Volume 2 / Book 14 — BOOK XIV. (continued 2)

The barons and knights that were shut up in the pavilion, were not ignorant of the fate of their companions in arms; they passed their days and nights in continual terrors. The sultan wished to obtain from them that which he had not been able to obtain from Louis IX. He sent an emir to inform them that he would set them at liberty if Damietta and the Christian cities of Palestine were restored to the Mussulmans. The count of Brittany replied in the name of all the prisoners, that that which was asked of them was not in their power, and that French warriors had no other will than that of their king. “It is plainly to be perceived,” said the messenger of Almoadam, “that you care very little for liberty or life. You shall see some men accustomed to sword-playing.” The emir retired, leaving the prisoners in the expectation of an early death. The apparatus of punishment was exhibited before them. The sword remained several days suspended over their heads; but Almoadam could make no impression upon their firmness. Thus, neither the captivity of an entire army, nor the death of so many warriors, had been able to deprive the Christians of a single one of their conquests, and one of the bulwarks of Egypt was still in their hands. The conquerors prayed and threatened by turns; the conquered resisted all their endeavours, and always appeared masters.

In the mean time several French nobles offered to pay their own ransom. Louis was informed of this; and as he feared that many, not having the means to redeem themselves, would remain in chains, he forbade any particular treaty. The barons and knights, but lately so intractable, did not persist in opposing the will of an unfortunate king, and instantly gave up all idea of a separate negotiation. The king said he would pay for everybody, and that he would never think about his own liberty till after he had assured that of all others.

Whilst the sultan of Cairo was thus making useless attempts to overcome the pride and lower the courage of Louis and his knights, the favourites he had brought with him from Mesopotamia pressed their master to conclude the peace quickly. “You have,” said they to him, “enemies much more dangerous than the Christians; they are the emirs, who wish to reign in your place, and who never cease to boast of their victories, as if you had not yourself conquered the Franks, as if the God of Mahomet had not sent pestilence and famine to aid you in triumphing over the defenders of Christ: hasten, then, to terminate the war, in order that you may strengthen your power within, and begin to reign.” These speeches, which flattered the pride of Almoadam, induced him to make rather more reasonable proposals to his enemies. The sultan limited his demand to a ransom of a million of golden byzants, and the restitution of Damietta. Louis, aware that the city of Damietta could not resist, consented to the proposals that were made to him, if the queen approved of them. As the Mussulmans expressed some surprise at this, the king added, “The queen is my lady, I can do nothing without her consent.” The ministers of the sultan returned a second time, and told the French monarch, that if the queen would pay the sum agreed upon, he should be free. “A king of France,” answered he, “is not to be redeemed by money; the city of Damietta shall be given up for my deliverance,[320] and a million of golden byzants paid for that of my army.” The sultan agreed to all; and, whether he was pleased at having terminated the negotiations, or whether he was touched by the noble character the captive monarch had displayed, he reduced the sum fixed upon as the ransom of the Christian army a fifth.

The knights and barons were still ignorant of the conclusion of the treaty, and were revolving in their minds their customary melancholy reflections, when they saw an old Saracen enter their pavilion. His venerable figure and the gravity of his carriage inspired respect. His train, composed of men-at-arms, inspired fear. The old man, without any preliminary discourse, asked the prisoners, by means of an interpreter, if it was true that they believed in a God, born of a woman, crucified for the salvation of the human race, and resuscitated the third day? All having answered at once that that was their belief: “In that case,” added he, “congratulate yourselves at suffering for your God; you are yet far from having suffered as much for him as he suffered for you. Place your hopes in him, and if he has been able to recall himself to life, he will not want power to put an end to the evils that afflict you now.”

On finishing these words, the old Mussulman retired, leaving the Crusaders divided between surprise, fear, and hope. On the next day it was announced to them that the king had concluded a truce, and wished to take counsel of his barons. John of Vallery, Philip de Montfort, and Guy and Baldwin d’Ibelin were deputed to wait upon the king. It was not long before the Crusaders learnt that their captivity was about to end, and that the king had paid the ransom of the poor as well as the rich. When these brave knights turned their thoughts towards their victories, they never could conceive how it was possible for them to have fallen into the hands of the infidels; and when they reflected on their late misfortunes, their deliverance appeared equally miraculous to them. All raised their voices in praises to God and benedictions to the king of France.

All the cities of Palestine that had belonged to the Christians at the arrival of the Crusaders in the East, were comprised in the treaty. On both sides, the prisoners of war made since the truce concluded between the emperor Frederick and Melik-Kamel, were to be given up. It was agreed, also, that the munitions and machines of war belonging to the Christian army should remain provisionally at Damietta, under the safeguard of the sultan of Egypt.

It next became the object to perform the conditions of the treaty of peace. Four large galleys were prepared to transport the principal prisoners to the mouth of the Nile. The sultan left Mansourah, and repaired to Pharescour by land.

After the battle of Minieh, a vast palace, built of fir timber, of which the chronicles of the times have left pompous descriptions, had been erected in that city. It was in this palace Almoadam received the felicitations of the Mussulmans, upon the happy issue of a war against the enemies of Islamism. All the cities, all the principalities of Syria, sent ambassadors to salute the conqueror of the Christians. The governor of Damascus, to whom he had sent a helmet, found on the field of battle, that had belonged to the king of France, replied to him thus: “There is no doubt that God destines for you the conquest of the universe, or that you will proceed from victory to victory; who can doubt of this when we already see your slaves clothed in the spoils of conquered kings?” Thus the young sultan imbibed intoxicating draughts of praise, and passed his time in the festivities and pleasures of peace, forgetting the cares of his empire, and foreseeing none of the dangers which threatened him amidst his triumphs.

Almoadam had disgraced, and deprived of their places, many of the ministers of his father; most of the emirs were in fear of a similar fall, and this fear even led them to brave everything for the preservation of their fortunes and their lives. Among these malcontents, the Mamelukes and their leader were most conspicuous. This military body owed their origin to Saladin, and they had enjoyed the greatest privileges under the preceding reign. They reproached the sultan with preferring young favourites to old warriors, the support of the throne and the saviours of Egypt. They reproached him with having concluded a peace, without consulting those who had supported the burden of the war; and with having bestowed the spoils of the vanquished upon courtiers, who had only deserved them by coming from the banks of the Euphrates to the shores of the Nile. In order to justify beforehand all they might attempt against the prince, they attributed to him projects of the most sinister nature; and nascent rebellion inflamed itself by the recital of future persecutions. The emirs who were to die were designated; the instruments of death were named, the day was fixed, everything was appointed, everything was ready. It was asserted that the sultan, in the course of one of his nocturnal orgies, had cut off the tops of the flambeaux in his apartment, crying, “Thus shall fly the heads of all the Mamelukes.” A woman animated the minds of the warriors by her discourse: this was Chegger-Eddour, who, having disposed of the empire, could not endure the neglect of the new sultan. From complaints they soon passed to open revolt; for it was less perilous to attack the prince sword in hand, than to declaim for any length of time against him. A conspiracy was formed, in which the Mamelukes and all the emirs who had outrages to avenge or to fear were concerned. The conspirators were impatient to execute their project, and fearing that the sultan, if once arrived at Damietta, might escape them, they resolved to proceed to the consummation at Pharescour.

The galleys which transported the Christian prisoners arrived before that city. The king landed, with the princes, his brothers, and was received in a pavilion, where he had an interview with the sultan. History says nothing of this conference between two princes, who equally commanded attention, and whose position was so different; the one, intoxicated by his victories, blinded by his prosperities; the other, the conqueror of ill-fortune, coming out much greater from the ordeal of adversity.

The two sovereigns had appointed Saturday, the eve of the Ascension, for the giving up of Damietta. According to this convention, the Crusaders, who had been detained more than a month in chains, had only to endure the pains of captivity three days longer; but new misfortunes awaited them, and their courage and resignation were doomed to further trials. The day after their arrival before Pharescour, the sultan of Cairo, in celebration of the peace, determined to give a banquet to the principal officers of the Mussulman army. The conspirators took advantage of this opportunity, and, towards the end of the repast, all rushed upon him, sword in hand. Bendocdar struck the first blow. Almoadam, being only wounded in the hand, arises in a state of terrified amazement, escapes through his motionless guards, takes refuge in a tower, shuts the door of it, and appears at a window, sometimes imploring succour, and sometimes demanding of the conspirators what they required of him. The envoy of the caliph of Bagdad was at Pharescour. He mounted on horseback, but the Mamelukes threatened him with instant death if he did not return to his tent. At the same moment some drums were heard, giving the signal for assembling the troops; but the leaders of the conspiracy told the soldiers that Damietta was taken, and immediately the whole army precipitated themselves upon the road to that city, leaving the sultan at the mercy of men who thirsted for his blood. The Mamelukes accuse and threaten him. He endeavours to justify himself; but his words are drowned in the tumult. A thousand voices cry out to him to descend; he hesitates; he groans; he weeps; arrows fly against the tower in showers; the Greek fire, hurled from every direction, gives birth to a conflagration. Almoadam, nearly surrounded by the flames, precipitates himself from the window; a nail catches his mantle, and he remains for a moment suspended. At length he falls to the earth; sabres and naked swords wave over him on all sides; he casts himself on his knees, at the feet of Octai, one of the principal officers of his guard, who repulses him with contempt. The unhappy prince arises, holding forth his imploring hands to all the assembly, saying, that he was willing to abandon the throne of Egypt, and would return into Mesopotamia. These supplications, unworthy of a prince, inspire more contempt than pity; nevertheless, the crowd of conspirators hesitate; but the leaders know too well there can be no safety for them but in completing the crime they have begun. Bendocdar, who had inflicted the first blow, strikes him a second time with his sabre; Almoadam, streaming with blood, throws himself into the Nile, and endeavours to gain some vessels that appear to be drawing near to the shore to receive him; nine Mamelukes follow him into the water, and pour upon him a thousand blows, within sight of the galley which Joinville was on board of![321]

Such was the end of Almoadam, who neither knew how to reign nor how to die. Arabian authors point it out as a remarkable circumstance, that he perished at once by the sword, fire, and water. The same authors agree in saying, that he himself provoked his ruin by his imprudence and his injustice. But oriental history, accustomed to laud success and blame all who succumb, repeats the complaints of the Mamelukes without examining them; and, passing lightly over this revolution, contents itself with saying, “When God wills an event, he prepares the causes beforehand.”

