had earned the reputation of a saint.
During the years in which Bernard, as Abbot of Clairvaux, was devoting
his energies to raising the standard of monastic life, affairs in the
East had taken a distinct turn for the worse. The Saracens had grown
stronger as the Christians grew more slack and careless. Baldwin III.,
a boy of thirteen, had come to the throne of Jerusalem two years before
the first preaching of the Second Crusade, and held the reins of
government with a weak and nerveless hand. A year after his accession,
the kingdom of Edessa, the first to be established by Western
Christendom in the East, had fallen into the clutches of the dreaded
Sultan Zeuzhi.
The loss of Edessa sounded a trumpet note of alarm to the West. The
hard-won success of the First Crusade was evidently trembling in the
balance. Something must be done to establish and settle Christian
dominion of the Holy Land upon a much firmer basis.
There were other motives at work as well. France, torn by the constant
quarrels between its feudal lords, who only united with one another in
order to defy their sovereign, could not be pacified save by some
pressing call to arms outside. But the immediate cause that led the
young French king Louis to take up the Cross was the feeling aroused
throughout the religious world of the West by one desperate deed.
He was attacking the rebel town of Vitry, which cost him so much
trouble to quell, that, in revenge, he not only destroyed the city, but
set fire to a great church in which over a thousand people had taken
refuge. The cries of the victims and the reproaches of his subjects
combined to rouse the conscience of the king, who vowed {109} to go on
a pilgrimage to Jerusalem as a penance for his crime.
It was the Easter of 1146. On the top of the hill that overshadows the
town of Vézelay, a wooden tower had been hastily raised, with a high
platform in front, on which sat the beautiful proud Queen Eleanor
amidst a bevy of her ladies, and the young king with the great cross
upon his tunic. Suddenly there appeared in the midst of the gallant
throng a thin pale-faced monk, eager and bright-eyed, followed by three
bishops of the Church. Presently a vast crowd, stretching far away to
the edge of the plain below the hill, was hanging breathlessly upon the
words of the famous Abbot of Clairvaux, as, quietly at first, and then
with the most eloquent persuasion, be bade them go forth to drive the
unbeliever from the Holy Land.
A roar of enthusiasm arose from the multitude before his words were
done.
"Crosses! Crosses!" cried the people; and when Bernard had flung to
them those which lay in a great heap by his side, he tore up his own
long robe to make them more.
The vast multitude dispersed, with the solemn pledge of Louis of France
that, after one year of preparation, the Second Crusade should march
towards the East.
But Bernard's aim was not yet accomplished. Conrad of Germany, whose
possessions in that land were threatened on every side, held back from
the Holy War. The monk followed him from place to place, persuading
and threatening him in vain.
At length Conrad promised to give a definite answer on a certain day,
and on that occasion, when the Emperor came to Mass, Bernard preached a
sermon in which he {110} described the Day of Judgment. There Conrad
was depicted trembling before the judgment-seat as he was called to
account for his great riches and power. "How have I, thy Lord, failed
in aught of My duty towards _thee_, O man?" asks his Master. In the
breathless pause that followed, the Emperor arose and cried aloud with
tears, "No longer will I be ungrateful. I will serve Christ and take
up His Cross whenever He shall call me!"
"Praise be to God!" shouted the assembled congregation, rising to their
feet, and before the service was ended, Bernard had marked the King
with the Cross, fastening upon his breast the sacred emblem torn from a
banner from the high altar.
In the wave of enthusiasm that now swept over France and Germany as St
Bernard went from town to town, preaching and exhorting, the women did
not stand aloof. Queen Eleanor herself prepared to accompany her
husband, Louis, and with her went a crowd of fair dames from France.
With Conrad, too, marched a troop of women, bearing shields and swords,
led by one known as the "golden-footed dame."
The German army started first and, save for floods by which some were
drowned, and lack of discipline which ruined more, reached
Constantinople in comparative safety. But here the behaviour of the
drunken German soldiers, who wantonly destroyed the beautiful pleasure
gardens of the city, and showed themselves utterly untrustworthy,
created serious ill-feeling between Conrad and the Greek Emperor
Manuel. The latter succeeded in inducing Conrad to transfer his army
across the Bosphorus, on the promise that he would provide them with
guides through Asia Minor; but he {111} had meantime determined
secretly to betray the armies of the West at the earliest opportunity.
