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HEROINES

OF

THE CRUSADES.

BY 0. A. BLOSS.

AUTHOR OF “BLoss’s ANCIENT HISTORY.” 2T0.

“01d historic rolls 1 opened.”

AUBURN AND ROCHESTER:
A LDEN & BEARDSLEY.
1856.

 

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W
Entered, according Lu the Act. of Congress, in the year 1
BY ALDEN, BEARDSLEY 8: 00., I

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the
Northern District of New York.

WNW-s

 

 

 

TO MY PUPILS,
@3112 ,“flfirrninw nf 1y» firuzuhrfi"
.:
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED

BY THE AUTHOR.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PREFACE.

To those whom it has been my privilege and pleasure to lead
through the devious and darkened paths of the Past, to all who cor-
dially receive the doctrine that actions and not faint desires for Excel-
lence form thi character, I address a few words by way of explanation
and Preface.

J erusalem, the capital of Palestine, Whether glorious in the beauty -
of her first temple, and the excellent wisdom of her philosopher king,
or veiled inithe darkness of that fatal eclipse in which the solemn
scenes of Calvary consummated her glory and shame, has occupied a
position in the great drama. of human events, more interesting and
important than any other city on the globe.

But J erusalem, in the gloom of that moral night Which gathered
over the nations after the fall of the Western Empire of the Romans,
exerted a greater influence upon the minds of men than at any ford-
mer period. The insulting Moslem felt a degree of veneration for the
splendid ruins over which he walked With all a conqueror’s pride—the
African anchorite left his solitary hermitage to weep upon Mount
OIivet—the European adventurer wreathed his staff with the branch-
ing palm from her holy hills—the despairing J ew sat in sackcloth at
her fallen gates, and even the mingled barbarians of the East united
with the Christian to revere the spot where art achieved its proudest
monument, and poetry found the theme of its sublimest song.

This natural reverence, exalted into piety by the decrees of the

 

 

 

' :4.»__..-m:_=»,\«_»._»- ,, V

viii PREFACE.

church, resulted necessarily in the practice of pilgu'image. Anxxous,
restless guilt, fled from the scene of its enormities to the sweet valleys
where the Saviour Whispered peace to his disciples; poetry sought in-
spiring visions on the Mount 0f Transfiguration; penitence lingered
in the garden of Passion, and remorse expiated its crimes in weary
vigils at the Holy Sepulchre.

At the dawn of the eleventh century, one sublime idea pervaded
Christendom. The thousand years of the Apocalypse were supposed
to be accomplished, and a general belief prevailed that on the Mount
of Olives, whence the Son of God ascended in his chariot of cloud to
heaven, he would reappear in all the pomp of his Second Advent.
From every quarter of the Latin world the afl’righted Christians, de-
serting their homes and kindred, crowded t0 the Holy Land—terror
quickened devotion, curiosity stimulated enthusiasm. But insult and
outrage awaited the pilgrims in Palestine, and in J erusalem itself they
encountered the scofiing taunts 0f idolatry and infidelity.

- To free those holy courts from the polluting tread 0f the sandalled
Paynim, to prepare a pure resting—place for the Son of Man, Super-
stition'roused the martial spirit of the age, ant} enlisted chivalry under
the banners of the cross.

Thus began the CRUSADES, those romantic expeditions Which, com-
bining religious fervor with military ardor, united the various nations
of Europe from the shores of the Baltic to the Straits of Gibraltar,
and from the banks of the Danube to the Bay of Biscay, in one com-
mon cause, and poured the mingled tide of fanatics, warriors and ad«
venturers, upon the plains of Asia. For nearly two centuries the
mightiest efforts and best blood of Christendom were wasted in the
useless struggle, and it is computed that not less than six millions of
people devoted their lives and fortunes to this desperate undertaking.

But thofigh the Crusades are so impottant to the historian as in-
volving the politics of all nations; to the philosopher as fraught with
consequences afl'ecting the happiness of succeeding generations; and
to the scholar as commencing the era when Genius, brooding over the
ruins of the Past, rose Phoenix-like from the ashes of Arabian splendor,

 

PREFACE. , ix

and soaring in the clearer light of Christianity, scattered from her wing
the dew of refinement upon the barbarians of the North; yet the
general reader feels that his knowledge of them is so vague as to de—
tract materially from his pleasure in allusions to them, and continually
to force upon his mind a painful sense of ignorance upon points Where
he ought to be informed.

In some measure to supply a deficiency Which common history can-
not obviate, to make the period of the Crusades interesting, by giving
to it the tangible thread of authentic narrative, these biographies of
the “Heroines” who inspired the troubadour, animated the warrior,
or in person “ took the cross,” have, With much care and labor, been
selected and compiled.

The era opens about the time of the Conquest, when William I.,
unquestionably the greatest ruler of his time, returns in triumph to
N ormandy. No two writers agreeing as to the age of his children, I
have arranged them as best suited my purpose, making Cicely the
eldest, the betrothed of Harold ; and the second daughter, Agatha, the
bride of Earl Edwin; and Adela, whose ambitious character is well
authenticated, the Heroine of the First Crusade.

The character and superstitions of the Saxons, with their love of
“legendary lore,” I have endeavored to embody in the early life of
Maude, while I have endeavored to make her riper years illustrate the
principles and piety of a teacher to whom you are all much attached.

The half—infidel Hardrager, who was necessary to show both the
plan of Battle Abbey and the causes and character of pilgrimage,
might really have been the leader of the Assassins, since they estab-
lished themselves in Mount Lebanon, and incorporated in their belief
some of the doctrines of the New Testament about that period.

Eleanor of Aquitaine was one of the few women whose mature years
in some measure atoned for a youth of folly. Agnes Strickland cites
authorities to show that Fair Rosamond passed nineteen years in a
convent, and died with the reputation of a saint. You Will excuse me
that I permitted death to cut her off in “ her young beauty’s bloom”
to present a more affecting picture of the sad effects of guilt. The

 

 

 

X~ PREFACE;

ballads are not mine; some I found in obsolete Works, and one was
versified from a legend of the Early Romaneers.

For the Tournament, and contest with the lion in Berengaria, I am»-
indebted to the same veracious authority, though I cannot account fox
Richard’s finding the Lion’s Heart so conveniently situated at the bot
tom of the throat, except from the fact that “ Physiology and Hygiene"
had not then assigned the true position to the internal organs.

I was very sorry not to make J oanna as- interesting as Edith in the
Talisman, but this was clearly impossible~first, from the fact that I
had not the genius of Scott; and second, because I made it my study
to adhere strictly to truth. It was Saphadin and not Saladin Who
sought to ally himself with the princely house of Plantagenet, and I
found- it convenient to console his disappointment by bestowing upon
him the: fictitious lady I had brought to seek her fortune in the East.
Michelet confirms this decision by his statement that this was emphat- '
ically the era of women, and that for some years a female exercised
the sovereign power over the tern'tories of Islamism.

Blondell, upon ‘whose very existence so many doubts have been cast,
is, I think, a well-authenticated character, who “plays his part” with
great fidelity and truth.

Had I not been limited as to space, the ring in the hand of Vio—
lante’s grandson would have projected the catastrophe of the Sicilian
Vespers. For the same reason, I could only allude to the stn'fe be!
tween the Gflelphs and Ghibeilines, t0 the civil wars of France and
England, to the Crusade against the Albigenes, and the founding of the
Inquisition by St. Dominic, when, in quest of heresy, he'traversed the
hills and Valesof Languedoe, and doomed to death those'brave’spirits
who dared to exercise the right of private judgment. ' '

Eva is the only purely fictitious character of any im‘portanceii'n the
work», and. she» was drawn from life, a portrait which some of you may
recognize. Fuller, in his “ Holy \Varf’ contradicts the legend of Elea-
nora’s- drawing the poison fl'dm Edward’s wound, but adds, “ he Who
shall disprove this pretty fiction shall get to himself little credit,” and
Iconfess Irhad not the courage thus Warned to attempt it'.

PREFACE. xi

I would here gratefully acknowledge my obligations to the gentle-
men of the Rochester University, through Whose politeness I have been
permitted to consult several works of early English authors not re-
published in this country, from Which I have made liberal extracts
both of facts and language.

In conclusion, I can only say I have endeavored to set before you a
true history in a. series of entertaining stories. In the former, I am
confident I have succeeded both as regards events and chronology; of
the latter I am somewhat doubtful; but if my “Heroines” have the
effect to awaken curiosity and induce research, I shall feel that “ they
have their reward.”

CLOVER STREET SELL, Nov. 30th, 1852.

 

 

 

 

ADELA OF BLOIS

CONTENTS.

ELEANOR 0F AQUITAINE

BERENGARIA or NAVARRE
ISABELLA 0F ANGOULEME
VIOLANTE 0F JERUSALEM

ELEANORA OF CASTILE

FIRST CRUSADE, 1m). 1090

SECOND CRUSADE, A.D. 1147

THIRD CRUSADE, A.D. 1187
FOURTH CRUSADE, A.D. 1198
FIFTH CRUSADE, A.D. 1203

SIXTH CRUSADE, A.D. 1215

SEVENTH CRUSADE, 11,1). 1249

EIGHTH CRUSADE, 11.1). 1272

NOTES

Page
1 9

119
195
279
307
341

'75
132
221
272
281
315

" 347

377

461

 

 

 

 

Eirnherfi nf dfirufi

GODFREY 0F BOULOGNE, . . . . . .
STEPHEN, COUNT OF BLOIS, . . . . .
LOUIS VII. OF FRANCE, . . . . . . .
FREDERIC I. BARBAROSSA, . . . . . .
PHILIP ILAUGUSTUS . . . . . . .
RICHARD I. CCEUR DE LON, . . . . .
HENRY, COUNT OF CHAMPAGNE, . . . .
CONRAD or GERMANY, . . . . . . .
THIBAUT, COUNT 0F CHAMPAGNE, . . .
DANDOLO, DOGE 0F VENICE, . . . . .
JEAN DE BRIENNE, KING OF JERUSALEM, .
HUGH X. DE LUSIGNAN, COUNT LA MARCHE,
ANDREW 11. OF HUNGARY, . . . . .
FREDERIC II. 01“ GERMANY, . . . . .

LOUIS IX. 0F FRANCE, . . . . . .

SHARLES D’ANJOU, KING OF SICILY, . . .

EDWARD I. OF ENGLAND, . . . . a .

uhtH.

FIRST CRUSADE.

“

SECOND

THIRD

l‘

“

FOURTH

“

FIFTH

SIXTH
4‘
SEVENTH

“

EIGHTH

 

AD E’L‘A.

 

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.W.

 

CHAPTER I.
THE NIGHT OF THE 20TH OF MARCH, 1067.

“Wave high your torches on each 0mg and clifli

Let many lights blaze on our battlements,

Shout to them in the pauses pf the storm

And tell them there is no hope.” MATURIN’S Bertram.

ALL night long the Lady Matilda, with her becoming
children, knelt before the holy shrine in the Old Abbey of
Feschamp.

Anxiously had they watched through the lingering twi-
light, for the Whitening sails 0f the Conqueror’s fleet. N0
sails appeared, and the night fell dark and stormy upon the
English channel. Meet was it that prayer should ascend
to Him who rules the destiny of nations', for the hopes of
all future times were rocked upon that midnight sea. The
field of Hastings was won, Harold was slain, England was
subdued, and the ships of WVilliam the Conqueror, filled
with the flower of Norman chivalry, and followed by the
sad remnant of Saxon nobles, were speeding t0 the Nor-
man coast.

Was it VVoden the storm-throned, that thus with relent-
less fury pursued the Viking’s progeny,——desp0ilers of the
Saxon race ? Was it Thor the thunder-voiced, warning the
proud Conqueror that the great heart of England still
throbbed with the pulse of Freedom, though the vale of
Sanguelac was red with the blood of her bravest sons?
Was it the spirit of a milder Faith that prevailedtover that
night of darkness, spread a calm morning on those troubled
waters, and through that all-pervading sunlight scattered
blessings countless as the liquid jewels that paved the track
of the rescued ships?

 

 

20 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

The Mora With its splendid convoy was in sight, the bells
rang out merrily their matin chimes, and While Matilda
lingered to unite in the anthem of thanksgiving and praise,
the little Adela, escaping from the care of the attendants,
found hel'fivay through the dim aisles, to the door of the
church, where she stood the radiant picture of delight,
gazing with childish interest upon the scene before her.

The solemn service over, Matilda with her stately train
emerged from the Abbey and encircled by a princely retinue
0f knights and ladies, watched the swelling canvass, Which
under the pressure of a steady breeze, bore the gallant ves-
sels into port. Impatient of delay, the royal children ran
eagerly down the green slope to the water’s edge. “ NOW
brothers mine,” said the fiery William, “ the fair and
goodlyland of England, to him who in three stones’ cast
shall twice strike yon fisherman’s buoy.” Seizing a pebble
as he spoke, he was about to hurl it towards the destined
mark, when Adela thoughtlessly grasped his arm. The
stone dropped idly into the wave, sprinkling the short
cloaks, and embroidered tunics 0f the little group. A deri-
sive laugh followed. this exploit, and Adela, familiar With
the efi'ects 0f \Villiam’s anger, fled from his uplifted hand
to the protecting care of Richard, Who, sheltering her With
his arm, exclaimed, “Robert, imagine you buoy a Saxon
Earl, and try your prowess upon him. I resign all claim
to the conquered realm.”

“ Book and bell, latin prayers, and a pilgrimage for my
brother Richard,” replied Robert, selecting a smooth pebble
and preparing to throw, but, ere the stone left his hand, a
well directed missile from William struck the buoy, and
sank it for a moment beneath the waves. With a look of
proud disdain Robert hurled the stone. It fell dimpling
the waters far beyond the mark. “England is mine,”
shouted W‘flliam, as again With unerring aim he dashed the
buoy beneath the surface. “ England is mine,” he repeated,
pointing exultingly to the Saxon banner grasped in the
hand of his own effigy upon the prow 0f the Mora. Robert
smiled 'contemptuously, and rejoined his mother.

ADELA. 21

All eyes were now directed towards the gallant bark
which rode proudly into port, amid the joyous flutter of
banners, gonfanons, pennons, and streamers which from
every mast, spar, and standard, waved and flapped in the
morning breeze.

A glad shout burst from the assembled multitude, and
cries of “ Long live the conqueror \Villiam ! Long live our
good Duke of Normandy!” echoed by the clangor 0f
trumpet, and chiming of bells, welcomed the victor on
shore. Fondly embracing his lovely wife and children, and
graciously receiving the greeting of his rejoicing subjects,
he turned to present the noble Saxons, that swelled the
pomp of his train.

“My Matilda will welcome Edgar Atheling, in whose
veins flows the blood of her sire Alfred the Great. The
brave Earls Morear and Edwin, the noble Waltheof, and
his beautiful daughter Maude, are also guests at our court,
and must lack no courtesy at our hands.”

While Matilda with highborn grace and dignity received
her reluctant guests, the little Adela accustomed to the sight
of mail-clad barons, and princely array, felt herself irre-
sistibly attracted by the timid girl, who clung tremblingly
t0 the arm of Earl Waltheof. Other eyes than hers were
fascinated by the appearance of the lovely stranger. A
yellow kirtle 0f the finest wool fell in gracef 111 folds to her
feet ; over this was thrown a purple robe, which confined
at the bodice by a girdle exquisitely wrought, draped with-
out concealing the delicate proportions of a figure cast in
nature’s finest mould. A crimson coverchief half hid the
jewelled network, from which her fair brown hair, bright-
ening to gold in the sunshine, escaped in rich abundance
over a neck of snow. The steady light of her meek Violet
eyes fell lovingly 0n Adela, and the faint tinge upon her
cheek deepened into a brilliant blush, as the sprightly
child kindly taking her hand,1ed her forward to receive
the kiss of welcome from the Queen Duchess Matilda.

 

22 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES

CHAPTER H.

“But doth the exile’s heart serenely dwell in sunshine there ?”

A SUCCESSION of brilliant pageants, and knightly enter-
tainments awaited the Conqueror, his nobles and hostages,
in their pompous progress through all the towns and cities
of Normandy, from Feschamp t0 Bayeux.

Robert already wearing the spurs 0f knighthood, girl;
with silver baldric, and bearing high the lance with its
pointed bandel'ol, led the van; gallantly conducting the
young Earls Mercer and Edwin, and the royal Atheling :
While the aspiring Prince William, attaching himself to
‘a band of his father’s best trained bowmen, practised 0n
bright winged birds, those feats of archery in which he
subsequently became so cruelly skilful.

Adela obtained a place near the gentle Maude, and strove
by every childish art to charm back the smiles that tran-
siently enlivened the sad countenance 0f the Saxon maiden.
Not less assiduously, and not more successfully did the
Duke King, and his haughty consort, employ the fascina~
tions of easy grace, and polished wit, to heguile the gloomy
musings of the: captive Waltheof. So passed they on, the
sad hearts With the gay. So sat they in the halls of mirth,
the one keeping strict lenten fast, the other levelling in tri-
umphal feasts; one sole thought embittering the fast, and
sweetening the feast and that thought England.

In a chamber in the palace of Bayeux were assembled the
household of the Conqueror, busy in their daily occupations.
Groups of girls, with nimble fingers, wrought silently under
the eye of Matilda, the sad epic Ot' Englal‘ld’s fall.

“ Leave thy tangled skeins to these fair maids, and the
skilf'ul Turold, and come thou apart with me,” said Wil-
liam, abruptly entering and drawing his Queen aside,
Within the deep embrasure 0f the Window, “"tis of thy
glory and mine that I would speak.”

 

 

 

ADELA. 23

The conference lasted long. The young princes sum-
moned the maidens t0 the mimic tourney in the tiltyard,
and waiting clouds prepared the gorgeeus couch of sun,
beyond the hills of Bretagne, ere the Wily statesman had
completed the unfoldings Of all his schemes, for fixing the
Norman line securely upon the throne of Edward the Con-
fessor. He revealed his apprehensions from the stern char-
acter 0f \Valtheof, and his hopes from the fascinations of
his niece Judith d’Aumale. From Edgar Atheling he
feared little. The boy reared in a foreign court, a stranger
to Saxon language and manners, had neither desire nor
capacity to contend for a dignity unsuited to his years. He
was already hand and glove with Robert, and subject to
the imperious will of the young knight.

But Mercar and Edwin were more dangerous foes. Kins-
men of the late king, at the least disafl'ection they might
rouse the friends of the famous Earl Siward, vanquisher
of Macbeth ; the thegns of Norfolk, Ely, Huntingdon,
and Northrumhria, stretching far to the Scottish border;
and the valiant man of Mercia. allied to the terrible
'Welsh.

“The victory at Hastings, my Queen,” said \Villiam,
With his blandest smile, “ does not establish peaceful rule
o’er all the hills and vales 0f merrie England. Let policy
complete What valor has commenced. Methinks our pretty
Cicely might bind the l‘estive Edwin in the silken toils
of love, more securely than unwilling homage 01' extorted
oath.” , ' ‘

“ Cicely, the betrothed of Harold !” exclaimed Matilda.
“ Could’st thou have seen her agony When tidings 0f Hat'-
old’s death came with news of thy Victory, thou would’st
scarcely speak to her of love.” “A childish fancy,” im-
patiently cried \Villiam, “ the breath of praise soon dries
the tears on a maiden’s cheeks. She must be the Saxon’s
bride.”

“ It is impossible,” replied the Queen. “ In Notre-Dame
(1e Bonnes N011ve]1es,while my soul was filled With joy for thy
Safety. did I dedicate thy broken—hearted child to be the

 

 

 

24': HEROINES OF THE GRUSADES.

bride of Heaven. The holy Lanfranc has already sanc-
tioned the vow.”

William strode hastily up and down the chamber, tying
and untying the rich cordon of his cloak in uncontrollable
anger and disappointment.

Matilda laid her hand soothingiy upon his arm. “ Aga-
tha, is fairer than Cicely———Adela hath wit beyond her
years, and child as she is, will readily comprehend all thy
schemes.”

“ Talk not of Adela, she hath a head for-intrigue equal
to my brother Odo. W’ed her to one who might foster her
ambition, and neither crown nor throne would be beyond
her aspirations.”

“ Agatha hath a loving heart,” pleaded Matilda.

“Thou sayest truth Bein Aimie, ’tis by the heart woman
rules. Agatha shall be the afiianced of Edwin before he
leaves these shores.”

Thus it was settled. The new Queen received the title
of the manor of Gloucester, and condemned the owner, her
former lover, to perpetual imprisonment. The fair Maude
was to dwell in exile a hostage for the fidelity of her father,
till a fitting opportunity might occur to make her hand the
bond of amity between the Conqueror and some disaffected
peer. Other hostages with their various possessions were
disposed of inpa similar manner, and thus the shades of
evening stole into that darkened chamber, and brooded
like palpable forms over the sacrifices which the new sov-
ereigns covertly laid upon the altarpf Avarice and Am-
bition

The ce1em0ny 0f bet10tha1 took place on the following
evening The1e we1e guests in emb1oide1ed gaunents and
costly jew els b, the1e we1e lights and music, and n101e than
wonted festivity: yet Maude saw only‘Edwin, and When

taking the hand of the little p1incess, he plonounced With

unhesitating voice, “ Thine, and thine only,” the color fiaded
flom her lip and cheek, as if a m01ta1 woe Wad fastened 0n
he1 hea1t.

There were gifts and congratulations, and as Edwin

ADELA. 25

presented his bride a miniature shield of silver, saying gal-
lantiy, “ This shall thy heart from 0the1 love defend, ’7 a
gleam of tiiumph on the countenance of William assuled
Mati1da that Edwin was won.

CHAPTER III.

“ 011! the joy
0f young ideas painted on the mind,
In the warm glowing colors fancy spreads
011 objects not yet known, when all is new
And all is lovely." HANNAH MORE.

WHEN the spring deepened into summer, Edwin,exu1t—
ing in the pride of his youthful elegance and princely alli-
ance, returned ioaded with honors to his restored domains.

Agatha wept sore at his departure, but 110 tear trembled
011 the cheek 0f Maude. All external emotions were buried
in the grave of hopeless love, and thenceforth in her pale,
changeiess beauty, she looked the ivory shrine, where the
ashes of some holy thing were preserved,t0 work daily mira-
cles upon the restless spirits by which she was surrounded.

In her society the turbulent, and se1f~wilied children of
the Conqueror became calm and docile. Often in the long
still twilight would she hold them a charmed circle, listen-
ing with breathless awe to wild tales and ghostly legends
of the terrible Vikings ; who drove their daring keels into
unknown seas, and immured their wailing captivegt in sun-
less dungeons of northern ice, or left them naked and
shivering upon a barren coast, a prey to the wolfish winds,
that lifted and tossed them ever 011 the red and bristling
spears of AV, g 121’ 5 giant demons.

" V Babe of Bethlehem—cradled among the
beasts of the stall—heraided by angels, and worshiped by
the eastern sages, passing, a holy piesence that diffused Joy
and comfort to every heart, through the green vales 0f

  

.-
e

 

26 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADE’S.

J udea—walking unsandaled upon the glassy waves of Ga}-
flee, and standing in robes white as the fight upon the
top of Tabor, agonizing in Gethsemane, and suffering upon
Calvary for the redemption of a ruined race, recited in the
mellow tones of Maude, imparted an interest to the scenes
of the Saviour’s life and passion, which all the sacred relics
and saintly effigies of the church had failed to awaken.

But especially did Robert and Adela delight in tales of
the turbaned Paynim. The long caravan Winding its spicy
track through emerald oases, or glistening sands—the
dark-browed Saracens With spear and cimeter careering in
battle on Arab steeds, fleet ask the desert Wind—terribie
Turks from the wilds of Khosser, swifter than leopards, and
more fierce than the evening W01\res——-swa1'thy Nubians
clusteri n g like locusts in the holy ptaces—toiI-WOI‘H pilgrims
scourged and massacred, and christian children slaughtered
to furnish diabolical repasts forMoslem fiends, were themes
that never failed to excite the most intense curiosity, and t0
rouse the direct imprecatiens of vengeance.

From one of these narrations, Robert rose With a deter-
mined air, and exclaimed—“ My grandsire, Robert 1e
Diahle, say the monks, was carried to heaven on the backs
of fiends; but if by the favor of St. Stephen, I ever visit
the Holy Land, it shall be not with pilgrim’s staff, but with
sword and lanfie, to drive those cursed fiends back to their
place of torture.”

“ It were a holy work,” said Richard, “and one the saints
would bless.”

“ \Vere I a knight, or might a woman set lance in rest,”
cried Adela, “ those heathen dogs should no longer feed

. upon the flesh of christian babes. Shame to the peers of
g. \ Normandy, that sit quietly in Rouen while the Holy Sep-
' ulchre is in the hands of infideis.”

“ The peers of N ormandy Will sit qu' ' "Rouen only
till my father returns from his eont'eren 7 Lanfi'anc,”
said William. “ Last night a small vessel ncored off the
coast, and a messenger came in breathless haste to the
palace. I could not gain speech with him, but I know he

 

  

41

   
  

 

ADELA. 27

brings tidings from Fitz Osborne, and 0111‘ Uncle Odo. Hugh
de Glaville conjectures there is treason in England.?’

“ My mother dismissed her maidens at an earlier hour
than is her wont, and sent away Tux-old with a. frown, when
he brought her his pattern of the wooden fort,” said Cicely,
with a sigh, “ my heart misgave me then that some peril
was impending.”

