I notice here one fact characteristic of both the King and his century. Many of these amicable transactions with his great vassals were almost immediately followed by the departure of the latter on a new crusade. The Christian world had not renounced the hope of freeing Jerusalem and the Holy Sepulchre from the yoke of the Mussulman. The desire to astonish the world by startling acts of penance, and the love of military adventure, still agitated both the highest and lowest ranks of feudal society. Pope Gregory IX. continued to preach a crusade—a double crusade—to Jerusalem for the deliverance of the Holy Sepulchre, to Constantinople for the succour of the recently established Latin Empire, which was already tottering. The King of France found, doubtless, that it was very convenient to extend his dominion thus without war at the expense of his vassals, and to get rid of these turbulent individuals. But to these reasons of general or private interest was certainly added the personal influence of Louis, already passionately absorbed in the thought of the glory and religious salvation which he hoped to win for himself in one of these expeditions.
As early as 1239, some of the principal vassals with whom he had just concluded advantageous treaties—the Counts of Champagne, Bretagne, and Mâcon—started for Palestine at the head of an army of Crusaders, numbering (so it is said) fifteen hundred knights and forty thousand squires. Louis was not content simply with encouraging and promoting this enterprise. 'He desired,' says De Tillemont, 'that Amaury de Montfort, his constable, should in this war serve Jesus Christ in his stead. Therefore he gave him his arms and granted him a daily sum of money, for which Amaury thanked him on his knees. That is, he did him homage after the custom of the time. The Crusaders were much rejoiced to have this noble lord with them.'
The heavy sickness from which the King suffered five years after, and his pious thankfulness for his cure, are said to have given rise to his resolve to take the Cross. But this is a grave mistake, for from the year 1239, when he saw his chief vassals departing for Palestine with the cross embroidered on their shoulder, the heart of St. Louis had already taken flight towards Jerusalem.
While awaiting the time when he should be able to gratify his pious hope of becoming a Crusader, Louis diverted himself and feudal France by royal and knightly festivities. He had assigned the province of Poitiers to his second brother Alphonse, but the young prince had not yet received his investiture as a knight, nor had he been put in possession of his domain. In order to perform this double ceremony, the King summoned to Saumur his full court—that is, all his noble vassals, lay and ecclesiastic. There were political motives for this assemblage and for the place of its meeting. The monarch of France displayed all his power and all his magnificence on the confines of Poitiers, and in the centre of a district formerly possessed by the kings of England.
'The King,' says Joinville, who was present, 'gave this feast in the halls at Saumur, which the great King Henry of England [Footnote 7] had erected, it was said, for his own banquets.
[Footnote 7: Henry II. son of Geoffrey Plantagenet, Count of Anjou.]
This edifice is built after the fashion of cloisters belonging to the White Monks' (monks of the Cistercian order), 'but I doubt if any cloisters could ever have been nearly so large. And I will tell you why I think so: in that aisle of the hall at Saumur where the King banqueted, surrounded by all his knights and officers, who occupied a great deal of space, there was a table where twenty bishops and archbishops were feasted. And beyond the bishops and archbishops there was another table at which was the Queen-mother, Blanche: this was at the further end of the cloisters, and not where the King was eating. In waiting upon Queen Blanche were the Count of Boulogne, afterwards King of Portugal; the good Count of St. Pol, and a German, aged about eighteen, who was said to be the son of the holy Elizabeth of Thuringia. On this account it was said that Queen Blanche used to kiss him on the forehead, out of religious devotion, because she thought his mother must many times have kissed him there. At the furthermost part of the cloister, moreover, there were kitchens, butteries, pantries, and other offices; from this part bread, meat, and wine were served out to the King and Queen. In the other aisles and in the open space in the centre of the cloisters there feasted such a harvest of good knights that I could not attempt to number them, and the people who looked on said they had never seen such a number of surcoats and other vestments of cloth of gold at any banquet as there were there, and they say that above three thousand knights and cavaliers were present.'
