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SECOND CRUSADE.

A.D. 1142-1148.

The Christian colonies, threatened by the Mussulmans, called upon the princes of Europe to assist them. The bishop of Gaballa in Syria, accompanied by a great number of priests and knights, repaired to Viterbo, where the sovereign pontiff then resided. The recitals of the Christian embassy not only caused tears to flow from the eyes of the chief of the faithful; the misfortunes of Edessa, and the impending dangers of Jerusalem excited universal commiseration and dread. Cries of alarm were raised throughout Europe. Forty-five years had passed away since the deliverance of the Holy Sepulchre, yet the minds of men were not at all changed, and eagerly, as at the first crusade, they flew to arms. In this instance it was principally the voice of St. Bernard that excited the nations and kings of Christendom to range themselves under the banners of the cross. Born of a noble family of Burgundy, St. Bernard, whilst yet in the dawn of manhood, had, with thirty relations and companions whom his discourses and his example[264] influenced, secluded himself in the monastery of Citteaux. He was sent two years after to Clairvaux, a then unknown retreat, which he vivified with his presence, and rendered one of the most celebrated monasteries of Christendom. Many of the most learned doctors consulted the wisdom of the abbot of Clairvaux, and several councils bowed to his decisions. By the power of his eloquence alone he humbled the anti-pope Leo, and placed Innocent II. in the chair of St. Peter. Pope Innocent III. and Abbot Suger were his disciples. Prelates, princes, and monarchs glorified themselves in following his counsels, believing that God spoke by his mouth.

When the ambassadors from the East arrived in Europe, Louis VII. had just ascended the throne of France. The reign of this young monarch began under the most happy auspices. Most of the great vassals who had revolted against the royal authority had laid down their arms and renounced their pretensions. By a marriage with the daughter of William IX., Louis had added the duchy of Aquitaine to his kingdom. France, in her enlarged condition, had nothing to fear from neighbouring states, and whilst civil wars were desolating both England and Germany, she nourished in peace under the administration of Suger.

Peace was not for a moment disturbed but by the unjust pretensions of the pope and by the intrigues of Thibaut, count of Champagne, who took advantage of the ascendancy he had over the clergy to direct the thunders of the Church against his sovereign. Louis resisted the attempts of the Holy See with firmness, and was determined to punish a rebellious and dangerous vassal. Urged on by a spirit of blind revenge, he carried fire and sword through the states of Thibaut; he besieged Vitri; was himself first in the assault, and put to the sword every inhabitant to be met with in the city. A great number of persons of all ages had taken refuge in a church, hoping to find the altar a secure asylum against the anger of a Christian prince; but Louis set fire to the church, and thirteen hundred people perished in the flames. An action so barbarous spread terror among the nation whom Louis was appointed to render happy; when he returned from this expedition to his capital, the people received him in melancholy silence; his ministers allowed him to read their regret in the dejection of their countenances; and St. Bernard, like another Ambrosius, boldly compelled him to hear the complaints of religion and outraged humanity.

In an eloquent letter, he represented to the monarch the country desolated, and pointed to the Church despised and trampled under foot. “I will fight for her,” he said, “to the death; but instead of bucklers and swords, I will employ the arms which become me—my tears and my prayers to God.” At the voice of the holy abbot, Louis became sensible of his error; and the dread of the anger of Heaven made such a lively impression upon his mind, that he sank into a deep and alarming depression. He believed he saw the hand of God ready to strike him; he renounced all pleasures, and abandoned even the care of his authority, in order to devote himself to grief and tears. The abbot of Clairvaux, who had awakened his remorse, was obliged to calm his spirits and reanimate his courage, by representing to him the great mercy of God. The king of France recovered from his remorseless dejection; but as in the opinion of his age great crimes could only be absolved by a voyage to the Holy Land, his earnest desire to expiate the tragical death of the inhabitants of Vitri made him form the resolution of going to combat against the infidels.

Louis VII. convoked an assembly at Bourges, at which he made his project known to the principal nobility and the clergy. Godfrey, bishop of Langres, applauded his zeal, and in a pathetic discourse deplored the captivity of Edessa, and the dangers and disasters of the Eastern Christians. His eloquence moved his auditors; but the oracle of the assembly, he who held all hearts in his hand, had not yet spoken. Whether that he was yet not convinced of the utility of the crusade, or that he was desirous of giving it more solemnity, St. Bernard advised the king of France to consult the Holy See before he undertook anything. This advice was generally approved of. Louis sent ambassadors to Rome, and resolved to convoke a new assembly as soon as he should have received the answer of the sovereign pontiff.

Eugenius III., who then filled the chair of St. Peter, had already in several of his letters solicited the assistance of the faithful against the Saracens. The Holy See had never had stronger motives for the preaching of a crusade. A spirit of sedition and heresy was beginning to insinuate itself among the people, and even among the clergy of the West, threatening at the same time the power of the popes and the doctrines of the Church. Eugenius had to contend against the troubles excited by Arnold of Bressia; and nothing was talked of in the capital of the Christian world but rebuilding the Capitol, and substituting for the pontifical authority that of the consuls and tribunes of ancient Rome. In such a state of things, a great event like that of a crusade was likely to turn men’s minds from dangerous novelties, and make them rally round the sanctuary. The sovereign pontiff could not avoid seeing in a holy war the double advantage of defending Jerusalem against the enterprises of the Saracens, and the Church and himself against the attacks of heretics and innovators. Eugenius congratulated the king of France on his pious determination, and by his letters again exhorted all Christians to assume the cross and take up arms, promising them the same privileges and the same rewards that Urban II. had granted to the warriors of the first crusade. Detained in Italy, where he was engaged in appeasing the troubles of Rome, he regretted not being able, as Urban had done, to cross the Alps, and reanimate the zeal of the faithful by his presence and his discourses; but he confided to St. Bernard the honourable mission of preaching the crusade in France and Germany.

After having received the approbation of the Holy See, Louis convoked a new assembly at Vèzelai, a little city of Burgundy; and the reputation of St. Bernard and the letters addressed by the pope to all Christendom, drew to this assembly a great number of nobles, knights, prelates, and men of all conditions. On the Palm-Sunday, after having invoked the Holy Ghost, all who had come to hear the abbot of Clairvaux repaired to the side of a hill just without the gates of the city. A large tribune was erected, in which the king in his royal robes, and St. Bernard in the humble costume of a cenobite, were saluted by the acclamations of an immense multitude. The orator of the crusade first read the letters of the sovereign pontiff, and then spoke to his auditors of the taking of Edessa by the Saracens, and of the desolation of the holy places. He showed them the universe plunged in terror on learning that God had begun to desert his beloved land;[265] he represented to them the city of Sion as imploring their succour, Christ as ready to immolate himself a second time for them, and the heavenly Jerusalem opening all its gates to receive the glorious martyrs of the faith. “You cannot but know,” said he to them, “we live in a period of chastisement and ruin; the enemy of mankind has caused the breath of corruption to fly over all regions; we behold nothing but unpunished wickedness. The laws of men or the laws of religion have no longer sufficient power to check depravity of manners and the triumph of the wicked. The demon of heresy has taken possession of the chair of truth, and God has sent forth his malediction upon his sanctuary. Oh, ye who listen to me! hasten then to appease the anger of Heaven, but no longer implore his goodness by vain complaints; clothe not yourselves in sackcloth, but cover yourselves with your impenetrable bucklers; the din of arms, the dangers, the labours, the fatigues of war are the penances that God now imposes on you. Hasten then to expiate your sins by victories over the infidels, and let the deliverance of the holy places be the reward of your repentance.”