“ Pray God it may not reach Edwin,” said Agatha, with
white lips.

“ Pray God the troubles may continue till my father
moves his court to London,” said William, as rising from
the mossy hank upon which they had been sitting, the
anxious party returned through the pleasance, t0 the great
hall where the evening meal was prepared.

When the silent repast was finished, Maude led the weep~
ing Agatha to her own chamber, andllifting the curtain 0f
the oratory, stood with her before an altar covered with a
richly embroidered velvet pal]. Upon the altar was placed
a golden crucifix, before which burned a silver lamp, and
in a niche above, an alabaster image of the Madonna.

“Daughter of the Norman William,” said she, taking
Agatha’s hands and kneeling before the altar, “ with the
holy cross before thee, and the eyes of our blessed lady
looking down upon thee, tell me truly, lovest thou the Saxon
Edwin?” and Agatha whispered low but firmly, “I love
the Saxon Edwin]7 .

“Turn thy eyes to the stars, emblems 0f unchanging
faith, and tell me truly, wilt thou be to Edwin a guardian
Fylgia in weal 01' woe?” and Agatha answered, “I will
guard Edwin in. weal 01' woe.”

“ Lay thy hand upon this holy shrine,” again said
Maude,1ifting the purple pail, and revealing a. jewelled
casket, “ and tell me truly, though father, mother, brother,
friend, 01' priest, compel, wilt then with Edwin keep thy
plighted troth ?” and Agatha answered, “ I will with Edwin
keep my piighted troth.” “ The pure Mary, the sleepless stars,
and this holy relic of St. John the divine aid thee to keep thy
vow, Amen.” And Agatha responded so]emnly-——“ Amen.”

 

 

 

28 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

All that night the patient Maude wrought with a magic
bodkin upon the trothgift of Edwin, inscribing thereon a
Saxonbcharm, that worn upon the breast of his mistress
should shield him from danger, defeat, and death! the
trusting Agatha keeping silent vigils by her side, while
from the court-yard below echoed the tramp 0f steeds, and'
the heavy tread of mail-clad warriors hastening prepara-
tions for departure.

CHAPTER IV.

“That cruel word her tender heart so thrilled
That sudden cold did run through every vein,
And stony horror all her senses filled,
With dying fit, that down she fell for pain.”
SPENSER’S Fairy Queen.

“When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
But in battalions.” SHAKSPEARE’S Hamlet.

THE conjectures of Prince William were well founded.
The peers of Normandy were again summoned from their
castles to attend the Conqueror, and the following spring
the royal family removed to Winchester.

The coronation of Matilda was the most imposing pa-
geant that had ever been seen in England. Foreign
princes and peers graced the brilliant ceremonial—a. nu-
merous and 10rd1y company of Normans attended her to
the church, and a body-guard 0f AngldSaxons, among
whom Agatha distinguished Edwin, conspicuous alike for
the beauty of his person, and the almost oriental magnifi-
cence of his apparel, i-econducted the new Queen and
her beautiful children to the palace, where a splendid ban-
quet closed the festivities.

This season of rejoicing was followed by events of a sad
and gloomy character. The peculiar miseries which fell
upon England during the disastrous years of 1069—70 com-

ADELA. 29

pelled the Queen with the ladies of her court, again to seek
safety in Normandy. The revolt of Earl Waltheof—the
invasion of the Danes—the flight of Edgar Atheling—the
hostility of Malcolm, King of Scotiand—the destruction of
the city of York—the death of Aidred, its beneficent, and
much loved bishop—the desolation of Northumberland—
the laying waste the county of Hampshire—the confiscation
of private property—and the cry of houseless wanderers,
perishing of want, furnished a scene of unexampled calam-
ities, while the odious revival of the Danegelt, and the
still more odious imposition of the couwefeu, goaded the
exasperated inhabitants to desperation, and excited con-
stant rebellions and insurrections.

The heart of the king, grieved and irritated, became en-
tirely alienated from his Saxon subjects; and when Earl
Edwin demanded the hand of Agatha, his claim was re-
jected with reproach and scorn.

Meanwhile the ladies of the Norman court, no less than
Matilda, deplored the absence of their lords, and murmur-
ings and complaints succeeded to sadness and discontent,
as month after month, and year after year rolled on, and
still the troubles in England required the constant exercise
'of the Norman arms.

The unheralded arrival of the Conqueror, with a military
escort at Caen, excited a brief sensation of pleasure, but
small cause had his family to rejoice in his coming.

The princesses were listening with rapt attention while
Maude related the romance of a northern Jar], who each
night when the moon hung her silver lamp on high, moored
his ocean palace beneath the shadow of a castle, beetling
the sea, to woo fair Ulnah the Pearl of the Orkneys. The
maiden, leaning spell-bound from the lattice, had yielded
to the enchanter’s song, and dropped a pale pearl upon the
deck of the war—ship; the wizard-hird that nestled in its
shroudings had spread its broad wings and hovered brood~
ingly above the easement, when flaming torches——splash—
ing oars—and wild shouts, announced the coming of her
father’s fleet.

 

 

30 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

At this point of the story a messenger hastily entered
and summoned Agatha to the presence Of her dread father.

With sad presentiments the princess rose and silently
obeyed the mandate. None were present With the Con-
queror in the audience-chamher save Matilda, Lanfranc,
and the Saxon secretary, Ingulfus.

“ Seat thyself beside me, daughter, and listen to my
words,” said the haughty monarch, with unwonted tender-
ness. “ That I bade thee pledge thy hand to Earl Edwin to
secure the peace of England, instead of trusting that event
to my good sword, hath long grieved me sore ; and often
have I prayed the holy saints to absolve me of the sin.
Heaven has heard my prayer and averted thy doom.”

An involuntary shudder shook the slight frame of Agatha,
but no sound escaped her lips.

“The brave Alphonso, King of Gallicia,” continued the
king, “has sent to WOO thee for his bride; ambassadors
wait in the antechamber, and the good Lanfranc has con-
sented to release thee from thy extorted VOW. With this
costly ring the prince of Spain plightg thee his faith.”

Agatha instinctively drew back her hand.

“Nay, shrink not, my daughter. The Saxon was un-
worthy of thy love. Knowest thou not he is leagued With
, thy father’s foes ? Resign thou his troth~gift, I Will restore
it to the proud Rebel. Bid thy maidens robe thee in ap-
parel befitting thy rank, (certes, the Spanish diademwill
well become thyjetty locks.) Even now a splendid con-
voy of vessels ride at anchor in the harbor to convey thee
to thy future 10rd, and the pious Ingulfus, Who hath long
desired to Visit the Holy Sepulehre, shall attend thee to the
coast of Spain.” '

Agatha neither spoke nor moved.

“Give me thy troth-gift, silly girl,” cried her father
angrily, bending his brow upon her, With the terrible frown,
at which hold hearts were wont to quail.

Mechanically the trembling victim, drew from her bosom
the talismanic shield. Lanfranc took it from her hand,
placed the ring upon her finger, repeated the words of

ADELA. 31

absolutiou, and the ceremony of betrothal, and When he
ceased, Agatha lay at her father’s feet, pale and cold in a
death-Iike swam]. But bitterly as Matilda wept over her
suffering daughter, her heart was torn with still keener an-
guish, at the maledietions pronounced upon her first-born
and favorite son. Robert had been betrothed in infancy to
the heiress Of Maine; and had cherished the most romantic
attachment for his affianced bride. On the death of the
princess the people demanded him for their 10rd, and the
young regent, generous and rash, had proceeded to take pos-
session of the duchy, and administerjustice in his own name.

William now required him to resign the fief, not only,
but to give his hand to Maude, the beautiful captive, Who
had so long been the companion of his sisters. With the
true spirit of chivalry, Robert indignantly replied 3

“ The lovely Maude hath already bestowed her affections
on Earl Edwin, and Robert’s bride shall never bear to the
alter a reluctant heart. Thou hast sacrificed the meek
Agatha, t0 the lust of dominion, but the gentle Maude shall
never suffer from thy tyramxy, while the sword of a. belted
knight can defend her. If ever I am king of England, the
lands of Huntingdon shall be hers9 With free right to
choose her own 10rd.”

“ Boast not thyself 0f te-morrow, England shalt thou
never have. I have won it by mine own good sword, the
vicars of Christ have set its crown upon my head, and
placed its sceptre in my hand, and all the world combined
shall not take it from me,” cried the monarch in a paroxc
ysm of rage.

“ I only demand the suzerainship of Normandy and Maine,
Which all men say is my just inheritance,” replied Robert.

“Thou would’st do well to remember the fate of Absalom,
and the misfortunes of Rehoboam, and beware of- evil
counsellors,” retorted William.

Robert insolently rejoined, “I did not comelhither to
listen to sermons, but to claim the investiture which has
been promised me. Answer me positively, are not these
things my right 3”

 

 

32 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

“ It is not my custom t0~stripbef0re I go to bed,” repIie&
the Conqueror ; “ and as long as I live, I will not divide my
native realm, Normandy, With another, for it is written iii
the holy evangelists, ‘ Every kingdom divided against
itself shall become desolate.’ ”

“ If it is inconvenient for thee to keep thy word, I wilt
depart from Normandy, and seek justice from strangers,
here I will not remain a subject,” retorted Robert, with
equal pride and seem.

“Par 1e splendeur de Dé,” shouted VVili‘iam', half un-
sheathing his sword. “ It is not to be home, that he Who
owes his existence to me, should aspire to be my rival in
mine own dominions. May the curse of Cain light upon
thy undutiful head.”

Thus they parted, Robert to take refuge with his mother’s
brother, in Flanders, and William to return to his dis-
tracted kingdom, Where the fires of civil war stiH smouhi~
ered in the ashes of freedom.

In such scenes was Adela nurtured, and thus in an atmos-
phere of intrigue and superstition, wasa character natu-
rally penetrating and impetnous, prepared to devise and
carry forward the Wildest schemes.

Public calamities, and domestic vpxations, impaired the
peace and irritated the temper 0f the. English monarch.
Bodesmen from the north, brought news of leagues and
plots against his power, While messengers from Normandy,
conveyed tidings 0f the disafi’ections of his peers, and the
hostilities 0f the French king.

Richard, his most dutiful and afl'ectionate son, had accom-
panied him to England. The young prince was exceed-
ingly fond of the chase, and often spent Whole days hunting;
in the New Forest of Hampshire. V

The malaria 0f the depopulated district, and the painfut
emotions awakened in his sensitive nature, by the sight of
famishing Wl‘etches, vainly seeking food and shelter,
brought on a delirious fever, Which soon terminated his
life. He was interred in Winchester Cathedral.

The last tone of the curfew bell was reverberating

ADELA. 33

through the silent halls of the palace, when the'distracted
father, haunted by the piteous lamentations, and reproach—
ful ravings of his departed son, threw himself despairingly
upon his couch.

“ News from beyond seas,” said the Chamberlain, enter-
ing, and presenting him a letter. William cut the silk and ‘
read.

“ In the name of the blessed Mary, ever Virgin, St. Mi-
chael, and St. Valery, doth thy poor scribe Ingulfus pray,
that strength may be given thee,duke William, by grace of
God, king of England, to bear the dreadful tidings, whibh
much it grieves me to convey. When this comes to thee thou
wilt know that thy sweet daughter, Agatha, liveth no more.
From the day of our departure she shed no tears, but a ten-
der wailing sound, like the moan of a wounded dove,
issued ever from her lips. Her heart, she said, was devo-
ted to her first spouse, and she prayed that the Most High
would rather take her to himself, than allow her ever to be
Wedded to another. Her prayer was granted.

“ The faintness which we witnessed at her betrothal,
returned upon her by night and by day, but she never
murmured; and on the eve of the blessed St. Agnes, hav—
ing received the rites of our holy Church, she died, With
the crucifix in her hand, and the name of Edwin on her
lips.” -

The scroll dropped from the hand of the stricken father
and a remorseful pang wrung his heart.

Again the Chamberlain entered ushering in a dark figure
wrapped in a long serge cloak, like those usually worn by
monks. Kneeling at the monarch’s feet, the stranger
spoke. “ Knowing, oh king ! thy munificence to thy faith-
ful servants, and moved by the love I bear thy throne and
realm, I have discovered to Fitz Osborne the secret haunts
0f thine enemies, and to Obtain thy royal favor, have
brought from the Isle of Ely, that which I hope will please
thee well. Behold the head of the Saxon chief.”

The Conqueror shrank back in horror, as the well-known
features 0fEdwin,pa1e and distorted with the death agony,

3

 

 

34: HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

and the long, fair locks all dabbled With gore, met his be
wildered gaze.

“ Cursed traitor I” shouted be, starting from his seat,
“ dost thou think to Win my favor by bringing me the head
of thy murdered lord 2 H0! seneschal, convey this Judas t0
the lowest cell of the donjon. There shall he learn how
William rewards the betrayer of innocent blood.” The
piisoner was borne flom his p1esence.

The monarch buiied his face in his hands, and buist
into tears of unconthable anguish.

“ Woe is me, my daughte1,—Done to death by thy
father’ s unholy ambition—Thy Edwin hunted and slain on
his own hearth-stone. What has this sceptre brought me?
Toilsome days, and sleepless nights,—a divided household,
mand children out ofi' in the flower of their youth. Truly,
saith the Scripture; ‘Woe unto him that coveteth an evil
covetousness unto his house.’ ”

As he bowed his head his eyes fell upon the fatal, silver
shield. Lifting it reverently from the floor, and Wiping
the clotted blood from its polished surface, With some dif—
ficulty, he deciphered the Saxon inscription; Which has
been thus elegantly translated.

“Edwin his pledge has lgft in me,
NOW to the battle prést:
His guardian angel may she be,
Who wears me on her breast.

To him true-hearted may she prove,
Oh! God, to thee I pray;

Edwin shall well requite her love,
Returning from the fray.

But if, forgetful of her vows,
May Heaven avert the thought,

She sel] this loxr'e-charm of her spouse,
Which never could be bought ;

If of her own free Will she cast
This taliSman away;

May Edwin’s life no longer last,
T0 rue that fatal day.”

ADELA. 35

CHAPTER V.

“Still to the truth direct thy strong desire,
And flee the very air where dwells a liar.
Fail not the mass, there still With reverent feet,
Each morn be found, 1101- seant thy offering meet,
Haste thee, sir knight, where dames complain of wrong;
Maintain their right, and in their cause be strong.”

THE last act in the bloody tragedy of England’s sub
jection, was consummated in the year 1074, when Earl
Waltheof, having been drawn into a. plot against the
crown, and betrayed by his N orman Wife, Judith, to her
uncle, the Conqueror, was beheaded on a rising ground,
just without the gates of Winchester, the first Anglo-Saxon
that perished by the hand of the executioner.

The perfidious Judith had fixed her affections on a
French Count, but William had already secured a Willing
agent of his own purposes, in the person of Simon, 2.
Norman noble, lame and deformed, on whom he deéigned
to bestow her hand, With the rich earldoms of Northampton
and H untingdon.

The haughty Judith scorned the alliance, and stripped
ef rank and power, retired to the wilds of Yorkshire in
obscurity and contempt.

The bitter tears occasioned by the melancholy fate of
Agatha and Edwin, were fresh upon the cheek 0f Maude,
when the heavy tidings of her father’s cruel death, over—
whelmed her in a tide of deeper anguish. A lingering 11L
ness followed, yet sweet dreams stole ever upon her rest,
and the watchful Adela comprehended, that transported to
the home of her childhood, in the gaiety of life’s early mom,
she trod again the breezy upland, and fragrant glade,
wandered through Wood and wold, With Edwin by her side,
or sitting by the star-lit fountain, challenged the nightin-
gale from out the leafy bolt, with snatches 0f Runic rhyme,
and Saxon melody. But young life combating disease,

 

 

36 HEROINES OF THE ’CRUSADES.

slowly led her back from the gates of the grave. One By
one the bright visions faded, and sadly her eyes unclosed
to a consciousness of the dark realities before her.

William had determined that the hand of the beautiful
heiress 0f Huntingdon, should compensate the pliant Simon
for the mortifying refusal of her stepmother. The be-
trothal was to take place firectiy on the Conqueror’s arrivaE
in Normandy, but the happy oblivion 0f Maude, no less
than the entreaties 0f Adela, and the menacing of Robert
served to delay the doom they could not finally avert.

William had subdued the rebel province of Maine, an-(i
moved by the declining health, and incessant pleading of
his beloved Queen, had accorded to his refractory Son a full
pardon for his late rebellion, “ promising at the same time,
to grant him everything that he could expect from the
affection of a father consistently With the duty of a king.”

Thus peace was restored throughout the Conqueror’s
dominions, and the royal family happy in their reunion,
kept merry Christmas in the capital city of Ronen.

“Sweet sister mine,” said Robert to Adela, as she sat
engaged upon the famous Bayeux tapestry, “pray leave
the royal nose of our valiant sire, Which thou hast punc-
tured and cross—stitehed, till verily it seems to bleed be-
neath thy fingers, and lend an ear to thy brother’s words.”

“ NOW, gramercy ! Ourthose,” said Adela, laughing,
“ thou must have a distinct impression of thy noble father’s
Visage, since thou canst not distinguish his nose from the
‘ fiery train’ of the terrific comet.” ,

“Nay,” said Robert, taking up the simiie, “ the Con-
queror’s fiery train in England, has wrought mere terror

’than all the comets since the days of Julius Caesar, as the
inhabitants of York Will testify; but come, lay aside that
odious tapestry, I have other work for thy skiiful fingers.”

‘i My duteous brother would, perhaps, employ them in
puncturing his noble sire, at the field of Archembraye, but
a maiden’s needle wounds less deeply than a warrior’s
sword,” said Adela, archiy. '

“Certes, thy tongue is sharper than thy needle,” said

ADELA. 37

Robert, reddening, “ and thine eyes outdo thy tongue. On
the field of Archembraye I did but wound my father’s
arm, While one bright shaft from thine eyes has pierced
Count Stephen’s heart}?

“ Methinks a heart so vulnerable, should be clad in
armor,” said Adela, reddening in her turn.

“ Thy woman’s Wit doth run before my speech and pro-
phesy my errand,” said Robert. “The Count Stephen, 0f
Blois, bids me entreat the fair Adela to bind him in Wing
(wmor, that the friend of Robert may be his brother in
arms.”

“ [16 bids thee !” said Adela, dropping the embroidery.
“Is the count, then, in Rouen 2”

“Even so, bien amie,” replied Robert. “ Hast thou
not marked a noble figure entering the church at twilight,
and emerging at sunrise, his regards bent upon the ground
except, perchance, When he steals a glance at my charming
sister, accompanying her mother to matins 01‘ vespers.”

“ In truth, I marked such a youth,” said Adela, blush-
ing, “'but Wherefore frequents he not the court ?”

“He holds his vigil of arms till twelfth day,” replied
Robert, “ and the Conqueror has promised, that ere the
Yule-clog, as Atheling calls it, has ceased to burn, he Will
himself 1aythe accolade 0f knighthood upon the shoulder
of the young count. ’Tis my father’s Wish that his children
assist at the ceremony.”

“ My father’s wish I” said Adela, in a tone of deep s'ur-
prise.

“ Certes, sweet,” replied her brother, “ thinkestthou the
Conqueror sees not the White flocks that range the green
pastures 0f Bleis, that he hears not the sound of the busy
looms 0f Chartres, and loves not the sparkling wine, that
flows from the blushing vineyards of Champaigne 2” 1

“Robert, thou hast broken my needle,” said Adela,
striving confusedly to hide from the penetrating eyes of
her brother, the influence Which these considerations exer-
cised over her own ambitious heart.

“I have broken thy needle of woe], that thou mightst

 

 

.r

38 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

thread a finer with floss of silk t0 embroider the scarf for
thy gallant knight,” said Robert, rising to Withdraw.
Adela followed him to the antechamber, and dismissing
the attendants, concerted With him the arrangements for
the pageant. I

.Scarcely confessing to herself the sweet hopes that for
the first time agitated her bosom, she quitted the joust-
ings and maskings 0f the holidays, and passed the festive
season in the privacy of her own apartment, Where assisted
only by the faithful Maude, she wrought upon Tyrian pur-
ple the golden lions 0f Chartres, hudded the shining
damask with the fleur (1e 11s of Champagne, and sewed
the embroidered field azure With the pearly crescent of
Blois. The deep tones of the turret clock tolling the mid-
night hour broke the stillness that reigned through the
castle, just as Adela severed the last silken thread from the
embroidery frame, and held up the gorgeous baldric in the
light of the lamp before the admiring gaze of her friend.

“ Hush l” said Maude, placing her finger on Adele’s lip
to repress a joyous exclamation, “ we have a proverb in the
north that, ‘ finished works bring prophetic dreams.’—Haet—
en to seek thy pillow, but beware thy glance wander not
from you bright star that even now glimmers through the
easement. Breathe not a word While I wreathe the silken
scarf in the folds of thy canopy, and Whisper the mystic
charm of the morthwyrtha.” With an incredulous smile
Adela obeyed, and dismissing the .tire-Women, Maude left
her to her solitary slumbers. The sun had scarce risen
When Maude again entered the apartment.

“ The visions of the future have visited thy rest,” said
she, glancing inquiringly at the thoughtful countenance 0f
the princess.

”“ Question me not,” replied Adela, “a promise and a,
fear have bewildered me—coming years can alone explain
the mystery.”

The great hall of the palace was fitted up for a brilliant
ceremony. All the knights and nobles, bishops and clergy
of Normandy, and the adjacent provinces, arrayed in the

ADELA. 39

most gorgeous vestments of their several orders, with high-
born dames and b111shi11g maidens, sparkling in jewelry,
lined the apartment, at the upper end 01' Which stood the
family of the Conqueror, beside an altar covered With cloth
of gold.

The young 111inces Rohmt {111d ‘Villiam after attending
Count Stephen t0 the bath e1othed 111111 111 1111i te Garments,
and cove1e<. him 1111311 a crimson c10ak, the one sy 111bo1ica1
0f the purity of his soul, the other 01" his determination to
shed his biood in the cause of heaven. Arrayed in this
simp1e garb, after the celebration of the high mass, he
entered the 112111 and approaching the altar, presented his
sword to the bishop, who blessed and consecrated it to the
service of re1igi011 and virtue.

Lanfranc then addressed him thus. “Thou seekest, Count
of B1013, to become a knight—thou art of noble birth——of
liberal gifts and high in courage.—~Thou must be strong in
danger—secret in cou11cils—~patient 111 difiicuities—power—
ful against enemies—pi‘udent in deeds. Lay thy hand upon
this 1101y missal, and swear to observe the fo11owing rules.”
And Stephen laid his hand upon the clasped volume, and
repeated s10w1y, after the priest.

“I do solemnly promise and swear to spare neither my
biood 1101‘ my life in defence of the Catholic fait11,——to aid
all widows and orphans—to protect the innocent and 0p-
p1‘essed——-t0 be humble in all things—to speak the truth
from the heart—to seek the welfare of my vassals——t0 re-
gard the rights of my sovereign—and to live righteously
bef01e God and man. ”

Then iising 110m his knees and t1110v11ng off his cloak
the neophyteb stood with his head ’eveiently inclined towaid
the p1iest,while Plince VViIliam welded on the spu1s of
knighth00d,a11d Edgal Atheling 1 1stened the 0reeves, and
Robeit belted the corselet; grac 1f1111y he sank upon his
knee, When Maude advancing adjv sted the helmet upon his
closely curling locks, and Constai ee presented the spear
with its drooping pennon; but his "\ead bowed in conscious
devotion, and the warm blood g1 wed eloquently on his

 

 

40 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

manly cheek, while Adela, the lady of his love, tremulous
with agitation, passed the scarf about his neckufitted the
silken folds across his breast, and belted the jewelled knot
upon the ivory sheath of his swerd.

Appareled in his splendid armor the young count took
the consecrated weapon from the altar, and presenting it to
the king, knelt before the throne while the monarch rose and
laid upon his shoulder three gentle blows, saying in a voice
whose deep tones echoed t0 the farthest end of the hall, “ In
the name of St. Michael, and St. Stephen, I make thee
knight. Be loyal, bold and true.”

Following the example of the Conqueror, each knight ad-
vanced a step, drew his sword from the sheath, and while
the hall gleamed with the flash of burnished steel, the man
of God again took up the word, blessing him who had
newly undertaken, and those who had long been engaged
in holy warfare, and praying that all the hosts of the ene-
mies of heaven, might be destroyed by christian chivalry.

The trumpets sounded without, and the knights thronging
around their brother in arms, conducted him to the court
below, where vaulting upon their steeds, they rode through
the admiring crowds, among whom Stephen scattered lar-
gesses with a liberal hand.

The banquet over, a gallant train of mounted knights and
ladies emerged from the wooded park and wound along the
banks of the Seine. There was rare sport that day, when
the fox broke cover, and the bounds darted away upon his
track, and the curveting steeds bounded over the crisp
green sward, in the wild excitement of the chase;but the
proud barb of Stephen obedient to the rein, curved his
glossy neck and moved with lofty step, by the dappled
palfrey 0f Adela, while the young knight whispered words
that the princess loved to hear; and thus in sweet converse
the day wore away, and when the solemn night came on,
beneath the blue cope of heaven, while the stars gazed from
their sapphire thrones and the river mingled its low music
with the murmur of their voices, Adela plighted her troth
to Stephen Count of Blois.

   

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 

ADELA. 41

But a ceremonial more joyous than a betrothaI—more
solemn than a burial, occasioned the removal of the court
to Fesehamp.