The Nile and its shore presented, at that moment, two very different spectacles: on one side was a prince, whilst revelling in all the pomps of grandeur, in all the triumphs of victory, massacred by his own guards; on the other, an unfortunate king, surrounded by his knights, as unfortunate as himself, inspiring them with more respect in his adversity than when he was encompassed with all the splendour of prosperity and power. The French knights and barons, although they had been victims of the barbarity of the sultan, felt more astonishment than joy at the sight of his tragical death; they could not comprehend the murderous attack of the Mamelukes; and these revolutions of military despotism, at war with itself, filled them with dread.

After this sanguinary scene, thirty Saracen officers, sword in hand and battle-axes on their shoulders, entered the galley in which were the counts of Brittany and de Montfort, Baldwin and Guy d’Ibelin, and the sieur de Joinville. These furious men vomited imprecations, and threatening the prisoners with both voice and gesture, made them believe that their last hour was come. The Christian warriors prepared themselves for death, and throwing themselves on their knees before a monk of the Trinity, asked him for absolution of their sins; but as the priest could not hear them all at once, they confessed to each other. Guy d’Ibelin, constable of Cyprus, confessed to Joinville, who gave him “such absolution as God had given him the power to give.” It was thus, in after-times, history represents the Chevalier Bayard, wounded to death, and ready to expire, confessing himself at the foot of an oak to one of his faithful companions in arms.[322]

But these menaces and violences of the emirs might have a politic aim. At the conclusion of a conspiracy that had divided men’s minds, in order to awaken fresh passions, it was necessary for the leaders to excite the fanaticism of the multitude, and direct the general fury against the Christians. It was important for them to make others believe, and they might have believed it themselves, that Almoadam had endeavoured to find an asylum amongst the enemies of Islamism.

The lords and barons did not meet with the fate they expected; but as if their understanding with Almoadam had been really dreaded, they were thrust into the hold of the vessel, where they passed the night with the terrible images of death constantly before their eyes.

Louis, shut up in his tent with his brothers, had heard the tumult. In ignorance of what was passing, he concluded that either they were massacring the French prisoners, or else that Damietta was taken. He was a prey to a thousand terrors, when he saw Octaï, the chief of the Mamelukes, enter his tent. This emir ordered the guards to retire, and pointing to his bloody sword, exclaimed: “Almoadam is no more; what will you give me for having delivered you from an enemy who meditated your destruction as well as ours?” Louis made no reply. Then the furious emir, presenting the point of his sword, cried, “Dost thou not know that I am master of thy person? Make me a knight, or thou art a dead man.” “Make thyself a Christian,” replied the monarch, “and I will make thee a knight.”[323] Without insisting further, Octaï retired, and in a very short time the tent of the king was filled with Saracen warriors, armed with sabres and swords. Their demeanour, their cries, the fury painted on their countenances, announced sufficiently that they had just committed a great crime, and that they were ready to commit others; but by a species of miracle, changing, all at once, both countenance and language at the sight of the king, they approached him with respect; then, as if they felt in the presence of Louis the necessity for justifying themselves, they told him that they had been forced to kill a tyrant, who aimed at their destruction as well as that of the Christians; now, they added, they had only to forget the past; all they required for the future was the faithful execution of the treaty concluded with Almoadam. Then lifting their hands to their turbans, and bending their brows to the ground, they retired in silence, and left the monarch in a state of astonishment at seeing them thus pass, all at once, from transports of rage to sentiments apparently the most respectful.

This singular scene has made some historians say that the Mamelukes offered the throne of Egypt to St. Louis. This opinion has rather gained ground in our days, so easy is it for us to give faith to everything that appears favourable to the glory of the French name. The sieur de Joinville, who is quoted in support of this assertion, only relates a conversation he had held with Louis. The king asked him what he thought he ought to have done, in case the emirs had offered him the supreme authority. The good seneschal conceived it was not possible to accept a crown from the hands of those seditious emirs, who had killed their sovereign. Louis was not of this opinion, and said that, truly, if they had proposed to him to become the successor of the sultan, he would not in the least have refused to be so (il ne l’eût mie refusé).[324] These words alone prove sufficiently that they had proposed nothing to the captive monarch. Joinville, it is true, adds to this recital, that according to reports that were circulated in the Christian army, the emirs had caused the trumpets to be sounded and the drums to be beaten before the tent of the king of France, and that at the same time they deliberated among themselves, whether it would not be best to break the chains of their prisoner, and make him their sovereign. The sieur de Joinville relates this fact, without affirming it; and as oriental history preserves the most profound silence upon it, an historian of the present day cannot adopt it without compromising his veracity. It is, without doubt, possible that the emirs might have expressed the desire of having a prince amongst them possessed of the firmness, bravery, and virtues of Louis IX.; but how can it be believed that Mussulmans, animated by the double fanaticism of religion and war, could have, for a moment, entertained a thought of choosing an absolute master among the Christians, whom they had just treated with unexampled barbarity; and thus place their property, their liberty, their lives in the hands of the most implacable enemies of their country, their laws, and their faith?

The supreme power, of which the emirs had shown themselves to be so jealous, and which they had wrested with so much violence from the hands of Almoadam, appeared at first to terrify their ambition, when they had it in their power to dispose of it. In a council called to nominate a sultan, the wisest declined to rule over a country filled with troubles, or command an army given up to the spirit of sedition. Upon their refusal, the crown was given to Chegger-Eddour, who had had so great a share, first in the elevation, and then in the fall of Almoadam. As governor with her, in the quality of Atabec, they chose Ezz-Eddin Aybek, who had been brought a slave into Egypt, and whose barbarous origin procured him the surname of the Turcoman.

The new sultana soon arrived at Pharescour, and was proclaimed under the name of Mostassemieh Salehieh, queen of the Mussulmans, mother of Malek-Almansor Khalil. Almansor Khalil, a young prince, the son of Negmeddin, had preceded his father to the tomb. Thus finished the powerful dynasty of the Ayoubites, a dynasty founded by victory, and overturned by an army which the pride of victory had rendered seditious. Whilst they were thus forming a new government, the body of Almoadam was abandoned on the banks of the Nile, where it remained two days without sepulture. The ambassador from the caliph of Bagdad at length obtained permission to bury it, and deposited in an obscure place the sad remains of the last successor of Saladin.

The elevation of Chegger-Eddour astonished the Mussulmans; the name of a woman or of a slave had never till that time been seen engraved upon the coins, or pronounced in public prayers. The caliph of Bagdad protested against the scandal of this innovation; and when he afterwards wrote to the emirs, he asked them if they had not been able to find a single man in all Egypt to govern them. The supreme authority, placed in the hands of a woman, could neither restrain the passions which troubled the empire, nor cause treaties to be respected; which became very fatal to the Christians, condemned to suffer by turns from the revolt and the submission, from the union and the discord of their enemies.

Among the emirs, some wished that the treaty concluded with the sultan should be executed; whilst others were desirous that a fresh one should be made: many were indignant that the Christians should be treated with at all. After long debates, they returned to that which had been done at first, adding to it the condition that the king of France should give up Damietta before he was set at liberty, and that he should pay half of the sum agreed upon for the ransom of himself and his army, before he left the banks of the Nile. These last conditions announced the mistrust of the emirs, and might give the Christian prisoners reason to fear that the day of their deliverance was not yet arrived.

When the observance of the treaty was to be sworn to, the forms of the oaths caused some discussion. The emirs swore that if they failed in their promises, “they consented to be jeered at like the pilgrim who makes the journey to Mecca bareheaded; or else to be as much despised as he who takes back his women after having left them.” The Mussulmans, according to their manners and customs, had no more solemn expression with which to guarantee their sworn faith. They proposed to Louis IX. the following formula: “If I keep not my oath, I shall be like to him who denies his God, who spits upon the cross, and tramples it under-foot.” This formula of the oath which they wished the king to take, appeared to him to be an insult to God and himself. He refused to pronounce it. In vain the emirs showed their anger and their passion; he braved all their menaces. This resistance of St. Louis, celebrated by his contemporaries, will not perhaps obtain the same eulogies in the age we now live in; nevertheless it must be considered that the king was not only restrained on this occasion by the scruples of an exaggerated devotion, but by a feeling of royal dignity. It may be remembered, that in the third crusade, Richard and Saladin had judged it unworthy of the majesty of kings to degrade their word to the formula of an oath; and had been satisfied with a touch of the hand, to cement the peace. Seditious emirs, still stained with the blood of their master, might undervalue the dignity of the supreme rank; but, on important occasions, Louis never forgot he was a great king; and the supposition of a perjury, the thought even of a blasphemy, could not ally itself in his mind with the character of a Christian prince and of a king of France.