The guides supplied by him were in the pay of the Turkish Sultan of
that region, and after leading the unhappy men by dangerous roads and
in wrong directions, finally brought them to a barren plain, without
food or water, bordered by hills amongst which lurked thousands of the
enemy. The guides then fled in the darkness, leaving the army to cope
with an enemy whose sudden attacks and equally sudden disappearances
among the rocky hills gave the Crusaders little chance of effective
retaliation. Wounded and dispirited, the unfortunate Conrad at length
turned back to Nicæa, his starting-place in Asia Minor, taking with him
barely one-tenth of the army which had started from Germany.
Meantime, the treacherous Manuel had taken measures beforehand with
regard to Louis. When the French armies reached his territory they
found every city closed against them. Even when provisions might be
bought, they were let down from the walls in baskets by the Greeks.
This unfriendly spirit was not disregarded by the French nobles and
clergy, some of whom urged their king to make war upon an Emperor whose
cities were not invulnerable, and who was said to be in league with the
Turks.
This, however, Louis steadfastly refused, and trusted that his
well-disciplined army would win the favour of the Emperor--a favour
that the Germans had certainly not deserved.
It seemed, indeed, as though this might happen, for when they drew near
the city, a fine procession came forth to meet the King, and to conduct
him with honour to the presence of the Emperor.
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Before long "the two princes became as brothers." Manuel himself
displayed to Louis the magnificent buildings of his city, and described
to him the victorious march which Conrad, as he said, with his
assistance, had made through Asia Minor. He offered the same aid in
the way of guides to Louis, if he and his barons would pay the
customary homage.
With high hearts the French started for Nicæa, but they had not long
encamped in that place when some ragged and blood-stained fugitives
brought the news of the disaster to Conrad's troops. At once Louis
hastened to meet his brother sovereign; "weeping, they fell upon each
other's neck," and agreed henceforth to keep together and to aid one
another.
In dread of fresh attacks and more treachery, they turned from the
beaten track, and passing along the coast, came at length to Ephesus.
There a message reached them from Manuel, possibly repentant of his
former treachery, to the effect that their further way was blocked by a
huge army of Turks. Conrad, weak with wounds, then determined to
return for awhile to Constantinople, but, acting on his advice, Louis,
after staying to rest his troops and to let them spend their Christmas
in a fertile valley hard by, moved on over the frozen hills to the
River Meander, the opposite bank of which was lined with Turks. For
awhile both armies marched along the banks of the river in parallel
lines; then Louis discovered a ford, and thereupon made good his
passage and inflicted a great defeat upon the foe.
But a terrible obstacle now faced them some miles beyond Laodicea; they
found the way shut in by a steep range of hills "whose summit appeared
to touch the {113} heavens, whilst the torrent at its base seemed to
descend to hell."
Sent forward to secure the pass, Geoffrey de Rancogne struggled to the
top, but instead of taking possession of it, descended the further
slope, and, oblivious of the fact that the heights were thronged with
Turks, bade his men pitch their tents there. The main army, thinking
all was well, followed them to the summit of the narrow pass, where a
tremendous precipice skirted the track. Down rushed the foe upon them,
hurling them into the yawning depths. A large number of the Crusaders,
pilgrims, who were quite unarmed, blocked the way when Geoffrey strove
to return to the rescue; thousands of these were massacred, and Louis
himself only just managed to save his life by scrambling up to a high
rock, from whence his well-made armour defied the arrows of his
assailants. For a while they sought to drive him from his position,
but, not realising that he was the leader of the expedition, left him
at nightfall to his fate.
This awful disaster nearly ended the Second Crusade there and then.
Rage against Geoffrey de Rancogne for his error, and dismay at the
slaughter of their fellow-soldiers, put an end to discipline for the
time. It was only with the utmost difficulty that Louis was able to
conduct a remnant of the army to the post of Attaleia; the rest had
perished either by famine or by the constant attacks of the Turks upon
their line of march.