From the festivities at Saumur, Louis went to Poitiers, where the new-made Count, his brother Alphonse, was to receive in his presence the homage of the neighbouring lords who had become his vassals. But ill news came to disturb their pleasures; a confidential letter was received, addressed, not to the King but to his mother, who was regarded by many faithful subjects as the true sovereign of the kingdom, and who doubtless still had her own confidential and secret agents. An inhabitant of La Rochelle wrote to tell Queen Blanche of the existence of a conspiracy among various powerful lords of La Marche, La Saintonge, L'Angoumois, and still further districts, who proposed to refuse homage to the Count of Poitiers, and thus to rebel against the King himself. This unpleasant warning was as true as it was circumstantial. Hughes de Lusignan, Count of La Marche, the principal vassal of the new Count of Poitiers, if he had not originated was certainly the leader of the plot. His wife, Isabella of Angoulême, widow of the late King John of England, and mother of the reigning sovereign, Henry III., was indignant at the idea of becoming a vassal to a prince who was himself the vassal of the King of France, and furious at finding herself, once a queen and still the widow and mother of a king, placed in rank below a mere Countess of Poitiers. When her husband, the Count of La Marche, returned to Angoulême, he found his lady melting from wrath into tears, and from tears rising back again into wrath.
'"Did you not perceive," said she, "that when in order to gratify your king and queen I waited three days at Poitiers, and then appeared before them in their chamber, the King was seated on one side of the bed, and the Queen with the Countess of Chartres and her sister the Abbess at the other, and they never summoned me to sit beside them. They did it designedly, to disgrace me before all these people. And neither on my entrance nor my departure did they so much as rise from their seats; putting me to shame, as you must have seen yourself. I can scarcely speak of it, so overcome am I with grief and shame. I shall die of it; it is even worse than the loss of our lands, of which they have so disgracefully robbed us. But at least, by God's grace, they shall repent of this, or I may see them miserable in their turn, and deprived of their own lands, as I am of mine. And for this end, I, for my part, will strive whilst I have life, even though it should cost me all that is mine."
'"The Count," adds Queen Blanche's secret correspondent, "who is a good man as you know, seeing the Countess in tears, said to her, deeply moved, 'Madame, give your commands, and I will do all that I can: be sure of that.' 'If you do not,' said she, 'you shall never enter my presence more, and I will never see you again.' Whereupon the Count, with many oaths, swore that he would do everything his wife desired."' [Footnote 8 ]
[Footnote 8: This letter, the original of which is in the Bibliothèque Impériale at Paris, was discovered and published by M. Léopold Delisle, with a learned commentary, in the' 'Bibliothèque de l'Ecole des Chartres.']
He was as good as his word. In late autumn of the same year 1241, 'the new Count of Poitiers, holding his court for the first time, did not fail to summon all the nobles who were his vassals; and as the chief among them, the Count and Countess of La Marche. They went to Poitiers. But four days before Christmas, when all the guests had assembled, the Count of La Marche was seen advancing towards the prince mounted on his war steed, his wife behind him on a pillion, escorted by a troop of men-at-arms also on horseback, their cross-bows in their hands, as if ready for battle. Everybody waited eagerly for what was going to happen. Then the Count of La Marche, addressing the Count of Poitiers in a loud voice, said, "In a forgetful and weak moment I did once think of paying thee homage, but I now swear with a resolute heart that thy liege servant I will never be. Unjustly thou callest thyself my lord: unworthily hast thou stolen these lands from my son-in-law, Count Richard, while he was faithfully fighting for God in the Holy Land, where by his prudence and tender mercy he delivered many captives." After this insulting speech, the Count of La Marche caused his men-at-arms to disperse roughly all those who were in his way; rushed, as a last insult, and set fire to the quarters which his host had assigned him, and, followed by all his people, quitted Poitiers at full gallop.'
This meant war without doubt: and in early spring of the following year it broke out. But King Louis was found well prepared and fully resolved to carry it on. However, with all his determination, he lacked neither justice nor prudence; he respected popular opinion and wished for the approval of those whom he must needs call upon to compromise themselves with him and for him. He called together the vassals of the Crown. 'What think you?' asked he. 'What ought to be done to a vassal who wishes to hold his lands independent of any liege lord, and who refuses the faithful homage which has been paid time out of mind by him and his forefathers?'
They answered that the lord of the soil ought then to resume this fief as his own property.
'By my royal name,' said the King, 'this Count of La Marche pretends to hold lands after such a fashion—lands which have been a fief of France ever since the time of the brave King Clovis, who took all Aquitaine from unbelieving Alaric, King of the Goths, and conquered the whole country up to the Pyrenees.' The vassals promised their king active help against his foe.