These words of the orator excited the greatest enthusiasm in the assembly of the faithful, and, like Urban at the council of Clermont, St. Bernard was interrupted by the repeated cries of “It is the will of God! It is the will of God!” Then raising his voice, as if he had been the interpreter of the will of Heaven, he promised them, in the name of God, success to their holy expedition, and thus continued his discourse:—

“If it were announced to you that the enemy had invaded your cities, your castles, and your lands, had ravished your wives and your daughters, and profaned your temples, which among you would not fly to arms? Well, then, all these calamities, and calamities still greater, have fallen upon your brethren, upon the family of Jesus Christ, which is yours. Why do you hesitate to repair so many evils—to revenge so many outrages? Will you allow the infidels to contemplate in peace the ravages they have committed on Christian people? Remember that their triumph will be a subject for grief to all ages, and an eternal opprobrium upon the generation that has endured it. Yes, the living God has charged me to announce to you that he will punish them who shall not have defended him against his enemies. Fly then to arms; let a holy rage animate you in the fight; and let the Christian world resound with these words of the prophet, ‘Cursed be he who does not stain his sword with blood!’ If the Lord calls you to the defence of his heritage, think not that his hand has lost its power.[266] Could he not send twelve legions of angels, or breathe one word, and all his enemies would crumble away into dust? But God has considered the sons of men, to open for them the road to his mercy. His goodness has caused to dawn for you a day of safety, by calling on you to avenge his glory and his name. Christian warriors, he who gave his life for you, to-day demands yours in return. These are combats worthy of you, combats in which it is glorious to conquer, and advantageous to die. Illustrious knights, generous defenders of the cross, remember the example of your fathers who conquered Jerusalem, and whose names are inscribed in heaven; abandon then the things that perish to gather eternal palms, and conquer a kingdom which has no end.”

All the barons and knights applauded the eloquence of St. Bernard, and were persuaded that he had but uttered the will of God. Louis VII., deeply moved by the words he had heard, cast himself, in the presence of all the people, at the feet of St. Bernard and demanded the Cross. Clothed with this revered sign, he himself addressed the assembly of the faithful, to exhort them to follow his example. In his discourse he showed them the impious Philistine casting opprobrium upon the house of David, and reminded them of the holy determination which God himself had inspired in him. He invoked, in the name of the Christians of the East, the aid of that generous nation of which he was the chief; of that nation which would not endure shame when directed at itself or its allies, and which always carried terror amidst the enemies of its worship or its glory. At this discourse the whole auditory was melted in tears. The touching piety of the monarch persuaded all who had not been convinced by the eloquence of St. Bernard. The hill upon which this vast multitude was assembled, resounded for a length of time with the cries of “It is the will of God! It is the will of God!” and “the Cross! the Cross!” Eleanor of Guienne, who accompanied Louis, received, as his wife, the sign of the cross from the hands of the abbot of Clairvaux. Alphonso, count of St. Gilles de Thoulouse, Henry, son of Thibaut, count of Champagne, Thieri, count of Flanders, William of Nevers, Renaud, count de Tenniere, Yves, count de Soissons, William, count de Panthien, William, count de Varennes, Archanbaud de Bourbon, Enguerard de Coucy, Hugh de Lusignan, the count de Dreux, brother of the king, his uncle the count de Maurinne, and a crowd of barons and knights followed the example of Louis and Eleanor. Several bishops, among whom history remarks Simon, bishop of Noyon, Godfrey, bishop of Langres, Alain, bishop of Arras, and Arnold, bishop of Lisieux, threw themselves at the feet of St. Bernard, taking the oath to fight against the infidels. The crosses which the abbot of Clairvaux had brought were not sufficient for the great number who claimed them. He tore his vestments to make more, and several of those who surrounded him, in their turns, tore their clothes into strips in order to satisfy the impatience of all the faithful whom he had inflamed with a desire for the holy war.

To preserve the memory of this day, Pons, abbot of Vèzelai, founded upon the hill where the knights and barons had assembled, a church, which he dedicated to the holy cross.[267] The tribune, from the top of which St. Bernard had preached the crusade, remained there a long time the object of the veneration of the faithful.

After the assembly of Vèzelai, the abbot of Clairvaux continued to preach the crusade in the cities and neighbouring countries. France soon resounded with the fame of the miracles by which God seemed to authorize and consecrate, in some sort, his mission. He was everywhere considered as the messenger of Heaven, as another Moses, who was to conduct the people of God. All the Christians were persuaded that the success of the enterprise depended upon St. Bernard, and in an assembly held at Chartres, in which were met several barons and princes, illustrious by their exploits, it was resolved by unanimous consent, to give him the command of the holy war. The Crusaders, they said, could never fail to be victorious under the laws of a leader to whom God appeared to have confided his omnipotence. The abbot of Clairvaux, who remembered the example of Peter the hermit, refused the perilous employment with which they desired to honour him; he was even so much terrified by the pressing entreaties of the barons and knights, that he addressed himself to the pope, and conjured the sovereign pontiff not to abandon him to the fantasies of men.

The pope answered St. Bernard that he only need arm himself with the sword of the word of God, and content himself with sounding the evangelical trumpet to announce the war. The abbot of Clairvaux employed himself in nothing thereafter, but his mission; and he acquitted himself with so much zeal, and his preachings produced such an extraordinary, and I will venture to add, so unfortunate an effect, that they depopulated cities and countries. He wrote to Pope Eugenius: “The villages and the castles are deserted; and there are none left but widows and orphans, whose husbands and parents are still living.”

While St. Bernard was thus preaching the crusade in the provinces of France, a German monk, named Rodolphe, exhorted the people of the Rhine to massacre the Jews, whom he represented in his vehement discourses as the allies of the Saracens, and the most dangerous enemies of the Christian religion. The abbot of Clairvaux fearing the effect of these preachings, hastened into Germany to impose silence on this seditious apostle of the holy war. As the German monk had flattered the passions of the multitude, St. Bernard required all the ascendancy of his virtue and his fame to combat his doctrines. He ventured to raise his voice in the midst of an irritated people, and to make them feel that Christians ought not to persecute Jews, but pray to Heaven for their conversion; that it belonged to Christian piety to pardon the weak, and make war against the exalted and proud. The preacher of the crusade at length silenced the turbulent orator, and sent him back to his monastery, reminding him that the duty of monks was not to preach, but to weep; that they ought to consider cities as prisons, and solitude as their paradise.