At the coast it was hoped that the troops might be taken to Antioch by
sea, and an attempt was made to arrange this with the Greeks who held
the fort. They, however, demanded an impossible sum for the three
days' voyage, and it was decided that the main army must go by land, in
charge of Greek guides, while {114} Louis and his barons crossed by
sea. First, however, the King bargained to pay a large sum if the
Greeks would receive into the city, and care for the large number of
sick and infirm pilgrims; and this was readily promised. There was no
reliance to be placed, however, upon the treacherous Greeks. Scarcely
had the king's ship set sail than they betrayed the whole band of sick
pilgrims into the hands of the Turks, and soon afterwards led the army
also into the midst of the hordes of the infidel. The helpless misery
of the victims touched the hearts even of the Turks, who pitied them
and gave them food, "and therefore," says the historian, "many of the
Christians forsook their own religion and went over to the Turks. O
kindness more cruel than Greek treachery! For, giving bread, they
stole the true faith.... God may indeed pardon the German Emperor,
through whose advice we met with such misfortunes, but shall He pardon
the Greeks, whose cruel craft slew so many in either army?"
Thus, by this twofold act of treachery, the Greeks, the representatives
of Eastern Christianity, practically put an end to the Second Crusade.
It was no triumphal entry that Louis of France made when, on reaching
Jerusalem, he passed through the streets behind priests and bishops,
who sang, "Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord." He had
come empty-handed, for the bones of his troops were scattered on the
hills and plains of Asia Minor.
[Illustration: _King Louis surrounded by the Turks_]
At Jerusalem Louis found that Conrad, travelling from Constantinople by
water, had preceded him with a fairly numerous following. Feeling that
something must be done towards fulfilling the aim with which they had
set out, the two sovereigns joined with the young king, {117} Baldwin
of Jerusalem, in an attempt to besiege Damascus, still one of the most
important cities of the Holy Land.
To this siege came the famous Knights of the Hospital and the Temple,
and the combined troops fought with such success that the fall of the
city seemed certain. Moreover, since they were attacking it from a
quarter rich in orchards and springs, they had no fear of the
ever-dreaded famine that had wrought such havoc in the First Crusade.
Then once again discord brought disaster. Heated discussions arose as
to who should rule Damascus when it was taken, and the suggestion that
it should be given to the Count of Flanders at once gave offence to the
"barons of Palestine,"--those who had inherited the possessions of the
First Crusaders. They actually began to enter into negotiations with
the citizens of Damascus, and, playing the part of traitors, persuaded
Louis, Conrad, and Baldwin that they would find the walls weakest at
the farther side of the city. Falling into the trap, the three kings
moved their camp, and soon found themselves cut off from all supplies
of food and drink, and faced by hopelessly strong fortifications. So
they gave up in despair. Conrad, in deep disgust, returned to Europe
at once; Louis, after a short stay at Jerusalem, returned to France by
sea, with a few wretched followers, in place of the gallant army that
had marched forth barely a year before.
The utter failure of the Second Crusade--a failure which left countless
homes in Western Europe empty and desolate--struck a heavy blow at the
authority and popularity of Bernard of Clairvaux. He himself was not
slow to point out the cause.
"We have fallen on evil days," says he, "in which the {118} Lord,
provoked by our sins, has judged the world, with justice indeed, but
not with His wonted mercy. The sons of the Church have been overthrown
in the desert, slain with the sword or destroyed by famine," and he
goes on to say that this is due to allowing thieves and murderers to
take part in an attempt which only the faithful and holy soul should be
found worthy to make.
The chief result of the Crusade, as far as the Holy War itself was
concerned, was to weaken the position of the Christians in that region;
for as Fuller quaintly remarks, "The Turks, seeing one citie both bear
the brunt and batter the strength of both armies, began to conceive
that their own fear was their greatest enemy; and those swords of these
new pilgrimes which they dreaded in the sheath, they slighted when they
saw them drawn, and they shook off the awe which had formerly possessed
them of the strength of the Western Emperor."
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