From the day of Harold’s death, Cicely his betrothed,
devoted herself to the Cloister. Her father had bestowed
a princely dower upon the convent of her choice, and fixed
the day of her profession upon the high festival of Easter.
At the close of the lenten fast, she quitted the scene of her
childish pleasures, gazed a last adieu 0n the hills, vales and
streams, over which the early spring of that bright climate
was casting its mellow sheen—distributed alms among the
mendicant crowds that thronged her route, and bade a kind
farewell to the multitudes, that flocked from every village
and hamlet, to invoke the blessing of heaven upon her holy
purpose.

Adela stood again in the 01d abbey 0f Feschamp, lis—
tening t0 the joyous sound of the matin chime, but neither
the happy associations awakened by the place and hour,
nor the warm breath of early love could charm the sadness
from her heart.

She had entered the dark cloister, and conducted Cicely
from her weary vigil beside the holy relics, t0 wreathe her
dark locks With jewels and gold, and array her fair form
for the last time in the garb of a princess. With the selfish-
ness of affection, she suffered none but Maude to share the
pious task.

Fast fell her tears as the whispered sounds of her sister’s
devotions forced upon her an appalling sense of the final
separation.

The convent bell had scarce ceased its summons, ere a.
splendid concourse filled the galleries, and thi‘onged the
aisles of the Abbey to witness the holy bridal.

Proudly and painfully beat the heart of the king, as his
saintly daughter leaned upon his breastwtwined her soft
arms lovingly about his neck—and imprinted her last kiss
upon his cheek;but sympathetic tenderness overmastered
all other emotions, as with gentle force he drew her from
the last fond embrace of her weeping mother, and the con-

 
 
 

42 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

vulsive clasp of the almost frantic Adela, and resigned her
in all her youthful beauty, to be immured in a living tomb.
Her three young sisters less grieved at the parting, than
pleased With the pageant, with hasty adieus prepared to
take their place in the ceremony.

WVith a light step nicely modulated t0 the soft chanting
0f the nuns, the little Adeliza bearing a jewelled crucifix,
led the procession, followed by Constance and Gundred,
each carrying a lighted taper and bearing between them a,
lily-shaped basket of wrought silver, containing the vestal
habit and veil Which they laid upon the altar. ‘

At the solemn call of the bishop, the fair Cicely entered,
prepared as a bride adorned for her husband, and support—
ed by the matron sisters passed up the long aisle, her white
robes like a gathering mist floating about her fragile form,
and her calm and serene countenance, beaming With such
angelic sweetness from beneath the gossamer wreath Which
ornamented her head, that to Maude’s fanciful vision she
seemed already crowned with the radiant halo of the saints.
A brilliant burst of jubilant melody, peeling from the organ,
accompanied the nuns in their welcoming hymn, “ O
Gloriosa Virginium,” and a breathless silence pervaded
the holy courts as the soft voice of Cicely responded,
“ Receive me, Oh Lord! according to thy holy word.”

Kneeling before the bishop she begged his benediction
and the name of Cecilia her patron-saint. The reverend
Father gave her the consecrated name, signed her with the ‘
sign of the cross, and sprinkled holy-water upon her gar-
ments.

The high mass celebrated, and the Kyrie Eleison sung, a.
waxen taper was placed in her hand, and seated by the
chance], she listened With devout attention, While the arch-
bishop portrayed the beatitude of that high vocation, Which
had called her from the pomps and vanities 0f earthly
grandeur, t0 the durable riches of a heavenly kingdom;
from the waning light of earthly affection to the inefi'able
love of the immortal bridegroom ;——from the fading lustre
of an earthly diadem, t0 the changeless glory of an eternal

 

ADELA. 43

crown: and scarcely had he concluded with the gracious
words, “ Many daughters have done vil‘tuously, but thou
exeellest them all,” when the whole orchestra took up the
note of commendation and “ Gloria in Excelsis” sounded
through the cloistered aisles, echoed along the vaulted roof,
and breathed t0 the heart of the waiting novice the full
reality ofjoy. The sacred vestments were blessed and re-
placed in their silver shrine, and the children resuming
their precious burden preceded their sister into an inner
apartn'lent, where busy nuns disrobed her of her resplen-
dent a1’ray,~despoiled her of her costly ornaments—and
one by one shred away her long, bright looks, that never
more might stir a thought of pride.

The solemn handeau was bound about her brow, the
~ black serge garment wrapped about her form, and when
she again knelt before the bishop, saying, “ I am the hand-
maid of Christ,” an ill—suppressed shriek from Adela, told
how changed was her appearance, and how gloomy was the
fate that awaited her—hut the votaress saw nothing, heard
nothing, save the sacred mysteries in which she was en-
gaged. Prostrated as if in deep abasement she lay upon
the marble floor, while the choir chanted the litany ; gently
she inclined to the abbess, to be bound by the girdle of hu-
miliation; reverently she bowed her head-to receive the ‘
veil that should forever shut the world from her sight; joy-
fully she accepted the ring that sealed the irrevocable vow;
and while the choir chanted, “ Come, 0h spouse of Christ,
receive the crown,” a coronal 0f mingled thorns and roses
was placed upon her head——and Cicely was a nun.

Loud anthems pealed upward to the swelling dome, and
everydemonstration of joy welcomed the bride to her new
home.

The royal guests sat down to a splendid repast in the
great hall of the convent, and nuns and novices shared in
the sumptuous entertainment ; but between Cicely and her
family was an impassable barrier of an iron grating, and
four thick and cold stone walls separated her forever from
the friends of her youth.

 

44: ‘ HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

CHAPTER VI.

“ What is’t we live for? tell life’s fairest tale—
To eat, to drink, to sleep, love, and enjoy,
And then to love no more!
To talk of things we know not, and to know
Nothing but things not worth the talking of.”
Sm R. FANE, Jn.

“ METHINKS, ” said Adela, as she sat with Maude in the
loved twili(rht confeIence, “ it wele a. weary thing, to fast
and pray as doth my sister Cicely, and 100k f01ever on
those dull, cold images of stone or pictured saints, whose
holiness we can never hope to reach.”

“Thou thinkest s0, dearest, because on the bright scroll
of thy future is pictured a living form glowing With youth
and beauty, ” said Maude; “ but when death shuts out the
light of hope, the pencil of love illumines the canvass ever
with the 1111age ofa saint. ”

“I have nevei seen a Saxon saint but thee, best one,”
said Adela, affectionately kissing her cheek. “ licely
welships the 1ne1no1y of him who would have wrested the
bleed lealm of Enciand f1om he1 fathel.”

“ And Agatha died f01 one who loved that fathe1,”said
Maude, half lepioachfully.

“I cannot read might the riddle of life,” replied Adela,
pensively, “ less still the riddle of love. Doth not the
heart seek happiness as the flower seeks the light? yet
what men call the ‘ends life lives f'or,’ wealth and power
and dominion, terminate in discontent, despair, and death.
N0 duke of Normandy, since the days of R011, hath been
so successful as William the Conqueror, yet the meanest
serf is happier than he : and this love that makes my
heart flutter like a joyous bird, has consigned 0111' Agatha to
an early grave—immured Cicely in the abhorrent convent—
and,” she added, with a depi‘ecating glance, “ has plucked
the last pale rose from the cheek of my lovely Maude.”

 

 

ADELA. ' 45

“Thou speakest thus because thou knowest neither life
nor love,” replied the maiden. “ Thou deemest Wisely that
a lofty purpose must call the strong man to efi'ort, else lying
dormant would his faculties perish with the rust of inactiv-
ity. Our pious bishop, Aldred, used to say; that any pur-
pose s0 holy as not to need evil means to work its ends,
like the consecration of the wafer, brings to the human soul
the Teal p7"esence of Christ.”

“ Thy riddle is too deep for my poor wit,” said Adela.
“ Tell me of the love I know not—thy love.”

“ Thou fanciest thou lovest Count Stephen,” said Maude,
with a sigh, “but should he plight his love to another,
thou wouldst regard him with hate and scorn.”

“ Aye, verily,” replied Adela, her cheeks glowing, and
her dark eye flashing, at the thought.

“ So loved not Maude Earl Edwin. Thy father bade
him give his hand to Agatha, and when Imarked the un-
divided current of their lives, flowing on in a stream of
bliss, Ambition and Hope were quenched in my heart, but
Love went forth to light their pathway, and gilds with
heavenly radiance their early tomb.”

“ Maude l” exclaimed Adela, enthusiastically, “ thou
wert not formed for this sinful world ; thou shouldst dwell
With the angels, for verily thou art one of them.”

“ Commend me not,” said Maude, “ thou little knowest
the bitter repinings ofmy heart When I heard I might not
enter the convent With Cicely, nor how my soul recoils from
this unnatural alliance With Simon.”

“And thou wouldst rather kneel upon the cold stone
floor, and scourge thy tender flesh With knotted cords, than
live almost a princess in thy merrie England I” said Adela,
with unaffected surprise.

“ Nay, rather would I work a weary pilgrimage to Pales-
tine, and dwell an eremite in the lonely caves of Engaddi,
had choice been left with me,” answered Maude.

“A pilgrimage were not so sad a fate,” said Adela;
“ the marvellous tales With Which thou didst beguile my

.childhood hours, so wrought upon my fancy, that even to

 

 

4'6 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

this day the very name of Jerusaiem calls up visions bright
as the bowers of Eden. N ever have I wondered that pil-
grims flocked to the Holy Land When they deemed the
thousand years of prophecy accomplished, and expected
to Witness the azure gates unfolding above the holy sep~
uiehre, and the Saviour descending upon the Mount 0f
Olives amid all the terrific splendor of the final judg-
ment.” ,

“ Scarce a century since,” sighed Maude, “ men looked
for this heavenly kingdom, and verily believed they found
in prophecy the confirmation of their hopes. My grandsire
died upon the banks of the J Ol’dan earnestly expecting the
coming of his Lord.”

“There is a flash of spears in the moonheams,” inter—
rupted Adela, gazing from the arrOW-siit 0f the turret.
“ Seest thou not a troop of horse, winding along the brow
of the hill? Eye and heart alike deceive me if that be not
Count Stephen’s plume. Methoughtlere this, he had reach.
ed the borders of Maine. And there is Robert by his side.
Our lady grant their coming bode me ill.”

“ They pass beneath the shadow of the castle,” said
Maude. “ They are not all mounted. Those men 011 foot,
in the garb 0f friars, how weariiy they follow,1eaning upon
their long staves.”

“ They are pilgrims !” exclaimed the maidens With one
voice. “ Let us descend to welcome them.”

Prince Henry met them in the corridor. “ Count Ste-
phen has returned,” said he, “ and awaits my sister in the
tapestry chamber.”

“ Come with me, Beaucierk,” said Maude, leading away
the young prince. “ Thou‘shalt conduct me to these holy
pilgrims.”

" Adela,” said Stephen, kissing the hand of his afiianced
as she entered, “thou art surprised, but I hope not ill-
pieased at this unlooked-for return.”

“I feared me some mischance had occasioned it,” said
Adela, “ but seeing thee well, I am happy—yet Wherefore
art thou come ?” . ‘f

 

ADELA. 47

“Thy brother, Robert,” replied Stephen, “ vouchsafed
to escort me with twenty lances t0 the town of mantes——but
when we reached the banks of Eure, we found the bridges
swept away, and the fords rendered impassable hy the
swollen waters. A hand of pilgrims were encamped upon
the other side, and at the sight of the Norman pennon, they
sent forth a piteous cry for aid. We swam our steeds
across the turgid stream, and each horseman mounting a
palmer behind him, we brought them safely over. And
what was my joy to find I had thus rendered some slight
service to Ingulfus, the early tutor of my loved Adela.”

“ Our lady be praised, the good Ingulfus has returned.
His pupil then shall thank his benefactor as she ought.”

“ He is wayworn and weary,” pursued Stephen, “ much
toil hath he had in his long pilgrimage, and precious are
the relics he has brought from Palestine. I craved from
his gratitude a portion of the holy dust, for thy oratory.
Should danger threaten the unworthy Stephen, the prayers
of Adela, at such a shrine, would doubtless avail for his
protection.”

The princess started, and the color fluctuated on her
cheek, as with a look of surprise and recognition she re-
garded the beautiful crystal urn, with its amethystine en-
tablature, on which were engraven the names of Adela and
Stephen.

“ Dost reject my gift, 01' hath some sudden illness seized
thee ?” said her lover, anxiously, remarking her strange
emotion.

“A silly dream—a passing faintness,” said Adela, con—
vulsiveiy grasping the um, and pressing her pale lips upon
the inscription. “ The hour wears late, to—mori’ow we will
meet again.”

The young count imprinted a kiss upon her cold brow,
and supporting her trembling steps to the antechamber,
consigned her to the care of her attendants.

\Vhen the lovers met the following morning in the chapel
to which all the inhabitants of the city repaired, to see the
high altar decked With the palms of the pilgrims, and join

 

 

 

48 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES

in the general thanksgiving for their return, all traces of
agitation had disappeared from the countenance 0f Adela.
Relieved from his jealous fears, Count Stephen basked in
the sunshine of her smiles, and protracted his stay during
the festivities consequent upon the aifiancing 0f Constance
with Alan, Couht of Bretagne. The young bride was dow-
ered with the lands of Chester, once the possession of the
unfortunate Earl Edwin. And William, at the same time,
accorded his approbation to the love of Stephen and Adela.
Every heart seemed filled With gaiety. Entertainment
succeeded entertainment. The days were occupied with
joustings, hunting, hawking, feats of archery and tourna-
ments; the evenings were spent in games of hazard, or
whiled away in listening to the wondrous tales of Ingulfus.

CHAPTER VII.

“Some upon penance for their sins,
In person, 01‘ by attorney ;

And some who were or had been sick;

And some who thought to cheat Old Nick;
And some who liked the journey;

And the stafi was bored and drilled for those
Who on a flute could play;

And thus the merry Pilgrim had
His music on the way.” SOUTHEY.

“ON my return to Caen with the remains of my dear
lady Agatha,” said Ingulfus, “I abandoned all thoughts of
pi]grimage,ti11 learning that the clergy of Germany had
determined upon a visit to the Holy Land, the desire to
worship at. the tomb of the Saviour, returned again so strong
upon me, that I was induced to unite with a Norman troop,
which joined the company of the archbishop at Mentz. We
were a goodly hand,” continued he, “ out of every nation,
kindred, tongue and people, of the Latin world—and heaven
that moved us to this expiation of our sins, opened before

ADELA. 49

us the way, and provided for our sustenance, both in the
castles 0f princes, and in the cottages of peasants.

“ The monasteries, of Which many have been founded by
pious men throughout all Germany, furnished resting—places
for the weary, and hospitals for the sick. When we enter-
ed upon the kingdom of Hungary, which is ‘ a well-Watered
and fruitfui country,’ we found a strange people, Whose
nobles and warriors indeed live in walled towns, and castles
strongly fortified among the rocks ; but the common people,
for the most part, dwell in tents like Abraham of old, and
feed their flocks and herds upon the banks of the streams.
These he the people, which the holy fathers thought were
the Grog and Magog of sacred writ, and truly they came
like a storm into Europe, and like a cloud they covered the
landwboth they and their hands. And because the time of
their coming was near the end of the thousand years pro-
phesied by St. John, many Wise men did say, that they
were the signs and forerunners 0f the end of the world.
Howbeit since the end is not yet, there he not many at the
present Which hold this doctrine.”

“Are there not some Who say, that Grog and Magog are
the heresies Which vex the church ?” inquired Robert.

“ Even so,” said Ingulfus ; “ but such are not led by the
true and manifest words of Scripture, but following ‘eun-
ningly devised fables’ have explained away even the
promises of God. Now that these are the people is proved,
' in that they came from Persia and from the north quarters,
and the name in which they most delight is Magyar, Which
plainly agreeth t0 Magog, and whosoever shall dwell in the
latter days, Will see ‘wars and rumors of wars’ in Hungary,
according to my judgment. I have learned many things
concerning them ; for either for my sins, 01' the badness 0f
the roads, the beast on Which I rode fell lame, and therefore
was I forced to leave the horsemen, and follow on foot, sup
porting the weariness 0f the way With pilgrim’s stafi“.
Among us were those, Who from fear and love of adventure,
and not from devotion, had undertaken the pilgrimage.
Their vain talk and godless manners troubled me sore.

4

 

“A ‘ “Iwfl;%_‘. ”\“mflfisfihsw _

50 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

There was one who having inserted a shepherd’s reed in his
staff, played thereon and sang with his voice, not the pious
psalms 0f the church, but the unholy madrigai‘s 0f the sin-
ful and profane. And for that he saw it pleased me not,
he delighted in it the more, and walked by my side, and
When I could not rid myself of his company, I questioned
him concerning his history.

“ He was an Anglo—Dane of the north countrie, a born thrafl
of Earl Edwin, and had led a roving life from his youth.
This man, whose name was Hardragel‘, was the false vassa}
Who betrayed the young noble7 and received from the jus-
tice 0f the Conqueror, the sentence of perpetual imprisom
ment. But the princes of this world are often compelled to
use unworthy instruments in carrying forward their plans.
When your royal father deemed it expedient for the peace
of the realm to punish the treason of Earl Waltheof, and no
man was Willing to become his executioner, Hardrager
purchased free pardon by beheading him.”

“ It was well he sought to expiate his Ofi‘ences by a pit-
grimage,” said Adela.

. “ Nay,” said Ingalfus, “ no thought of true penitence had
ever entered his mind’. Instead ofprofiting by the clemency
Of his sovereign, he apphed himself anew t0 Wicked prac-
tices, pursuing the hare and slaughtering the deer in the
New Forest; till finally having sufi'ered the loss of an ear
for his crimes, and still continuing to set at naught the game
laws, he was condemned to death ; but as if the Almighty
had raised him up for a ‘thorn in the flesh’ to his servants,
Hardi‘ager again escaped his doom. It pleased your noble
sire, when he founded Battle Abbey, 0n the field of Hast-
ings, and appointed monks to pray for the souls of the slain,
to grant to the Abbot the power of showing mercy to the
guilty. It chanced accordingly when Hardrager was drawn
from his dungeon, and carried toward the gibbet, that the
worthy Abhet meeting the cart, caused the procession to
stop, and moved With pity for the criminal revoked his sen-
tence, and laid on him the penance of pilgrimage. Hard-
rager 10st no time in quitting England, and found means to

 

ADELA. 51

join our company, upon the banks of the Rhine. He
seemed well provided With purse and scrip, and often on
days offastiiig, purchased an indulgence from the bishop
for himself and other vain persons, to regale themselves
with meat and wine ; and yet he seemed not to be Without
a sense of sin, and a certain reverence for the commands
of the church. He rose early, and performed his devotions
with the most scrupulous regularity, and every night
scourged his naked shoulders with a knotted lash ; and
when I looked for a reformation in his life from this whole
some discipline, he told mevhe did not that for his own sins,
but for the sins of another, Who furnished him money for
the expedition; for, by reason of his poverty, he had en<
gaged to work out a three years’ penance, that had been
imposed on his benefactor; and he added, With a light
laugh, ‘I can better endure the smarting of my flesh by
voluntary flagellation, than the loss of it by compulsory ab-
stinence.’ ’7

“By St. Stephen,” exclaimed Robert, laughing, “ the
cunning knave is the true scape-goat of Scripture. It were
no had thought thus to expiate our sins by the Vicarious suf-
fering of some poor Wi‘etch.”

“ HeaVen forefend,” said Stephen, “ that we should be
compelled to raise Our own exchequer by such means.”

“The indulgences and requisitions 0f the church,” gravely
continued Iiigulfus, “ are too Often perverted. I thank our
blessed lady, Who rather than continue me in the society of
this wicked one, laid me upon a bed of sickness. For
many days, I had with difficulty continued my journey, but
Hardragei‘, who seemed insensible to fatigue, supported me
by his strong arm,ti11coming t0 the lands of a, powerful
Hungarian, whose flocks and herds covered the hill-side for
many a league, we fell behind the other pilgrims, and my
weariness increasing upon me, I sank exhausted and sense—
less upon the ground. What was my surprise When my
consciousness returned, to feel myself upborne in the arms
of Hai'dmger, who was attempting to place me upon the
back of a horse which he had stolen from the adjoining

 

.r w...

manuum—y

 

 

 

 

 

52 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

pasture, and bridled with the scourge that he wore about his
10ins. ‘ Cheer up, holy father,’ said he, ‘ heaven has sent
thee help in time of trouble. I Will walk by thy side, and
we will soon prove to yonder heartless drones that the last
shall be first.’ In reply to my remonstrance, he added,
with a misbelieving smile, ‘Nay, is it not written, “ The
wealth of the wicked is laid up for the just,” yon savage
Magyar may rejoice in the happy chance which enables
him to send a substitute to the holy city.’

“ Upon my positive refusal to mount, he stood for a mo-
ment irresolute, and then, with a smile, ’twixt jest and
earnest, fell upon one knee before me, saying, ‘ Gra’mercy,
good monk, I would crave thy blessing and absolution for
this sin ere we part, for since thou wilt not accept the bounty
of heaven, I must e’en take it myself.’ Observing my hes-
itation, he rose hastily, saying, ‘ It boots not, ’tis but a few
lashes more, and my shoulders are well able to hear them.
Adieu, holy father, I grieve that thy conscience stands in
the way of thy advancement,’ and springing upon the res-
tive beast, he was away with the swiftness 0f the wind.”

“ Nay, methinks I should have been less scrupulous,” said
William,1aughing. “The fellow’s dexterity merited ab—
solution.”

Ingulfus resumed, “ Sick and alone, and much cast down
in spirit, Istretched myself upon the grass,and100ked only
for death, but He who suffers not even a sparrow to fall
witheut his notice, had compassion upon me, and sent a.
good Samaritan to my relief. Korshah, the noble Magyar,
returning from the chase, came where I was, and seeing my
low estate, gave his servants charge concerning me, to con-
vey me to his own castle, where I tarried for above the
space of a month, till my bruised feet were healed, and my
broken health restorec .”

“It was a deed of Christian charity. I would fain learn
something of this strange people,” said Adela; “do they
observe the rites of our church '9”

“At the beginning of the present century,”rep1ied In-
gulfus, “ St. Stephen, the Alfred Of his nation> divided the

ADELA. 53

country into seventy—two counties and twelve bishoprics,
but though the people have submitted to baptism, and ob-
serve the sacred canons, yet there prevails among them a
strange mixture of barbarian fables, with the truths of holy
writ; and their language is for the most part colored with
the extravagant, but beautiful expressions of the Orientals.
And because my mind was intent upon the prophecies, and
I would know concerning Gog and Magog and the chief
princes 0f Mesech and Tubal, I questioned the noble Mag-
yar of his country and the people of his ancient land.
‘My people,’ said he, ‘ are numerous as the stars of night,
and countless as the drops of falling showers. The small-
est twig of yonder elm, that throws its shadow across the
valley, is greater When compared With its trunk, than is the
Hungarian branch, in comparison with the Scythian tree,
whose roots strike deep into the soil of China, and Whose
boughs overshadow the Alpswextend beyond. the sea of
darkness 0n the north, and distil dews upon the broad and
fruitful regions of Persia and Cathay. Beyond the pos-
sessions of our tribes to the eastward,’ he continued, ‘may
no man go ; for a desert and a land of darkness lasts from
that coast, unto terrestrial Paradise. There are the moun-
tains and hills which arose from Noah’s flood, when the
soft and tender ground was worn away 'by the waters, and
fell and became valleys. Paradise is the highest part of
the world, so high that it touches the borders of the moon.
And there by a radiant way through the gates of the morning
the angels were wont to descend to commune With our first
parents; but that way was closed that Lucifer might return
no more to the regions of light after he had tempted them,
and thus with them was he driven forth from the garden.
And Eve carried in her hand the seeds of the apple which
she had given unto her husband, and wherever she wan-
dered she cast them into the earth, and shed her tears upon
them, and they sprang up and bore fruit, some good and
some evil, and from those seeds came every green tree and
herb that grow upon the earth. And this garden is en-
closed all about by a wall, which seems not to be of natural

 

 

 

54 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES,

stonewand the gate is of carbuncle flashing, with an in.
credible splendor, and shooting on every side its beams like
flaming swords. 1Wherefore some visionary ones said it
was fire, and many became worshippers thereof. And in the
highest place in Paradise, exactly in the midst, is a well
that casts out four streams, which run by divers lands
throughout all the earth, and above the fountain of the
streams, the four princes 0f the stars weave the semblances
of what shall be, arid cast them upon the waters, and
whithersoever these flow there entereth a spirit into the na-
tion or the people that dwell upon the banks, and they go
' forth conquering and to conquer. And thus were the tribes
of Asia inspired to go toward the west, and establish their
domain in Europe. Therefore wise men (10 study the stars,
and read in the scroll of heaven the Will of the Invisible.
And all the sweet waters in the world above and beneath,
take their rise from the well of Paradise. The drops of the
morning-dew are gendered there, and thither the clouds re-
turn after the rain. There the light zephyrs gather rich
odors under their wings, and from thence carry them abroad
upon all the face of the earth, and give to every flower its
perfume. And because of the abundance of precious
things- that are found therein, many have entered these
rivers and essayed to pass by that land of chaos unto Par-
adise, but they might not speed in their voyage; for many died.
of weariness, by reason of rowing against the strong waves,
and many were dashed in pieces against the dark rocks.
And many vessels bound with iron were drawn aside by the
shipman’s stone, and held that they might never go thence.’
I inquired concerning this stone,” said Ingulfus, “ and he
told me there were in the eastern seas ‘eertain rocks of ad-
amant which attract iron ; and that men would break ofi‘
pieces, and suspend them by a thread, and that one point
thereof would tum t0 the north, and another to the south ;
and he said also that there are two stars fixed in the
heavens, about which all the firmament turns as a wheel
upon an axle. He said, moreover, that the earth and sea
are of a round form, and that by this stone many mariners

ADELA. 55

have passed the whole compass of the earth, and come again
to the same point whence they set out. And these be not
half the things that he told me, and there is none of them all
but have some reason and understanding in them, and some
good points of our belief. But though this man was both
learned and devout, it grieved me to see in him the remains
e-f his ancient superstition, for he was accustomed to wor—
ship before a hideous idol. And when he knew I was
grieved concerning the thing, he said he worshipped not
the image, but the Virtue which was in it, even as we have
images of our Lady and 0f the saints, which we set before
us, to keep their holiness in mind. IIewbeit the man showed
me no little kindness ; and when I was sufficiently re—
covered, be furnished me with a strong, well-appointed
horse, replenished my purse, and accompanied me to the
next town on my journey.