The Mussulmans, irritated at seeing a king in fetters dictate laws to them, and resist all their demands, began to talk of putting him to death accompanied by tortures. “You are masters of my body,” he replied, “but you have no power over my will.” The princes, his brothers, implored him to pronounce the required formula; but he was as firm against the entreaties of friendship and affection, as he had been against the threats of his enemies. Even the exhortations of the prelates had no more effect. At length the Mamelukes, attributing such an obstinate resistance to the patriarch of Jerusalem, seized this prelate, who was more than eighty years of age, fastened him to a post, and tied his hands behind him so tightly, that the blood sprang from beneath the nails. The patriarch, overcome by the pain, cried, “Sire! Sire! swear; I will take the sin upon myself.” But Louis, who was throughout persuaded that they insulted his good faith, and that they demanded of him a thing unjust and dishonourable, remained immovable. The emirs, at length subdued by so much firmness, consented to accept the simple word of the king, and retired, saying that “this Frank prince was the most haughty Christian that had ever been seen in the East.”

All now gave their attention to the execution of the treaty. The galleys, on board of which were the prisoners, heaved their anchors, and descended towards the mouth of the Nile; the Mussulman army accompanying them by land. The Christians were to deliver up Damietta the next morning at daybreak. It is impossible to describe the trouble, consternation, and despair that reigned in the city throughout the night. The unfortunate inhabitants ran about the streets, asking each other questions, and communicating their fears with breathless anxiety. The most sinister reports prevailed; it was said that the whole of the Christian army had been massacred by the Mussulmans, and that the king of France was poisoned. When they received orders to evacuate the place, most of the warriors declared aloud that they would not obey, and that they preferred dying on the ramparts to being slaughtered as prisoners of war.

At the same time excitement began to prevail in the Mussulman army. It was whispered that the king of France refused to execute the treaty, and that he had ordered the garrison of Damietta to defend themselves. The soldiers and their leaders repented of having made a truce with the Franks, and appeared determined to take advantage of the least pretext for breaking it.

The commissioners of Louis IX., however, at length persuaded the Christians of Damietta to evacuate the city. Queen Marguerite, scarcely recovered from her confinement, went on board a Genoese vessel. She was accompanied by the duchess of Anjou, the countess of Poictiers, and the unhappy widow of the count d’Artois, who, amidst present calamities, still wept over the first misfortune of the war. Towards the end of the night, Olivier de Thermes, who commanded the garrison, the duke of Burgundy, the pope’s legate, and all the Franks, except the sick that remained in the city, embarked on the Nile.

Geoffrey de Sergines having entered Damietta, brought the keys to the emirs; and when day broke, the Mussulman standards were seen floating over the towers and ramparts. At sight of this, the whole Egyptian army rushed tumultuously into the city. The reports that had been circulated during the night, had excited the fury of the soldiers, and they entered Damietta as if the opening of the gates had been the result of a sanguinary contest; they massacred the sick wherever they found them, they pillaged the houses, and gave to the flames the machines of war, the arms, and all the munitions that belonged to the Christians.

This early violation of the treaty, the intoxication of carnage, and the impunity of license, only served to inflame still further the minds of the Mussulmans, and to lead them to greater excesses. The emirs, partaking of the fury of the soldiers, formed the idea of putting all the Christian prisoners to death. The galleys in which the French barons and knights were crowded, immediately received orders to reascend the river towards Pharescour, “which caused great grief amongst us,” says Joinville, “and many tears issued from our eyes; for we all believed they were about to kill us.”

Whilst the galleys re-ascended the Nile, the Mussulman leaders deliberated in council upon the fate of the king of France and the French warriors. “Now we are masters of Damietta,” said one of the emirs, “and a powerful monarch of the Franks, with the bravest of his warriors, may receive from our hands death or liberty. Fortune offers us an opportunity of securing peace to Egypt for ever, and with it the triumph of Islamism. We have shed the blood of Mussulman princes without scruple; why should we then respect that of Christian princes, who have come into the East to set fire to our cities and reduce our provinces to slavery?” This opinion was that of the people and the army; and most of the emirs, actuated by the general spirit, held similar language. An emir of Mauritania, whose name Joinville has not preserved, opposed, almost alone, this violation of the laws of war and peace. “You have,” said he, “put to death your prince, whom the Koran commands you to cherish as the apple of your eye. This death might, doubtless, be necessary for your own safety; but what can you expect from the action that is proposed to you, except the anger of God and the maledictions of men?” This speech was interrupted by murmurs; the language of reason only added heat to hatred and fanaticism. As violent passions are never at a loss for motives of self-justification, or for excuses for their excesses, the Crusaders were accused of perfidy, treachery, and all the crimes that they themselves contemplated against them. There was no imputation that did not appear probable, consequently no violence that did not appear just. “If the Koran ordered Mussulmans to watch over the lives of their princes, it likewise commanded them to watch over the preservation of the Mussulman faith: death ought to be the reward of those who came to bring death, and their bones ought to whiten upon the same plains that they had laid waste. The safety of Egypt and the laws of the prophet required that it should be so.”

After a very stormy deliberation, the terrible sentence of the captives was about to be pronounced; but cupidity came to the aid of justice and humanity;[325] the emir who had spoken in favour of the Christian prisoners, had, in his speech, more than once repeated the words, Dead men pay no ransom; and they at length acknowledged that the sword, by immolating the Crusaders, would only rob victory of its dues, and deprive the conquerors of the fruit of their labours. This observation at length calmed the minds of the assembly, and brought about a change of opinions. The fear of losing eight hundred thousand golden byzants caused the treaty to be respected, and saved the lives of the king of France and his companions in misfortune.

The emirs issued orders for the galleys to be brought back towards Damietta. The Mamelukes appeared, all at once, to be governed by the most pacific sentiments; and, as it is natural for the multitude to pass from one extreme to another, they treated with all the attentions of hospitality the very men whom, a few hours before, they had wished to put to death. On their arrival before the city, the prisoners were treated with fritters cooked in the sun, and with hard eggs, “which,” says Joinville, “in honour of our persons, were painted of various colours.”

The knights and barons at length had permission to leave the ships that had been their prisons, to go and join the king, whom many of them had not seen since the disaster of Minieh. As they left their vessels, Louis was marching towards the mouth of the Nile, escorted by Mussulman warriors; an innumerable multitude followed him, and contemplated, in silence, the features, the bearing, and the arms of the Christian monarch. A Genoese galley awaited him; as soon as he was on board, eighty archers, with their crossbows strung, appeared suddenly upon the deck of the vessel; the crowd of Egyptians immediately dispersed, and the ship glided away from the shore. Louis had with him the count of Anjou, the count de Soissons, Geoffrey de Sergines, Philip de Nemours, and the seneschal de Joinville. The count of Poictiers remained as a hostage in Damietta, until the payment of the four hundred thousand golden byzants, which the king ought to have paid to the emirs before he put to sea, should be completed. Louis had not enough by thirty thousand livres; this sum was requested of the Templars, who, to the great scandal of the lords and barons, at first refused it. They were threatened with being forced to furnish it; and then complied. The amount stipulated in the treaty was paid to the Saracens. The count of Poictiers had left Damietta, and everything was ready for the departure of the Crusaders, when Philip de Montfort, who had been directed to make the payment, returned to give an account of his mission, and told the king that he had contrived to cheat the emirs out of ten thousand livres. Louis expressed himself much dissatisfied with such a proceeding, and sent Philip de Montfort back to Damietta, to make restitution of the money he had kept back—a lesson of justice which he wished to give to both his enemies and his servants. This last mission is spoken of by an Arabian author, who attributes it to a very whimsical and singular motive. He says that Philip de Montfort was sent to the emirs to tell them that they were deficient in religion and good sense; in religion, because they had murdered their sovereign; in good sense, because, for a moderate sum, they had released a powerful prince, who would have given half of his kingdom to recover his liberty. This explanation, however improbable it may be, at least serves to inform us of the opinion then common in the East, that the Egyptian emirs were reproached with having destroyed their sultan, and allowed their enemy to escape.

Louis IX., with the miserable wreck of his army, soon passed out at the mouth of the Nile, and in a few days arrived at Ptolemaïs, where the people and the clergy were still putting up prayers for his deliverance.

The Egyptians celebrated the restitution of Damietta with public rejoicings; the Mussulman army broke up their camp, and returned towards the capital. The sultana, Chegger-Eddour, caused vests of gold and silver to be distributed to the leaders, and her liberality even extended to the soldiers. An Arabian poet composed some verses upon this occasion, which history has preserved, and which contain the remarkable passage that follows:—

“When thou shalt see this Frenchman (the king of France), tell him these words from the mouth of a sincere friend:

Thou camest into Egypt, thou covetedest its riches; thou believedst that its powers would fade away as smoke.