The Count of La Marche began the contest. He had powerful allies, but the chief of them, his stepson, Henry III. of England, and his neighbour, Raimond III. Count of Toulouse, were tardy in their movements. Provoked by the devastations committed on his lands, Louis suddenly took the field. He had made great preparations, had provided large stores of provisions, means of transport and encampment, and machinery for carrying on a siege. Four thousand knights and twenty thousand men-at-arms followed him. The provincial militia joined: in short, as it neared the enemy's country, the King's army swelled apace, says the old chronicler, 'like rivers when they approach the sea.' Many fortresses in La Saintonge and L'Angoumois were carried by assault. Furious and desperate with her ill success, the Countess Isabelle of La Marche tried another form of warfare: she gave two of her serfs a poison which they undertook to mix either with the food or wine of the King and his brothers. But when they reached the royal camp, the two poor wretches were discovered, taken, and hanged.
At length the King of England landed at Royan, at the mouth of the Gironde. His Parliament, disliking this war, had refused him any assistance in it; but he brought with him seven of his principal vassals, three hundred knights, and, above all, the treasure which he had succeeded in amassing: 'thirty hogsheads full of esterlings,' says Matthew Paris, 'enough to pay a whole army of Poitevins and Gascons.'
A truce had subsisted for some time between France and England. Henry sent messengers to Louis, informing him that this truce was now broken, since he considered it his duty to defend his step-father, the Count of La Marche, by force of arms. Louis replied, that on his part he had scrupulously respected the truce, and had no thought of breaking it; but that he considered himself quite at liberty to punish a rebellious vassal. So the war began with ardour on both sides; and this young king, docile son of so capable a mother, soon showed himself to be an unsuspected hero.
Near two towns in Saintonge, Taillebourg and Saintes, on a bridge which commanded the approach to the one and before the walls of the other, Louis fought two battles, where his brilliant personal valour and the enthusiastic devotion of his troops decided the victory and caused the surrender of both places.
'At sight of the numerous banners above which the Oriflamme was floating in front of Taillebourg, and of the multitude of tents pitched close together so as to look like one great populous city, Henry III. turned quickly round to the Count of La Marche. "My father," said he, "is that what you promised me? Is this the countless army which you engaged yourself to raise for me; while my sole care should be to provide the money?" "I never said that," replied the Count. "Yea, truly," observed the Earl Richard of Cornwall, brother of Henry III. "I have in my possession a letter in your own hand upon this point." And when the Count of La Marche energetically denied having either signed or sent such a letter, the English king reminded him with some bitterness of his many messages and anxious solicitations for help. "I swear these were never with my knowledge," said the Count. "Blame your mother, who is my wife. Par la gorge de Dieu, it has all been managed without my knowledge."'
Henry III. was not alone in his disgust at the war into which his mother had thus drawn him. The greater part of his English knights quitted him, and asked of Louis permission to travel home to England through France. Some persons about the court objected to this. 'Let them depart,' said Louis. 'I only wish I could get rid of all my foes thus peacefully.' And when he heard his courtiers making a mock of Henry III. who, deserted by the English and pillaged by the Gascons, had taken refuge in Bordeaux, 'Cease,' said he. 'I forbid you either to ridicule him, or to cause him to hate me for your folly. His charity and piety will save him from all danger and all disgrace.'
When the Count of La Marche himself begged for peace, it was granted by the King with all the prudence of a far-seeing politician, and the pitying kindliness of a Christian. He only exacted that the conquered lands should remain the property of the Crown, and, under the suzerainty of the Crown, should belong to the Count of Poitiers; and that with regard to the rest of his estates, the Count of La Marche, his wife, and children should come and ask them as a grant from the mere will of the King. To this the Count added, as a pledge of his future fidelity, that he would maintain in three of his castles a royal garrison at his own expense.
His submission being thus fully made, the Count was brought into the presence of the King with his wife and children, 'where' (it is chronicled) 'they fell upon their knees and broke into sobs and tears, and began to cry aloud, "Most courteous sire, take away thy anger and displeasure from us, and have pity on us, for we have sinned grievously and haughtily against thee. Sire, according to the multitude of thy great mercies, pardon us our misdeeds!" At which the King, who could not contain himself at the sight, bade them rise, and forgave the Count frankly all the evil he had done.'