“I had hard riding to overtake my companions, which I
should have failed in doing, had they not rested in Con—
stantinople.

“ This city was first called Byzantium, which name is still
preserved in the imperial money called byzants. It was
by divine suggestion that its appellation was changed. For
when Constantine the Great was pursuing his Victorious
course to the east, he lodged in that place; and in his
dream he saw, and behold there stood before him an old
woman, whose brow was furrowed with age ; but presently
clad in an imperial robe, she was transformed into a beau-
tiful girl, and fascinated his eyes by the elegance of her
youthful eharms-aud he waked and slept again ; and
there came one unto him and said, ‘ The woman thou sawest
is this city worn down by age, whose walls thou shalt re-
store, and whose beauty shall signalize thy name to the end
of time. Mount thy horse and give him the rein, to go
whithel'soever he will._ Take the royal spear in thy hand,
and its point shall describe the circuit of the wall upon the
ground.’

"‘ The Emperor eagerly obeyed the vision, and employed

 

 

 

56 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADEEL

the most skilful architects in building the city. B y casting;
in masses of rock and sand, they straitened the ancient;
waters, and thus the sea wonders to see fields unknewn- be
fore amid its glassy waves, and surrounds and supplies the
city with all the conveniences of the earth. Constantine-
erected there the circus, statues of triumphed heroes, and;
tripods from Delphi. And all the saints whosebodies he
Was able to collect out of every country, were brought
tiither. In Constantinople is the fairest and noblest church
in the world, called St. Sophia. It ie of a circular ferm',
domed in, and supported with pillars of gold and silver,
hung about by lamps of the same precious metal. High
mass is offered there on a different altar each day in the-
year. In its innermost part on the north side, is a large anct
beautiful apartment, wherein is a chest containing three
pieces of 0111' Lord’s cross. Three times in a year this chest
is brought out into the nave 0f the church, and placed upon:
a golden altar, Where all the people are permitted to wor-
ship it. Howbeit I saw it not, which thing is a grief of
mind to me. And they say concerning this cross, that When
Adam was about to die, Seth went unto the angel that kept
Paradise, to beg the oil of mercy for his father. But the
angel gave him only three grains of the tree of life. And
Seth buried them in the grave of Adam, and from these
grains sprang up three trees, and from these were fashioned;
the cross on Which our Saviour was crucified, as is contained
in these words, ‘In crucé fitpwlma cypressue olieag.’ Thus
from the death of Adam came life into the world. Ami
When our Lord had risen from the dead, the Jews moved
with envy, took the crosses from Mount Calvary, and hid
them in the earth. And thus St. Helena, the mother of
Constantine, who was descended. from the ancient kings of"
Britain, found them; and when she could not distinguish
the cross of the Saviour from those of the thieves, she eausedé
a dead body to be laid upon them, and When it touched the'
true cross it arose. St. Helena caused these relies to be
conveyed to Constantinople; but the cross of‘ Dismas the
good thief, was carried to Cyprus, and men worship it there,

i

ADELA. 57

There also she found the Saviour’s seamless coat, and the
four nails that pierced his hands and feet; and of one of
these the Emperor made a bridle for his horse to carry him
in battle, and thereby be overcame all his enemies, and
reigned from Persia to the British Sea. They showed me
also a part of the crown of our Lord, made of the branches 4!.
of Aubespine ; and I had one of those precious thorns
given to me as a great favor, and it hath this virtue ; that
whosoever beareth it about him, is secure from thunder and
from tempest, and from the malevolence of evil spirits and
demons. We tarried long at Constantinople, for there were
many wonderful things to be seen. Every year the birth-
day of Jesus is celebrated with rejoicings; and on these
occasions one may behold representatives of all the nations
that inhabit different parts of the world; and the common
people are amused With surprising feats of jugglery and
dexterous motions of wild beasts, and birds of prey that
, have been trained to fight each other. And the Emperor
entertained the bishops right royally in the palace of the
Blaquernel, in feasts and games, and gave them gifts of
gold and silver, rich apparel and costly jewels, so that they
were in no haste to depart, and many of the mixed multi—
tudes that followed With us, remained there, and entered
the service of the Emperor.”

Ingulfus was surprised the following day in the midst
of his studies, by a secret visit from Adela.

“I am come,” said she, “ to obtain of thee, the precious
thorn from the crown of our Lord.” .

The countenance of Ingulfus indicated at once his re-
luctance to part with the inestimable relic, and his strong
desire to gratify the princess.

“ Nay,” said she, observing his hesitation, “ I know its
value, and am prepared to reward thee at whatsoever cost.”

“ Though it may have been the practice of some unwor~
thy palmers, to trade in relics,” said Ingulfus, “I cannot
make merchandise of that which pierced the brow of my
blessed Lord. It is thine without money, and Without
price.”

 

 

 

58 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADEe

Tears of gratitude beamed in Adela’s eyes. “ Good
father,” she answered, “ I know right well, that by reason
of thy holiness thou art safe from sudden dangef, and
therefore thou canst not need this talisman as does thy un-
worthy pupil ; yet it grieves me to take without recompense
that which is so dear to thee. Is there no gift in the power
of Adela which Ingulfus would accept ?”

“Thy father hath sometime suggested,” returned the
friar, modestly, “ that he would reward my poor services V
with a benefice. It would please me well, to spend the
few short days that remain unto me, in England. Near
the monastery of Croyland was I born, and within the shel-
ter of its walls would I die.”

“Trust me for the accomplishment of thy wish,” said
Adela, bowing her head for his benediction. Then wrap-
ping the holy thorn in a piece of silver tissue, and placing
it in her bosom, she departed. 4

CHAPTER VIII.

“When thou shalt see an old man bent beneath
The burden of his earthly punishment,
Forgive him, Thalaba!
Yea, send a prayer to God in his behalfl”—SOUTKE7.

INGULFUS’ STORY, CONTINUED.

FROM Constantinople we proceeded across the Bosphorus
through Asia Minor. Our route was tedious in the extreme,
and after we entered upon the territory of the Infidels, we
were continually harassed by flying bands of Arabs; so
that many were slain, and some being driven from the
main body were lost among the mountains, and we saw
them no more. At length with much toil, the pilgrims
reached the village of Oapernaum, where being hardly
beset by the robbers, they were constrained to tarry, until

0

ADELA. 59

they could obtain a safe escort from the Emir at Antioch.
Howbeit I only relate these things as they were told me in
Jerusalem; for a strange adventure separated me from my
fellows. There are two fountains, Jor and Dan, which flow—
ing down from the mountain, are collected into one, and.
form the J ordan. \Vhen we passed them in our route, I
was constrained to linger among the shepherds, who fed
their flocks in the green pastures which there abound, and
several devout persons tarried with me; and on the mor-
row, when we had taken our leave, we journeyed 0n, and
straightway we came to the eonflux of these streams,——and
when we saw the Jordan, each man hasted to divest him-
self of his garments, that he might bathe in that stream, in
which our blessed Lord was baptized. SO occupied were
we with the holy ceremony, that we had not observed a
hand of Arabs, who assailed us with a shower of stones and
javelins, and separated us one from another. What far-
ther passed I know not, for a blow upon the temple felled
me to the ground, and deprived me of sense.

’When I uneiosed my eyes, I thought myself among the
fiends of hell ; and feeling for my crucifix, I found myself
wrapped in many folds of fine cloth, in which I was firmly
hut gently bound. As my senses gradually returned, I
began to note the things about me. The apartment seemed
a long, dark cavern, whose limits I could not distinguish,
lighted by a fire at the farther extremity, round which half
clothed, swarthy figures were engaged in roasting pieces of
flesh. . Others of the same appearance were seated upon
mats, with a cloth spread before them upon the ground,
cutting the meat with long, crooked knives, or tearing it
with their white pointed teeth, with savage voracity. Apart
from the rest, seated upon an elevated cushion with his legs ,
crossed, was a tall, strong-huilt man, with hair and beard
white as snow, hanging over his shoulders, and down to his
breast. He took no part with the revellers, but seemed to
control by his look their wild, gibbering talk, to the end
that it might not disturb my slumbers; for through exces-
sive faintness, I seemed only to exist between sleeping and

 

 

 

 

 

 

60 HEROINES OF THE ORUSADES.

waking. His regards were fixed upon me, and his appear—
ance recalled a dim recollection Which I was vainly striving
to trace, When at a word from him, the Whele band disap-
peared behind an angle in the wall. The old man then
lighted a tomb and app10ached 111e,a1ef1111v 1em0ved the
bandage flom my head, anointed my wound With sweet-
smelling balm, and gave me to think of a. fiery quuid,

Which sp1ead like an elixii through my wine, and seemed
instantly to reanimate me. \Vith a smile at my puzzled
100k, he plucked away the false beard and hair, and re-
vealed to my astonished sight, the swarthy countenance 0f
Hardr‘age1

“ Well met,h01y fathe1,” said he, with his wonted laugh.
“ Hast come to 131ng a blessing to the habitation of H211-
drager. 2”

“Is this thine habitation ?” said I. “ Then I was not so
far wrong in thinking myself in purgatory i” (for I was ill-
pleased With the strange place and bad company.) “ But
by What fatal misehance came I hither? Has the Saviour,
for my sins, denied me at last the sight of his holy sepul—
chre 3” and I sank back in despair.

“ N ay,” said Hardrager, “ but for the mise11z‘cnee Which
thou deplorest, thou mightest indeeci have been in purga-
tory.”

“ And Where am I ?” eagerly inquired I.

“Thou art in the stlong- hold of the Old Man of the
Mountain, and guaided by the assassin band of Mount
Lebanon,” leplied he.

“The saints prese1 ve me I” said I, ejaculating a prayer.

“ In truth thou showest little gratitude,” said Hardrager,
“ to one who hath saved thy life, (thanks to the good Hunga-
rian steed that brought me to thy rescue). Knowest thou not
the proverb? ‘ Speak well of the bridge that carried thee
safe over 1’ ”

Finding from his words, but more especially from the
seriousness of his manner, that this wild man had reah‘y
undertaken to render me an essential service, I began to
regard him with more complacency, and finally brought

 

ADELA. 61

myself to listen with interest to his story. Stung with re-
morse for his agency in the death of the noble Saxons,
Edwin and IValtheof, he had determined, as soon as his
pilgrimage was accomplished, to join the Varangians of
Constantinople, and make perpetual war upon the conquer-
ors of England. On his route through Syria, he fell in
with a band of Arabs, wild and reckless like himself, who,
seeming allegiance to any leader, had established them‘
selves among the ruined towers and rocky fortresses of
Mount Lebanon, and thence carried on predatory warfare
upon all who ventured to travel that way. They wore the
Mohammedan garb, and observed some of the institutions of
the Koran, but were followers of Ali, uncle of the prophet.
The superior abilities and learning of Hardrager, enabled
him soon to master their language and their tenets, and by
the fortunate solution of some timely mysteries, be im-
pressed them with the belief that he was the prophet of
Allah, and soon brought them to take oath to obey all his
requirements. But though he had thus apostatized from
the faith of his fathers, he retained a copy of the New Tes-
tament, and religiously fulfilled his vows at the holy sepul—
chre, and with honesty worthy a better man continued his
. nightly flagellations. He had instilled into his wild foi-
]owers his own hatred of the Norman race, and it was be-
cause of this that they fell upon us with such violence at
the Jordan. I should have perished with my companions,
for the Assassins were proceeding to rip open the bodies of
'the slain and wounded in search of coin, had not Hardrager
recognized my Saxon countenance and interposed for my
rescue. With the greatest care and tenderness, he had me
conveyed in a litter to their nearest haunt, where, after pro-
tracted insensibility, I found myself stretched upon the
COuCh 0f skins in the cavern. As soon as I was sufficiently
restored, be mounted me upon the good steed 0f the Mag—
yar, which, being unable to walk, I was fain to ride, and
accompanied me till we came in sight of the pilgrims ens
camped upon the Mount of Olives, for by his messengers,

 

 

 

 

 

 

62 EEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

Hardrager had intelligence of their movements, and con-
ducted me by the shortest route to join them.

“ Benedicite, holy father,” said he, as he lifted me gently
from the horse, and reverently inclined before me, “ a
blessing in the Saxon tongue would be health to my guilty
soul.”

A tear glittered in his eye, and if it were a sin Heaven
assoil me, for I yielded to his importunity and granted him
the blessing. “ Adieu, good friar,” said he, “ thou hast
taken a load from my heart. Accept from the gratitude
of Hardrager that which may stand thee instead, when thy
fancied relics are of little avail.” S0 saying, he gave me a.
small slip of parchment inscribed with Arabic characters,
and rode slowly away. I thrust the scroll into my purse,
little knowing its value, for my sight and sense were filled
with Jerusalem, which I now saw for the first time. As I
walked along the brow 0f Olivet, like my Saviour, I beheld
the city and wept over it, for thelglory 0f Solomon’s temple
had departed ; the holy prophets and apostles had passed
away, and bands of Infidels Whose bright scimeters gleam-
ed in the light of the setting sun dashed through her sacred
streets, and encountered each other with barbarian clamor
in her holy courts. The sound of the vesper—hell from the
church of the Ascension invited us to prayer. IVith divine
rapture we pressed our lips upon the stone imprinted with
the last footsteps of our Saviour, and with pious theft we
gathered some of the sacred dust from before the altar.

Descending from the mountain, we spent the night in
fasting and prayer in the garden of Gethsemane, and at the
first cock-crowing, arose to pass over the Brook Cedron.
In the valley of Jehoshaphat we were met by the venerable
patriarch, with the Latin and Syrian Christians of Jerusa—
lem, Who conducted 11s in solemn procession through the
midst of the city to the church of the Holy Sepulchre.

There, amid the clangor 0f cymbals, and the sweet
sounds of psaltery and harp, we bowed in worship and
adoration, while through the cloud of ascending incense
streamed the etfulgence of innumerable lights, like the

ADELA. 63

Shechinah 0f the ancient‘ temple, and Jesus Christ the in‘
habitant of the place, alone knew the sighs we breathed,
the tears we shed, the prayers we offered, and the thanks-
givings we uttered.

Our vows were accomplished, and with the benediction
of the patriarch upon us, we went forth, to climb the hill
of Calvary, to visit the pool of Bethesda, and to mourn
over all the pleasant places which the followers of Moham-
med have laid waste. There was one among us, who, for the
sins he had committed, and the compunctions of conscience
that he suffered, was desirous to yield up his soul at the
tomb of the Saviour.

This celebrated man, Fulk Earl of Anjou, had com-
pelled two of his servants by an oath, to do whatsoever he
commanded, and when we had completed our procession,
and obtained absolution, he was by them dragged naked
through the streets towards the Holy Sepulehre, one of
them holding him by a twisted withe about his neck, the
other, with a rod seourging his bare back, while the peni-
tent cried out, “ Lord, receive thy wretched Fulk, thy per-
fidious, thy runagate—regard my repentant soul, Oh Lord
Jesus Christ.”

Howheit he obtained not his request at that time. We
were desirous to go down from Jerusalem to Jericho, to
worship at Gilgal, and view that seat, whose black waters
roll over the cities of the plain; but the wealth of the arch-
bishops had been noised abroad, and the thieves that
abound in those parts, fell upon all those who ventured
that way, stripped and wounded them, and departed, leav-
ing them to perish by the wayside. But our Norman bands
accOmpanied by a party of Germans, arming themselves
with swords determined to visit the Church of the Nativity,
at Bethlehem. We accomplished our purpose in safety,
and were returning through the fields of the wood, when a
band of mounted Saracens, with wild cries, dashed among
us. Reluctantly, each man drew his sword and stood for
his life. The attack fell heaviest upon the Normans, and
despite our vigorous resistance, we should, doubtless, all

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

64 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

have perished beneath their javelins, had not the frantic
gestures, and more especially the green turbans of our as-
sailants, reminded me of the cave of Hardrager, and recalh
ed his parting words. Hastily opening my purse, I held
up the Arabic scroll, before the eyes of a barbarian, whose
drawn scimeter was flashing above my head. ,

At sight of it his demeanor instantly changed. He
ahghted, assisted me to rise, laid his hand upon his heart
to express his concern for what had happened, and shout-
ing, Allah ackbar, to his companions, drew them from
their work of blood, and forthwith the flying band disap-
peared. Nearly half our number were slain, and the rest
of us wounded and disheartened, slowly retraced our steps
to Jerusalem, and relinquished all attempts to visit the
other holy places with which the Vicinity abounds; Though
the patriarch, and the monks 0f the various monasteries
gave us hospitable entertainments, yet, such had been the
length, the weariness and discouragements 0f the way, and
such the thinning of our ranks by famine, fatigue, disease,
and hostility, that we were fain to choose the readiest
means of return.

Learning that a fleet of Genoese merchantmen were
anchored in the harbor of J oppa, we determined to pur-
chase a passage over seas with them. The archbishops,
therefore, gathered the pilgrims together, and number-
ed them, and. 0f the seven thousand that had set out
from Mentz, scarce three thousand remained; and on
our way from Jerusalem to the place of embarkatiou
through the rocky deflles which are the favorite haunts
0f the barbarians, we estimated that another thousand
perished.

Our voyage to Brundusium was the most prosperous part
of our journey. Thence we came to Rome ; where I showed
my life to our holy father the pope, and was absolved of
all that lay on my conscience, concerning many grievous
points, as men must needs have that travel in company
with so many people of divers sects and beliefs. We then
proceeded through Italy, and the archbishops took the

ADELA. 65

route to Germany; and of our band that left Normandy,
thirty well—appointed horsemen, twenty miserable palmers,
only, repassed the Alps, and entered France on foot, i1],
weary, and penniless ; and had not _a kind Providence sent
the noble Earls Robert and Stephen to our relief, we might
at last have perished 0n the banks of the Eure.

CHAPTER IX.

Can piety the discord heal,
Or stnnch the death-feud‘s enmity?
Can Christian lore, can patriot’s zeal,
Can love of blessed charity?

THE year 107 7 opened with great rejoicing in Normandy.
The royal family were reunited for the last time, to cele—
brate the marriage of Adela and Constance, with the
wealthy and powerful husbands 0f the Conqueror’s choice.
The young Count and Countess of Blois, whose castles were
numerous as the days in the year, determined to make a
festive progress through their dominions, and the Earl of
Bretagne, with his bride, with their young sister, Gundred,
and her undeclared lover, the Earl of Warrenne, joinedthe
happy party.

In the midst of her happiness Adela did not forget her
promise to Ingulfus. The evening before her departure,
she visited the Cloister Of the palmer, and acquainted him
With his preferment t0 the Abbey of Croyland. The good
friar’s gratitude and pleasure were unbounded.

“ Holy father,” said the countess, “I have yet one boon
to crave.”

“Name it,” said the priest. “If it lieth in my poor
ability it shall not fail thee.”

“ Because it lieth in thy power do I intrust it to thee,”
continued she. “ The body of Earl \Valtheof, the father of
our much-injured Maude, is interer at the four cross-roads,

5

 

 

66 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

without the gates of Winchester; when thou takest pos-
session of thy benefice, as soon as may he, thou Wilt give
him Christian burial, in the church-yard 0f Croyland, and
cause daily masses to be said for his soul.”

Ingulfus readily promised compliance.

Adela still lingered. “ The lovely Maude goes With thee
to England. Thou wilt be compelled to marry her to
Simon. Soften, as much as possible, her hard fate, and
watch over her interests, and comfort her with thy coun-
eels.”

“ It shall be done,” said Ingulfus, fervently.

“ Father, I would confess.”

And the young countess, in all her beauty and pride,
knelt at the feet of the venerable man, and With the sim-
plicity of a child, poured out her soul before him.

As Adela had predicted, the Conqueror, on his return to
England, took with him Maude, as the bride of Simon.
Robert sailed, also, in the same vessel, being commissioned
by the king to establish Simon, now Earl of Huntingdon,
in his new possessions.

W'illiam, too, accompanied his father, for he, more than
any of the sons, comprehended the policy, and partook 0f
the spirit of the Conqueror.

The remaining years of the Queen Duchess Matilda,
were passed in splendid solitude, in the royal palace at
Bayeux. The early death of the princess Adeliza, the
failing health of Constance, together with fresh dissensions
in her family, pressed heavily upon her mind, and oc-
casioned the lingering illness that sloWIy conducted her to
the tomb.

The loss of his beloved queen, and the undutiful con-
duct of his sons, aggravated the natural irritability and
imperiousness of William, so that according to the English
ehroniclers, “He became, after her death, a thorough
tyrant.” He passed the four remaining years of his life in
a constant succession of petty annoyances, and fruitless
wars, With Philip of F rance.

ADELA. 67

In the stately castle of Chartres, sat the lovely Countess
Adela apparently busy With embroidery, in that age almost
the only home occupation of females. A shade of sadness
was upon her brow, and an expression of anxious care in-
dicated the mother’s sympathy With the suffering child, that
an attendant was vainly striving to soothe.

“ Draw the couch 0f the little \Villiam to my side, The-
rese,” said the countess, observing the tears in the girl’s
eyes. “ Thou hast a tiresome task. Remove these frames,”
continued she to the maidens, “ and go ye all to disport
awhile in the pleasance, I Will watch my boy’s slumbers.”

The feeble child stretched his hands to his mother, and
laying his head upon her breast sank quietly to sleep.

“ Poor suffering one,” soliloquized Adela, “ thou knowest
naught but thy mother’s love. Already thy younger broth-
ers despise thy imbecility—the courtiers regard thee With
indifference~and the very menials flout thee. No ducal
coronet, 01' kingly crown Will grace the head of my first-
born.”

The sound of heavy steps in the corridor disturbed the
slmnberel‘. He lifted his head, moaned heavily, and re-
garded With a vacant stare the warrior who entered.

“ Robert, my beloved brother 1” exclaimed the countess,
the joy of former times flitting across her countenance.

With a moody and dissatisfied air the duke returned the
frank greeting of his sister, and throwing himself upon a
seat by her side, said in a tone of ill-concealed impatience,

“ Adela, I have come to thee, for the prudent counsel of
our mother dwells with thee. I am robbed of my rights
and stripped of my heritage.”

“ Art thou not Duke of Normandy,” inquired his sister
with surprise.

“Aye, verily. Our father left me the duchy With a
blessing that sounded marvellously like a curse. ‘ The
dukedom of Normandy,’ said he, ‘I granted unto my son
Robert, and having received the homage of his baronage,
that honor given cannot be revoked: yet he is a foolish,
proud knave, and Will be punished With cruel fortune.’ ”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

68 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

“ The saints preserve thee,” said the countess With a look
of alarm, “ and England”~—

Robert interrupted.,~—“ ’Tis of that I would speak. The
Conqueror bitterly bewailing the desolation and woe he
had wrought in England, protested that he had so misused
that fair and beautiful land, that he dare not appoint a.
successor to it, but left the disposal of that matter in the
hands of God.”

“ Thou shouldst then have been king,” said the Countess,
“ since God made thee his first-born.”

“So should I have been,” said the duke, “but for the
craft of William; but While I tarried in Germany,1itt1e
thinking that my father’s illness would terminate s0 sud-
denly, the red-haired usui‘per hastened over sea, and gain-
ing Lanfrane to his interest secured the throne.”

“Always unready,” sighed Adela. “And while the
elder sons were thus employed, the young Henry watched
by the bed of his dying father. Is it not so 2”

“ Small watching had the Conqueror’s death-bed,” said
Robert, With something between a smile and a sneer. “ The
filial Beauelerk set off to secure the treasures, and the at-
tendants equally rapaeious and inhuman, plundered the
house of all the money, plate, and precious furniture, and
even stripped the person of the monarch. 'And after
Herlwin had succeeded in conveying the body to the abbey
Of St. Stephen’s, and they were about to place it in the
grave, there stood forth an insolent noble, and forbade the
internment. ‘This spot,’ said he, ‘ was the site of my
father’s house, Which this dead duke took violently from
him, and here upon part of my inheritance founded this
church. This ground I therefore challenge, and charge ye
all as ye shall answer it at the great and dreadful day of
judgment, that ye lay not the bones of the destroyer 0n
the hearth of my fathers.’ And there, exposed to the
jeers 0f the assembled multitudes, was the body forced to
wait, While Henry drove a sharp bargain With the owner
of the soil, and purchased leave of burial for the paltry
sum of sixty shillings. Oh Adela 1” said Robert, rising

ADELA. 69

and striding through the apartment in extreme perturba-
tion, “I am weary of this greatness which makes enemies
of brothers, and yields one scarce a grave at last.”