Behold now thine army! see how thy imprudent conduct has precipitated it into the bosom of the tomb!

Fifty thousand men! and not one that is not either killed, a prisoner, or covered with wounds!

And if he should be ever tempted to come to avenge his defeat; if any motive should bring him back to these places;

Tell him, that the house of the son of Lokman is reserved for him; that he will still find there both his chains and the eunuch Sabyh.”[326]

Whilst Louis IX. was landing at Ptolemaïs, general consternation prevailed in the West; as it always happens in distant wars, fame had spread the most extraordinary reports relative to the expedition of the Crusaders. At first it was believed that the Christian standards were floating from the walls of Cairo and Alexandria; but to these news other rumours soon succeeded, announcing great disasters. The most marvellous accounts had found plenty of credulous minds in France to receive them; they refused to believe in reverses, and the first who spoke of them were given up to the hands of justice, as enemies of religion and of the kingdom. The sinister reports, however, were not long in being confirmed; the people passed from the excess of joy to the excess of grief; there was not a family in the kingdom that had not to deplore a loss in the disasters of which they acquired the painful certainty. But for the French, that which rendered so many misfortunes irreparable, and for which no one could find consolation, was the captivity of the king! Dances, festivals, spectacles,[327] everything that bore the air of joy or pleasure, was forbidden: the kingdom, plunged in sorrow and abasement, appeared, all at once, to be like one of those cities of which the Scripture speaks,—threatened with the wrath of God, they gave themselves up to grief, and covered themselves with the mourning garb of penitence.

The whole Church deplored so great a misfortune with torrents of tears; the father of the faithful was nearly in despair for the safety of Christendom. He addressed letters filled with affliction to all the prelates of the West. He ordered the clergy to put up public prayers; he exhorted the faithful to take up arms. Innocent wrote to Blanche to console her, and to Louis to sustain him in his adversity. When addressing the king of France, he is astonished at finding one man oppressed by so many calamities, and endowed with so many virtues; and demands of God what justice had been able to find in the most Christian of kings, which deserved to be expiated by misfortunes so great.

England was likewise much afflicted by the captivity of the French monarch; the barons and knights were indignant towards their king for having prevented them from going into the East to share the perils of the Crusaders. The King of Castile, then at war with the Moors, was sensible only of the evils of the Christians beyond the seas, and swore to go and fight with the victorious infidels on the banks of the Nile or the Jordan. No monarch of the West expressed more grief than Frederick II., emperor of Germany; in his letters he spoke of the king of France as his best friend, and deplored the disasters of the crusade with bitterness. Frederick, still at variance with the pope, did not neglect this opportunity of accusing Innocent, whom he reproached with the ruin of the Christians. Frederick repaired to Sicily, for the purpose of arming a fleet that might convey prompt assistance to the Crusaders; and whilst the vessels were getting ready, he sent an embassy into the East, to solicit of the sultan of Egypt the deliverance of the king of France and his army.

Amidst the universal desolation, a single Christian city gave demonstrations of joy: Florence, according to Villani, celebrated the reverses of the French Crusaders with festivities. Some pirates from Genoa, Pisa, and Venice took advantage of the disasters of Louis IX. to put to sea, and pillage the Crusaders that were returning into Europe. The joy of the Florentines, and the brigandages of the Italian pirates, were subjects of great scandal for all Christendom.

Louis IX., on his arrival at Ptolemaïs, had only been able to retain a small number of faithful knights; many of the French nobles, the companions of his captivity, instead of following him to Palestine, returned into the West. Among those who had quitted the banner of the crusade, were the duke of Burgundy and the brave count of Brittany: the latter, worn out with sickness and covered with wounds, died on his passage: his mortal remains, preserved by his knights, were transported to the abbey of Villeneuve, near Nantes, where, many ages afterwards, his tomb was still to be seen.

The appearance of the sad remains of the Christian army must have excited the compassion of the inhabitants of Ptolemaïs. Both knights and soldiers were almost naked; the seneschal of Champagne, in order to appear at the king’s table, was forced to make himself a vestment of the shreds of a bed-quilt. An epidemic disease, the fruit of lengthened misery and all sorts of privations, broke out among the Crusaders, and soon extended its ravages to the city. Joinville, who was lodged in the house of the curé of Ptolemaïs, informs us that he saw daily twenty convoys pass beneath his windows; and that every time he heard the funeral words, “Libera me, Domine” he burst into tears, and addressed himself to God crying, Mercy!

In the mean time the king of France was engaged in endeavouring to deliver the captives that still remained in Egypt. These captives amounted to twelve thousand, and most of them might be able to resume their arms and serve under the banner of the crusade. Louis sent his ambassadors to pay the four hundred thousand francs that he still owed to the Saracens, and to press the execution of the last treaties. These ambassadors found Egypt filled with troubles; the emirs were divided into several factions, all disputing for power: fanaticism animated these divisions; they reciprocally accused each other of having favoured or spared the Christians. Amidst these debates, many captives had been massacred, and some forced to abjure the faith of Christ. The messengers of Louis IX. could scarcely obtain a hearing; in answer to their demands, they were told that the king of France might esteem himself fortunate in having regained his liberty, and that the Mamelukes would soon go and besiege him in Ptolemaïs. At length the Christian ambassadors were obliged to quit Egypt without having obtained anything; and only brought back to Palestine four hundred prisoners, the greater part of whom had paid their own ransom.

On their return, Louis IX. was plunged in the deepest distress; he had just received a letter from Queen Blanche, who exhorted him to leave the East. He, thereupon, was desirous of returning to France; but how could he make up his mind to abandon twelve thousand Christians in slavery, or to quit the Holy Land when it was threatened with invasion? The three military orders, the barons, and the nobles of Palestine, conjured Louis not to abandon them; repeating with accents of despair, that if they were deprived of his support, the Christians of Syria would have no other resource than to follow him into the West.

Louis was touched by their prayers, but before he would form a resolution, he was desirous of consulting his two brothers and the principal nobles that had remained with him. He exhibited to them the reasons he had for returning to France, and those that would lead him to remain in Palestine: on the one side, his kingdom threatened by the king of England, and the impossibility of his undertaking anything against the infidels, ought to induce him to quit the East; on the other side, the want of good faith in the emirs, who had failed in executing the first conditions of the treaty; the perils to which the Holy Land would be exposed by his departure; the hope, in short, of receiving succours, and profiting by them, to break the chains of the Christian prisoners and deliver Jerusalem, in some sort, imposed upon him the obligation to defer his return.

After having thus described the state of things, without saying a word that might reveal his own opinion, he requested his knights and barons to reflect seriously upon the line of action it would be best for them to pursue. On the following Sunday he again convoked them, and demanded their opinion. The first that spoke was Guy de Malvoisin, whose bravery in fight and wisdom in council were admired and respected by all the Crusaders. “Sire,” said he, addressing Louis, “when I consider the honour of your person and the glory of your reign, I do not think you ought to remain in this country. Remember that flourishing army with which you left the ports of Cyprus, and then turn your eyes upon the warriors you have with you; on that day we reckoned two thousand eight hundred knights with banners in the Christian army; now, one hundred knights constitute your whole force; most of them are sick; they have neither arms nor horses, nor the means of procuring any; they have not the power of serving you with either honour or advantage. You do not possess a single city of war in the East; that in which you now are belongs to several different nations; by remaining here, you inspire no fear in the infidels, and you allow the audacity of your enemies in Europe to increase; you expose yourself to the risk of losing both the kingdom of France, where your absence may embolden ambitious neighbours, and the kingdom of Jesus Christ, upon which your presence will draw the attacks of the Mussulmans. We are all persuaded that the pride of the Saracens should be punished; but it is not in a country far distant from home that the preparations for a decisive and glorious war can be carried on. Thus, then, we advise you to return into the West, where you will watch in safety over the welfare of your states; where you will obtain, amidst a peace which is your own work, the necessary means for avenging our defeats, and, some day, repairing the reverses we have undergone.”