This action of St. Bernard,[268] which was scarcely observed in his own barbarous age, and which has been turned into ridicule in ours, does honour to his character, and may excuse the extravagant zeal he displayed for a disastrous war. When he arrived in Germany, the Germanic empire was beginning to breathe after the long troubles that had followed the election of Lothaire. Conrad III., clothed with the purple, had just convoked a general diet at Spires. The abbot of Clairvaux repaired thither with the intention of preaching war against the Mussulmans, and peace among Christian princes. St. Bernard pressed the emperor, Conrad, several times to take up the cross; he at first exhorted him in private conferences, and afterwards renewed his exhortations in sermons preached in public. Conrad could not make up his mind to take the oath to go and fight against the infidels in Asia, alleging the recent troubles of the German empires. St. Bernard replied that the Holy See had placed him upon the imperial throne, and that the pope and the Church would support their work. “Whilst you shall defend his heritage, God himself will take care to defend yours; he will govern your people, and your reign will be the object of his love.” The more hesitation the emperor felt, the warmer became the zeal and eloquence of St. Bernard to persuade him. One day as the orator of the crusade was saying mass before the princes and lords convoked at Spires, all at once he interrupted the service to preach the war against the infidels. Towards the end of his discourse, he transported the imagination of his auditors to the day of judgment, and made them hear the trumpets which were to call all the nations of the earth before the tribunal of God. Jesus Christ, armed with his cross and surrounded by his angels, addressing himself to the emperor of Germany, recalled to him all the benefits with which he had loaded him, and reproached him with ingratitude. Conrad was so much affected by this vehement apostrophe, that he interrupted the speaker, and, with tears in his eyes, cried out: “I know what I owe to Jesus Christ, and I swear to go wherever he shall call me.” Then the nobles and the people who believed they had been witnesses of a miracle, threw themselves on their knees and returned thanks to God for his blessings. Conrad received from the hands of the abbot of Clairvaux the emblem of the Crusaders, together with a flag which was placed upon the altar, and which Heaven itself had blessed. A great number of barons and knights assumed the cross in imitation of Conrad, and the diet which had been assembled to deliberate upon the interests of the empire, was occupied entirely with the safety of the Christian colonies in Asia.

A new diet was convoked in Bavaria, where the letters of St. Bernard determined a great number of bishops and German nobles to take the cross. Ladislas, duke of Bohemia, Odoacer, marquis of Syria, Bernard, count of Carinthia, Amadeus, duke of Turin, and the marquis de Montferrat took the oath to go into the East to fight the Saracens. Among the prelates who enrolled themselves under the banners of the Cross, history names the bishop of Passau, the bishop of Ratisbon, and the wise Otho of Frisingen, brother of the emperor, to whom posterity owes a relation of the principal events of this war.

The most dear interests, the most tender affections had no power to detain the knights and princes in their countries and homes. Frederick, nephew of the emperor, who had taken the cross, allowed himself not to be moved by the tears of his aged father, the duke of Suabia, who died with grief, in spite of the consolations of St. Bernard. A war-cry was heard from the Rhine to the Danube; Germany, although so long agitated by its own troubles, found in all parts warriors for the holy expedition. Men of all conditions obeyed the voice of the preacher of the holy war, and followed the example of kings and princes: a thing to be wondered at, says Otho of Frisingen, thieves and robbers were seen performing penance, and swearing to shed their blood for Jesus Christ. “Every reasonable man,” adds the same historian, “a witness of the changes that were operated in them, plainly perceived the work of God, and was not the less astonished at it.”

The Germans were so easily persuaded, that they came and listened to the abbot of Clairvaux, who preached to them in a language they did not understand, and returned convinced of the truth and holiness of the discourse. The sight of a preacher so much reverenced, appeared to bestow a marvellous sense upon every one of his words. The miracles which were attributed to him, and which were performed sometimes in private, sometimes in public, as Otho of Frisingen says, were like a divine language which warmed the most indifferent, and persuaded the most incredulous. Shepherds and labourers abandoned the fields to follow him into towns and cities; when he arrived in a city, all labours were suspended. The war against the infidels, and the prodigies by which God promised his protection to the soldiers of the cross, became the only business of men of all classes. Sometimes the abbot of Clairvaux assembled the clergy, and preached reform in their manners; sometimes he addressed the people and animated them against the Saracens.

St. Bernard visited all the cities of the Rhine, from Constance to Maestricht; in each city, say the ancient chronicles, he restored sight to the blind, hearing to the deaf, and cured the lame and the sick; they report thirty-six miracles performed in one day, at each prodigy the multitude crying out,[269] “Jesus Christ, have mercy upon us! all the saints, succour us!” The disciples who followed the abbot of Clairvaux could not help regretting that the tumult which was constantly raised upon his passage, prevented their seeing several of his miracles.[270] Every day an increasing crowd pressed around him. History relates that he was once on the point of being stifled by the multitude which followed his steps, and only owed his safety to the emperor of Germany, who took him in his arms, and drove back the people, who were impatient to see and touch him whom they regarded as the interpreter and messenger of God.

After having set Germany in a blaze with his preaching, and revived the zeal of the countries of Italy by his pathetic letters, St. Bernard returned to France, to announce the success of his mission. His absence had suspended everything, and that multitude of Crusaders, upon whom his eloquence had acted so powerfully, appeared to have neither chief, direction, nor rallying-point whilst he was not in the midst of them. The king of France and the nobles of the kingdom, assembled at Etampes, had formed no resolution; but the return of St. Bernard restored life to the councils of the princes and the barons, and made them resume with new ardour the enterprise of the holy war.

When he made, before the lords and prelates, the recital of his journey, and of the prodigies God had effected by his hand; when he spoke of the determination he had induced the emperor of Germany to form, a determination which he called the miracle of miracles, all hearts expanded with enthusiasm, and were filled with hope and joy.

At the same time several ambassadors appeared in the assembly of Etampes, to announce that their princes had determined to enrol themselves under the banners of the cross; and letters were read from distant countries, by which a great number of foreign lords and barons promised to join the French in their projected expedition against the Saracens. From that period no doubt was entertained of the happy results of the crusade; and the zeal which was displayed by all the nations of Europe was considered as a manifest expression of the will of Heaven.

Among the ambassadors who were present at the assembly of Etampes were some from Roger, king of Apulia and Sicily, who offered the Crusaders vessels and provisions, and promised to send his son with them to the Holy Land, if they determined to go by sea. The Sicilian deputies reminded the king of France and his barons of the perfidy of the Greeks towards the Franks in the first crusade. “You may,” said they, “brave the forces of the most powerful nations, but nothing can secure you against the artifices and machinations of a deceitful and perfidious people.” The assembly deliberated upon the offers of the king of Sicily, and upon the route it would be most advisable to take; the greater part of the barons, full of confidence in their arms and the protection of God, could not be brought to doubt the faith of the Greeks. The route by sea seemed to offer fewer wonders to their curiosity, and fewer perils for the exercise of their bravery; besides, the vessels which Roger could furnish would not nearly suffice to transport all whom religious zeal would lead to join the holy bands. It was therefore resolved that preference should be given to the route by land. The historian Odo de Deuil speaks with deep regret of this resolution, which proved so fatal to the Crusaders, and about which they had neglected to consult the Holy Ghost. The Sicilian deputies could not conceal their sorrow, and returned to their country predicting all the misfortunes that would ensue.