As long as the war lasted, Louis had conducted it vigorously and heroically; but he was at the same time a true and generous knight towards his adversaries, full of respect for the laws of chivalry and for feudal honour. His brother Alphonse had been grievously wounded at the siege of Fontenay, and when, after a brave resistance, the place was taken, the son of the Count of La Marche was among the prisoners. Some persons counselled the King to inflict cruel punishments upon the vanquished, in order to avenge the wound which Count Alphonse had received and the obstinate defence of the town. 'No,' said he, 'how can a son merit death for having simply obeyed his father, or vassals for having faithfully served their lord?' Later on, 'Hertold, lord of Mirebeau—a strong castle in Poitou—and vassal of Henry III., seeing the rapid success of the French king, and finding himself unable to resist him, went to seek the King of England at Blaye, where he had taken refuge. "My Lord King," said he, "your excellence may perceive that fortune is against us. What shall I do? Can you help me in such great danger, or deliver me if I am besieged? Or shall I, like my neighbours, be overwhelmed by a general disaster and forced to yield to the hated French yoke, which my ancestors resisted for so long?" "Hertold," replied the English king, with a dejected aspect, "thou seest that I can hardly deliver even myself from danger. Our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ was betrayed by His disciple Judas: who then can be secure? The Count of La Marche, whom I looked upon and honoured as my father, has given you all a pernicious example. I leant on a broken reed, and it has pierced me. Thou alone, in consulting me thus, thou hast acted with honour. The lands which thou holdest as my vassal, I will gladly give thee as thy own possessions. Freely therefore do that which seems to thee best." Hertold quitted, weeping, the presence of the English sovereign; and went to the King of France, before whom he presented himself with dishevelled hair and reddened eyes. "My Lord King," said he, "God has in His anger poured out upon me so many misfortunes, that I am constrained, much against my own will, to take refuge under your merciful protection. Abandoned and alone, I throw myself in great sorrow before your royal excellence, begging you to accept and receive my castles, and the homage of my service." To which the King of France replied with a gracious air, "Friend, I know that thou hast been with the King of England, and all that thou hast said to him. Thou alone hast acted faithfully. I receive thee heartily, and will protect thee and thy possessions. Men like thee are those of whom I most approve, and the merciful heart should never be closed against them." Therefore Hertold gave up to the King of France the noble Castle of Mirebeau, with all its lands, and it was immediately restored by Louis, after the Count had taken an oath of fidelity to him. After this example, the whole country, with the exception of Montauban and a few other places, passed into the possession of the French.' [Footnote 9]
[Footnote 9: Matthew Paris.]
A prince who knew so well how to conquer and how to treat his vanquished enemies might have been tempted to abuse both victory and clemency, and to seek exclusively his own aggrandizement, but Louis was too entirely a Christian for this. Unless war was a necessity or a duty, this valiant and distinguished knight, from the very equity and goodness of his soul, preferred peace to war. The success of his campaign in 1242 did not lead him to make this the first step in a career of glory and conquests; his chief aim was rather to consolidate his victories by securing the benefits of peace to Western Europe, obtaining it for his enemies as well as for himself. He negotiated successively with the Count of La Marche, the King of England, the Count of Toulouse, the King of Arragon, and the divers princes and great feudal lords who had been more or less openly engaged in this war. The latest and most appreciative of his biographers, M. Felix Faure, says that, in January 1243, 'the Treaty of Lorris marked the end of all the feudal troubles so long as the reign of St. Louis lasted. He never again drew his sword save against the Mussulmans, those enemies of the faith and of Christian civilization.'
If ambition had been the ruling passion of King Louis, he might have fostered the dissensions of his neighbours to his own advantage, for he had many opportunities of interfering in their affairs when his influence would have had considerable weight. The whole of Christendom was agitated at this time by the great struggle between the secular and sacerdotal powers, represented by Frederick II. and the two Popes Gregory IX. and Innocent IV. The Emperor and the Pope claimed the right of entire control over each other's actions, and asserted their power of determining each other's destiny.
Louis IX. had only just attained his majority when, in 1237, he received an invitation from Frederick II. to meet him at Vancouleurs, and come to an understanding as to the course which the lay sovereigns ought to pursue with regard to the claims of the Holy See. The King of France had good reason for distrusting the Emperor of Germany. Frederick II. had not long previously married the sister of Henry III. of England, and had on several occasions shown an inclination to help his brother-in-law of England to regain his French provinces. Louis did not decline the meeting at Vancouleurs, but he took the precaution of commanding that an escort of 2,000 knights should accompany him thither. When Frederick heard of this he adjourned the interview to the following year, and there was then no further mention of it. Louis, after this, tried to induce the two sovereigns to restore peace to Christendom, but he failed, and thenceforward maintained an attitude of strict neutrality towards them.
The Pope had very recently pronounced a sentence of excommunication against the Emperor, and had declared him to be deposed from his throne. And now, in order to enlist Louis on his own side, the Holy Father suggested the possibility of the election of the Count of Artois (brother of Louis) as Emperor of Germany, and promised to assist the Count not only with influence but with money.