The duke of Anjou, the duke of Poictiers, and most of the French nobles, who spoke after Guy de Malvoisin, expressed the same opinion. When they came to the count of Jaffa, he refused to speak, saying, “that he possessed several castles in Palestine, and might be accused of defending his own personal interests.” Upon being pressed by the king to give his opinion as the others had done, he contented himself with saying, “that the glory of the Christian arms, that the safety of the land of Jesus Christ, required that the Crusaders should not at that time return to Europe.” When it came to Joinville’s turn, the good seneschal remembered the advice that his cousin, the seigneur de Bollaincourt, had given him on the eve of his departure for the crusade. “You are going beyond the seas,”—it was thus the good seigneur Bollaincourt expressed himself,—“but take care how you return; no knight, either poor or rich, can come back without shame, if he leaves any of the common people in whose company he quits France in the hands of the Saracens.” Joinville, full of the remembrance of these words, declared that they could not abandon the great numbers of Christian prisoners without shame. “These unhappy captives,” added he, “were in the service of the king as well as in the service of God; and never will they escape from their captivity if the king should go away.” There was not one of the lords and knights who had not either relations or friends among the prisoners; therefore, many of them could not restrain their tears whilst listening to Joinville; but this kindly feeling was not sufficiently strong to stifle in their hearts their desire to revisit their own country. In vain the seneschal added that the king had still a portion of his treasure left; that he could raise troops in the Morea and other countries; and that with the succours which would come from Europe, they should soon be in a condition to renew the war. These reasons, with many others, made no impression upon the greater part of the assembly: they could only view the crusade as a long and painful exile. The sieur de Chastenai, and Beaumont marshal of France, were all that agreed with the opinion of Joinville. “What shall we reply,” said they, “to those who shall ask us on our return what we have done with the heritage and the soldiers of Jesus Christ? Listen to the unfortunate inhabitants of Palestine: they accuse us of having brought war to them, and reproach us with preparing their entire ruin by our departure. If we do not receive succours, it will be then time enough to go; but why anticipate days of despair? The Crusaders, it is true, are not in great numbers; but can we forget that their leader, even when in chains, made himself respected by the Saracens? Report, likewise, tells us, that discord prevails among our enemies, and that the sultan of Damascus has declared war against the Mamelukes of Egypt.” These two knights spoke amidst the murmurs of their companions; and the more reasonable the opinions they advanced appeared, the greater was the impatience with which they were listened to. The seigneur de Beaumont was about to continue; but he was interrupted with great warmth by his uncle, John de Beaumont, who loaded him with the most bitter reproaches. In vain the king urged the right that every one had to express his opinion; authority of blood prevailed over the authority of the king; the stern old man continued to raise his voice, and reduced his nephew to silence. When he had received the opinions of the assembly, the king dismissed them, and convoked them again for the following Sunday. Upon leaving the council, Joinville found himself exposed to the railleries and insults of the knights, for having expressed an opinion contrary to that of the general meeting. To complete his chagrin, he thought he had incurred the displeasure of the king; and in his despair, he formed the resolution of joining the prince of Antioch, his relation. As he was revolving these gloomy thoughts in his mind, the king took him aside, and opening his heart to him, declared that it was his intention to remain some time longer in Palestine. Then Joinville forgot all the scoffs of the barons and knights; he was so joyous with what the king had told him, that all his griefs were at an end. On the following Sunday the barons assembled for the third time. The king of France invoked the inspiration of the Holy Ghost by a sign of the cross, and pronounced the following words:—“Seigneurs, I thank equally those who have advised me to remain in Asia, and those who have advised me to return to the West. Both, I am convinced, had no other view but the interest of my kingdom and the glory of Jesus Christ. After the most serious and lengthened reflection, I think I may, without injury or peril to my states, prolong my sojourn in this country. The queen, my mother, has defended the honour of my crown in troublesome times; she will now exhibit the same firmness, and will meet with fewer obstacles. No, my kingdom will not suffer by my absence; but if I quit this land, for which Europe has made so many sacrifices, who will protect it against its enemies? Is it to be wished, that, having come here to defend the kingdom of Jerusalem, I shall be hereafter reproached with its ruin? I remain then to save that which is left, to deliver our prisoners, and if possible, to take advantage of the discords of the Saracens. I am not willing, however, to impose restraint upon anybody; such as are desirous of quitting the East are free to depart; as to those who shall determine to remain beneath the banners of the cross, I promise that they shall want for nothing, and that I will ever share with them both good and ill fortune.”

After these words, says Joinville, most were astonished, and many began to shed hot tears. From that time, the dukes of Anjou and Poictiers, with a great number of the leaders, made preparations for their departure. Louis charged them with a letter addressed to the clergy, the nobility, and people of his kingdom. In this letter, Louis described, with a noble simplicity, the victories, defeats, and captivity of the Christian knights, and conjured his subjects of all classes to take up arms for the assistance of the Holy Land.

As soon as the two brothers of the king were gone, a levy of soldiers was commenced, and Palestine was placed in a state of defence. But that which most materially favoured the Crusaders, and gave a chance of security to the Christian colonies, was the discord that then prevailed among the Saracens. After the murder of Almoadam, the Mussulmans of Syria refused to recognise the authority of the Mamelukes. The principality and city of Damascus had recently been given up to Nasser, who was preparing to march against Cairo, at the head of a formidable army; the greatest agitation reigned amongst the Mamelukes of Egypt, in whom remorse seemed to be accompanied by fear. The sultana, Chegger-Eddour, was forced to descend from the throne, and to yield the supreme authority to the Turcoman Ezz-Eddin, whose wife she had become. This change allayed agitation for a time; but in such a state of things, one revolution seemed immediately to bring on another. The turbulent, restless soldiery, that had overthrown the empire of the Ayoubites, could neither endure that which was ancient, nor that which was new. To suppress sedition, the leaders at one time exhibited to the multitude a child of that family which they had proscribed, and decorated him with the vain title of sultan. They afterwards declared that Egypt belonged to the caliph of Bagdad, and that they governed it in his name.

It was at this period that the sultan of Aleppo and Damascus sent ambassadors to Louis IX. to invite the French monarch to unite with him to chastise the pride and the revolt of the soldiery of Cairo. He promised the Christians to share with them the spoils of the conquered, and to restore to them the kingdom of Jerusalem. These brilliant promises were likely to produce an effect upon the king of France, and at least merited all his attention. The emirs of Egypt equally solicited the alliance of the Christians, and proposed very advantageous conditions. In the choice before him, there were powerful motives to incline the king to the party of the sultan of Damascus. He had, on one side, to treat with emirs whose good-will was very uncertain, whose fortune might be transitory, and whose authority was menaced and tottering. On the other, he had to deal with a powerful prince, whose authority being much better established, offered a more sure guarantee to his allies. Another motive, which could not be indifferent in the eyes of the virtuous monarch, was, that the only aim of the policy of the Mamelukes was to secure impunity for a great crime, and that the sovereign of Damascus was aiming to avenge the cause of princes. All these considerations were, no doubt, presented in the council of Louis, and must have left the monarch great difficulty in deciding which side it would be best for him to take. But he could not forget that he had signed a treaty with the emirs, and that nothing could liberate him from his oath; but above all, he could not forget that the Mamelukes still held in their hands the destiny of twelve thousand Christian prisoners, and that by breaking with them, he should renounce the hope of delivering the unhappy companions of his captivity. Louis answered the Syrian ambassadors, that he would willingly join his arms to those of the sultan of Damascus, if the Mamelukes did not perform their treaties. At the same time, he sent John de Valence to Cairo, with directions to offer the emirs peace or war. The latter promised at length to fulfil all the conditions of the treaty, if Louis should consent to become their ally and auxiliary: more than two hundred knights were immediately set at liberty.

These unfortunate victims of the crusade arrived at Ptolemaïs about the month of October (1251): the people flocked in crowds to see them land; they exhibited too evident signs of their late captivity, and the remembrance of what they had undergone, together with their present wretchedness, drew tears of compassion from all the spectators. These prisoners, whose chains Louis had succeeded in breaking, brought with them, in a kind of triumph, a coffin, containing the bones of Gauthier de Brienne, who fell into the hands of the infidels at the battle of Gaza, and had been massacred by a furious mob at Cairo. The clergy accompanied the remains of the Christian hero to the church of the Hospitallers; and the companions in arms of Gauthier described his exploits and the glorious death he had undergone for the cause of Christ. Religion displayed all its pomps, and in its holy songs celebrated the glory of a martyr, and the devotion that it alone had inspired. The charity of the faithful relieved and consoled the misery of the captives, and Louis took into his service all whom age or infirmities rendered incapable of bearing arms.

The king learnt with much pain that many Christian prisoners still remained in Egypt. As the Egyptian ambassadors arrived at that time at Ptolemaïs, Louis IX. declared that they must not at all depend upon the alliance they came to solicit, if the emirs did not hasten to liberate all the captives and all the children of Christians brought up in the Mussulman faith, and even send to him the heads of the Crusaders that had been exposed upon the walls of Cairo.

Thus the position of the Christians was ameliorated daily by the divisions among their enemies. The king of France dictated the conditions to the emirs, and if he had had troops, he might have repaired some of the reverses he had experienced in Egypt; but the East furnished him with but a very small number of soldiers, and the West did not seem at all disposed to send him any supplies.

The king of Castile, who had taken the cross, died at the moment he was preparing to set out. In England, Henry III., who had likewise assumed the cross, obtained from the pope and the parliament the power to levy a tenth upon his people and clergy; he at the same time imposed enormous taxes upon the Jews of his kingdom. The preachers of the crusade were directed to announce his approaching departure for the East, and he himself swore upon the Gospel, in the presence of the assembled barons and people, that he would go to the Holy Land, at the head of his army; but after having obtained what he wanted, he forgot all his promises.

Frederick II., at the moment he was about to assist Louis IX., died at Naples; and his death proved to be a fresh source of trouble and agitation for Christendom. Although he had, when dying, bequeathed a hundred thousand ounces of gold for the succour of the Holy Land, and by his testament had restored to the Church all that had belonged to it, Innocent received the news of his death with a joy that he did not seek to conceal. “Let the Heavens rejoice!” wrote he to the clergy and people of Sicily; “let the earth be in gladness!” and he pursued with anathemas the memory of a prince who had borne the title of king of Jerusalem during thirty-eight years. He excommunicated Conrad, whom Frederick had named as his successor to the empire; he sent emissaries into the kingdom of Naples, to corrupt the fidelity of the people; and ecclesiastics in Germany received the mission to preach a crusade against the princes of the house of Swabia.