The assembly of Etampes appeared to act under a much better influence when it became necessary to choose the persons who should be intrusted with the government of the kingdom during the pilgrimage of Louis VII. When the barons and the prelates had deliberated upon this important choice, St. Bernard, who was their interpreter, addressed the king, and, pointing to Abbot Suger and the count de Nevers, said, “Sire, there are two weapons, and they are enough.” It was necessary that this choice of the assembly should obtain the approbation of the king and the suffrages of the people. The abbot of St. Denis had blessed France with a long peace, and had been the author of the glory of two reigns. He was opposed to the crusade; and what perfects his eulogy, he had preserved his popularity without sharing in the prevailing opinions. Suger advised the king not to abandon his subjects, and represented to him that his errors would be much better repaired by a wise administration of the kingdom God had placed him over, than by conquests in the East. He who could dare to give such advice as this, was more worthy than any other to represent his sovereign; but Suger at first refused an employment of which he plainly saw the burthen and the danger. The assembly would not make another choice; and the king himself had recourse to prayers and tears to induce his minister to take his place in the government of the kingdom. The pope, who arrived a short time after in France, ordered Suger to yield to the wishes of the monarch, the nobles, and the nation. The sovereign pontiff, in order to facilitate the honourable task which he imposed upon the abbot of St. Denis, launched, beforehand, the thunders of the Church against all who should make any attempts against the regal authority during the absence of the king.

The count de Nevers, who had likewise been pointed out by the assembly of the barons and bishops, declined, as the abbot of St. Denis had done, the dangerous charge which they offered him. When he was warmly pressed to accept the government of the kingdom, he declared that he had made a vow to enter into the order of St. Bruno. Such was the spirit of the age, that this intention was respected as the will of God; and whilst the assembly congratulated themselves upon inducing a monk to leave his cloister to govern a kingdom, they saw without astonishment a prince take an eternal farewell of the world, and bury himself in a monastery.

From this time preparations for departure were actively commenced, and all the provinces of France and Germany were in motion. The same motives which had armed the companions of Godfrey in the first expedition, inflamed the courage of the new Crusaders. The eastern war held out to their ambition the same hopes and the same advantages. The greater part of the people were animated by the never-forgotten remembrance of the conquest of Jerusalem. The relations that this conquest had established between Syria and Europe added still to the zeal and ardour of the soldiers of the cross; there was scarcely a family in the West that did not furnish a defender to the holy places, an inhabitant to the cities of Palestine. The Christian colonies in the East were to the Franks as a new country; warriors who assumed the cross appeared to be only arming themselves to defend another France, which was dear to all Christians, and which might be called the France of the East.

The example of two monarchs also necessarily influenced many warriors when ranging themselves under the banners of the crusade. Many of those turbulent nobles, who were then called prædones, must have had, as well as Louis VII., numerous guilty violences to expiate. The spirit of chivalry, which was every day making fresh progress, was not a less powerful principle with a nobility purely and entirely warlike. A great number of women, attracted by the example of Eleanor of Guienne, took up the cross, and armed themselves with sword and lance. A crowd of knights eagerly followed them; and indeed a species of shame seemed attached to all who did not go to fight the infidels. History relates that distaffs and spindles were sent to those who would not take arms, as an appropriate reproach for their cowardice. The troubadours and trouveres, whose songs were so much liked, and who employed themselves in singing the victories of knights over the Saracens, determined to follow into Asia the heroes and the dames they had celebrated in their verses. Queen Eleanor and Louis the Young took several troubadours and minstrels with them into the East, to alleviate the tediousness of a long journey.

And yet the enthusiasm of the Crusaders did not bear quite the same character as that of the first crusade. The world was not, in their eyes, filled with those prodigies which proclaim the especial will of Heaven; great phenomena of nature did not work upon the imagination of the pilgrims so vividly. God seemed to have delegated all his power to a single man, who led the people at his will by his eloquence and his miracles. Nobody was seen, nobody was heard, but St. Bernard; whereas in the time of Peter the Hermit orators everywhere abounded, and nature seemed charged by God himself to promote the crusade.

The only extraordinary occurrence of the time was the peace which prevailed throughout Europe.[271] As at the approach of the first crusade, wars between individuals, civil troubles, and public outrage ceased all at once. The departure of the Crusaders was accompanied by less disorder than at the setting out of the first expedition; they neither showed the same imprudence in the choice of their leaders, nor the same impatience to march. France and Germany had not to suffer the depredations of an undisciplined multitude. The first crusade, some of the armies of which were commanded by princes and knights, and others by adventurers and monks, exhibited all the license and the tumultuous passions that are met with in unsettled republics. In the second holy war, which was led by two powerful princes, the more regular forms of a monarchy were preserved. The smaller vassals gathered around their lords, and the latter were obedient to the orders of the king of France or the emperor of Germany. Such good order in the outset of the holy enterprise appeared to promise certain victory, and could create no forethought of the disasters which awaited the Christian armies.

The city of Metz was the rendezvous of the French Crusaders, and Ratisbon that of the Germans. The roads which led to these cities were covered with pilgrims, marching under the banners of their lords. A great number of warriors also repaired to the ports of Flanders, England, and Italy, where fleets were prepared for the transport of provisions and arms, with Crusaders who were impatient to arrive in Asia.

As the routes to the East were now known, the pilgrims deceived themselves less with regard to the countries they had to pass through. The sovereign pontiff had advised the barons and knights not to take with them either dogs or birds for sport; they renounced the luxury of their castles, and contented themselves with their arms.[272] They even had the precaution to take with them things that might be required in a distant journey; the Crusaders, but particularly the Germans, carried all sorts of instruments for throwing bridges, cutting down forests, and clearing roads.

The greatest difficulty was to find money to defray the expenses of the holy war. All whom infirmities or particular circumstances detained in Europe were anxious to assist, by their offerings, the enterprise of the crusade. According to the devotion of the times, the greater part of the rich who died without having seen Jerusalem, left by their will a sum for the promotion of pilgrimages to the East. All these pious gifts were, no doubt, considerable, but they could not suffice for the support of a large army. To procure the necessary money Louis VII. had recourse to loans, and levied imposts, which were regulated and approved of by the sovereign pontiff. St. Bernard and Peter the Venerable had exerted themselves with much courage against the persecution of the Jews; but the abbot of Cluny thought they ought to be punished in that which they held dearest, their wealth, amassed by usury, and even by sacrilege. He advised the king of France to take from the Jews the money necessary for the war against the Saracens. It is probable that the advice of Peter the Venerable was not disdained, and that the Jews furnished a considerable part of the expenses of the crusade. The clergy also, who had so much enriched themselves by the first crusade, were obliged to advance considerable sums for this expedition. The monastery of Fleury alone paid three hundred silver marks and a large sum in gold. In many other abbeys the vases and church ornaments were sold to purchase arms, and to pay the expenses of a war undertaken for the glory of Christ.

The lords and barons followed the example of the king of France. Some pledged or sold their lands, but the greater part made their vassals furnish means for their pilgrimage. The heavy taxes laid upon the people, and particularly the spoliation of the churches, excited many complaints, and began to cool the ardour for the crusade. “There was,”[273] says an ancient historian, “neither state, condition, age, nor sex, which was not forced to contribute to the equipment of the king and the princes going with him; whence followed the discontent of every one, and innumerable maledictions, as well directed against the king as the troops.”