The head of the countess was bent 10w over her sleeping
child : and the duke continued, “I sometimes wish I were
an eremite, and unless thy clear wit can devise some expe-
dient by which I can obtain my rightful inheritance, and
chastise the vanity of this presumptuous Rufus, I am re-
solved upon a pilgrimage.”

“ Thou saidst Lanfranc assisted William : our uncle Odo
hates Lanfranc,” said Adela.

Robert caught at the suggestion. “My sister, I thank
thee,” he exclaimed eagerly. “ Thou hast made me king.
I will to N ormandy, and summon my trusty squires to
council. Simon 0f Huntingdon, Hugh of Norfolk, and
William of Durham, are already disaffected and ready for
revolt. Odo shall head the conspiracy in England.”

Full of his new project the duke hurried away, scarce-
ly waiting for the pecuniary aid, with which the countess,
who knew the impoverished state of his finances, hastened
to furnish him.

The well-concerted scheme of the conspirators failed,
through the characteristic indolence and procrastination Of
Robert. Odo efl’ected an inglorious escape from England,
and the rebel earls gladly made terms With the king.
Many of the insurgents repaired to N ormandy, and suffered
”the confiscation of their estates ; and while the Countess of
Blois daily expected a summons to attend Robert’s corona-
tion, she was surprised by intelligence that William had
crossed the sea. with a numerous army, and by menaces,
bribery or fraud, had obtained possession of almost every
fortress, 0n the right bank of the Seine.

The barons who held lands under both brothers, labored
to effect a reconciliation through the mediation of the
French monarch.

Robert still reckoning upon the liberal aid of his sister
and her wealthy 10rd, resisted all overtures of peace ; but

 

 

 

 

 

 

70 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

Adela comprehending the hopeless defect of a character,
that not even a crown could stimulate t0 promptitude, pei-
suaded him to accept the terms of the treaty.

As the splendid cortege attendant upon the Countess of
B10is,and her young sons Thibaut, Stephen and Henry,
swept along the great road from Chartres t0 Blois, the
green arcades of a beautiful grove stretching down to the
brink of a small stream that rolled its clear waters to the
Loire, invited them to rest during the noontide hours.
With loosened rein the steeds wandered at Will cropping
the tender herbage, 0r slaked their thirst in the rippling
brook; While reposing upon the greensward, the party
made a refreshing repast. The children,1eftt0 the unre-
strained indulgence of their boyish glee, gathered wild
flowers for their mother, hallooed t0 the echoes of the wood,
or pursued each other along the banks of the stream.

Allured by the sound of their happy voices, the countess
left the company and stole after them, catching occasional
glimpes of their dancing plumes, as they bounded on before
her, till coming to an opening in the glen, she stopped be-
fore an antique crucifix that some pious hand had reared
upon the verge of a fountain. Occupied With the sweet
thoughts suggested by the place, she scarcely noted the ab—
sence of her children, till the little Henry, pulling her by
the robe exclaimed with a face all radiant with joy, “ This
way ma mere, Thibaut says we’ve found a hermit’s cell, and
Stephen is talking With the hermit.” Yielding to his im~
petuosity the countess hastened forward and discovered
sitting at the entrance of a sylvan 10dge,_just Where the
shadow of the cross fell longest at sunset, a youthful saint,
if saint he was, reading his breviary, and telling his beads
With affected sanctity.

“ Beauclerk I” said the countess after a scrutinizing gaze

t his half—concealed features/

“ Thou knowest me then,” said the pretended monk, in

a tone of bitter reproach, rising and throwing off his gray

ADELA. 71

friar’s gown and cowl. “I thought myself forgotten by all
my father’s house.” ‘

“ ’Tis our uncle Henry,” said Thibaut, amazed and cha—
grined at this transformation of his newly discovered her-
mit. ,

“ And hast thou then doubted the affection of Adela ?”
said his sister.

“ It were not strange that I should doubt the love of one
leagued with my foes,” replied the prince sorrowfully.

“ HOW leagued with thy foes ?” inquired the countess in
great surprise.

“ Thou surely dost not mock me,” said Henry marking
the tears trembling on her eyelids. “ Thy countenance he—
speaks thy sincerity. Have I then been the dupe, as well
as the prey of my designing brothers ?”

“ If thou hast distrusted the love of Adela, yes,” replied
his sister, “ but come thou with me. My lord awaits us at
the castle of Bleis. He shall investigate thy cause and re-
dress thy wrongs.”

“ Come with us, dear uncle,” reiterated the children 0b-
serving his hesitation.

“Yield thyself, rescue or no rescue,” said the young
Stephen balancing a stick as a lance, and leading off the
prince in triumph.

“ And hast then not heard of the siege of St. Michael’s
:Mount?” said IIenry as he rode by the side of his sister, at
the head of the cavaleade. .

“ A passing rumor, and much I fear in e, purposely per—
verted to restrain my interference, was all that reached
me,” replied Adela. “ Tell me all.”

“ Thou knowest,” continued Henry, “ that by the will of
our father, the duehy of Normandy fell to Robert, and the
rich heritage of England was given to William. Henry
had neither patrimony nor domains, some small treasure
was all my share. This I gave to Robert in the hour of his
need, for the lands of Cotentin, and then passed into Eng-
land,‘t0 secure the dower of my mother. On my return,
the prodigal having squandered the moneys received from

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

72 HmoxNEs OF THE CRUSADES.

me, seized and confined me in one of his fortresses. When
Normandy was invaded, he released me from my imprison-
ment, and I did him good service in compelling William
to raise the siege of Ronen. In the treaty to which thou
didst persuade Rnbert, I was the principal sufferer, and
therefore”—added he with warmth, “ did I deem that the
guileful duke, had stolen into the sanctuary of my sister’s
affections, and robbed me Of thy love, my choicest treasure.”

“ My much-injured brother,” said the countess, affection-
ately, “I knew not that thy interest was involved, else
I had given far different counsel. But proceed with the
story of thy wrongs.”

“My traitor brothers united like Pilate and Herod of
old,” proceeded Henry, With increasing asperity, “ seized
my castles in Cotentén, and dogged my steps like sleuth-
hounds on the track, till I took refuge in Mt. St. Michael,
Where the friendly tides kept them at bay; and there I had
perished With thirst, had not Robert’s tardy compassion
ministered to my necessity, and finally effected my release.
Since then, I have wandered a fugitive and an outcast,
craving scant hospitality of my brother’s vassals, and solac-
ing my weary hours With clerkly studies.”

“ Courage, my good brother,” said Adela, With enthusi~
asm. “Thou shalt wander no more. Count Stephen will
put thee in the Way to mend thy fortums; and, perchance,
thou Wilt one day inherit the proud fiefs of both thy
brothers. See! yonder gleams the spires 0f Bleis. But
What knightly train proceeds up the broad avenue of the
castle. Listen! The warder sounds his bugle blast, and
the drawhridge is lowered. Put thy horse to his met-
tle ; these laggards may follow at their leisure.” So say-
ing the countess and her brother dashed forwatd, and en-
tered the court-yard just as the retinue 0f the Duke of N or-
mandy wound up the staircase, leading to the great hall.

At sight of Robert, Henry’s eye flashed, and with an in-
dignant gesture he turned to depart, but Adela, with a
determined air, laid her hand upon his arm. “Remain,”
said she, “that portcuilis bars all egress from the castle,

ADELA. ' 73
and yen proud duke shall not escape till he has done
thee ample justice.”

Earl Stephen gave a cordial welcome to Robert, and
greeted his countess with much affection, but the entrance
of Henry threw him into evident perturbation, nor did it re-
lieve his embarrassment to see his wife, with characteristic
heroism, advance between the rival brothers, and fix her
flashing eyes upon Robert.

The noble conduct of the repentant duke happily avert-
ed the gathering storm.

"‘ Spare thy reproaehes, sweet sister,” said he, “ and
thou, my brother, forgive the grievous injuries thou hast
suffered, and accept the only reparation that lieth in my
power. I restore unto thee Cotentén, and would but for
my poverty indemnify thee for thy losses. I have deter-
mined on a visit to the Holy Land ; and I would dispose
my worldly affairs, so that should I never return, man shall
not accuse me before the throne of God.”

The frankness of his confession, and the seriousness of
his manner, allayed the resentment of Henry, and effected
- an apparent reconciliation. Harmony being thus restored,
Robert proceeded at proper intervals to unfold the desires
and purposes that had brought him once again to counsel
with Adela.

Since the treaty which confirmed William in the SOV-
ereignty of England, not only, but secured to him several
strong fortresses in Normandy, the duke had resigned
himself to Iistlessness and luxury. In his aimless expedi-
tions his attention had been frequently attracted by the
appearan® of a monk, who embodied in himself the spirit
of a hermit, a pilgrim, and a soldier. His head was bare,
his feet naked. His diminutive figure, attenuated by
frequent abstinence, was wrapped in a coarse garment.
His prayers were long and fervent, and the enthusiasm
that gleamed in his eyes kindled the fires of holy zeal, in
every town, village, and hamlet through which he passed.
As he rode along, every street and highway was thronged
with people, Who worshipped .the weighty crucifix he bore

 

 

 

 

 

74 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

aloft, and listened with sighs and tears, while he depicted the
sufferings of the Christians of Palestine, and with loud and
frequent appeals to Christ- and the holy mother, challenged
the warriors of the age to defend their brethren7 and rescue
~ the tomb of the Saviour from the dominion 0f Infidels.

Robert’s curiosity was excited. He joined the eager
crowds that followed the steps of the monk, and listened
to the thrilling words till the latent desire of pilgrimage
that had long slumbel‘ed in his mind awoke to life and
activity, and he became a convert to the preachings of
Peter the Hermit. But While he hesitated at the palmer’s
gown and staff, the united voices of chivalry and religion,
bade him don his armor and drew his sword.

In the general council of the ehureh, at Placentia, the am-
bassadors 0f the Greek Emperor iexius Commenus had porn
trayed the distress of their sovereign, and the danger of
Constantinople, from the victorious Turks. The sad tales
of the misery and perils of the eastern brethren, drew tears
from the assembly, and several champions deelared their
readiness to march to the East. '

The Greeks were dismissed With assurances of speedy
and powerful succor. Pope Urban had given his sanction
to the scheme, and summoned a second council to meet in
Oiermont the following November, to confer upon measures
for sending armed forces into Asia.

It was to secure the concurrence of Adela, and the co»
operation of Stephen, that Robert now came to Biois.

The representations of her brother, and the subject of his
hscourse renewed, in the memory of Adela, the fancy
sketches of her childhood, and called up the haif-formed
purposes of her early youth. \Vith the cleer-sightedness
peculiar to her character, she scanned the Wide field thus
opened to ambition, balanced the possible with the imprac-
ticable, determined for her brother the only course that
would givefree scope to his knightly abilities, and covet-
ing for her husband a share in the glorious enterprise, per-
suaded him to embrace the scheme, and thus rendered her-
self really the “ Hev‘oéne qf the First Grusacle.”

ADELA. 70

CHAPTER X.

“Onward they came, a dark continuous cloud
Of congregated myriads numberless.”

“T0 dispose of his worldly affairs so that man might not
accuse him before the throne of God,” was a more serious
and protracted work than the Duke of N ormandy had an-
ticipated. 'The patience of Stephen was in consequence
nearly exhausted, in waiting his preparations, and it was
not till the council of Clermont had been several days in
session, that the nobles entered the district of Auvergne.
As they approached the place Ofvmeeting, the highways
were thronged by the eager crowds that flocked towards
the city; and all the plains as far as the eye could reach,
were dotted With tents and booths, that afforded tempo-
rary shelter for the thousands that could not find accommo-
dation in the town.

011 the morning of the eighth day, at an early hour, the
reverend clergy, with the pope at their head, ascended a
\wooden pulpit, erected in the midst of the concourse, and
declared to them the decrees of the synod, concerning the
various matters at that time agitating the church. But ec-
clesiastical decisions and local interests were lost in the ab
sorbing theme that occupied every heart. The blessing of
Heaven was invoked upon their deliberations ; and a still-
ness fell upon the waiting multitudes, like the hush ot'
Winds before the n'iighty storm, while the Monk 0f Amiens
in a voice of persuasive eloquence and power, told them how
terrrible were the sufferings of their brethren in the East,
and how burdensome was the tribute exacted by the inhu-
man Mussulmans. He stated that lodging in the house of
Simon, the patriarch of Jerusalem, he had become an eye-
witness of these enormities, and had been commissioned to
invite all the princes 0f the West, to contribute towards
their remedy ; that on a certain day filled With grief, he had

 

 

 

 

 

 

76 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

entered the church of the Resurrection, and given himself
to prayer, till at length sinking upon the cold stone pave-
ment, there had breathed upon his senses,—first a soft strain
like a shepherd’s flute, SWelling into a heavenly harmony,
such as the advent angels sung, and then, triumphant an-
thems deepening into the trumpet’s thunder tone, and the
discordant clash of armor; that like Elijah of old he had
afterwards heard a still small voice, saying, “ Arise, Peter,
make haste and fulfil without fear, What I have enjoined
upon thee ; for I Will be with thee. It is time for the holy
places to be purified, and for my servants to be succored in
their distress ;” that immediately after the sei'aphie Vision
had beamed upon his sight, the brightness of the light
awoke him; when he beheld lying upon the altar a letter
containing the words of the Saviour ; and his own pilgrim’s
staff transformed into a sword.

The Hermit ceased; and held up the miraculous scroll
before the eyes of all the people. A wailing swept over
the vast tl]r01’1g,:md the whole multitude bowed, as the
forest bends before the first rush of the tempest.

Seizing upon the favorable moment, the pontiff arose
and addressed the assembly. “My brethren and dearest
children, Whether kings, princes, marquises, counts, barons,
01' knights, all you Who have been redeemed by the bodily
passion, and shedding of the blood of our Lord J esus
Christ, hear the complaints of God himself, which are ad-
dressed to you concerning the wrongs and unlooked-for in-
juries, Which have been done to him in Asia, where sprang
the first germs of our faith, Where the Apostles suffered
martyrdom, and Where at the present day, the persecuted
Christians with stifled sighs, long for a participation in your
liberties. Have compassion upon your brethren that dwell
in Jerusalem, and in the coasts thereofl—check the ins0<
lence of the barbarians, and you will be extolled through-
out all ages—let your zeal in the expedition atone for the
rapiue, theft, homicide, licentiousness, and deeds of incen-
dial‘ism, by Which you have provoked the Lord to anger,——~
turn against the enemies of Christ those weapons, which

ADELA. 77

you have hitherto stained with blood, in battles and tourna-
ments against yourselves. To those present, I command
this; to those absent, I enjoin it. For ourselves we will
trust in the mercy of the Almighty God, and in virtue of
the power He has given us, and by the authority of the
blessed Apostles, Peter and Paul, we absolve all who en-
gage in this holy war, from all the offences which they
shall repent in their hearts, and with their lips confess, and
in the retribution of the just we promise to the same an
increased portion of eternal salvation. And this forgive-
ness shall extend also to those Who contribute by their sub-
stance 0r counsel to its success. Go then, brave soldiers,
and secure to yourselves fame throughout the world. God
will accompany you on your march—the season of the
year be propitious, both by the abundance of fruits, and by
the serenity of the elements. Those who shall die, will sit
down in the Heavenly guest—chamber, and those who sur-
vive Will set their eyes on the Saviour’s sepulchre. Happy
are they who are called to this expedition, that they may
see the holy places in which our Lord conversed with man,
and where to save them he was born, crucified, died;—
was buried and rose again. Take then the road before you
in expiation of your sins, and go assured that after the
honors of this world have passed away, imperishable glory
shall await you, even in the kingdom of Heaven.”

Loud shouts of ‘ God wills it,’ ‘ Grod wills it,’ pronounced
simultaneously in all the different dialects, and languages,
spoken by the nations of which the multitude was com-
posed, for a moment interrupted the prelate. Command-
ing silence by a motion of' the hand, he resumed.

“ Dear brethren, to-day is shown forth in you, that which
the Lord has said by his evangelist, ‘then two or three
shall be assembled in my name, there shall I be in the
midst of them.’ For if the Lord God had not been in your
souls you would not all have pronounced the same words,
or rather God himself pronounced them by your lips, for it
was He who put them in your hearts. Be they then your
war—ery in the combat, for those words came forth from

 

 

78 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADEs

God. Let the army of the Lord When it rushes upon his
enemies, shout but that one cry, ‘ Deus vult,” ‘ Deus vult.’
Oh brave knights I remember the Virtues of your ancestors ;
and if you feel held back from the course before you, by
the soft ties of wives, of children, of parents, call to mind
the words of our Lord himself, ‘VVhosoever loveth father
or mother more than me is not worthy of me. VVhosoever
shall abandon for my name’s sake, his house, or his breth-
ren, or his sisters, or his father, or his mother, or his wife,
or his children, or his lands, shall receive an hundred fold,
and shall inherit eternal life.’ Gird yourselves then, my
brave warriors, for the battle, and let him who is ready to
march, bear the holy cross of the Lord upon his shoulders,
in memory of that precept 0f the Saviour, ‘ He Who does
not take up his cross and follow me, is not worthy of me.”’

The agony of conflicting emotions that shook the assem-
bled throngs, burst forth in a storm of sighs, groans, and
tears, and as the trees of the forest fall prostrate in the
blast, the agitated multitudes sank upon their knees, smote
their breasts in sorrow, poured forth their confessions, and
consecrated their persons and their property to the Holy
Crusade. 1

CHAPTER IX.

“ There the Wild Crusaders form,
There assembled Europe stands,
Heaven they deem awakes the storm,
Hell the paynims’ blood demands.” CARLYLE.

THE results of the council of Oiermont were speedily felt
throughout Europe. No nation was so remote, no people
so retired, but, gaining the intelligence by common rumor,
or miraculous revelation, commenced preparations for the
mighty enterprise.

The Welshman forsook his hunting,——the Scot his native

ADELA. 79

mountains,—the Dane forgot his wassail-bowl,-the Nor-
Wegian left his fishing-tackle on the sand. Whatever was
stored in granaries 0r boarded in chambers, to answer the
hopes of the avaricious husbandman, or the covetousness
of the miser, all was deserted, or bartered for military
equipments.

“ Zeal and sympathy, and im’lignation and chivalrous
feeling, and the thirst for glory, and the passion for enter-
prise, and a thousand vague, but great and noble aspira-
tions, mingled in the complicated motive of the Crusade.
It increased by contagion—it grew by communion—it
spread prom house to house and from bosom t0 bosom—it
became a universal desire—an enthusiasm—a. passion—a.
madness.”

Princes labored like peasants at the forge or in the ar-
mory. High-born dairies abandoned their embroidery, and
employed their delicate fingers in fabricating garments for
the retainers of their lords.

The Countess of Blois laid aside the famous Bayeux
tapestry, which her mother had left for her completion, and
accompanied her husband from castle to castle, through
all their wide domains, presiding over the labors of her
maidens, While With pious zeal they stitched the red cross
upon the sureoats 0f the warriors.

Robert pledged his ducal domains to the grasping Rufus,
for a sum of money scarcely sufficient to meet the expenses
of the expedition; and Edger Atheling bestowing his 01'-
phan nieces in the nunnery of Wilton, joined the train of
his friend.

Godfrey, Duke of Lorraine, a prince of the royal house of
France, assembled his followers, from the banks of the Rhine
t0 the Elbe ; Raimond of Toulouse, and Adhemar, bishop of.
Puy, called the Moses and Aaron 0f the host, collected the
Goths and Gaseous, and all the mingled people between the
Pyrenees and the Alps ; Bohemond 0f Apulia commanded
the tribes from the Tuscan sea to the Adriatic, While volun-
teers from all parts of Europe flocked to the standards of
these noble leaders“9 01' joined the band of the Hermit himself

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

80 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.-

The long-looked-for time was now at hand, when the
hoary garb of winter being laid aside, the world clad in»
vernal bloom, invited the pilgrims t0 the confines of the
East. And in the beginning of March, 1097, the masses
of European population began to roll. The first band that
swept on through Germany into Hungary consisted. of'
twenty thousand footmen, marshafled’ under Waiter the
Peuniless. Then followed Peter the Hermit, with forty
thousand men, women and children. Next a German
priest headed fifteen thousand enthusiasts, and another
band of two hmnéred thousand unarmed and disorderly
people hurried on by the same path; and ere these despe—
rate adventurers had reached the borders of the Grecian
Empire, Europe ghttered with musterihg hosts of warriors
arrayed in 9.11 the pomp and splendor of chivalry, and led;
by the greatest warriors of the age;

Few Chieftains brought so many soldiers to the standard
of the cross as Stephen, Count of Blois and Chartres. But
notwithstanding the precipitate zeal of Robert, and the
pmmpt and politic measures 01‘ Adele}, the summer was
wasted in idle delays; and it was not till the autumnal
equinox that these distinguished nobles joined the forces of
Hugh, Count of Vermandois, and crossed the A1ps,.intend-
ing to proceed by sea to the Holy Land. They feund Pope
Urban at Lucea, and received from him the standard of St.
Peter. The autumn was passed in the gaiety and dissipa-
tion of Italy, where the earls disposed their troops,» for Wine
ter-quarters. Count Stephen returned once more to Elois,
already dissatisfied with the prospects of the expedition.
In the ensuing spring, one year after the time designated
by the pope, with Robert and Hugh, and their united
forces, the husband of Adela embarked for Palestine; In
the meantime numbers, disaffected by the first encounter—
ing of difficulties, returned to claim subsistence from the
bounty of the Countess of Blois.

“ Methinks, my beneficent sister,” said Henry, observing
her charity towards the miserable wretches, “ if thou hadst
seen you beggars sell their flocks and herds for a. few shih-

A-DELA. ' 81

lings, thou. wouldst be better inclined to laugh at their
folly than relieve their poverty.”

“ Adela counts it not folly for a man to sell all he bath
for the kingdom of Heaven’s sake.”

“I fancy,” said Henry, laughing, “ that those self—sacri—
ficers have an eye to the ‘ manifold more in this life,’ rather;
than to the heavenly inheritance; and some, I trow, under-
stand by the kingdom of heaven, 3. principality in Pales-
tine.”

“And were not the establishment of Christian powers in
Asia a worthy purpose ?” returned Adela, little pleased at
her brother’s insinuations.

“ Certes, my beloved sister. But wherefore didst thou de—
tain thy unworthy Beauclerk, is there not kingdom 0r duchy
for him Z”

“Nay! I scarcely claim the merit of detaining thee,”
said Adela, “ since I suspect that a stronger tie than com-
passion for my lone estate has withheld thee.”

“ That a tender interest in the declining health of the
Red King somewhat influenced my decision I cannot
deny,” replied Henry, evasively.

“And had the superlative beeuty 0f the Red King’s
ward no influence ?” said Adela, pressing her advantage.

“ Nay, sister, since thou divinest my secret,” said Henry,
frankly, “I Will e’en tell thee all. Perceiving that thy
crusades would draw from the Norman power its military
strength, I deemed it Wise, in case of my brother’s death,
to entrench myself in the affections of the English people,
by uniting my personal interest With the Saxon race. Ac-
cordingly, when Robert sent me to England to negotiate
the mortgage of his duehy with Rufus, I visited the nun—
nery of Wilton, With Edgar Atheling.”

“ And then sawest there the fair novice, Matilda,” in-
terrupted Adela.

“ Call her not novice, she seems the name, and hath a.
spirit like a queen. In presence of her uncle the Atheling,
she tore the hateful veil from her head, and trampled it
under her feet.”

6

 

 

 

 

 

 

82 ' HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

“ And did the spirited damsel smile upon thy suit 2”

“ I proffered no suit save to her uncle.”

“ And what said the Atheling to thy visionary scheme 2”

“ He promised to give her to me With his blessing, on
his return from the crusade.”

“ But here comes another son of Cushi, with tidings for
the Countess of Blois. Judging from his tattered garments,
and limping gait, his story must eclipse all that have gone
before. My ‘ visionary schemes’ shall not claim the atten-
tion that should be devoted to this magnificent eastern am-
bassador ;” and with a smile of irony Henry took his de-
parture.

The appearance of the individual who entered the pres-
ence of Adela, and the tidings he brought, fully justified
the sarcastic‘conjeotures of Henry. He was a refugee from
the party of Walter the Penniless, a band whose only rec-
ommendation for the Holy war was their poverty. Before
setting out, each one was searched, and the man upon
Whose person was found the sum of two sous, was booted
from the camp. Animated by a blind fanaticism, they eX-
pected that rivers would be opened for their passage ; that
flesh would be miraculously supplied ; manna rained from
heaven upon them, and the smitten rock send forth its
cooling stream. The hospitality of the Hungarians con-
firmed their faith ; but When they entered the kingdom of
Bulgaria, the illusion vanished, and the famine-stricken
multitudes, abandoning their presumptuous trust in heaven,
resorted to carnage and plunder. The exasperated inhabi—
tants fell upon them without fear or mercy. Many were
slain, numbers fled to the forests, and a remnant of the dis-
appointed devotees attempted to retrace their steps to their
own land.

After listening to the account of the miserable fugitive,
Adela remarked, that the misfortunes of the company
doubtless proceeded from their forgetfulness 0f the last
directions of the Saviour: "‘ He that hath a purse let him
take it, and likewise his scrip, and he that hath no sword
let him sell his garment and buy one.”