France was not less agitated than other countries on the return of the dukes of Anjou and Poictiers, the letter of Louis addressed to his subjects was read in all the churches. This letter revived all the sorrow that had been felt when the account was received of the captivity of the king and his army. The exhortations which Louis addressed to the French to obtain assistance, together with the news that arrived daily from the East, affected all hearts; and as the people have no idea of moderation in either grief or joy, a spirit of sedition, mixed with enthusiasm for the crusade, agitated the cities, pervaded the provinces, and, for a time, placed the kingdom in peril.

Princes and magnates having failed in their enterprise, the multitude was led to believe that Christ rejected the great ones of the earth from his service, and was only willing to have for defenders humble men, shepherds, and labourers. A man appeared, who undertook, with the help of this popular opinion, to inflame the public mind, and to create a general movement. This man, named Jacob, born in Hungary, and far advanced in age, was said to have preached the crusade of children, of which we have spoken in the twelfth book of this work. A long beard, which descended to his girdle, with a pale face and mysterious language, gave him the air of a prophet. He passed from hamlet to hamlet, saying that he was sent by Heaven to deliver the city of God, and avenge the king of France. Shepherds left their flocks, labourers laid down the plough to follow his footsteps. Jacob, who was called the master of Hungary, caused a standard to be borne before him, upon which was painted a lamb, the symbol of the Saviour of the world; provisions were brought to him from all parts, and his disciples asserted that, like Christ, he had the gift of multiplying loaves.

The name of Pastors was given to these village Crusaders. Their first meetings, to which little attention was paid, were held in the provinces of Flanders and Picardy; they then directed their course towards Amiens, and afterwards towards the capital; increasing as they went, with a crowd of vagabonds, thieves, and prostitutes. Although they had committed some disorders, Queen Blanche tolerated them, in the hope they might be the means of procuring some assistance for the king. The implied protection of the queen regent inflamed their pride, and impunity increased their license and redoubled their audacity. The impostor Jacob and the other heads of his gang, with whom chance or corruption had associated him, declaimed with vehemence against the wealth and the supremacy of the clergy, which pleased the multitude they drew at their heels; to the great scandal of all pious men, they themselves performed sacerdotal functions, and took the place, in the pulpits, of the sacred orators, employing violence against the ministers of the altars, and seeking to awaken the passions of the people. At length, assembled to the number of more than a hundred thousand, these redoubtable pilgrims left Paris, and divided themselves into several troops, to repair to the coast, whence they were to embark for the East. The city of Orleans, which happened to be in their passage, became the theatre of frightful disorders. The progress of their enormities at length created serious alarm in the government and the magistracy; orders were sent to the provinces to pursue and disperse these turbulent and seditious bands. The most numerous assemblage of the pastors was fixed to take place at Bourges, where the master of Hungary was to perform miracles and communicate the will of Heaven. Their arrival in that city was the signal for murder, fire, and pillage. The irritated people took up arms and marched against these disturbers of the public peace; they overtook them between Mortemer and Villeneuve-sur-le-Cher, where, in spite of their numbers, they were routed, and received the punishment due to their brigandages. Jacob had his head cut off by the blow of an axe; many of his companions and disciples met with death on the field of battle, or were consigned to punishment; the remainder took to flight.[328]

Thus this storm, formed so suddenly, was dispersed in the same manner; another band, which had directed its course towards Bordeaux, was likewise subdued; some of the pastors who succeeded in getting to England, were served in the same way. A report was spread that correspondences with the Saracens had been found upon the persons of their leaders, and they were accused of having formed the project of delivering up Christian people to the swords of the infidels; which accusation, however improbable, completed the hatred the people began to entertain for them. The government, which had not at first strength enough to oppose them, armed the passions of the multitude against them, and tranquillity was soon reëstablished in the kingdom.

In the mean time the crusade to the East was preached in most of the countries of Europe; new indulgences were added to those which had been accorded to the soldiers of Christ; the bishop of Avignon received power to absolve those who had struck clerks, or burnt churches; the same bishop had the faculty of converting all vows, except that of religion, into a vow for the crusade: similar powers were given to the prior of the Jacobins at Paris. These new encouragements might have aroused a momentary ardour in the faithful, if the court of Rome had not been constantly diverted from the cares of a crusade in the East, by the war it had declared against the house of Swabia. The Holy See willingly granted dispensations to Crusaders who took a part in its cause, or who paid it a tribute; which made the good bishop of Lincoln accuse Innocent of exchanging the treasures of heaven for those of earth, and of selling the Crusaders as the heifers and rains of sacrifice were formerly sold in the Temple. At length, no longer concealing either his hatred or his ambition, the sovereign pontiff ordered the Cordeliers to preach a crusade against the heir and successor of Frederick; the indulgence for those who took the cross extended to the father and mother of the Crusaders, a thing that had never taken place in any other crusade. At the moment when Louis IX. was so earnestly requesting succour, the preaching of this impious crusade excited great scandal among the French nobility; the new Crusaders were treated as rebels; Queen Blanche caused their lands to be seized; and the princes and lords followed the example of the queen in their domains. The Cordeliers were severely reprimanded, and their preaching proved ineffectual.

Whilst the crusade against Conrad was being suppressed, no increased zeal was exhibited for the war in the East. Those who entertained the warmest attachment for Louis IX. might with justice believe, that by sending him assistance they should prolong his absence. Thus, in spite of the reiterated prayers of the king, France, which had shed so many tears over his captivity, could not resolve to take up arms to succour him, and was satisfied with putting up vows for his return.

All that Blanche was able to do for her son was to send him a vessel laden with money, which was lost on the coast of Syria. A small number of those who had taken the cross in the West, determined to cross the sea; the young count of Eu, and Raymond count of Turenne, whom the queen commanded to set out for Palestine, were almost the only nobles of this party. Most of the knights and barons that had remained in Palestine with the king, having spent everything, and being entirely ruined, fixed so high a price upon their services, and, according to the expression of the commissaries of Louis, made themselves so dear, that the treasury of the monarch would not suffice to support them.[329] Levies were made in Greece, in Cyprus, and in the Christian cities of Syria; but these levies only brought to the banners of the crusade a few adventurers, very ill calculated to share the labours and dangers of a great enterprise.

Among the warriors whom the love of danger and distant adventures led at this time to the Holy Land, history speaks of Alemar of Selingan. This knight had come from a country of the West,[330] in which the summer, he said, had almost no nights. Selingan and his companions sought every opportunity for signalizing their skill in arms and their romantic bravery. Whilst waiting for the happy moment, at which they might fight with the Saracens, they made war upon the lions, which they pursued on horseback into the deserts, and killed with their arrows; which was a subject of great surprise and admiration for the French warriors.

Another very noble knight also arrived, says Joinville, who was called De Toucy. The chevalier de Toucy had been regent of the Latin empire of Constantinople, in the absence of Baldwin, and prided himself upon belonging to the family of the kings of France. In company with nine other knights, he abandoned an empire which was falling rapidly to ruin, in order to endeavor to support the miserable remains of the kingdom of Jerusalem. Toucy related the misfortunes of Baldwin, and the deplorable circumstances that had forced a Christian emperor to ally himself with a chief of the Comans. According to the custom of the barbarians, the prince of the Comans and the emperor of Constantinople had punctured themselves, and mixing the blood in a cup, had both drunk of it, as a sign of alliance and brotherhood. The knights who accompanied the seigneur de Toucy had borrowed this practice of the barbarians: the French warriors at first were disgusted with it; but soon, led away by the strange novelty of the thing, they themselves mingled their blood with that of their companions, and diluting it with floods of wine, they got intoxicated together over the mystical draught, which, as they said, made them brothers.

The manners and customs of the Eastern nations strongly raised the curiosity and fixed the attention of the Crusaders. When the missionaries whom Louis IX. had sent into Tartary returned to Ptolemaïs, the French warriors were never tired of interrogating and listening to them. Andrew de Lonjumeau, who was at the head of the mission, had set out from Antioch, and travelling ten leagues every day, had prosecuted his journey for a year before he arrived at the place at which the great khan of the Tartars resided. The missionaries traversed deserts where they met with enormous heaps of human bones—sad monuments of the victories of a barbarous people: they related marvellous things of the court of the monarch of the Moguls, of the manners and customs of the countries they had travelled through, of the conquests and legislation of Gengiskhan, and of the prodigies which had prepared the power and greatness of the conqueror of Asia. Among the extraordinary and somewhat fabulous circumstances they related, the Christians learned with much joy that the religion of Christ was extending its empire among the most distant nations; the missionaries declared they had seen, in a single horde of Tartars, more than eight hundred chapels, in which the praises of the true God were celebrated. Louis IX. hoped that the Moguls might some day become auxiliaries of the Christians in the great struggle against the infidels; and this hope made him resolve to send fresh missionaries into Tartary.