Nevertheless Louis VII. prepared for his undertaking by acts of devotion; he visited the hospitals, and caused prayers to be put up in all the churches for the success of the crusade. When his departure drew near, he went to St. Denis, to take the famous Oriflamme, which was borne before the kings of France in battle. The church of St. Denis was at that time decorated with great magnificence; among the historical monuments which were there collected, the portraits of Godfrey de Bouillon, Tancred, Raymond de St. Gilles, and the battles of Dorylæum, Antioch, and Ascalon,[274] traced upon the windows of the choir, must have attracted the eyes and fixed the attention of Louis and his companions in arms. The king, prostrated on the tomb of the holy apostle of France, implored his protection and that of his pious ancestors, whose ashes reposed in the same place. The pope, who had come to St. Denis, placed anew the kingdom of France under the safeguard of religion, and presented to Louis VII. his scrip and staff, as the emblems of his pilgrimage. After this ceremony Louis set out, accompanied by Queen Eleanor and a great part of his court. He wept while he embraced Abbot Suger, who could not himself restrain his tears. The people, says a modern historian, who crowded his passage, after having followed him for a long distance with the most vociferous applauses, returned in melancholy silence to their homes as soon as he was out of sight. He left Metz at the head of a hundred thousand Crusaders, traversed Germany, and directed his march towards Constantinople, where he had appointed to meet the emperor of the West.

The emperor Conrad, after having caused his son Henry to be crowned, left Ratisbon in the beginning of spring. He was followed by an army so numerous, that, according to the report of Otho, of Frisingen, the waves were not sufficient to transport it, nor the fields spacious enough to contain all its battalions. He had sent ambassadors to announce his coming to Constantinople, and to demand permission to cross the territories of the Greek empire. Manuel Comnenus returned him a most friendly and flattering answer; but when the Germans arrived in Bulgaria and Thrace, they were not long in perceiving that they must not reckon upon the promises that had been made them.

At the time of the first crusade, Constantinople was in great dread of the Turks, which was of service to the Franks; but from that period the capital of the Greeks had experienced no alarms, and no longer feared the attacks of the Mussulmans. An opinion likewise had spread through all the provinces of the empire, that the warriors of the West entertained the project of taking possession of Constantinople. This report, probable in itself, and strengthened by the threats of the Crusaders, was very little calculated to reëstablish peace and harmony between people who despised each other reciprocally, and, perhaps with equal reason, exchanged accusations of violations of the faith of treaties.

Manuel Comnenus, whom Odo de Deuil will not even name, because, he says, his name is not written in the book of life, was the grandson of Alexius I., who reigned at the time of the first crusade. Faithful to the policy of his ancestor, more able, and above all more artful and hypocritical than he, he neglected no means to annoy and ruin the army of the Germans. In his councils the warriors of the West were considered as men of iron, whose eyes darted flames, and who shed torrents of blood with the same indifference as they would pour out the same quantity of water. At the same time that he sent them ambassadors, and furnished them with provisions, Manuel formed an alliance with the Turks, and fortified his capital. The Germans, in the course of their march, had often to repulse the perfidious attacks of the Greeks, and the latter had, more than once, cause to complain of the violence of the Crusaders. A relation of Conrad, who had remained sick in a monastery at Adrianople, was slain by the soldiers of Manuel; Frederick, duke of Suabia, gave the monastery in which this crime had been committed, up to the flames; and torrents of blood flowed to avenge an assassination.

Upon approaching Constantinople, the Germans had set up their tents in a rich valley watered by the river Melas. All at once a violent storm burst over the neighbouring mountains; the river, increased by the torrents, inundated the plain where the Christian army was celebrating the feast of the Assumption,[275] and as if it had conspired with the Greeks, says a French historian, and as if it imitated their perfidy and treason, it carried away the horses and baggage, and brought desolation into the camp of the Crusaders. The Greeks afforded some succour to the German soldiers, but they saw with joy, in an event they affected to deplore, a presage of the defeats which threatened the armies of the Latins.

Constantinople, on the arrival of Conrad, presented the novel spectacle of two emperors who had inherited the wrecks of the empire of Augustus, and each of whom called himself the successor of Cæsar and Constantine. Their pretensions created some divisions; the emperor of the West had a valiant army to support his rights; he of the East did not dare to insist too openly upon his. He called in perfidy to his aid, and wounded vanity avenged itself in a manner as cowardly as it was cruel.

As soon as the Germans had passed the Bosphorus, they found themselves exposed to all sorts of treachery. All who straggled from the army were slain by the soldiers of Comnenus; the gates of all the cities on their route were closed; when they asked for provisions, they were obliged to put the money into the baskets which were lowered down from the walls, and after all, they frequently obtained nothing but insult and ridicule. The Greeks mixed lime with the flour they sold them; and when the Crusaders had anything for sale, they where paid in a false coin, which was refused when they became purchasers. Ambuscades awaited them throughout their route; the enemy was aware of their line of march, and as the height of perfidy, furnished them at Constantinople with faithless guides, who misled the army in the defiles of Mount Taurus, and delivered them up, worn out with fatigue, to famine and despair, or to the swords of the Mussulmans. The Germans, ill-treated by the Greeks, did not seek to revenge themselves, although it would have been easy to have done so, and, according to the ideas of the age, might have appeared glorious. This is the reason why Montesquieu says, that the Germans were the best sort of people in the world. The French, who came after them, showed themselves less patient, and were more respected. The emperor sent the principal lords of his court to the king of France, before whom they prostrated themselves, and only spoke to him on their knees. French haughtiness was more surprised than pleased at such homage, and only answered the flattery of the East by a disdainful silence. The two monarchs had an interview, in which they reciprocated the most tender caresses, and sought to surpass each other in magnificence. If Manuel on this occasion excelled his rival in the display of his riches, he showed less sincerity than Louis in the demonstrations of his friendship, for in the midst of the banquets which he gave to the Crusaders, the latter learnt that he preserved a close alliance with the sultan of Iconium, and that the Turks were fully informed of the plans of the French king.

This treachery irritated the French lords, and when the emperor required them to render him homage, as the leaders of the first crusade had done, it was proposed in the council that the only reply should be to take possession of Constantinople. “You have heard,” said the bishop of Langres, “that the Greeks propose to you to recognise their empire, and submit to their laws: thus then weakness is to command strength, and cowardice bravery! What has this nation done? What have their ancestors done, that they should show so much pride? I will not speak to you of the snares and the ambushes that they have everywhere planted in your way; we have seen the priests of Byzantium mingling ridicule with outrage, purify with fire the altars at which our priests had sacrificed. They ask of us new oaths, which honour repudiates. Is it not time to revenge treasons, and repulse insults? Hitherto the Crusaders have suffered more from their perfidious friends than from their open enemies. Constantinople has long been a troublesome barrier between us and our brothers of the East. It is our duty at last to open a free road to Asia. The Greeks, you know, have allowed the sepulchre of Christ, and all the Christian cities of the East, to fall into the hands of the infidels. Constantinople, there is no doubt, will soon become a prey to Turks and barbarians, and by her cowardly weakness, she will one day open the barriers of the West. The emperors of Byzantium neither know how to defend their own provinces nor will they suffer others to do it for them. They have always impeded the generous efforts of the soldiers of the cross; even lately, this emperor, who declares himself your support, has endeavoured to dispute their conquests with the Latins, and ravish from them the principality of Antioch. His aim now is to deliver up the Christian armies to the Saracens. Let us hasten then to prevent our own ruin by effecting that of these traitors; let us not leave behind us a jealous and insolent city, which only seeks the means of destroying us; let us cast upon her the evils she prepares for us. If the Greeks accomplish their perfidious designs, it is of you the West will one day ask back its armies. Since the war we undertake is holy, is it not just that we should employ every means to succeed? Necessity, country, religion, all order you to do that which I propose to you. The aqueducts which supply the city with water are in our power, and offer an easy means of reducing the inhabitants. The soldiers of Manuel cannot stand against our battalions; a part of the walls and towers of Byzantium has crumbled away before our eyes, as by a species of miracle. It appears that God himself calls us into the city of Constantine, and he opens its gates to you as he opened the gates of Edessa, Antioch, and Jerusalem to your fathers.”[276]