ADELA. 83

“ Ah, lady i” said the wretched fanatic, “ think not that
our misfortunes arose from 0111‘ want of money or arms, but
rather through 0111‘ impatience to be gone, that led us to set
out on Friday, instead of waiting for the holy rest of the
Sabbath.”

The countess was residing With her family in Troyes,
When she gave audience to another of her “ eastern ambas-
sadors,” as Henry joeosely called them.

This man arrived at nightfall, on a sorry mule, the self-
same animal that a few months before, under Peter the
Hermit, had led greater hosts to battle than Bucephalus
under Alexander, and Which had enjoyed such a reputation
for sanctity that even his very hairs were devoutly treasur-
ed as relics. Now, jaded and dispirited, With drooping
head and pendant ears, the poor beast slowly paced his
heavy way up to the gates of the castle. His rider seemed
no less bowed With g1ief and fatigue, and weaiily dismount-
inn, he meekly waited among the sewants, till summoned
to the pi esence of his mist1ess.

“ You behold,nob1e lady,” said he, “ one of those indi-
viduals whose fate it is to biing ruin upon every expedition
in Which he embarks.”

“ Miserable man,” exclaimed Adela, “ hast thou betray-
ed the army of the Lord 2”

“ God forbid that I should have been guilty of so foul a
deed,” said the pilgrim, devoutly crossing himself; “ but
the curse of Jonah rests upon me. Evil was the day When,
impoverished by the wars of Duke Robert, I plundered the
sacred vesseis of a church, and melted and sold them, to,
obtain food for my starving family. The crime lay he y
011 my conscience, and t0 expiate its guilt I joined the and
of the Hermit. But my sinful love for my ehildien p1e-
vailed ovei my devotion, and Satan tempted me With the
thought, that weie they pe1mitted to accompany me, they
at least might win the c10wn of ma1ty1d0m, though thei1
father should sufi'er the punishment of his sins. With
much difficulty and labor, we scraped together means to
purchase a yoke of oxen and a cart, and the charity of my

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

84: HER’OINES or THE CRUSAD‘ES

noble countess (heaven reward thee)=pr0vided raiment for
my poor old father and helpless infants. Heaven pardon
me, but my wicked heart was inflated with pride, as seat-
ing my precious ones in the vehicle, I walked by their side ;
and pleased was I as we reached any town or city, to hear
the little ones inquire7 if that were Jerusalem. F001 that
I was not to remember the Saviour’s words, ‘ He that for-
saketh not all that he hath, cannot be my disciple.’ There
were many who, falling into the same error, cumbered the
train with useless baggage, and many feeble and sick, both
men and women, caused that our route was tedious and
slow. The heat of summer came on, and the weariness 0f
the way seemed to increase. My children forgot their in-
nocent prattle, and stretched their tender limbs upon the
floor of the cart. The old man, my father, slept, and we
could not wake him ; and my Wife gave me the infant from
her breast—it was dead—and we buried them by the way-
side. This was the beginning of sorrows. But the borrow
of my crime flashed upon me, when certain sons of Beliat
among our company, set fire to the houses, and commenced.-
to plunder the people through whose villages we passed.
The inhabitants armed against us, and I shudder to describe
the bloody scenes which followed. Enraged at the wanton
attack, they rushed out upon us, fell upon the rear of the
army, glutted their wrath with the blood of all that opposed
them, and destroyed that part of the multitude whom weak-
ness left without defence. My Wife and sons fell victims
to their fury, and Therese, my lovely daughter, was tom
shrieking from my arms, and carried away by a brutal
ruthan.”

“ Unhappy Therese,” said Adeia, dropping a tear. “ My
poor William has pitted for his patient nurse.”

“ In the extremity of my desperation,” continued the
pilgrim, “ I rushed into the thickest 0f the fight, and sought
fer death; but in vain. My crimes were too great, and I
was reserved to money the loss of those for whose dear
sakes I had perilIed‘ my ‘seul.

“ 'Deploring the min that my sins, and the sins of such as

ADELA. 85

me had brought upon the ho]ypi1grims,I determined to
hide myself in a convent, and seek by a life of penance,
the pardon I hoped to have found at the Saviour’s tomb;
and finding the deserted mule of our leader, wandering
upon the border of a marsh, I mOunted upon his back, and
begged my way hither.”

The countess gave him money for the remainder of his
journey, to the monastery of Caen, and with a heavy heart
dismissed him.

A German monk of great sanctity resided in a solitary
cell in the forest of Troyes. The fame of cures, effected by
him, through the medium of invisible agents, led the
countess to consult him With regard to her invalid son.
Thibaut and Stephen, with a small train, accompanied her
to the hermitage.

On their return their way was obstructed by a crowd,
collected about a grotesque-looking figure clothed partly
in armor, and partly in priestly robes. His head was or—
namented with a cap like that Of a merry-Andrew, at the
top of which flourished a feather cut in the form of a cross.
From his shoulders hung numerous thongs7 to Which were
attached boxes and bags of various colors and dimensions,
and a rosary of small human bones was suspended about.
his neck. This he occasionally shook with demoniac glee,
as an accompaniment to songs, Whose sentiment strangely
alternated between piety and profanity.

“News from the wars,” shouted be approaching the
cavalcade.

“Holy relies for sinners all, ‘
The thumb of St. Peter, the tooth of St. Paul.”

“Yea more—Babylon has fallen—the Jews, the Jews— ;
Shadrach, Meshaeh, and Abednego, are consumed in the
burning fiery furnace—Ha! ha! How the flames crack-
led and sparkledeow the Loug-beards winced and writhed
~Ashes! Ashes !” said he, throwing the contents of one
Of the boxes into the faces of the spectators—“ Yea morew—

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

86 111211013113 OF THE CRUSADES.

“ The crusaders. followed the spirit divine,
And water and blood it turned into wine;
That made us strong for the slaughter.

Drink—heal——wassail,”—and he poured from a bottle a
noisome liquid, from Which the crowd shrank back in dis-
gust.

“ The demons shrieked in the forest—and the little fiends
winked in the marshes—they showed us the way to the
holy sepulchre—hridges 0f corpses—rusty armor-glaring
eyeballs. HOW the wolves howled on our traek—and the
black ravens croaked over the dying—Twas rare sport to
hear them groan.

“ The goat led his followers up the steep rock,
The goose flnpped her Wings, and headed the flock;
List to the sound of the martyrs’ bones;”

and the lunatic broke into a Wild fantastic dance, rattling
his boxes and shaking his horrid rosary with demoniac
frenzy.

The countess was here relieved from her involuntary at-
tendance upon the frightful exhibition, by the approach
of Prince Henry, who having consigned the madman to
proper care, dispersed the crowd, and permitted the train
proceed.

In reply to Adela’s anxious inquiries, he informed her
that the miserable creature Whom she had seen, had he-
longed to a mada‘abble, that set off for the Holy Land
Without leader or guide, held together only by the strange
infatuation of adoring a goat and a goose, Which they be-
lieved to be filled With the divine spirit.

Their malignant zeal was directed principally against
the Jews, Whom they exterminated Wherever they came.
The Hungarians denied them a passage through the coun‘
try. The fanatics attempted to force their way across the
Danube. The nation rose to arms, and for several days
smote them With such slaughter, that the fields were strewed
With the slain, and the very waters of the river were hidden
by the multitude of the corpses.

ADELA. 87

“ HeaVen punished their impiety With a loss of reason,”
said Adela, with a sigh.

“ Their impiety began with a loss of reason,” said Henry,
drily. “ Thy pardon, sweet sister, but the heralds of thy
grand expedition and the tidings they bear, remind one of
the evil messengers of Job, each man having escaped alone
to tell thee.”

“ \Ve have as yet gained intelligence 0n]y from the ill-
appointed and barbarous hordes that encumbered rather
than aided the expedition. When we shall receive news
from warriors, Whose heroic courage executes the plans of
temperate Wisdom, I trust that the disasters of 0111‘ foes
will form the theme of conversation,” said Adela, With
much spirit.

“Nay, I meant not to vex thee,” returned Henry, sooth-
ingly, “ arid to prove my desire of peace, I have brought
with me a flag of truce,” and he handed her a letter from
her husband.

Adela’s letter from Stephen contained the most gratify-
ing intelligence. Completely duped by the artful policy
of Alexius, the count gave a glowing description of his re-
ception at Constantinople, and the splendid ceremony by
which the Latin chiefs did homage to the Greek Emperor,
for the cities they hoped to Win in Palestine.

He described the magnificence of the city, and enlarged
upon the advantages Which the holy legions would derive
from this allegiance, both in supplies of money and provis-
ions. He stated that Alexius had already furnished ships
to convey them across the Bosphorus, that a part of the
army were already in Asia Minor, and expatiated upon the
munificence of their Imperial host, Who each week present-
ed the leader of the expedition With as much gold as two
slaves could bear upon their shoulders.

Delicately alluding to the favors bestowed upon himself,
he closed the epistle by presenting the monarch’s request
to the mother, that her son Stephen should be sent to Con-

 

 

 

 

 

 

88 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

stantinople, to receive princely nurture at the most refined
and elegant court in the world.

Tears of affection and gratification filled the beautiful
eyes of the countess, as gazing upon her blooming boy, she
murmured, “ My son may yet wear the diadem 0f the Cae-
sars. My father was styled The Conqueror, because he
added a poor island to his duchy of Normandy, but what
title shall he bear who restores a continent to the dominion
of Christendom '5”

For the three following months the countess received 110
certain intelligence concerning the fate of the crusade.
There were rumors of famine in the christian camp, and
stories of dreadful battles with the Infidels; but the state-
ments were vague and unsatisfactory.

Prince Henry had been absent for some time quelling
an insurrection in Normandy, and the loneliness of Adele’s
situation, together with the anxiety of her mind, filled her
thoughts with melancholy forebodings, and subdued the
natural Vivacity of her manners.

The prince upon his return, was alarmed by the pallor of
her countenance, and the sadness of her tones.

“ Cheer thee, my sister,” said he, “ thou wert, indeed, a
prophet, to declare that the victories 0f the warriors would
compensate for the disasters 0f the rabble crowds.”

“ Art thou the bearer of good tidings '9” said. Adela, a
flush of hope irradiating her features.

“Aye, verily,” returned the prince, With exultation, “ a
well-authenticated account of the victories 0f the cross, em
bellished with as pretty a Passage of Arms in Cupid’s tilt-
yard, as the Romancers could well desire.”

“ Sport not with my impatience,” said Adela. “ Tell me
the name of thy messenger, and the news he brings.”

“The messenger is Gilbert 0f Becket, a Saxon esquire of
Edgar Atheling, and, therefore, direct from Duke Robert
and Count Stephen. He sailed with them across the ‘Ionian
Sea, and carried the shield of his master at the grand
parade, in Constantinople.”

ADELA. 89

Ad ela interrupted him. “ I know all to the time of their
departure from that city. How have they sped in their
encounters with the Infidels Z”

“ The first place of importance Which they attacked,” re-
plied Henry, “ was Nice, the chief city of Rheum, occupied
by the Seljoukian Turks, Who exacted tribute from all the in—
habitants of Asia Minor. The Sultan Soliman hearing 0fthe
coming of the crusaders, left his capital defended by a strong »
garrison, and hastened t0 the mom] tains levying troops in all
directions. The first body of croises that reached the city,
was led by Godfrey 0f Boulogne, and Hugh 0f Vermandois, ‘
Who took up their position on the eastern side. Raimond
of Toulouse, and the Bishop of Pay, encamped 0n the south,
while Robert of Flanders, and Bohemond of Tarentum
pitched their camp upon the north. And of this Bohe-
mond, the noble chief of Otranto, I must tell thee. Forty
Norman gentlemen Who had distinguished themselves in
the wars of our father, returning from a pilgrimage to the
Holy Land, disembarked in- Italy. Learning that the
Prince of Salerno was besieged by the Saracens, they threw
themselves into that town, and being supplied With arms
and horses, soon compelled the Infidels to retire. After
their return home, deputies came to Normandy from the
prince imploring their further assistance. In consequence
of his promises and persuasiens, several bodies of adven—
turers, at the head of Whom was Robert Guiscard and his
eleven brothers, emigrated together, cleared the south of
Italy from the locust-like invaders, and established them-
selves lords of Apulia and Oalabria. Robert Guiseard
spent most of his life in wars With the Greek Emperor, and
was finally poisoned by Alexius. Bohemond, the son of
this Guiscard, espoused the quarrel, and was preparing to
avenge his father’s death, but When he heard the crusade
proclaimed, his chivalrie spirit at once caught the flame.
Dashing his armor to pieces with his battle-axe, he caused
them to be formed into small crosses, Which he distributed
among his followers, and abandonng his possessions in
Italy, joined the pilgrims with his cousin, Tancred, a

 

 

 

 

 

 

90 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

youth distinguished for beauty, valor, generosity, enthu-
siasm—”

“I care not,” said Adela, “ though he were as beauti-
ful as Absalom and wise as Solomon. There are two less
distinguished chiefs, who possess far more interest for me
than all the warriors in Italy.”

“ OF those thou shalt hear anon,” said Henry. “ When
this Bohemond was in Constantinople, the emperor sought
to win his friendship.”

“ Return not to Bohemond again,” interrupted the coun-

'tess, “ ’tis of Stephen and Robert I WOuld hear.”

“NOW, sister,” said Henry, playfully, “thou knowest
not what thou refusest. “7111 it not please thy woman’s
curiosity, to hear of the magnificent rooms of the Blaquer-
nel, filled with stores of money and jewels, costly garments,
and rich silks 0f unheard—of value, that Alexius gave Bohe~
mend to secure his allegiance.”

“Nothing Wiil please me,” said Adela, “ but to know
what is the fortune of my husband.”

“ And that Will please thee well,” said Henry, breaking
into a playful laugh. “ Stephen, triple Count of Blois,
Chartres, and Champagne, the husband of my gifted sister,”
bowing to the countess, “ son—in-Iaw of William the Con-
queror, father of earls, and I doubt not of kings, the most
beautiful, accomplished, eloquent, and prudent man of the
times, was chosen president of the council of chiefs.”

“ Heaven bless thee for thy news,” said Adela, in a.
transport ofjoy ; “ and Robert 2”

“ Justifies bis youthful soubriquet 0f ‘unready.’ He
came last to the siege of Nice. His troops, however, were
fresh and Vigorous, and When he approached the city by
the west, which position had been left for his encampment,
he scanned, with a fearless eye, the double walls, defended
by three hundred and fifty towers, filled With bowmen, and
spearsmen 0f the most determined valor. He drew up the
lwarriors of Normandy, with those of Blois and Chartres,
and a band from Boulogne, where a. great part of the peo-
ple led by “Walter the Penniless and Peter the Hermit had

 

ADELA. ‘ 91

been defeated and slain. The Infidels in mockery had
furmed here a great pile of their bones, and covered them
with earth ; so that when Robert arrived with his forces, he
pitched his tent just beside the green sepulchre Of those
who had found martyrdom on that very spot. Peter the
Hermit, with the remnant of his forces, sdon after joined
the besiegers, and the army, as they were then numbered,
consisted of 600,000 infantry and 100,000 mailed cavalry.
Each man confessed his sins, and the sacrifice of mass
being offered, they commenced the erection Ofengines, and
other preparations for the siege. Soliman himself was en-
camped upon the mountains, scarcely ten. miles off, watch-
ing in What manner he might best free his city from the
enemies that clustered around it. Two of his messengers
were intercepted by Godfrey. They confessed that they
were sent to concert with the besieged a double attack
upon the christian camp. The crusaders immediately pre-
pared for the conflict. By break of day the Mosiems be-
gan to descend from the hills, and issue from the town.
The Christians received them everywhere with determined
valor, repulsed them on all points, became in turn the
assailants, and all the plain around Nice grew one general
scene of conflict. This attack was twice repeated with the
same result, and the sultan was at last compelled to retire,
astonished at the lion-iike courage of the Franks, who
with a thousand latices, could charge, and easily put to
flight twenty thousand Turks. But amidst these splendid
achievements, which the Saxon Gilbert described, with
gfeat vividness, he said it was mournful to see the pilgrims
at nightfall collecting the dead bodies of their companions
and bearing them in sad procession to the cypress groves
adjacent, where by the melancholy glare of the torches
they buried them without coffin 0r shroud.

“ To intimidate the besieged, the croises cut off the heads
0.1" the fallen Mosiems, and shot them from their engines
into the city.

“ The Turks invented a horrid method of retaliation. Long
iron hooks were let down from the walls, by Which the

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

92 7 HEROINES or THE CRUSADES.

bodies of the slaughtered Christians were seized and drawn
up through the air, and after being stripped and maimed
were again cast forth upon the ground.

“ Young Gilbert being wounded and lying insensible, was
grappled and drawn into the city in this manner, but find-
ing that life was not extinct, they delivered him over to the
care of Soliman’s physicians, who tended him as a prisoner
of note. The siege had been protracted to some length
and the Christians had succeeded in undermining a huge
tower at the north-eastern angle of the wall. The Sultana,
alarmed at the loss of this important defence, determined
upon flight. Several boats were prepared, and the Queen,
with her train, among Whom was young Gilbert, attended
by a dark-eyed daughter of an Emir, beautiful as an houri,
attempted to make her escape at night by way of the lake.
As the little fleet moved stealthily in the shadow of the
overhanging cliff, Becket siezed a bow, and dexterously
discharged an arrow towards the nearest outpost of the
christian camp.

“The twang 0f the bOW-string attracted the attention of
the Mosiems, but Zaida perceiving the danger of her fa-
vorite smote the strings of her harp, and thus, ingeniously
reproducing the sound, made the whole appear the result
of accident.

“ Becket afterwards learned, that the dart fell at the very
feet of the sentinel dozing by the watchfire, who started
up, aroused his comrades, and soon the knights of Duke
Robert swarmed along the shore.

“The Paynims plied their oars in vein, the Normans in—
tercepted their flight. The Sultana was taken prisoner, and
only the boat of the Emir With the disappointed Gilbert
escaped capture.

“The Christians having thus discovered the means, by
Which the City was supplied with provisions, procured boats
from Constantinople and converted the siege into a. block-
ade. A11 hope now abandoned the Turks, and about the
time of the summer solstice they offered terms of cepitu
lation.

ADELA. ~98

“ The necessary negotiations were in progress, when Tatius,
the lieutenant 0f the subtle Alexius, entered into a private
treaty With the besieged, and While waiting for the gates
to be opened, with indignation and astonishment the Chris
tians discovered the imperial ensign floating upon the walls
of Nice. Alexius endeavored to appease their wrath by
distributing rich bribes among the chiefs, and largesses
among the private soldiers, but dissatisfied and exasperated
they struck their tents, and departed without setting foot-
Within the city they had conquered.

“Meanwhile, the captive Becket, Wits conveyed to the
army of the Sultan, and though his ardent spirit ehafed at
restraint, and panted for the fight, his impatience was
soothed' by the tender attentions, and sweet songs, of the
Emir’s daughter.

“ Soiiman, with the Whole of his force, amounting to
200,000 men, hung upon the rear of the crusading army,
concealing his own evolutions, by his perfect knowledge of
the country, and watching those of the eroises with the
keen anxiety of a falcon hovering over its prey. By some
mischance, Robert and Bohemond were separated from the
main body of the army. They encamped nevertheless 011
the banks of a beautiful stream, in the valley of the Gor-
gon, and passed the night in repose. Scarceiy had they
commenced their march, on the following morning, When
the immense army of the Sultan appeared upon the hills.
From his station upon a lofty eminence, Becket had oppor—
tunity to watch the progress of the contest,' and from chris-
tian captives that were brought to the camp, he learned
many particulars concerning his companions.

“ Our brother Robert, with a vigor and promptitude f'01L
eign to his character, drew up his forces, formed a rampart
0f wagons and baggage, and exhorted his men to meet
With bravery the overwhelming shock. The terrific cries
of the Turks, as they bore down upon the little hand, the
tramp ot' cavalry~the ringing of arn’10r——the clash of
shields——the trumpets 0f the christian hosts—the shouts
of the chiefs and heralds, raised so fearful a din that

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

94; HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES,

none could distinguish the war-cry of friend from foe.
Becket perceived, however, that the Christians dropped the
points of their long lances, and prepared to receive the
heavycharge upon their swords, When suddenly each Moslem
raised his bow, as he galloped forward, a thick cloud seemed
to hide all objects from his sight, and two hundred thousand
arrows dropped death among the followers of the cross.”

An involuntary shudder shook the frame of the countess,
and she pressed her hands upon her eyes, as if to shut out
the dreadful vision.

Her brother continued, “The European chivalry spurred
up the hill against their assailants. The Turks, as was their
habit, yielded ground on every side, avoiding by the fleet-
ness of their horses, the lances 0f the knights, and like the
Parthians of old, continuing their fearful archery, even as
they fled. Again they wheeled, and With fiendish yells,
fell upon the diminished band, encompassing them within
the valley; and fast as the Infidels fell beneath the tre-
Bmendous blows ot' the Norman battle—axes, new foes stepped
into their places. Borne back by the growing multitude
that pressed upon them, the knights gave way before the
Saracens, and were driven struggling against the very pikes
of the foot~soldiers, that were advancing to their support.
The Christians wavered. At this critical moment, Robert
revived all the courage of his heart, and baring his head
in the midst of the fray, seized his banner, and clear
and far above all the roar of the conflict, Becket distin-
guished his cry of, Normandy! Normandy t0 the rescue!
The crusaders rallied, and stood again to their arms, and
the Turks were driven back. Again the Saracens bore
down upon them, giving them not a moment of repose.
Thick and fast was mown the flower of Christian chivalry,
soldier beside soldier, and knight beside knight. In the
glimpses granted by the rapid evolutions 0f the Aral) cav-
alry, Becket could see the women of the camp bringing
water from the river to the fainting troops, and bathing the
wounded and dying. Thus the battle lasted for many
hours, when the eye of the Saxon soldier perceived a cloud

 

ADELA. 95

of dust rising behind the hills. Then came banner, and
pennon, and lance, and glittering armor, and the Red Cross
fluttering 0n the wind. In scattered bands spurring on
their horses for life, on came the western division of the
croises. None waited for the others, but each hastened t0
the fight, and rank after rank, troop after troop, shouting,
‘Deus vult,’ ‘Deus ’vulzfi,’ rushed over the mountains to the
valley of the battle. The christian war—ery thrilled the
heart of the heroic Gilbert, and he panted once more to
j oin the standard that bore the emblem of our holy religion.
Tearing off the White turban that Zaida had bound about
his brow, he held it up aloft, vainly hoping to attract the
attention of his countrymen, and regain his liberty. But
all were too intent upon the rout of the Infideis, to notice
the signal, and his heart sunk within him, as the emir, fear-
ing total diseomfiture, commanded the slaves to carry away
the women and prisoners to a strong fastness in the moun-
tains. As they led him along the brow 0f the hill, he still
kept his longing eye fixed upon the scene of conflict, and
distinctly discerned at the head of the division of Raimond
and Godfrey, the forms of two canonized martyrs, in armor
glittering above the brightness of the sun; and he could
perceive that their presence struck terror into the heart of
the enemy. But farther particulars concerning the battle
he could not learn, except from the Saracens themselves,
who seemed sadly discomfited, and hurried on in advance
of the christian army, through Phrygia and Cilicia, laying
waste the villages, and making a desert of the country
through Which they passed. At Tarsus he was separated
from his faithful Zaida, and lodged alone in a Paynim
tower, overlooking the Cydnus. Here he pined iu loneli-
ness day by day, gazing through the arrOW—slit upon the
never-varying hills, or watching wearily the waterfowl
sporting upon the bosom of the stream. The christian
host passed beneath the very walls of his tower. He distin-
guished the forms of Robert, and Stephen, and the Athe-
ling, and the armorial bearings and ensigns 0f the various
detachments of European chivalry, and he struggled like

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

96 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

an imprisoned bird to be free. He shouted the honored
names of the leaders, and the potent war—cry 0f the Chris-
tians ; called on the Saviour, and Mary, and every saint in
the calendar for release; but in vain. The walls of his
prison alone echoed his cry; n0 ear heard his voice; no
eye was lifted towards his lonely turret. He watched till the
last cross disappeared in the distance, and overwhelmed
With despair, sank in agony upon the floor.

“ The moon was riding high in heaven when he was awa—
kened by the light touch of a delicate hand, and the soft
voice of Zaida whispered, ‘Gilbert! England 1’ the only
Saxon words he had taught her. He started up, and an
exclamation of joy mounted to his lip. But Zaida, With a,
warning motion, imposed silence, and beckoned him to fol-
low her. Silently be tracked his stealthy way through the
mazes 0f the castle, guided by the Vision that glided on be-
fore him, more like a spirit of the air, than a being of earthly
mould, and the young Englishman had dizzy work to follow
her down a rude stone stair, Winding t0 the base of the
cliff, where a little skiff was moored. She motioned him
to embark. He obeyed, and turned to place her by his
side. She was gone. Far up the steep he saw the last flut-
ter of her white robe. He sprang to follow, but a strong
arm dashed him to the bottom of the boat. The rowers
bent to their ears, and the little bark glided noiselessly
down the stream.”

“ Did he rejoin the christian army 3” said Adela.

“ All along the banks of the river,” replied Henry, “ he
beheld, with torturing gaze, the watch-fires 0f the christian 1
camp, and heard the password repeated by familial
voices, but the pirates, for such they were, permitted hin
neither to speak nor move. Reaching the sea of Cyprus
they put him on board a vessel, and he was conveyed t;
Brundusium.”