But if the Crusaders were thus astonished at all they heard concerning the most distant regions of Asia, they had close to them a barbarous colony which must have excited their surprise to a still greater degree. Some months after his arrival, Louis received an embassy from the Old Man of the Mountains, who, as we have already said, reigned over about thirty villages or towns, built on the southern declivity of Mount Libanus. The envoys of the prince of the Assassins, when admitted into the presence of the king of France, asked him if he was acquainted with their master. “I have heard of him,” replied the monarch. “Why, then,” added one of the ambassadors, “have you not sought after his friendship by sending him presents, as the emperor of Germany, the king of Hungary, the sultan of Cairo, and so many other great princes have done?” The king listened to this strange language without anger, and appointed the ambassadors another audience, at which the grand masters of the Templars and the Hospitallers were present. The name alone of the two military orders, which the poniard of the Assassins did not venture to attack, inspired some degree of terror in the Old Man of the Mountain, who had been constrained to pay them a tribute. In the second audience, the two grand masters sternly reproved the ambassadors, and told them that if the lord of the Mountain did not send presents to the king of France, his insolence would draw upon him a prompt and just chastisement. The envoys repeated these threatening words to their master, who himself experienced some of the fear he wished to inspire, and sent them back to Louis to express much more pacific sentiments. Among the presents which they were charged to offer to the king of the Franks, there were several vases, a chess-board, and an elephant in rock crystal; to these the lord of the Mountain added a shirt and a ring, as symbols of alliance, according to which, said the envoys to the French monarch, “you and our master will remain united as the fingers of the hand are, and as the shirt is to the body.”[331]

Louis IX. received this new embassy with distinction, and by their hands sent to the prince of the Assassins vases of gold and silver, and stuffs of scarlet and silk; he commanded brother Yves, a man learned in Arabic, to accompany them. Yves, who remained for some time at the court of the Old Man of the Mountain, on his return related many curious particulars, which history has not despised. The prince of the Assassins belonged to the sect of Ali, and professed some admiration for the Gospel. He had, in particular, a veneration for Monseigneur St. Peter, who, according to his belief, was still living, and whose soul, he said, had been successively that of Abel, Noah, and Abraham. Brother Yves spoke strongly of the terror with which the Old Man of the Mountain inspired his subjects. A fearful silence reigned around his palace, and when he appeared in public, he was preceded by a herald-at-arms, who cried with a loud voice, “Whoever you may be, dread to appear before him who holds the life and death of kings in his hands.”

Whilst these marvellous recitals were amusing the leisure of the Crusaders, war was declared between the sultans of Damascus and Cairo. The Christian warriors, impatient for fight, sighed at being thus condemned to waste their time in listless idleness. But they mustered scarcely seven hundred knights beneath the banners of the cross; and their small number would not permit Louis to think of attempting any important enterprise.

Whilst anxiously looking forward to the perils and hazards of war, the holy monarch never relaxed in his endeavours to ameliorate the destiny and break the chains of the captives who still remained in the hands of the Mussulmans. But the captivity of the Christian warriors was not the only grief with which his heart was afflicted: it added greatly to his sorrow to learn that many of his companions in arms had embraced Islamism. It is a singular circumstance to remark,[332] that the Crusaders, whose aim always was to bring about the triumph of Christianity, present us with frequent examples of apostasy, and history does not hesitate to affirm, that during the course of the holy wars more Christians became Mussulmans than Mussulmans became Christians. Joinville informs us in his Memoirs, that most of the mariners who manned the Christian fleet in the retreat from Mansourah, renounced their faith to save their lives: in these disastrous days, many warriors were unable to resist the menaces of the Saracens, and the fear of death made them forget a religion for which they had taken up arms. We have seen what evils the Crusaders had endured in the expeditions to the East; among the crowd of pilgrims there were always some who had not sufficient virtue to pass through the ordeal of great misfortunes: on the arrival of Louis IX. in Egypt, that country already contained many of these perjured and unfaithful Christians, who, in the perils and calamities of preceding wars, had forsaken the God of their fathers. All these renegadoes were despised by the Saracens. Oriental authors quote a saying of Saladin’s on this subject, which expresses an opinion generally established, and which was maintained to the very last days of the crusades; he said that a good Christian was never made of a bad Mussulman, nor a good Mussulman of a bad Christian. History affords a few details upon the lives of these degenerate Franks, who had renounced their religion and their country; many employed themselves in agriculture and the mechanical arts; a great number were enrolled in the Mussulman armies; some obtained employments, and succeeded in amassing great wealth. We may well, however, believe, that remorse empoisoned every moment of their lives, and would not permit them to enjoy the advantages they had acquired among the infidels:[333] the religion they had quitted still inspired them with respect, and the presence and language of the Franks, who had been their brothers, recalled to them the most saddening remembrances; but, withheld by I know not what false shame, and as if God had struck them with an eternal reprobation, they remained chained to their error by an invincible link, and although sensible of the misery of living in a foreign land, they did not dare to entertain the idea of returning to their own country.

One of these renegadoes, born at Provins, who had fought under the banners of John of Brienne, came to salute Louis IX., and bring him presents, at the moment the monarch was embarking on the Nile, to repair to Palestine. As Joinville told him, that if he persisted in practising the religion of Mahomet, he would go straight to hell after his death; he replied, that he believed the religion of Christ to be better than that of the prophet of Mecca; but, he added, that if he returned to the faith of the Christians, he should sink into poverty, and that during the rest of his life he should be loaded with infamous reproaches, and be everywhere hooted as a renegado! a renegado! Thus, the fear of poverty, together with a dread of the judgments of the world, held fast the deserters from the Christian faith, and prevented their return to the belief they had abandoned. Louis IX. neglected no means to bring them back to the right path; his liberality always met half-way such as were disposed to revert to Christianity; and to shield them, from the contempt of men, he issued an ordinance that none should reproach them with their apostasy.

The king of France expended considerable sums in placing several of the Christian cities in a state of defence; the towers and walls of Cæsarea, as well as those of Ptolemaïs, were heightened and enlarged; the walls and fortifications of Jaffa and Caïpha, which were almost in ruins, were repaired. Amidst these useful labours, carried on in peace, the warriors remained idle, and not a few of them began to be forgetful of both military discipline and Gospel morality. The precaution that the sieur de Joinville took to place his bed in such a manner as to remove all evil thoughts respecting his familiarity with women, proves that the morals of the Christian knights were not entirely free from suspicion at least. Louis was much more severe against licentiousness of manners than he had been during his abode at Damietta. History mentions several instances of his severity; and such was the strangeness of the penal laws charged with the protection of public decency and morality, that excess of libertinism would at the present day appear less scandalous than the punishments then inflicted on the guilty.

The clergy, however, never relaxed in their endeavours to recall the Crusaders to the principles of the Christian religion; and their efforts were not fruitless. There was no city, no place in Palestine, that did not remind the warriors of the holy traditions of the Scriptures, or of the mercy and justice of God. Many of the French nobles, who had been models of courage, showed an equally bright example of devotion and piety; it was common to see the bravest knights lay down their arms, and assuming the scrip and staff of the pilgrim, repair to the spots consecrated by the miracles and the presence of Christ and the holy personages whose memory is preserved by religion. Louis himself visited Mount Thabor and the village of Cana several times, and went on a pilgrimage to Nazareth. The sultan of Damascus, who sought every opportunity of forming an alliance with him, invited him to come as far as Jerusalem; and this pilgrimage would have crowned the wishes of the pious monarch; but his barons, and more particularly the bishops, represented to him that it was not befitting for him to enter Jerusalem as a simple pilgrim, and that he had come into the East not only to visit, but to deliver the holy tomb. They added, that the Western princes who should take the cross after him, would believe, from his example, that they had fulfilled their duty, and performed their vow, by merely visiting the holy city; and thus the devotion of the Crusaders would no longer have the deliverance of the sepulchre of Christ for its object. Louis IX. yielded to the representations of the prelates, and consented not to visit Jerusalem at that time, as he still cherished the hope of one day entering it sword in hand. But this hope was doomed soon to fade away—God never afterwards permitted the holy city to be wrested from the yoke of the infidels.

The sultans of Cairo and Damascus continued to negotiate with the monarch of the Franks. Each of these two Mussulman princes hoped to have the Christians for allies, and was particularly anxious not to have them for enemies. Every time they entertained a fear of being vanquished, the emirs of Egypt renewed their proposals, and they at length accepted all the conditions that the Christians required. A treaty was concluded, by which the Mamelukes engaged to liberate all the captives that remained in Egypt, the children of Christians brought up in the Mussulman faith, and, which had often been demanded by Louis, the heads of the martyrs of the cross that had been exposed upon the walls of Cairo. Jerusalem and all the cities of Palestine, with the exception of Gaza, Daroum, and two other fortresses, were to be placed in the hands of the Franks. The treaty likewise stipulated that, during fifteen years, the kingdom of Jerusalem should have no war with Egypt; that the two states should combine their forces; and that all conquests should be shared between the Christians and the Mamelukes. Some ecclesiastics expressed their doubts and scruples upon an alliance with the enemies of Christ; but the pious monarch disdained to notice their representations; no treaty had ever offered so many advantages for the Christian cause, if good faith had presided over its execution: but the generous loyalty of Louis rendered him incapable of suspecting fraud or perfidy in his allies, or even in his enemies.