When the bishop of Langres had ceased to speak, several knights and barons raised their voices in reply. The Christians, they said, were come into Asia to expiate their own sins, and not to punish the crimes of the Greeks. They had taken up arms to defend Jerusalem, and not to destroy Constantinople. It was true they must consider the Greeks as heretics, but it was not more just for them to massacre them than to massacre the Jews; when the Christian warriors assumed the cross, God did not put into their hands the sword of justice. In a word, the barons found much more policy than religion in that which they had heard, and could not conceive that it was right to undertake an enterprise was not in accordance with the principles of honour. Neither had they faith in the misfortunes with which they were threatened, and relied upon Providence and their own valour to enable them to surmount all obstacles. The most fervent of the pilgrims dreaded any delay in the march of the Crusaders, and this fear increased their scruples; at length the loyalty of the knights, the general pious impatience to behold the sacred places, and perhaps also the presents and the seductions of Manuel, procured a triumph for the party advocating moderation.

The emperor was nevertheless alarmed at seeing a body of warriors, full of confidence and courage, thus deliberate so near to him on the conquest of his capital. The homage that the barons and knights paid him did not at all reassure him as to their intentions. To hasten their departure, he caused a report to be spread that the Germans had gained great victories over the Turks, and that they had made themselves masters of Iconium. This succeeded even beyond Manuel’s hopes.

When the Crusaders, impatient to pursue the Turks, were leaving Constantinople, they were surprised by an eclipse of the sun. A superstitious multitude saw in this phenomenon nothing but a fatal presage, and believed it to be either the warning of some great calamity, or of some new treachery on the part of Manuel; and the fears of the pilgrims were not long in being realized. Scarcely had they entered Bithynia when they were taught how to appreciate the false reports and perfidy of the Greeks. Louis, when encamped upon the shores of the Lake Ascanius, in the neighbourhood of Nice, received information of the complete defeat of the Germans. The sultan of Iconium, on the approach of the Christians of the West, had assembled all his forces, and at the same time solicited the aid of the other Mussulman powers to defend the passages of Asia Minor. Conrad, whom William of Tyre styles vir simplex, whom le Père Maimbourg compares to a victim crowned with flowers that is being led to slaughter, had advanced, on the faith of some unknown guides, into the mountains of Cappadocia. Impatient to be before the French, for whom he was to have waited, he marched on in perfect ignorance of the roads, and without provisions to feed the multitude which followed him. At a time that he entertained no suspicion of their vicinity, he was surprised by the Turks, who covered the summits of the mountains, and rushed down upon the exhausted and famished Christians.[277] The Mussulmans were lightly armed, and performed their evolutions with the greatest rapidity. The Germans could scarcely move under the weight of their bucklers, corselets, and steel brassets; every day skirmishes were fought, in which the Christians had the disadvantage. Such as were more lightly armed, and bore sheep-skin bucklers, sometimes would rush among the enemy and put them to flight; but the Turks soon rallied upon the heights, and darted down again, like birds of prey, upon the terrified Christians. A crowd of pilgrims, whose arms only consisted of their scrip and staff, created the greatest trouble and confusion in the Christian army. The Mussulmans took advantage of their disorder, and never allowed their enemies a moment’s repose. Despair and terror put an end to all discipline among the Crusaders; they no longer obeyed the orders of their leaders, but every one sought to insure his own safety by flight. At length the rout became general; the country was covered with fugitives, who wandered about at hazard, and found no asylum against the conquerors. Some perished with want, others fell beneath the swords of the Mussulmans; the women and children were carried off with the baggage, and formed a part of the enemy’s booty. Conrad, who had scarcely saved the tenth part of his army, was himself wounded by two arrows, and only escaped the pursuit of the Saracens by a kind of miracle.

The news of this disaster threw the French into the greatest consternation. Louis, accompanied by his bravest warriors, flew to the assistance of Conrad. The two monarchs embraced in tears. Conrad related the particulars of his defeat, and complained the more bitterly of the perfidy of Manuel, from feeling the necessity of excusing his own imprudence. The two princes renewed their oath to repair together to Palestine, but the emperor of Germany did not keep his word. Whether he was ashamed of being without an army, whether he could not endure the haughtiness of the French, or that he dreaded their too just reproaches, he sent back the few troops he had left, and returned to Constantinople, where he was very well received, because he was no longer to be feared.

The French army, in the mean time, pursued its march, and, leaving Mount Olympus on its left, and Mount Ida on its right, passed through ancient Phrygia. The French, on their passage, passed Pergamus, Ephesus, and several other celebrated cities, which the Greeks had allowed to go to ruin. Winter was coming on, and the abundant rains and melted snows had swollen the rivers till they overflowed the country, and made the roads impracticable. The inhabitants of the mountains, a savage, wild people, fled away at the approach of the Christians, taking with them their flocks, and all that they possessed. The inhabitants of the cities shut their gates against the Crusaders, and refused provisions to all who had not full value to give in return. Whilst the French army was crossing Phrygia, Manuel sent ambassadors to the king of France, to inform him that the Turks were assembling in all parts for the purpose of impeding his march. He offered the Crusaders an asylum in the cities of the empire; but this offer, accompanied by menaces, appeared to be only a snare, and Louis preferred braving the enmity of the Turks to trusting to the promises of the Greeks. The Christian army pursuing its march towards the frontiers of Phrygia, arrived at last at the banks of the Meander, towards the embouchure of the Lycus. The Turks, who had destroyed the army of the Germans, prepared to dispute the passage of the river with the French. Some were encamped on the mountains, others on the banks; the rains had swollen the Meander, and the passage was difficult and dangerous.

Animated by the speeches and the example of their king, no obstacle could stop the French. In vain the Turks showered their arrows upon them, or formed their battle-array on the banks; the French army crossed the river, broke through the ranks of the barbarians, slaughtered vast numbers of them, and pursued them to the foot of the mountains. The two shores of the Meander were covered with the bodies of the Turks: the historian Nicetas,[278] who some years after saw their heaped-up bones, could not help saying, whilst praising the courage of the Franks, “that if such men did not take Constantinople, their moderation and patience were much to be admired.”

After the battle they had fought with the Saracens, some pilgrims asserted that they had seen a knight, clothed in white, march at the head of the army, and give the signal for victory. Odo of Deuil, an ocular witness, speaks of this apparition, without giving faith to it, and satisfies himself with saying that the Christians would not have triumphed over the Turks without the protection and the will of God.