Louis consulted the barons of the kingdom. 'If the crimes of the Emperor,' they said, 'make it necessary that he should be deposed, his sentence can be pronounced by a General Council only.'
Louis acquainted the Emperor with the proposal which he had received from Rome and the answer which he intended to make to it, and also informed him of the religious offences which the Pope alleged against him as a justification of the sentence of excommunication. 'We do not intend,' said the French envoys to Frederick, 'to attack you without lawful grounds. As to any advantages which the imperial crown may bring, we think that our sovereign, the King of France, who is raised to the throne by the hereditary nobility of his royal blood, is high above an Emperor who owes his elevation to an election which may be refused. Count Robert thinks it honour enough to be the brother of our King.'
The Emperor did not protest against these words; for though they were haughty enough, they were at the same time reassuring.
The Pope convoked a General Council. The Emperor, who foresaw the result of a meeting of his enemies, declared that he would oppose it by force of arms. On the 3d of May, 1241, his fleet attacked and completely defeated the Genoese fleet, which had on board the prelates who were summoned to the Council at Rome. Legates, archbishops, bishops, abbots, delegates from the chapters, more than a hundred eminent ecclesiastics, were seized, thrown into the holds of the victorious vessels, and conveyed to Naples, where the Emperor kept them imprisoned in the castle of San Salvatore. Many French ecclesiastics were among those who suffered from this act of violence. Louis peremptorily demanded their liberty: Frederick refused it, not without a touch of irony: 'Let not your royal Majesty be astonished,' he wrote to Louis, 'if Cæsar keeps in tribulation the prelates of France who came to cause Cæsar tribulation.'
Again Louis remonstrated, this time haughtily and with threats: 'Hitherto,' he said, 'we have had a sure trust that, owing to the reciprocal affection, established for so long a time, no cause either of hatred or variance could arise between the empire and our kingdom; for all the kings of blessed memory, our predecessors, showed themselves eager to contribute to the honour and glory of the empire, and we, who by the grace of God have succeeded them, were animated by the same sentiments. Therefore this is a thing that surprises us greatly. We are deeply moved, and not without reason. You have no cause, no pretext even, of offence against us, and yet you have seized the prelates of our kingdom on the sea. They were on their way to the Apostolic seat, to which they are bound both by faith and obedience, so that they dare not disobey its commands, and yet you detain them in prison. We are more deeply wounded than your Majesty may probably suppose. Their letters have clearly shown us that they entertained no designs against your imperial Majesty, nor would they have taken any share in the less legitimate steps which the sovereign Pontiff may have contemplated. Since, then, their captivity is owing to no fault of their own, your Majesty must restore their rightful liberty to the prelates of our realm. By doing this you will put an end to all estrangement on our part, for be assured that we look upon their detention as a wrong done to our own self. Our royal power must be strangely diminished and debased if we could patiently endure such treatment. Turn your eyes upon the past, and remember how, as every one knows, we repulsed the offers of the Bishop of Palestrina and the other legates of the Church when they endeavoured to obtain our co-operation against you. They could obtain no help in our kingdom against your Majesty. We pray you, therefore, in your imperial prudence, to pause and reflect, and we counsel you to weigh what we have written in the balance of your royal judgment; do not listen only to the promptings of power and to your own will, and so reject our demand, for the kingdom of France is not so exhausted or so weak that you may venture to prick us with your spurs.'
The threat uttered by Louis was not without effect. The Emperor hesitated a little longer, and then set the French prelates at liberty.
Gregory IX. died, and under the pontificate of Innocent IV. the struggle between the Papal See and the Empire became more and more fierce. The two parties and the two adversaries divided the whole of Christendom; sovereigns and peoples were to be found first in one camp and then in the other, now estranged by the Pope's acts of violence and now by those of the Emperor. Doubt and indecision at length affected even the clergy. In 1245, Frederick II. was excommunicated for the third time, and at Paris the Curé of St. Germain de l'Auxerrois announced the sentence in the following words:—
'Listen, all of you! I am commanded to pronounce a solemn sentence of excommunication—tapers lighted and bells tolling—against the Emperor Frederick. I do not know the reason of this. I know there is a fierce quarrel, and that inexorable hatred has grown up between him and another. I know that one of them is doing injustice to the other. But which of them? And to which?—I cannot tell. Therefore, so far as it is in my power, I hereby excommunicate, and declare to be excommunicated, that one who has done wrong to the other; and I absolve him who suffers the wrong—a wrong which embitters the whole Christian world.' [Footnote 10]
[Footnote 10: Matthew Paris, ed. 1644, p. 442.]