The leaders of the Mussulmans were to repair to Gaza, and from thence to Jaffa, to confirm the alliance they had just contracted, and to arrange with the French king the plan for carrying on the war. When the sultan of Damascus heard of the treaty thus entered into, he sent an army of twenty thousand men to take a position between Gaza and Daroum, so as to prevent the junction of the Egyptians and Franks. Whether the Mamelukes were prevented by their internal divisions, or whether they did not dare to face the troops of Damascus, they did not appear at Jaffa at the time agreed upon. They, however, fulfilled all the other conditions of the treaty, and added to the convoy of captives and funereal relics, the present of an elephant, which Louis sent to Henry III. of England. As they often repeated their promise of coming to Jaffa, Louis was constantly in expectation of them, and waited for them an entire year. The French monarch being thus deceived in his hopes, might, without injustice, have renounced a treaty that the other contracting party did not execute; he might again have opened a communication with the sultan of Damascus, who offered the same advantages, with much more probability of his promises being fulfilled. The emirs of Egypt had sought the alliance of the Christians when their own situation appeared desperate, and when they had reason to believe that the king of France would receive succours from the West; seeing, however, that Louis had no army, and that all the forces he could muster did not amount to more than seven hundred knights, they were fearful of entering too deeply into engagements that would expose them to the hatred of the Mussulmans, without offering them any substantial support against their enemies. All these emirs besides, only fought to secure for themselves impunity for their crime, and to be left in quiet possession of the fruits of their revolt. They were at all times ready to lay down their arms, if they procured pardon for the past, and had Egypt abandoned to them. The caliph of Bagdad was always anxious to establish peace among the Mussulman powers; he prevailed upon the sultan of Damascus and Aleppo to forget his causes of resentment, and upon the emirs of Egypt to express repentance, with a desire for peace. Several battles were fought without any decisive results; in one of these battles a party of Syrian troops were defeated by the Mamelukes, and fled away towards Damascus; whilst other bodies of Mamelukes were beaten by the Syrians, and pursued up to the gates of Cairo. A war in which victory was always uncertain, necessarily weakened the courage and exhausted the patience of both parties; and they appealed to the spiritual father of the Mussulmans to arbitrate between them. The sultans of Syria and Egypt at length concluded a peace, and agreed to unite their arms against the Christians. From that time the hopes of the Crusaders all vanished; the king of France, from having procrastinated so long, and at the same time neglected a favourable opportunity, had, all at once, two united enemies to dread. It is necessary to be perfectly acquainted with the situation and policy of the Mussulman powers, to ascertain how far history has reason to blame the indecision and tardiness of Louis IX. Le père Maimbourg does not scruple to blame him with much severity, and declares plainly, that to be a saint, it appears not necessary to be infallible, particularly in political affairs, and even still less in those of war.

The treaty concluded between the Mamelukes and Syrians was the signal for war; the sultan of Damascus, at the head of an army, came under the very walls of Ptolemaïs, and threatened to ravage the gardens and fields which supplied the city with provisions, if the inhabitants did not pay him a tribute of fifty thousand golden byzants. The Christians were not in a condition to resist their enemies, if the latter had then had any intention of attacking them in earnest; but the Syrians, exhausted by fatigue, were in want of provisions, and returned to Damascus, whilst the Mamelukes, at the same time, retook the route to Cairo; both of them departing with an intention of returning on the first favourable occasion to invade and desolate Palestine.

The threats of the Mussulmans redoubled the zeal and the efforts of Louis to place the Christian cities in a state of defence; he determined to restore the fortifications of Sidon, which had been demolished by the Saracens of Damascus, at the time that the Crusaders landed in Egypt. He sent a great number of workmen into this city, and the works were rapidly advancing, when they were all at once interrupted by the most deplorable occurrence. The place having a weak garrison, was surprised, and every Christian it contained put to the sword by the Turcomans, a wandering, ferocious race, accustomed to live by murder and plunder. Louis was at Tyre when he learned this disastrous news, and was about to go to Sidon. Some of the few Syrian inhabitants that had escaped the carnage, described to him the unheard-of cruelties of the barbarians; the fury of the Turcomans had spared neither age nor sex, and in their retreat they had slaughtered two thousand prisoners. Louis, deeply afflicted by what he heard, formed at once the determination to go and attack the Turcomans in Belinas, to which place they had retired. At the first signal all the warriors that accompanied him eagerly assumed their armour. The king wished to place himself at their head, but the barons strongly opposed his intention, saying, “that he must not expose a life of so much consequence to the Holy Land, in such an expedition.” The Christian warriors set forward on their march. Belinas, or Cæsarea Philippi, was built upon a declivity of Mount Libanus, near the sources of the Jordan: the place was only to be approached by narrow roads and steep ascents; but nothing could stop the Crusaders, impatient to avenge their murdered brethren. Upon their arrival at Belinas, the enemy fled in all directions; the city was taken, and this victory would have been complete, if the Christian warriors had observed the laws of discipline, and followed the orders of their leaders. Whilst the French were taking possession of Belinas, the Teutonic knights went to attack a Mussulman castle, built upon the neighbouring heights, whose towers appeared mingled with the peaks of Libanus. The Saracens, who had rallied at this place, and began to recover their courage, repulsed the assailants, and pursued them across the rocks and precipices. The precipitate retreat of the Teutonic knights threw the other Christian warriors into confusion; these latter being huddled together upon a mountainous piece of ground, where they could neither fight on horseback nor form a line of battle. The sieur de Joinville, who led the king’s guards, was more than once upon the point of losing his life, or of falling into the hands of the Turcomans. At length the French, by hard fighting, repaired the error of the Germans; Olivier de Thermes, and the warriors he commanded, succeeded in repulsing the Mussulmans. The Crusaders, after having pillaged Belinas, abandoned it, and returned to Sidon.

Louis IX. arrived there before them: on his approach to the city, what was his sorrow at seeing on his route the ground covered with plundered and bloody carcases! These were the miserable remains of the Christians that had been slain by the Turcomans.[334] They were putrefying fast, and there had been no one to undertake the charge of burying them. Louis stopped at beholding the melancholy spectacle, and turning to the legate, requested him to consecrate a cemetery, and then gave orders for the burial of the dead that covered the roads; but instead of obeying him, every one turned away his eyes and recoiled with disgust. Louis then sprang from his horse, and taking in his hands one of the bodies from which exhaled an infectious odour, exclaimed, “Come, my friends, come, let us bestow a little earth upon the martyrs of Jesus Christ.” The example of the king reanimated the courage and the charity of the persons of his suite; all were eager to imitate him, and the Christians, whom the barbarians had slaughtered, thus received the honours of sepulture. This act of pious devotedness of Louis IX. to the memory of his companions in arms, has been celebrated by all historians; it presents a strange contrast to the insensibility of a hero of modern times, who, in a circumstance almost similar, and in the same country, caused all the wounded who were left upon a field of battle to be poisoned.

The king remained several months at Sidon, employed in fortifying the city. In the mean time Queen Blanche was constantly writing to him and entreating him to return to France, as she greatly feared she should never see her son again.

Her presentiments were but too quickly realized. Louis was still at Sidon, when a message arrived in Palestine, announcing that the queen regent was no more. It was the legate of the pope who first received this melancholy news. He went to seek the king, accompanied by the archbishop of Tyre and Geoffrey de Beaulieu, Louis’s confessor. As the prelate announced that he had something important to communicate, and at the same time exhibited marks of great grief upon his countenance, the monarch led him into his chapel, which, according to an old author, “was his arsenal against all the crosses of the world.” The prelate began by reminding the king that all that man loves upon the earth was perishable; “be thankful to God,” added he, “for having given you a mother who has watched over your family and your kingdom with such anxious care, and so much ability.” The legate paused for a moment, and then, breathing a profound sigh, continued, “This tender mother, this virtuous princess, is now in heaven.” At these words, Louis uttered a piercing cry, and then burst into a torrent of tears. As soon as he had a little recovered himself, he fell on his knees before the altar, and joining and raising his hands, exclaimed, “I thank you O my God! for having given me so good a mother; it was a gift of your mercy; you take her back to-day as your own; you know that I loved her above all creatures; but since, before all things, your decrees must be accomplished, O Lord! be your name blessed for ever, and for ever!” Louis sent away the two prelates, and, remaining alone with his confessor, he recited the service for the dead. Two days passed away before he would see anybody. He then desired Joinville to be called, and upon seeing him, said, “Ah! seneschal, I have lost my mother.” “Sire,” replied Joinville, “I am not surprised at that; you knew that she must die at some time; but I marvel at the great and extravagant grief that you feel for it, you who have always been so wise a prince.” When Joinville left the king, Madame Marie de bonnes Vertus came to beg that he would come to the queen and endeavour to console her. The good seneschal found Marguerite bathed in tears, and could not refrain from expressing his surprise by saying to her, “It is a difficult matter to believe you are a woman by your weeping, for the grief you show is for the loss of a woman that you hated more than any other in the world.” Marguerite replied that it was not, in fact, for the death of Blanche she was weeping, “but for the great uneasiness in which I see the king, and also for our daughter, left under the guardianship of men.”