“ And were these pirates Infidels ?” inquired Adela.

“Saracens they were not,” said her brother, “but to
what extent they believed in our holy religion Becket was
not preparedte state. They spoke several dialects of the

ADELA. 97

Europeans, and at the commencement of the crusades,
turned their course towards the Holy Land, in the pleasant
hope of serving both God and mammon With the sword.”

“ And what farther chanced t0 the Saxon ?” inquired the
countess.

“ He returned through France, and When I saw him at
Feschamp, had engaged his passage to England. And now,
dear sister, I have come to take my leave of thee, in order
to accompany him.”

“ The news thou hast brought has removed a burden from
my heart, and nerved me to my duties,” said his sister.
‘ But Wherefore wouldst thou to England ?”

“ I have learned that the Duke of Bretagne is pressing
his suit with the fair Matilda, and I must away to see that
the prize be not riven from my grasp.”

“Hast heard aught 0f the Countess of Huntingdon '9”
inquired Adela.

“Aye, and strange news concerning her have I for thine
ear. Thou knowest ’tis scarce a twelvemonth since the
death of her husband Simon; and she has again entered
the holy estate of matrimony.”

“ Impossible 1” exclaimed Adela. “She who so longed
for the quiet of conventual life 1”

I “ She was forced to forego her own inclinations to escape
the tyranny of Rufus,” returned Henry.

“ Poor Maude I” said Adela, “ her life has been a con-
tinual sacrifice to the selfish interests of others.”

“Her patient meekness disarms even her cruel fate,”
said Henry. “ Simon always regarded her With the most
devoted affection, and made her sole heir to all her father’s
former possessions. It is said that our brother Rufus had
fixed his eye upon the charming widow, and that to avoid
his addresses, she accepted the hand of David, prince of
Scotland.” .

“ She will then be thy best advocate With David’s sister,
Matilda.”

“ Truth,” said Henry. “ The future Queen of Scotland
shall aid to place the crown on the head of the future Queen

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

98 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES

Of England. Farewell. When I come again I hope to pre-
sent thee my lovely bride.”

“ Heaven speed thy purpose,” said the countess, fer-
vently, and thus they parted.

CHAPTER XII.

“I rather tell thee what is to be feared,
Than what I fear.”

THE administration of the affairs of her domains, render-
ed it difficult for the Countess of Blois, in the absence of the
most vigorous part of the population, to provide for the nu-
merous families, left dependent by the wars; and the in-
creasing helplessness of her idiot son, added greatly to the
burden of her cares. ’Twas Christmas morning, the anni-
versary of her betrothal. A crowd had assembled in the
grand cathedral of Chartres, to unite in the sacred solem-
nities 0f the day, and to witness the christening of Lucy,
the infant countess. So occupied was Adela with the im-
pressive scene, that she did not observe the entrance of
several knights, on whose noble forms and toilaworn liabili-
ments, the eyes of the multitude were riveted with the
most intense curiosity ; nor did she notice, while the bishop
sprinkled the babe With the holy-water, and consecrated it
to God, that their leader had advanced to the altar and
knelt beside her at the font: but when the warrior stretch-
ed out his arm to receive the white—robed cherub from the
hands of the priest, she turned to see her husband gazing
with unutterable tendernesg upon his infant daughter, whom
he now beheld for the first time. '

The unexpected return of their 10rd gave an additional
impulse to the festivities 0f the day among the numerous
retainers 0f the count. I

When the joyous greetings and congratulations were

ADELA. 99

over, and Adela and Stephen were left to the free inter-
change of their own thoughts, the countess, who suspected
that some misadventure had occasioned this unannounced
arrival, led the way to an explanation. “ And wherefore
comes not Robert with thee 2” she inquired.

“ Methinks thou mightest spare thine asking,” said Ste-
phen, looking fondly upon her. “ Robert has not those ties
that draw me to my native land. Adventure and war are
wife and children to him.”

“ Did wife and children draw my husband from the
paths of glory and the cause of God 2” replied the countess,
apprehensively.

“ Those paths which thy imagination ihvests with glory,”
said Stephen, “ are but the tracks where reptiles and sav-
age beasts have found their way, among craggy rocks and
thorny bushes, bleeding deadly venom. We followed them
through deplorable suffering, and were conducted to disas-
ter and defeat. And as for the cause of God, if thou hadst
seen the vices of these holy croises, and the hardships they
endured, thou wouldst have deemed either that they were
not the people of God, or that the Almighty took little note
of the sufferings of his faithful servants.”

“ ’Tis the faint heart that feels the toils of the way, and
distrusts the care of Providence,” said Adela, reproach-
fully. “ Did not the vows 0f knighthood alone forbid thee
to abandon the holy cause ?”

“ T0 abandon a cause forsaken by God and man, were
the dictate of prudence,” retorted Stephen, stung by the
censure of his beloved countess.

“ Prudence is born of cowardice,” replied she, with un-
abated warmth. “ I have hitherto heard of deeds of valor,
not of desertion; of Victory, not of defeat.”

“ Thine ignorance then excuses thy violence,” said Ste-
phen ; “ but if thou wilt listen patiently to thy 10rd, thou
mayest perchance become better informed.”

“I Will listen to nothing that brands my Stephen with
cowardice I” exclaimed Adela. “ My heart exulted in the
thought that the president of the chiefs would counsel them

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

100 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

to worthy deeds !” and the haughty woman burst into tears
of mingled tenderness and mortified pride.

“ By the crucifix at Lu‘cca I” exclaimed Stephen, rising
in wrath, “ an thou Wilt not listen to reason, ’twere vain
to talk.”

“ And if reason determined thy return, Wherefore comest
thou alone 2” said Adela, striving to conquer her emotion.

“Alone I” replied the count. “ Of the multitudes that
left Europe at the preaching of Peter, three fourths have
returned already or fallen victims to their folly. The Her-
mit himself has fled from the sight of miseries that he was
impotent to relieve and unable to endure. Baldwin has
joined a piratical band that ravage the coast of Cilicia.
Raimond, of Toulouse, languishes the victim of a pestilen-
tial fever. Godfrey, the soul of the expedition, torn and
lacerated, in an encounter with Wild beasts, lies prostrate
With his wounds; nay, the Count Melun, and Tatius the
lieutenant of Alexius, have withdrawn their forces; and
when sickness compelled me to retire for a season from the
siege of Antioch, fifteen thousand Turks, from the heart of
Asia, Were on their way to join the myriads that surround
the christian camp.”

“And What kind hand tended thy illness '2” said the
countess, her tenderness returning at the thought of his Suf-
fering.

“ The bivouac of the soldier admits few of those atten-
tions so grateful to an invalid,” replied her husband, much
softened. “ However, my indisposition was of short dura-
tion, and I should have rejoined my companions, had not
intelligence reached me that caused me to abandon all hope
for the success of the enterprise.

“I tell thee that the project of subduing Asia is utterly
foolish and vain. The Greek empire, the barrier of Eumpe
0n the east, is little less infidel than the sons of Islam; and
every conquest of the Christians is claimed by Alexius as
feudal 10rd. He wrested from us the city of Nice in the
Very hour of victory. On my return, I met him at the
head of his army ‘on the way to take possession of Antioch,

ADELA. > 10.1

and by representing the power of the Turks turned him
from his purpose.”

“But do not the people of God always triumph in the
battles with the Infidels ?” inquired Adela.

“ In single encounter or in a fair field,” replied Stephen,
“ the croises are uniformly victorious : but valor wields no
weapon against famine and disease. Our army, at such
a distance from their own land, must be dependent for sup-
plies upon the grace of Alexius, each victory, therefore, but
lays the foundation for another contest, and were Palestine
delivered from the Turk, it would require still greater eX-
ertion, to wrest it from the Greek.” The countess was
silenced by reasoning which she could not answer, but
against which all her feelings revolted. Yet though she
apparently acquiesced in her husband’s decision, her heart
was keenly alive to every rumor that might reflect upon his
fame. Nor were her feelings soothed, by hearing that the
pilgrims besieged in Antioch, enfeebled by disease and
wasted by famine, reproached Count Stephen, as the cause
of all their miseries; since he had withdrawn his own
forces, not only, but turned back the armies that were has-
tening to their relief. Her pride and ambition were deeply
wounded by these reports, and when she learned that the.
Christians, at the very point to die of starvation, had bound
themselves never to abandon the cause, till they had press-
ed their lips upon the Holy Sepulchre; that Visions of
saints and apostles, had reawakened energy and activity in
their wasted ranks, that the lance that pierced the side of
the Saviour, had been discovered and that a “ bright squad-
ron 0f celestial allies,” had closed in with the battalions
of the christian army and pursued the Saracen legions from
the vale 0f the Orontes, she felt that her husband had not
only tamely resigned an earthly crown, but had by the
same cowardly act forfeited an heavenly inheritance. In
the agony of her disappointment and chagrin, she vowed
she would give him no rest till he returned to the Holy
Land, to wipe out with his blood if need be, the foul stain
upon his honor.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

102 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

In this state of mind Stephen found it impossible to in-
terest her in any of their accustomed occupations and
amusements. News from the Crusade alone restored her
wonted animation, and as these tidings, generally, reflected
little honor upon himself, he suppressed as much as possi-
ble all intelligence from the East, and contrived to pass his
time in distant parts of his domains. The torturing sus-
pense 0f the countess at length induced her secretly to dis-
patch a messenger to Italy. He returned bearing a tran-
script of an ofiicial letter, which the chiefs of the Crusade
had sent to Pope Urban. After giving the details of the
march from Antioch along the sea-coast past Tripoli,
through the country of Sidon t0 Ramula, the letter went
on. ‘“ Thence our troops continued their route to the village
formerly called Emmaus, and like the disciples of old ‘our
hearts burned within us,’ when there came to us certain
brethren from Bethlehem to comfort us, after all our fa-
tigues, and to welcome us to this holy-and beautiful land.
Sleep was banished from every eye, and ere midnight was
well passed, every man animated by the fervor of hope and
the intensity of desire, had girded on his armor and come
forth from his tent, prepared for the last conflict. We
wandered along the highways and fields, in darkness ; but
at length the heavens blushed with the glorious suddenness
of eastern dawn, and as the sun shot his level rays across
the sacred brow 0f Olivet, the holy city lay before our eyes.
‘Jerusalem I Jerusalem !’ was repeated with tumultuous
wonder, by a thousand tongues. Every fatigue, every
danger, every hardship, was foi‘gotten, and the warrior be-
came at once a simple pilgrim; his lance and sword were
thrown aside, and the passion which stirred every heart,
was clothed with divers gestures. Some shouted t0 the
sky—some wept in silence——s0me knelt and prayed—some
cast themselves down and kissed the blessed earth—‘all
had much to do to manage so great a gladness.’ Taking
off our shoes, we trod the sacred ground with naked feet,
and thus proceeding, came in front of the city and pitched
our camp upon the north, between the gate of St. Stephen

ADELA. 103

and the tower of David. It was early summer, the harvest
was upon the ground, the grapes were ripe upon the vines,
and before the waters of the autumnal equinox, dropped
upon us out of heaven, the ensign 0f the cross was floating
upon the walls of Jerusalem. For having long assailed
the bulwarks in- vain, we prepared movable towers of great
strength, which we rolled to the walls, commenced the as-
sault, not as in former times at the sound of drums and
trumpets, but with the inspiring melody of hymns and
ps5hms, While the priests bowed on Mt. Zion and prayed
for the aid of heaven on the ensuing conflict. The Infidels,
to manifest their rage, erected the symbol of our holy re—
ligion, and cast dust upon it, but the Lord was with us,
and the sacrilegious insult was well atoned by their blood,
for while Godfrey and Baldwin leaped from a tower and
planted a banner upon the battlements, Tancred and
Robert burst open one of the gates, Raimond and his fol—
lowers scaled the walls, and thus we have freed the city
from the dominion of the Infidels, and avenged the cause
of heaven. We laid down our arms, washed our hands
from the bloody stains, put on the habiliments of repent—
ance, and in the spirit of humility, with uncovered heads
and reverent feet, walked over all those places which the
Saviour had consecrated by his presence. The ghost of
the departed Adhemar came and rejoiced with us, and the
spirits of the martyrs who perished on the road from Europe
to Jerusalem, appeared and shared in the felicity of their
brethren. The whole city was influenced by one spirit,
and the clamor of thanksgiving was loud enough to have
reached the stars. Thus in the year of our Lord 1099, was
the city of Jerusalem added again to the dominion 0f
Christendom, on the very day and hour of the crucifixion
of the Saviour. At this auspicious time, Pope Urban second
sits in the Roman see ; Henry is emperor of the German,
and Alexius of the Grecian empire. Philip reigns in France
and \Villiam Rufus in England, whilst over all men and.
all things, reigns our Lord Jesus Christ forever and ever,
to Whom be honor and glory for endless ages.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

104 'HEROINES OF THE CRUSADESL

CHAPTER XIII.

“I have deeply felt
The mockery of' the shrine at Which my spirit knelt.
Mine is the requiem of years in reckless folly passed,
The wail above departed hopes on a frail venture east."
WHITTIEK.

ACTING upon the hint of Adela, Prince Henry repairect
immediately to Huntingdon and secured the good oflices
0f Maude and her husband, in efiecting a communication
with the beautiful novice Matilda. He was thus enabled
to counteract the efforts of his powerful rival VVal'renne,
Earl of Surrey, to whom Rufus had promised her hand.
Deeming it unsafehowever to quit England, he tari‘ied at
court and paswd his time in hunting and hawking, accord-
ing to the manners of' the age. The New Forest was the
constant scene of dissolute pleasures. The sweet solemnity
of the deep woods was daily disturbed by the Bacchanal
revel, and the pure echoes of the deli were forced to answer
the loose laugh and thoughtless imprecation. Godly men
lifted up their voice against the eorruptions 0f the age, and
saintly priests warned by omens and dreams, admonished
the Red King on a certain day, to avoid the glen in which
Prince Richard was supposed to have contracted his fatal
disease. But the impious Rufus, With. studied contempt
led the chase that way, diverting his attendants- wi-th ribald
jests upon the warnings he had received. “ Come Deer’s
foot,” said VVarrenne, tauntingly to Prince Henry, “ yonder
bounds the stag. The fair hand of Matilda to him who
brings the antiered monarch down.” “I have broken the
string of my al‘blast, and must repair to the but of this for-
1‘ester to replace it,” replied Henry coldly. “ Come on, ye
laggards. HOITyrrel, thou and I alone will be in at the
death,” cried Rufus, putting spurs to his horse. As Henry
entered the cottage, a weird wife rose up as if from the
ground before him, chanting in Norman French,

‘3

l
d

 

ADELA. 105

“Hasty news to thee I bring—
Henry, thou art now a king.
Mark the words and heed them well,
Which to thee in sooth I tell.”

The closing words were interrupted by hurried cries of
alarm and distress. The prince turned, and the ihorror-i
stricken Tyrrel, whose erring shaft had slain the king,
dashed past the door. Comprehending the whole afiail‘ at
once, Henry remounted his horse and rode full speed to
Winchester, forced the keys from the keeper, and took
possession of the regalia and royal treasure. The people
thronged round him in the streets, and while the nobles and
prelates were debating on the claims of Robert, the popu-
lace, whose allegiance he secured by the promise of English
laws and an English Queen, made the city resound with
loud shouts of “Long live King Henry.” Within three
days he was crowned at Winchester, by the bishop of
London.

Scarce a month after the Countess of Blois was apprized
of these events, the tardy Robert arrived at Chartres. He
had lingered in Apulia to woo Sybilla, the fair cousin of
Bohemond, and now returned to claim his inheritance,
after his younger brother was securely seated on the throne.
The countess received him with the greatest joy, and hon-
ored his peerless bride with the most distinguishing atten—
tions; but when she learned that he depended upon her
good ofliees with Stephen to secure assistance in a Ifi-edi—
tated invasion of England, her love for her favorite brother

_ Henry, and her apprehension of the unsteady rule of Robert,

moved her to dissuade him from the scheme, and she se-
cretly pred that he might be made instrumental in in—
ducing her husband to return again to the Holy Land. She
learned from Robert the various success of the leaders of
the crusade. While some were still carving their way with
the sword, Bohemond was Prince of Antioch, Baldwin 0f
Edessa, and Godfrey enjoyed the enviable distinction of
being King Of Jerusalem.

“ The voice of fame has spoken oft to me of the prowess

 

 

 

 

 

 

106 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

of 'my brother Robert,” said she. “ Did not his peers
deem him worthy a principality in Palestine?”

“ Nay, it needed not the sufi’rages 0f the chiefs, since heav-
en itself preferred my poor claims above all others,” replied
Robert. “ When a king was to be chosen, the bishops gave
to each leader a waxen candle, and directed us to walk in
procession to the Holy Sepulchre. As we advanced within
the sacred place, a sudden flame kindled upon the taper I
held in my hand, but at that moment a Whisper 0f Rufus’
death swept across my spirit, and remembering the throne
of England I dashed out the light.”—

“ Unhappy man !” exclaimed the countess. “ Thou hast
refused the call of heaven. Look not for success in any
future enterprise. Hope not that divine sanction Will back
thine endeavor, and expect not aid 01' suecor by thy sister’s
intervention.”

“By the Holy Rood,” shouted Robert in wrath, “ thou
Queen’st it well for a woman Whose Graven husband was
the first to desert his standard. It were indeed the part
of a madman toexpect assistance from the dastard earl.”
Before the anger of the countess gave her voice to reply,
he strode from her presence.

Meantime, Henry hearing that Robert had arrived in
Normandy, strengthened his power by conciliating the
English nation, and took prompt measures to redeem his
promise of giving them an English Queen. But for some
unaccountable reason the Saxon princess seemed averse to
quitting her gloomy convent, nor would she consent to be—
stow her hand upon the handsomest and most accom-
plished sovereign of his time, till he had promised to con-
firm to the nation all the ancient laws and privilege‘fi'estab-
lished by her great ancestor Alfred, and ratified by Edward
the Confessor. When a digest of these rights and immu-
nities had been made, and a hundred copies committed
to the care of the principal bishoprics and monasteries of
England, she consented to become “ the bond of peace to a
divided nation——t11e dove 0f the newly sealed covenant
between the Norman sovereign and her own people.”

ADELA. 107

The efforts of Robert, delayed till Henry’s power was
thus consolidated, of course proved ineffectual. He wasted
the munifieent dower of his beautiful Sybilla, in idle feast-
ing, and having buried his lovely wife the third year after
their marriage, he gave up Normandy to Henry, for an
annual pension, and was finally taken in a revolt, convey-
ed to Cardiff Castle, where in a sort of honorable captivity
he passed the remainder of his useless life.

The spirit of crusade was still active in Europe, and
combined with this spirit, was the hope of gain, springing
from vague and exaggerated accounts of the wealth and
principalities which the leaders of the first expedition had
acquired. The devastated lands of Palestine were soon
settled by families who immigrated from pecuniary or
pious motives, and not long after the death of Godfrey, and
the election of Baldwin I. to the throne of Jerusalem,
several bodies of armed men set out to join their brethren
in Asia. Count Stephen, wearied With the incessant impor-
tunities of his ambitious Wife, shamed by the example of
Hugh, Count of Vermandois, and stimulated, perhaps, by
the hope of obtaining easier conquest, and less dangerous

"honors, consented to return to the Holy Land. At Con-
v'stahtinopie they met with Raimond of Toulouse, who was
yetui-ning for assistance, and proceeded under his guidance.
On their way through Asia. Minor, they encountered the
Turks, lost one hundred thousand mengtogether With Hugh
0f Vermandois, who died of his wounds, at Tarsus. Rai-
mond of Toulouse was slain at Tripoli, but Stephen, Count
of Blois, with the rest of the leaders proceeded straight to
Jerusalem; and having by the completion of his pilgri.
ma.ge, wiped out the disgrace of his first desertion, embark-
ed on board a vessel to return to Europe. The heart of the
countess dilated with pride and joy, as from time to time
' she heard of his noble deeds, and with feelings akin to
the romance of her youthful admiration, she hourly eX-
pected his return. One evening, sitting thus alone, a ser—
vant announced, thatva monk in the anteroom craved per-
mission to speak with her. The countess ordered him to

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

108 HEROINES OF THE CRUSAD‘ES.

be instantly admitted, and her heart sickened With a sad
foreboding, as a diminutive figure veiled in palmer’s weeds
stood before her.

“ Speak thine errand quickly,” said she, pale and breath-
less With agitation. “ What of my 10rd ?” He replied only
by an upward motion of the hand, and Adela knew that her
husband was dead. She sank back in her seat and clasped
her hands, but .kept her eyes fixed With the intensity of the
keenest emotion upon the face of the monk. “ Tell me aH,
good father,” said she, in a voice nervously firm.

“I know little, noble lady,” replied the palmer, “ and
though I have come all the way from Palestine to bring
thee tidings, my story Will be brief. Thou hast, doubtless,
heard of the poor services of Peter the Hermit, in awaken-
ing the attention of Europe to the low estate of Jerusalem.
When by Divine favor I had been so blest as to conduct
the greatest warriors of the age to the conquest of the Holy
Sepulchre, and had seen the Christians thus relieved- from
Turkish oppression, fall at my unworthy feet, and call
down blessings upon my head, I felt to exclaim Iike Simeon
of old, ‘Lord, lettest now thy servant depart in peace,
since mine eyes have seen thy salvation.’ With the deep-
est humiliation, for having in a moment of temptation,
wavered in faith, I thought to found a monastery upon
the shores of Lake Gennesareth, Where I might have the
example of the sinking Peter ever before mine eyes. One
evening, as I. walked upon the shores of the sea, revolving
these things in my thoughts, I felt myself suddenly seized
from behind. A bandage was thrown over my eyes, I
was forcibly lifted from the ground, placed upon a mule
and hurried forward. I attempted to cry out, but a hand
was laid upon my mouth, and a voice Whispered in Anglo-
Norman, ‘ Fear not, old man, thou art among friends, and
hidden only to labor in thine holy calling.’ Thus assured,
I ceased my struggles. How far I was conveyed, I know
not, but when the bandage was taken from my eyes, I
found myself in a wild cave of the mountain, by the side
of a dying crusader, and recognized in the pale counte-

ADELA. 109

nance before me, the lineaments of Stephen Earl of Blois.
‘Take courage, noble count,’ said the voice that had be-
fore spoken in. mine ear, ‘I have caught a priest whose
ghostly counsels will speedily prepare thee for the long
journey, which all must sooner or later take.’ With a
tenderness which one would scarcely 100k for in such a
savage, the chief raised the dying earl, and gently sup-
ported him while I received his directions concerning cer-
tain affairs, and ministered the last rites of our holy faith.
The count pressed me to promise that I would, myself,
bring to thee the epistle, which he had with much pain and
difficulty indited. And when I hesitated, by reason of the
monastery which I had resolved to found, be summoned
all his remaining strength, and While I guided his trem-
bling hand, drew for me a deed of the vale 0f Montier, and
bade me bring it to thee for thou wouldst ratify it, and en-
dow the abbey by thy bounty. Scarcely had he finished it,
when his wounds bleeding afresh, a deadly faintness seized
him. The chief laid him back upon the cushions. I held
up the crucifix before his eyes, and murmuring a prayer in
Which were mingled the names of wife and children, he
expired. That night I gave him christian burial beneath
one of the cedar—trees of Mount Lebanon, the swarthy bar-
barians holding torches, and looking with reverent awe
upon the solemn scene. Before morning I was again blind-
folded, and conducted to the sea-coast, and put on board a
vessel bound for Italy.” So intent had the Hermit been
on his narration, that he had not observed the countess,
pale and rigid as though turned to stone; and When she
clutched with convulsive eagerness the parcel he extended,
he bowed and withdrew.

She tore Off the envelope, and the scarf Which her gill
ish hand had wrought in the hours of her first sweet love,
soiled and b100d~stained, fell across her lap, and crept ac-
cusingly to her feet. She opened the letter and read~

“ T0 Adela, my best and only beloved, thy Stephen
sends this last token of affection. In this my dying hour
it is my sweetest consolation to feel that with my sword I

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

110 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

have pierced the cloud that has so long been between us,
and that could I see my Adela, she would smile upon me
as the loved and honored husband of her youth. I have
bathed in the Jordan, and worshipped at the sepulchre;
but it was the human love and not the Divine, that bap-
tized my soul with joy, and whispered pardon to my
wounded spirit. I have sofight for glory in the land of
patriarchs and prophets, and I have found it; but in the
accents of fame my ear has heard only the voice of Adela.
The Eternal saw mine idolatry and punished it. Adverse
winds drove back the vessel that was to hear me to my
native land. The King of Jerusalem called upon us again
for aid. “We fought in the plains of Ramula, seven hun—
dred knights against the Whole force of the Turkish army.
Hemmed in on every side, we fell, bravely defending the
standard of the cross. Fainting from loss of blood, my
dull ear heard the cry of ‘Allah ackhar.’ Like one dreaming
I called upon the name of Hardrager. Immediater the
0ch man came to me and stanching my mortal wound, bound
it tightly with the scarf which I had thrown across my
breast to animate me, for the conflict. I was conveyed
away, and awoke as did Ingulfns, in the cave of the Assas-
sins. I know that I shall die. I cannot long sustain the
pressure of the ligament, and when once ’tis loosened my
last blood will flow. Hardrager has promised me christian
burial, and sent for a priest to shrive my parting soul.
Think of me kindly, proudly, my best beloved. Teach my
sons to honor their father’s name, for he died fighting in
the Holy Land. Kiss my darling Lucy, the sweet babe
who unconsciously smiled upon my return.- Darkness
gathers upon my sight. The forms that gladdened my youth-
ful days pass before me, and the fairest among them all is
my bride, my Adela.” A few more words were indis-
tinctly traced, the page seemed blotted with tears, and the
name of Stephen was scarcely legible.