In the midst of this conflict of passions, and at a time of such great perplexity in the minds of men, the conduct of Louis remained unchanged. He took the part of neither one adversary nor the other; he preserved the most scrupulous neutrality in his relations with the Empire and the Papal See, and laboured hard to establish peace.
In the thirteenth century the principles of national law, especially that of the right of intervention on the part of one government in the struggles either of the sovereigns or the subjects of its neighbours, had not been as systematically laid down and defined as they are now. But the good sense and moral rectitude of St. Louis led him to follow the right path, and no temptation, not even his own fervent piety, ever induced him to swerve from it. It was his constant care not to allow either the State or Church of France to take any part in the struggle between the Papacy and the Empire, and he strove to uphold the dignity of his crown and the well-being of his subjects by using his influence to secure the establishment of a just and peaceful policy throughout Christendom.
A just and peaceful policy throughout Christendom was the great need of Christianity in the thirteenth century, for it had to struggle with two enemies, and was exposed to two very formidable dangers.
The Crusaders had inaugurated a fierce and bitter struggle with the Mahometans in Asia; and towards the middle of the thirteenth century, in the very heat of the conflict, and from the depths of Asia itself, a barbarous and almost pagan people—the Mongol Tartars—spread like a foul flood over Eastern Europe. They swept over Russia, Poland, Hungary, Bohemia, and Germany, ravaging and threatening with total destruction every province through which they passed. M. Abel Rémusat has studied all the documents relating to these terrible invasions, which he describes with the accuracy of a scholar. He writes as follows:—
'According to the laws established by their first great chief Tchinggis Khan, the Mongols were commanded to show mercy to those princes and nations that gave proof of their submission by surrendering their towns and consenting to pay tribute. All others were given up to the fury of the soldiers, and massacred without distinction of age or sex, the very animals being often included in an indiscriminate slaughter. It was impossible to negotiate with the Tartars in their early invasions; men had either to submit or die, and countless pyramids of human bones, which they erected on the sites of ruined cities, testified to the danger of resistance. These ghastly monuments were to be seen long afterwards, and were the terror of our travellers who passed through the regions which the Tartars had swept over and made desolate.'
The chronicles of the thirteenth century describe the Tartars as—
'A terrible race rushing down from the mountains of the North; an impious multitude who fear nothing, believe nothing, and worship nothing but their king—him they call the great King of kings and Lord of lords; men, or rather brutes, who are relentless; monsters having nothing human about them; greedy for blood, and drinking it with delight; tearing and devouring the raw flesh of animals, of dogs—nay, even of human beings; having an enormous head on a misshapen body, huge chests, large arms and short strong legs; clothed in the skins of cattle, and armed with iron lances; untiring warriors, unequalled archers, and of astounding courage, riding on great and strong horses which are so swift that they can go three days' journey in one day, and require no other food than leaves and the bark of trees. These horses they mount by means of three stirrups suspended one from the other, for they need this ladder on account of the shortness of their legs; crossing the broadest and most rapid rivers without delay or difficulty by means of boats made of ox-hide which they carry about with them: and for the matter of that, it gives them no more trouble to swim than to eat' [Footnote 11]
[Footnote 11: M. Felix Faure has also very ably collected the characteristic features of the Mongol portraits, and put them together so as to form a striking picture. He has taken his materials from the chronicles of the time, and especially from the works of Matthew Paris and Albéric des Trois Fontaines.]
The name and description of these barbarians, the report of their devastations, and the terror which they inspired, were soon spread throughout Christendom. The princes of Eastern Europe wrote to their relatives and allies in the West, warning them of the danger which threatened them, relating their own troubles, and imploring help against the common enemy.
'What must be done in so sad a case?' said Queen Blanche to her son the King of France. Louis answered, the chronicles say, 'with mournful voice, and yet not without a certain divine inspiration.' 'My mother,' he said, 'there is one heavenly consolation in which we may find support. If these Tartars, as we call them, come here, either we shall send them back to Tartarus, the place from whence they come, or they will send us up to Paradise.'