This victory gave great confidence to the Crusaders, and rendered their enemies more cautions. The Turks, whom it was impossible to pursue far in an unknown country, rallied again after the battle of the Meander. Less confident in their strength, and not daring to attack an army that had conquered them, they watched for a moment in which they might safely surprise them. The imprudence of a leader who commanded the French vanguard soon presented to them this opportunity. On quitting Laodicea, a city situated on the Lycus, the Crusaders had directed their course towards the mountains which separate Phrygia from Pisidia. These mountains offered nothing but narrow passages, in which they constantly marched between rocks and precipices. The French army was divided into two bodies, commanded every day by new leaders, who received their orders from the king.

Every evening they laid down in council the route they were to follow the next day, and appointed the place where the army was to encamp. One day when they had to cross one of the highest mountains, the order had been given to the vanguard to encamp on the heights, and to wait for the rest of the army, so that they might descend into the plain the next day in order of battle. Geoffrey de Rançon, lord of Taillebourg, this day commanded the first body of the French army, and bore the Oriflamme, or royal standard. He arrived early at the spot where he was to pass the night, which offered no retreat for his soldiers but woods, ravines, and barren rocks. At the foot of the mountain they beheld an extensive and commodious valley; the day was fine, and the troops were in a condition to march without fatigue several hours longer. The count de Maurienne, brother of the king, Queen Eleanor, and all the ladies of her suite, who had accompanied the vanguard, pressed Geoffrey de Rançon to descend into the plain. He had the weakness to comply with their wishes; but scarcely had he gained the valley, when the Turks took possession of the heights he had passed, and ranged themselves in order of battle.

During this time the rear-guard of the army, in which was the king, advanced full of confidence and security; on seeing troops in the woods and on the rocks, they supposed them to be the French, and saluted them with cries of joy. They marched without order, the beasts of burden and the chariots were mingled with the battalions, and the greater part of the soldiers had left their arms with the baggage. The Turks, perfectly motionless, waited in silence till the Christian army should be enclosed in the defiles, and when they thought themselves sure of victory, they moved forward, uttering frightful cries, and, sword in hand, fell upon the unarmed Christians, who had no time to rally. The disorder and confusion of the French army cannot be described. “Above us,” says an ocular witness, “steep rocks rose up to the clouds; beneath us precipices, dug by the torrent, descended to the infernal regions.” The Crusaders were upon a narrow path, upon which men and horses could neither advance nor retreat; they dragged each other down into the abysses; whilst rocks, detached from the tops of the mountains, rolling down with horrible noise, crushed everything in their passage.

The cries of the wounded and the dying mingled with the confused roar of the torrents, the hissing of the arrows, and the neighing of the terrified horses. In this frightful tumult the leaders gave no orders, and the soldiers could neither fight nor fly. The bravest rallied around the king, and advanced towards the top of the mountain. Thirty of the principal nobles that accompanied Louis perished by his side, selling their lives dearly. The king remained almost alone on the field of battle, and took refuge upon a rock, whence he braved the attack of the infidels who pursued him. With his back against a tree, he singly resisted the efforts of several Saracens, who, taking him for a simple soldier, at length left him, to secure their share of the pillage. Although the night began to fall, the king expected to be attacked again, when the voices of some Frenchmen who had escaped the carnage, gave him the agreeable information that the Turks had retired. He mounted a stray horse, and, after a thousand perils, rejoined his vanguard, where all were lamenting his death.

After this defeat, in which the king had been exposed to such dangers, the report of his death was not only spread throughout the East, but reached Europe, where it filled the Christians, particularly the French, with grief and terror. William of Tyre, whilst relating the disastrous defeat of the Crusaders, expresses astonishment that God, always full of mercy, should have allowed so many illustrious warriors armed in his cause, to perish so miserably. The Crusaders who formed the vanguard of the army, whilst deploring the death of their brethren, raised their voices against Geoffrey de Rançon, and demanded that the loss of so much blood should be visited upon him. The king, however, had not sufficient firmness to punish an irreparable fault, and only so far yielded to the wishes of the barons and the soldiers as to give them as a leader an old warrior named Gilbert, whose skill and bravery were the boast of the whole army. Gilbert shared the command with Evrard des Barres, grand master of the Templars, who had come, with a great number of his knights, to meet the Christian army. Under these two leaders, whom the king himself obeyed, the Crusaders continued their march, and avenged their defeat several times upon the Mussulmans.

On their arrival in Pisidia the French had almost everywhere to defend themselves against the perfidy of the Greeks and the attacks of the Turks; but winter was even a more dangerous enemy than these to the Christian army. Torrents of rain fell every day; cold and humidity enervated the powers of the soldiers; and the greater part of the horses, being destitute of forage, perished, and only served to feed the army, which was without provisions. The clothes of the soldiers hung about them in rags; the Crusaders sold or abandoned their arms; the tents and baggage lay scattered on the roads, and the army dragged in its train a crowd of sick, and numbers of poor pilgrims, who made the air resound with their cries and lamentations. The king of France consoled them by his discourses, and relieved them by his charitable gifts; for in the midst of so many reverses God alone seemed to sustain his courage. “Never,” says Odo of Deuil, “did he pass a single day without hearing mass, and without invoking the God of the Christians.”

At last the Christians arrived before the walls of Attalia, situated on the coast of Pamphylia, at the mouth of the river Cestius. This city, inhabited by Greeks, was governed in the name of the emperor of Constantinople. As the inhabitants were mistrustful of the intentions of the Christian army, they refused to open their gates to them, and the Crusaders were obliged to encamp on the neighbouring plains, exposed to all the rigours of the season.

They could neither find provisions for themselves nor forage for their horses in a barren uncultivated country, constantly ravaged by the Turks. The Greeks refused to assist them in their distress, and sold them everything at its weight in gold. Famine, and the evils which the Christians had hitherto suffered, became still more insupportable to them when they lost all hope. Louis VII. having called a council, the chief men of the army represented to him that the Crusaders were without horses and without arms, they were not in a condition to give an enemy battle, nor could they support the fatigues of a long march. There remained, they added, no other resource for the Christians but to abandon themselves to the perils of the sea.[279] The king did not agree with their opinion, and wished that they should only embark the multitude of pilgrims that embarrassed the march of the army. “As for us,” said he, “we will redouble our courage, and we will follow the route which our fathers, who conquered Antioch and Jerusalem, followed. Whilst anything remains to me, I will share it with my companions; and when I shall have nothing left, which of you will not undergo with me poverty and misery?” The barons, touched with this speech, swore to die with their king, but were not willing to die without glory. Animated by the example of Louis, they might triumph over the Turks, over their misfortunes, and the rigours of winter; but they were without defence against famine and the perfidy of the Greeks. They reproached Louis VII. with not having followed the counsels of the bishop of Langres, and with having pardoned enemies more cruel than the Mussulmans, more dangerous than the tempests or rocks of the ocean.

As at the end of this council, strong murmurs against the Greeks arose in the Christian army, the governor of Attalia became fearful of the effects of despair, and came to offer Louis vessels, in which to embark all the Crusaders. This proposition was accepted; but they had to wait for the promised vessels more than five weeks. In so long a delay the Crusaders consumed all the resources they had left, and many died of hunger and misery; the vessels which at length arrived in the ports of Attalia, were neither large enough nor sufficient in number to embark the whole Christian army. The Crusaders then perceived the abyss of evils into which they were about to fall; but such was their resignation, or rather the deplorable state of the army, that they committed no violence towards the Greeks, and did not even threaten a single city which refused to help them.