M. Abel Rémusat says: 'This play upon the words Tartarus (the infernal regions) and Tartar, which is here attributed to St. Louis, is found in almost all the documents of the period, and it is just possible that it affords the true explanation of the change made in the word Tatars by all the nations of the West. These tribes are called Tatari in the Russian chronicles, Tattari by Christophorus Manlius, and Tatari or Tattari in a letter written by Ives of Narbonne to Giraud, Archbishop of Bordeaux. But, as a rule, we find that they were called Tartars from the very first, and "Tartari, imò Tartarei"—Tartars from the depths of Tartarus—as the Emperor Frederick called them, became a favourite expression. There was certainly a very general impression that these Mongols were either demons sent to chastise mankind, or men who had dealings with demons.' [Footnote 12]
[Footnote 12: Mémoires de l'Académie des Inscriptions et Belles Lettres, tome vi. p. 408.]
Another incident of less importance for Europe had, however, a more personal interest for Louis, and had already turned all the ardent piety of his inquiring spirit more and more towards the East. In the summer of 1237 he was at Compiègne, celebrating the marriage of his brother Robert, whom he had invested as knight and endowed with the province of Artois for an appanage. In the midst of the festivities people remarked with surprise that four strangers were present, men of foreign race and unfamiliar appearance, whom the King seemed to treat with great consideration. These, say the chronicles, were emissaries from the Old Man of the Mountain, the chief of an Arab sect and tribe which had sprung up in the midst of the religious, political, and warlike agitations of Islamism. This tribe had established itself in the mountains of Anti-Lebanon, between Antioch and Damascus, and its members had been known in the East for more than a century under the name of Assassins. It is said that they owed this name to the blind fanaticism with which they executed the orders of their sheikh (a word which means both chief and old man), who insured their passionate devotion to himself by all kinds of material indulgences, and made use of them to get rid of his enemies, near and far, Christian and Saracen. In 1190 they assassinated Conrad, Marquis of Montserrat, then about to ascend the throne of Jerusalem, and the great Saladin himself, in spite of all his victories over the Christians, had twice nearly fallen a victim to their blows.
The fame of the young King's piety and valour had reached Syria, and it was said that Louis was about to start for the East at the head of a new crusade, and to re-establish the kingdom of Jerusalem. This report caused the Old Man of the Mountain to send two of his fanatical followers to France, with orders to kill the future enemy of their country. But, on the receipt of further information, he renounced the design, and sent other two of his followers to France to prevent the execution of the murder. In this they succeeded: they not only warned Louis of his danger, but had time to return and meet the first emissaries of their master, with whom they went back to Compiègne. 'Louis, who had taken every precaution against their attempt, received them well,' say the chronicles, 'and sent them home to the Old Man of the Mountain with rich gifts.'
Voltaire ridicules the whole story with that levity and shallow common sense which so often led him to place blind confidence in his own scepticism, and made him ready to reject as absurd fables any facts which he could not easily explain. 'The great Prince of the Assassins,' says he, 'fearing lest the King of France, Louis IX., of whom he had never heard, should journey to the East at the head of a new crusade, and snatch away his dominions, sent two noble adherents from his court in the caverns of Anti-Lebanon to assassinate the King in Paris. But next day he was told what an amiable and generous prince this was; so he sent two other nobles by sea to countermand the assassination.' [Footnote 13]
[Footnote 13: Œuvres de Voltaire, tome xxvii. Edit, de Beuchot.]
But, in order to disprove the records of the thirteenth century, something more is necessary than merely to burlesque them in the language of the eighteenth. The chronicles of the time give numerous and detailed accounts of these early transactions between the Old Man of the Mountain and St. Louis. The accounts agree with all the documents of the time which refer to the relations existing between the East and West after the commencement of the Crusades. They are confirmed by other and almost contemporaneous testimony, which shows the Old Man of the Mountain, four years later, asking the help of St. Louis against the Mongol Tartars, from whose invasions Western Asia suffered as much as Eastern Europe. Without thinking of any difference of race or religion, the foes of yesterday eagerly sought each other's help against the common enemy of to-day. Such a complication of nations, princes, and events would give rise to many improbable and contradictory facts, and the true history of the period lies hidden under the many legends which exaggerate and disfigure it.
Another apprehension and another temptation were added about this time to those which already attracted the thoughts and heart of Louis to the East. The dangers of the Latin empire of Constantinople increased daily. It was assailed alike by Greek, Mussulman, and Tartar. In 1236 the young Emperor Baldwin II. resolved to solicit in person the help of the princes of the West, more especially of the young King of France, who was already renowned for his piety and his chivalrous zeal.
Baldwin was the possessor of a treasure which fascinated the imagination of the Christians of those days—the crown of thorns worn by Christ during His passion. He had pledged it at Venice as a security for a considerable loan from the Venetians, and he now offered to make it over to Louis in return for efficient help either in men or money. Louis accepted the offer with rapture. Not long before he had been greatly alarmed at the reported loss of another precious relic, one of the nails said to have fastened the body of our Lord to the cross. It had been deposited in the Abbey of St. Denis, and disappeared one day during a religious ceremony. When it was found, Louis said: 'I would rather that the earth had opened and swallowed up one of the chief cities of my kingdom than have lost it.'
He took every care to avoid the disgrace which would attend any kind of traffic in so sacred a matter, and ultimately obtained the crown of thorns for a sum which, including all expenses, would equal about 54,000l. of our money. [Footnote 14]
[Footnote 14: 12,000 livres Parisis, about 1,350,000 francs in modern French money. The French livre (like the English pound) was formerly a pound's weight of silver. Charlemagne ordained that a silver sou should be precisely the twentieth part of twelve ounces of silver, and in this way twenty sous came to be looked upon as a livre. Both weight and value have been very greatly reduced in the course of time. Again, the weight of the livre, and consequently its value, varied in different parts of France. The livre Parisis was the livre of Paris, the livre Tournois (p. 19) the livre of Tours, &c.]
We cannot, in the present day, sympathise with the eager credulity which Christian faith does not require and sound criticism entirely condemns; but we ought to and we can understand it in an age when men contemplated every fact and every tradition of the Gospel with a deep, poetic faith, and when the belief that they were in the presence of any fragment or relic of sacred times was sufficient to call forth emotion and reverence as deep as their faith.
It is to such feelings that we owe one of the most perfect and graceful monuments of the Middle Ages, the Sainte Chapelle, built by Louis between 1245 and 1248, to contain the precious relics which he had accumulated. The architect, Pierre de Montreuil, comprehended and glorified the piety of the King in a marvellous manner, and no doubt his own genius was kindled by the same strong religious feeling which animated St. Louis.
At the close of the year 1244, in the midst of all these European troubles, and when his sympathy with them was so great, Louis fell ill at Pontoise and was soon in extreme danger. The alarm and grief of his realm reached the highest point. Bishops, abbots, priests, barons, knights, citizens, and peasants hurried, some to Pontoise and some to their churches, to learn 'how it would please the Lord to deal with the King.' Louis himself thought that his last hour was come. He caused all the members of his household to be summoned, thanked them for their services to himself, bade them serve God faithfully, and 'did all that a good Christian ought to do' in sight of death. His mother, wife, brothers, and all those who were about him, prayed for him incessantly; 'his mother more than all the others,' say the chronicles, 'and she added to her prayers great austerities.'
At one time the King lay motionless and without sign of breath, so that those around him thought he was dead. 'One of the ladies watching him,' says Joinville, 'wished to cover his face, saying that he was dead; but another lady on the opposite side of the bed would not allow it, for she said that the soul had not yet left the body. The King heard these ladies speaking, and, by the grace of our Lord, he began to breathe again; he stretched out his arms and legs, and said in a voice as hollow as that of one who has risen from the grave, "The dayspring from on high hath visited me, and by the grace of God recalled me from among the dead."'
No sooner had he regained consciousness and the power of speech, than he sent for William of Auvergne, Bishop of Paris, and Peter of Cuisy, Bishop of Meaux, in whose diocese he then was, and asked them to affix the holy cross to his shoulder, as a sign that he should journey beyond the seas to the Holy Land. The two bishops tried to dissuade him from this idea, and the two queens, Blanche and Margaret, implored him on their knees to wait until he was well, and after that to do whatsoever he would. But he persisted, and said that he would touch no food until he had received the cross, and at length the Bishop of Paris yielded and bestowed it upon him. The King received his cross with the deepest emotion; 'he kissed it, and laid it down very gently upon his breast.'
'When the Queen, his mother, knew that he had taken the cross,' says Joinville, 'she showed as much sorrow, according to his own account, as if she had seen him lying dead.' [Footnote 15]
[Footnote 15: Joinville, chap. xxiv.; 'Vie de St. Louis, par le Confesseur de la Reine Marguerite,' in Bouquet's 'Recueil des Historiens des Gaules et de la France,' vol. xx. pp. 66, 67; Tillemont, 'Vie de St. Louis,' vol. iii.; Faure, 'Histoire de St. Louis,' vol. i.]