A crowd of poor pilgrims, among whom were barons and knights, appeared before the king, and spoke to him in these terms: “We have not means wherewith to pay for our passage, and we cannot follow you into Syria; we remain here victims to misery and disease; when you shall have left us, we shall be exposed to greater perils; and being attacked by the Turks is the least of the misfortunes we have to dread. Remember that we are Franks, that we are Christians; give us leaders who may console us for your absence, and assist us to endure the fatigue, the hunger, and the death which await us.” Louis, in order to reassure them, spoke to them in the most feeling terms, and distributed considerable sums amongst them. He was as liberal in his assistance, says Odo de Deuil, as if he had lost nothing, or wanted nothing for himself. He sent for the governor of Attalia, and gave him fifty silver marks to provide for the sick who remained in the city, and to conduct the land army as far as the coasts of Cilicia.

Louis VII. gave as leaders for all who could not embark, Thierri count of Flanders and Archambaud de Bourbon; he then went on board the fleet that had been prepared for him, accompanied by the queen Eleanor, the principal lords of his court, and all that remained of his cavalry. Whilst looking at the Crusaders whom he left at Attalia, the king of France could not refrain from tears; a multitude of pilgrims assembled upon the shore, followed with their eyes the vessel in which he had embarked, putting up vows for his voyage; and when they had lost sight of him, they thought of nothing but their own dangers, and sank into the deepest despondency.

On the day following the departure of Louis VII., the pilgrims, who were expecting the escort and the guides that had been promised them, saw the Turks come upon them, eager for murder and pillage. Archambaud and Thierri for a moment reanimated the courage of the Crusaders, and several times repulsed the infidels. But the Turks returned to the charge without ceasing; every day the Christians sustained fresh encounters without being able to compel their enemy to retreat. The Greeks would not consent to receive them into the city, and there remained to the Crusaders no means of safety. Despair stifled in their breasts even the sentiments of humanity; every one of these unfortunate wretches became insensible to the fate of his companions, and felt nothing but his own ills, saw nothing but his own dangers. The soldiers did not endeavour to rally or to succour each other; they no longer recognised or followed leaders; the leaders themselves were no longer guided by the spirit of religion, or governed by the love of glory. In the midst of the general desolation, Archambaud and Thierri, only anxious to avoid death, threw themselves on board a vessel which was going to join the fleet of Louis VII. The horrible disorder that then reigned among the miserable remains of the Christian army and the sick in the city of Attalia, is perfectly beyond description.

Two troops of pilgrims, one of three thousand and the other of four thousand, resolved to brave all dangers and march towards Cilicia. They had no boats to cross overflowing rivers; they had no arms with which to resist the Turks, and they almost all perished. Others who followed them shared the same fate, whilst the sick in the city of Attalia were ruthlessly massacred. It has been a painful task for the historian to record even a few details of these frightful disasters; and it is in this place we find the words of the old chronicles so applicable “God alone knows the number of the martyrs whose blood flowed beneath the blade of the Turks, and even under the sword of the Greeks.”

Many Christians, bewildered by despair, believed that the God who thus left them a prey to so many ills could not be the true God;[280] three thousand of them embraced the faith of Mahomet and joined the Mussulmans, who took pity on their wretchedness. The Greeks were soon punished for their perfidious cruelty; pestilence uniting its ravages with those of war, left the city of Attalia almost without inhabitants, a very few weeks after the departure of Louis VII.

When Louis arrived in the principality of Antioch,[281] he had lost three-fourths of his army; but he was not the less warmly welcomed by Raymond of Poictiers. The French who accompanied him soon forgot, in the midst of pleasures, both the dangers of their voyage and the deplorable death of their companions.

Antioch could then boast of having within its walls the countess of Thoulouse, the countess of Blois, Sibylla of Flanders, Maurille countess de Roussy, Talquery duchess de Bouillon, and several other ladies celebrated for their birth or their beauty. The fêtes which Raymond gave them received additional splendour from the presence of Eleanor of Guienne. This young princess, daughter of William IX. and niece of the prince of Antioch, united the most seducing gifts of mind to the graces of her person. She had been much admired at Constantinople, and had found no rival in the court of Manuel. She was accused, and with some reason, of being more desirous of admiration than became a Christian queen. It was neither sincere piety nor an inclination to perform penance, that had led her to make a pilgrimage to Constantinople. The fatigues and dangers of the journey, the misfortunes of the Crusaders, the remembrance of the holy places, always present to the minds of true pilgrims, had not in the least abated her too lively taste for pleasures, or her strong inclination for gallantry.

Raymond of Poictiers, amidst the fêtes given to Queen Eleanor, did not forget the interests of his principality; he was anxious to weaken the power of Noureddin, the most formidable enemy of the Christian colonies, and ardently desired that the Crusaders would assist him in this enterprise. Caresses, prayers, presents, nothing was spared to engage them to prolong their sojourn in his states. The prince of Antioch addressed himself at first to the king of France, and proposed to him, in a council of the barons, to besiege the cities of Aleppo and Cæsarea, in Syria. This enterprise, which favoured his ambition, offered real advantages to all the Christian states of the East, which were threatened by the constantly increasing power of Noureddin; but Louis VII, who had been only brought into Asia by a spirit of devotion, answered Raymond that he could engage himself in no war before he had visited the holy places.

The prince of Antioch did not allow himself to be discouraged by this refusal; he employed every means to touch the heart of the queen, and resolved to make love subservient to his designs. William of Tyre, who has left us the portrait of Raymond, informs us that he was “mild and affable of speech,[282] exhibiting in his countenance and manner, I do not know what singular grace and behaviour of an excellent and magnanimous prince.” He undertook to persuade Queen Eleanor to prolong her stay in the principality of Antioch. It was then the beginning of spring; the smiling banks of the Orontes, the groves of Daphne, and the beautiful skies of Syria, doubtless added their charms to the insinuating speeches of Raymond. The queen, seduced by the prayers of this prince, infatuated with the homage of a voluptuous and brilliant court, and, if historians may be believed, too much disposed to pleasures and indulgences unworthy of her, warmly solicited the king to delay his departure for the holy city. The king, in addition to an austere devotion, possessed a jealous and suspicious disposition; the motives therefore that made the queen desirous of remaining at Antioch strengthened his determination to go to Jerusalem. The instances of Eleanor filled his mind with suspicions, and rendered him still more inexorable; upon which Raymond, disappointed in his hopes, was loud in his complaints, and determined to be revenged. This prince, says William of Tyre, “was impetuous in his will, and of so choleric a disposition, that when he was excited he listened to neither rhyme nor reason.” He easily communicated his indignation to the mind of Eleanor, and this princess at once boldly formed the project of separating herself from Louis VII., and of dissolving their marriage, under the plea of relationship. Raymond, on his part, swore to employ force and violence to detain his niece in his dominions. At length the king of France, outraged both as a husband and a sovereign, resolved to precipitate his departure, and was obliged to carry off his own wife, and bear her into his camp by night.