Years passed over the spirit of the Countess in the in-
tense agony of that one night. Her heart-strings strained
to their utmost tension by the power of this mighty woe,

ADELA. 111

thenceforth gave no response to the light fingering of ordi-
nary circumstance. The tender solicitude of friendship,
the sweet prattle of childhood, the hilarity of mirth, the
consolations of religion, and the schemes of ambition, were
endured and accepted with the same passionless apathy.
She made a journey to Normandy, and arranged a recon-
ciliation between her brother Henry and the primate An-
selm with her accustomed wisdom. She Visited Boulogne,
and presided at the nuptials Of her son Stephen with her
wonted grace. She gave her Lucy t0 the Earl of Chester,
with a mother’s blessing, and saw her depart in the fatal
1White Ship without emotion. But when she again stood at
the door of the abbey 0f Feschamp to welcome Maude once
more to Normandy, the curtain 0f retrospection was lifted,
and the whole drama of her life passed before her. Adela
and Maude I The disparity between the happy child and
the sad captive was less striking than the contrast between
the elegant and stately Countess of Blois, and the serene
and gracious princess of Scotland, who now met after life
had gathered the bloom of their youthful beauty, and left
the indefinabie shades which character traces upen the hu-
man countenance. Fixed and calm were the features of
Adela, once radiant with vivacity, but their repose was the
death of emotion, and their calmness was not resignation,
but submission to inexorable fate. The face of Maude,
still fair and beautiful in the strength of its repose, beamed
with the serene benignity of inefi‘able peace, and she
seemed one, the joyonsness of whose inner life found occa—
sion for an overflow of beneficence in every outward oc-
currence.

Again they journeyed together through the scenes that
witnessed the triumphal progress of William the Conqueror.
But it was now the task of Maude to soothe the spirit of
her friend, bound with the chain of remorsefuI regret.
Cicely, celebrated for her piety, had become lady abbess
0f the convent of Caen, and it was the intention of the
countess to enter the nunnery under her care. In fitting
up her dormitory Adela had laid aside all her accustomed

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

112 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

magnificence, and the only relic of her former state was a
gorgeous curtain that divided her oratory from the cheer-
less apartment, chosen as the home of her future years.

“ Maude,” said she, as they sat together there, “remem-
berest thou the riddle of life and love that once formed our
theme of converse in an hour like this? How thy heart
pined for the convent, and. mine shuddered at its gloom.”

“ Aye,” said Maude, “ well do I remember it, and often
have I smiled at the presumption which made me attempt to
solve the greatest mystery of human existence, and arrogate
to myself the choice of the future; when the highest wisdom
leads only to the faithful performance of daily duties.”

“I mind me now,” replied the countess, “ that thy gentle
admonition pointed to that efi'ect.—But I scorned control,
and when I saw the cruel policy by which my father
strengthened his dominion, I determined that my hand
should never seal the bond of a political alliance, and it
was not till after years that I learned that the meeting be-
tween Stephen and myself resulted' from a preconcerted
plan to bind me to one whose mild virtues would counteract
my unholy aspirings. Thy instructions had taught me the
power of a righteous purpose, and I sought its aid to com-
pensate for what I considered a defect in my husband’s
character, vainly hoping that ambition, sanctioned by re-
ligion, would secure its reward. With fatal skill I wrought
upon his generous affections till he relinquished the dear
delights of his family, to seek barren laurels, and find a
lonely grave on a foreign shore.”

“ Reproach not thyself,” said Maude, tenderly.

The countess heeded not her interruption. “ Thou and
I,” said she, “ have wrought for different ends, and the re-
sults for which I toiled have come to thee unsought.”

Maude would have replied, but the passionate woman
proceeded. “N ay, let me speak ; for since my great grief
has fallen upon me, I have unburdened my heart to no one;
As a captive thou didst bring a blessing to the household
of the Conqueror ; thy sweet spirit moulded the rude
Simon into a benefactor of his dependents, and I know well

ADELA. 1 13

that it was thy benevolent wisdom w‘hich instructed Ma-
tilda to secure the liberty of England, and the stability of
Henry’s throne. Thy silent sacrifices have made the rich
current of thy life one stream of beneficence, while my err-
ing spirit has converted the bounties of heaven into foun-
tains of misery. My wicked pride found occasion in
the imbecility of my fii‘st-born \Villiam for ceaseless
repining, and sowed the seeds of sorrow in the hearts of
my other noble beautiful children. Thibaut is in arms
against his sovereign, Stephen a pensioner 0n the fickle
humors of a king,Hen1’y seeks 'preferment through the
church, and my lovely Lucy, the darling of her father, lies
entombed in the sea. Oh! Maude I Maude ! my best and
truest friend, pity her whose only occupation through long
years has been ‘to write bitter things against herself I’
But I might have known it all,” continued she impetuously,
“ for heaven through thy intercession deigned to warn me
of my fate, and I would not tell thee lest thy gentle love
should win me from it.”

She drew aside the curtain 0f the oratory, and led the
princess within the shadow. Through the oriel windows
the mellow light of the autumnal sun fell softly upon the
altar, where stood beside the crucifix the crystal urn con-
taining the hallowed dust of Palestine. The scarf of
Stephen, with its golden embroidery rusted, and its bright
pearls dimmed with his blood, was wound round the
precious love-gift, and fastened with the thorn obtained
from Ingulfus.

“ It seems but yesterday,” said she, tenderly detaching
the baldric, “since I held this up before thee With pride
and pleasure, and in careless wonder saw thee wreathe it in
the canopy of my couch. But that dream, now that my
whole life looks a dream, seems the one reality of my ex—
istence. 1 shall tell it thee, for my spirit already feels the
balm of thy gentle sympathy.

“My slumbers were at first broken and disturbed. I
seemed with Stephen and Robert in an eastern land, hur—
l‘ying over rocks and sands, a tiresome, weary way, in pur~

8

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

114 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

suit of a crown which constantly tempted, but eluded the
grasp. First I missed Stephen from my side, then Robert
disappeared, and at last I sank down among myriads 0f
wretches perishing of thirst. I woke in terror, and it was
long ere I could compose myself again to rest. IVhether
I slept again I know not, but as I lay gazing into the depths
of the heavens, my vision seemed to pierce beyond the
stars ; and from the uttermost distance came one winging
his way past the bright orbs, till he stood within the case-
ment, the impersonation of my lover.

“ My scarf lay upon his breast, and his right hand held out
to me an urn, pure as though formed of consolidated light,
upon whose amethystine entablature was engraven Iluman
love. As I extended my hand, and clasped the precious
treasure, the shattered inscription fell to dust in the vase.
I raised my eyes,—he threw a pitying smile upon me, and
immediately there sprang up from the ashes a celestial
flower, and as each living petal unfolded, there floated off
a radiant line of light bearing the sacred words Divine
Love, till the whole air was filled with redolence and
beauty.

“The ringing of the matin chimes recalled me to con-
sciousness, and my bright vision was absorbed by the
flood of glory Which the morning sun poured into the
apartment.

“ Thou saidst truth l” exclaimed Maude. “ Thy dream
is a reality; for in the ashes of Ifcomcm, Love, the Divine
plants the sweetest hopes of existence.”

The long sealed fountain of Adela’s tears began to flow,
and as the gracious drops distilled from her surcharged
heart, and her paralyzed sensibilities felt once more the
bliss of emotion, the strong, proud woman, became gentle
and humble as a child.

“Maude,” said she, clasping her hands in gratitude,
“ there was ever a. mystery about thee. I had thought to
wear out my life in sad penance, and thou hast opened to
me a source of happy contemplation : henceforth my desert
future, fertilized by the sweet waters that have gushed

ADELA. 115

from the rock at thy magic touch, shall blossom With the
flowers of Paradise.”

The abbess Cicely here entered, and summoned them to
the hall of general reception, where Maude embraced her
son and received the ambassadors sent by her husband to
conduct her to Stirling, the place appointed for her corona—
tion, as Queen of Scotland.

“ Go,” said Adela, with affectionate joy, as she saw her
depart. “ Go to thy bright destiny. Thou art a. living i1-
lustration 0f the truth of scripture, ‘ Be thou faithful over a.
few things, and I will make thee ruler over many things.’ ”

 

. ‘xrrrizixy birtknittiinr; imam?

 

ELEANOR.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER I.

“In the midst was seen
A lady of a more majestic mien,
By stature and by beauty marked their sovereign Queen.”

THE southern provinces of France, Poitou, Saintogne,
Auvergne, Perigord, Limousin, Angoumois and Guienne,
received of the Romans the classic appellation of Aquitaine.
This beautiful land, watered by the Garonne and Loire,
whose clear and Sparkling streams, flowing from vine-clad
hills, stretched their silvery arms to irrigate the fairest
fields and to enclose the finest harbors in the world, was in
the twelfth century, inhabited by the most civilized and
polished people on the face of the earth. The arts, and the
idealities, and the refinements of life, like the native flow—
ers of its sunny vales, seemed wakened and nourished by
the genial airs of a climate, softened by the proximity of
the sea, and rendered bracing by the mountain breeze.
The numerous and independent sovereigns, Whose feudal
sway extended over this fair territory, imbibed the spirit
of chivalry, and caught the enthusiasm that precipitated
the armies of Europe upon Asia. Count Raimond of Tou-
louse, was one of the first who took the cross, at the council
of Clermont. He was styled par excellence the Moses of
the expedition. Before leaving for Palestine, on his re-
turnless voyage, he ceded his dominions to his daughter,
wife of William IX. of Poitou. The grand-children of
William IX. were Eleanor and Petronilla. The father of
these fair sisters, William X., left Aquitaine in 1132, with
their uncle Raimond, who was chosen prince of Antioch.

The poetical taste of Eleanor was early cultivated and
developed by the unrestrained freedom she enjoyed in the
queenless court of her x_ninstrel grandfather in Gay Guienne.

 

120 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

The language that prevailed all over the south of France,
was called Provengal. It was the mother-tongue of Duke
William, the grandfather of Eleanor, who was one of the
most liberal patrons and earliest professors of that style
of composition in which the Troubadours celebrated the
feats of love and arms. The matchless charms of Eleanor
were enhanced by all the accomplishments of the south.
Her fine genius found ample exercise in composing the
sirvantes and chansons 0f Provengal poetry, and her
delicate fingers wiled the spirit of music from the echoing
harp to accompany her voice adowni the tide of song.
She inherited from her grandfather the political sover-
eignty of her native dominions not only, but the brilliant
talents and ancestral superiority that made her Empress
in the realm of Taste, and Queen of the courts of Love.
When the gay and licentious Duke \Villiam felt the in-
firmities of age coming upon him, he determined to seek
the readiest means to rid himself of the burden of his sins.
Accordingly, he resolved to resign the most potent sceptre
in Europe to the unpractised hand of his youthful grand-
daughter, and devote the rest of his days to prayer and
penitence in a hermitage 0f the rocky wilderness of St.
James de Compostella. Eleanor had not attained her fif-
teenth year When her grandfather commenced his career of
selfdenial, by summoning the baronage 0f Aquitaine to
transfer their allegiance to herself; and the child-sov-
ereign exercised the royal functions of her new dignities
while the duke Visited the court of Louis le Gros and offer-
ed her hand to the young prince. The wise lawgiver Of
France readily accepted the proposal—for the rich prov-
inces which constituted the dower of Eleanor, held alle—
giance t0 the crown, only by feudal tenure; and the son,
equally impatient for the possession of his fair prize, set off
with a noble train for Bordeaux. The light heart of Elea-
nor was easily won by the unrivalled attractions of Louis le
Jeane, whose courtly graces were illuminated by the pros-
pect 0f the crown of Charlemagne; while the damsels that
composed her court, exercised their blandishments with

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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ELEANOR. 121

erue‘i skill upon the too susceptible hearts of the cavaliers
that came in the train of the bridegroom. rl‘he parlia—
ment of Love deliberated day by day in mock solemnity
upon the pretensions 0f the fair rivals, and the discreet de—
cisions 'of Eleanor, the presiding genius of the conclave, in-
spired the songs of Trouveres and Troubadours, Who vied
with each other in celebrating her charms,

A succession of long, bright days, closed the month of
J lily, and on the last evening the court of Love continued
its session till the brilliant twilight had faded from the
western sky, and the mellow harvest-moon poured a silver
flood upon fountains that sprang as if instinct With life to
catch and fling the shining radiance upon the gay cempany
that still lingered in the Rose Pavilion. The Queen of the
court, attired like Venus, sat upon a throne, canopied With
Aeaeia, through Whose tremblii‘ig leaves the light fell play—
fully contending with the envious shadows that seemed
striving to hide her smiles. At her feet sat her favorite
page, with Wings framed 0f gauze attached to his shoulders,
holding a 1yre,fashioned to resemble the bow of Cupid,
upon Which he occasionally struck a few notes to announce
a change in the evening’s entertainment. Lovely maidens
arrayed es Nymphs and Graces reclined upon verdant
couches around the fair arbitress of these amorous debates.
Groups of lighthearted girls, representing heathen god-
desses, listened encouragingly to their favorite minstrels,
and strove, by various subtle arts, to Win the meed of praise
to the verse that celebrated their charms. Sirventes and.
Chansons had been recited and sung, still the assembly lie:
tened With an air of impatience, as if anticipating matters
of more general interest. With a smile that at once excit»
ed and baffled curiosity, the Queen touched the cheek of
her page with her flowery sceptre, saying, “ Why slumbers
the harp of my pretty Peyrol? Has he no song for the ear
of his lady ?”

“ Peyrol cannot sing in the Romance Walloon,” said the
' youth, casting down his eyes with jealous pique.

“Proud one,” replied the queen, “thou knowest that
‘3

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

:-

122 HEBOINES OF THE CRUSADES.

though the 10rd ofom' and‘ 720% delights our eye, his language
charms not our ear. We would hear a pretty faibleaux of
Grenada, or wilt thou give us a fitting apostrophe to the
court, Where Gaiety and Innocence preside.”

“ Nay, honored lady,” said the page, “ since Gaiety am}
Innocence parted company on the plains of Pleasure, har-
mony hath forsaken the lyre, and not even the goddess of
Love can heal the discord.” .3:

“ Thou pretest, pert boy,” replied the queen, With a stolen
glance at Petroniila.

Perceiving from her tone, that he had presumed too far,
the page bent over his harp and rapidly swept his fingers
across the strings, saying apologeticahy,

“ If my lady Will accept a lay of Bretagne, Peyrol is
ready to do her bidding.”

“ The sweet tones of the Iangue d’oc little befit the rugged
legends of the northern clime,” said the queen, “but tune
thy lyre Without further parley.” The page needed no
second command, but sang z——

1. In a province fair of sunny France,
~ Beside a Winding river,

Over whose waves in joyous dance,
The sunbeams gleam and quiver,
Stood a castle tall, at goodly sight,
With its broad and rich domain,
And therein dwelt a noble knight;
I ween he had a. lady bright
And three sweet babes Withouteu stain.

2. A generous heart, an open hand,
To courtlie companie,
And eke as any in the land
For beggars of low degree.
So gentle his mien in lady’s bower,
So full of eourtesie,
Yet valiant was he in tournament,
And a good bow in the gi‘eeuwood bent,
I Wot right dextrously.

3. He had been blest in his earthly state
With such fair prosperity,
That his heart beat high With pride date,
c Forgot he the giver good and great

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ELEANOR. 123

And christian humility.

VVhereat to punish his arrogance,
Our Lady sent him sore mischance,
And dire adversity.

Sir Isumbras t0 the hunt has gone,
Riding so gallantly,

With hawk and hound in the dewy morn,
When a vision bright above him born,
Appeared in the clear blue sky.

He saw a maiden meek and fair,

An angel I Wist was she,

A messenger sent to bid him prepare
For chill calamity.

A woful man was the knight that day,
He turned him home in sore dismay,
When his good steed fell and died,

And hawk and hound of life bereft,

Sir Isumbras in the forest left,

With no living thing beside.

When to him there came his little foot page,
As fast as he might hie.

My noble master, a sad message,

It is that I bear to thee.

“Thy proud castell lies in ruins 10W,
Thy lady and children escaped the blow,
But and With jeopardy.”

. The knight bowed meekly to heaven’s decree;

A Wiser and sadder man was he,

And With his Lady and children, three,

Sir Isumbras bouue him o’er the sea.—

A penitent pilgrim he would be

To holy Palestine.

Through seven weary lands they went—

The strength of the babes was wellnigh spent,
For charity, cold was their nourishment.

They came to a. Wood, With flowers besprent—
To a rapid river of broad extent,

Where never the sunbeams shine.

His eldest born, Sir Isumbras bore

W’ith tenderest care to the farther shore ;
But ere he returned again,

A lion fierce from the thicket sprang—
The little one tore from that cruel strand,
Nor him might they regain.

He found his lady Weeping, full lorn,
For in his absence a leopard strong,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

124 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

With a fell and bloody unicorn,
The others from her arms had tom.

9. The lady wished that she might die,
01' ever this sore calamity,
She should have been preserved to see;
But the knight With meek humility,
To Mary mother a prayer ’gan say,
That his penance might soon have end—
When wandering through the weary land,
The Sultan’s captives they were ta’en
Before his face to bend.

10. I trow the Sultan had rarely seen
A lady so lovely, in form or mien,
Or a knight so bold and true.
“ Sir knight, I will give thee gold and fee,
As much as thou might Wish to see,
If thou Wilt renounce Christianity,
And fight for the banners 0f Paynimrie,
And sell thy lady bright to me ;”
His form to its height he drew.

11. “ Our Lady forefend that I should e’er
In infidel ranks at standard bear,
Or the holy cross betray ;
And for weal 01‘ Woe my lady fair,
I wed in the face of day;
A recreant knight I be When e’er
This right I shall gainsay.”

12. They have putten 03 his scarlet mantell
Within the goldis shred ;
They drove him from that land of Baal,
And left him as he were dead.
The lady was sent to a far eountrie,
The bride of the Sultan she should be,
\Vhen from the wars of Chrisendie
In triumph he returned.

13. Asleep in the forest the good knight lay
And When he awoke at dawn of day
He saw his treasure borne away,

By an eagle strong in search of prey—
No longer he there sojourned.

To the Virgin he made a fervent prayer
Invoking for aye her watchful care.
Then to Palestine he turned.

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ELEANOR. 125

Through ten long years the knight pursued
His weary pilgrimage;

Then buckled he on his armor bright,

With heart beating free and light,

He hath boune him for the fight,

A gallant and unknown knight

Withouten heritage.

. Much they marvelled then to see

A warrior, unknown as he,

Such deeds of valor do.

They wist he was no mortal Wight,
But some weird magician sprite,
When in the thickest of the fight
The Sultan dread he slew.

They have broughten him to the christian king
With gladness and great Welcoming,

And honor and praise had he;

But his object fell he did obtain,

For his mighty enemy he hath slain.

He donned his pilgrim weeds again,

And his wanderings pursued.

The scorching sun, With a feverish glare,

On the burning sands east radiance clear;
When weary and faint the knight drew near,
Where stately and tall a castle fair

From a green oasis rose.

The cool palms waving in golden light,

With music of murmuring fountains bright,
Reckoning called the fainting knight

T0 bowers of repose.

He passed the portals of the hall,
And stood ’mong squires and good knights tall,
Holding it seemed high festival.

A lady beautiful to see,

Sat ’neath a gorgeous canopy.
She was queen of that eountrie,
Lady of generous chivalry,

And eke of lowly charity.

The holy Palmers with reverence,
Welcomed she to her residence;
Gentle and kind was she.

. But the knight would not be comforted,

For restless recollection shed
A sadness over alL

 

126 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES,

In silent mood he wandered
Through tower and lofty hall.

21. It fell on a day the Queen with her guest
Were seated at the mid-day feast,
When entered her favorite page in haste.
In the early morning he went in quest
of eaglets’ eyries, and 011 the crest
Of a lofty mountain he found a nest,
With golden treasure hid in its breast,
W'rapped in a scarlet mantel.

22. N o sooner beheld she the page’s prize,
Than the tears o’erflowed the ladie’s eyes.
My true and loyal knight she cries,

(The palmer looked on With mute surprise.)
Hast thou Sir Isumbras seen ?

One moment they gazed in silent survey
The mists of memory rolled away;

And locked Within his arms she lay—
The lost one found again.

And there was feast and festival;
Resounded then through bower and ban,
The lute and joyous madrigal ;

And joustings there were in tournament,
And breaking of lances in compliment,
To the beauty of ladies bright ',

Then over the Sultan’s fair domain,

In peace the knight and lady reign;

Till the king in all sincerity,

Strove with pious zeal to free

From the bonds of Infidelity,

His Paynim liegcs flight.

 

 

 

 

23. But no one there his cause upheld,
Save God and the Queen, I trow;
And Were they e’er so valorous,

N ever could they Withstand
An armament so numerous,
As the unbelievers’ band.

24. Then by a chance miraculous,
The tide of war was turned.
As they might be sent in our Lady’s name,
Three knights came pricking o’er the plain,
As if the ground they spurned.
Came the first on a lion strong ;
On a leopard the second was borne—
The third bestrode a unicorn.
Tall men and brave were they;
The hosts of the Saracens fled in dismay,

 

 

 

ELEANOR. 127

And repenting of their disloyalty,
Returned they then to their fealty;
And the knight and lady peacefully
Together with their children, three
Restored to them so happily,
Reigned in tranquillity,
Prosperously and long.

. They lived and died in good intent ;
Unto Heaven their souls went.
When that they dead were,

J esus Christ, Heaven’s king,
Give us aye his blessing,
And shield us aye from care.

IO
U!

Rousing herself from the abstraction that had prevented
her hearing the song of her page, the queen remarked,
“Thy story is somewhat long, and for ourself we would
have preferred that the husband had won the holy estate
of martyrdom ’neath the sword of the Soldan. But thou
hast rhymed it right dextrously, and. we opine that the
moral of thy lay accords well With the ascetic manners of
the north.” She extended her wand. The herald then
stood forth, and sounding a few notes on a chalumeaux,
cried,

“ Comes there no cause of Arrets d’amour,
Our gracious liege and sovereign before,
From lady, knight, 01' troubadour '9’”

The fiute—hke call was thrice repeated, and then a low
response to the challenge issued from a mimic grotto, curi-
ously roofed With overhenging Vines.

“ The minstrel of our sister Petronilla. has leave to pre-
sent her cause before our court,” said the queen encoura—
gingly, as the troop 0f the young princess advanced. from
the shadow into the clear light, and knelt at the footstool
of justice.

“ The lady Petronilla,” began the Troubadour, “ arraigns
before the court her recreant knight, Count Rudolph 0f
Vermandois. Cold greeting gives he for her fair looks,
scant courtesy for her warm smiles; his ungloved hand
returns not the pressure of her slight fingers, and the ban—
derol she sent him flutters not from his gleaming lance.” A

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

128 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

slight pause followed this accusation, and the herald again
stood forth and demanded if any minstrel 0r Troubadour
could say aught in extenuation 0f the offence of the ac—
cused. Not a voice answered, not a harp string stirred“.
At the third call the page of Eleanor arose, and with a
graceful obeisance begged to be heard.

“ Rudolph 0f Vermandois,” said he, “witnesseth by me7
that since he set lance in rest to do- his devoir for the
fair Adelais 0f Champaigne, his eye and smile, and heart
and hand, as loyal husband and true knight, are due ant}
devote to her alone.”

A general murmur attested the disapprohatien 0f the
assembly at this new and strange defence; for it had a1~
ready become a proverb in Guienne, that “True love
cannot exist between married persons.” The importance
of the action, however, elicited a brilliant contest among-
the rival Troubadours, and never was a case more warmly
argued, more skilfully enveloped With the subtleties of
logic, 01' more thoroughi‘y transpiereed With the sallies of
wit, than that Which arose from the efforts Of the wily
granddaughter of Philippa of Toulouse, to fascinate the'
husband of the granddaughter of Adela, OOuntess 0f Blois.
The fair jurors fina11y,.1ike their successors in modern days,
rendered their verdict in accordance with preconceived
opinions, independent of justice or argument. The de-
fence being thus found invalid, the culprit was put under
ban of the court, and all true ladies were forbidden tO‘
smile upon him, except by the grace of his slighted lady-
love. The fairy camp then adjourned its sitting to receive
the royal guests, Who were already on the way to meet
them. As Eleanor accepted the assistance of her lover to
climb the terraced pathway leading to the castle, she said
With her most bewitching smile, “\Ve consign our young
sister, Petronilla, t0 the care of our noble cousin of Ver-
mandois.” The count dissembling his reluctance bowed!
and offered his hand to the sprightly sorceress, and the
queen Whispered her sister, “ The hawk ishooded} it must
be thine to bind his jessiesr.”

,.~,:A;.<'—-:;—-e‘;;.;_asa~ , awww—m x.~4w.r=,fi,:;i » 3.0,; "V . ,

ELEANOR. 129

CHAPTER II.

Where is the antique glory now become,

That While some wont in Woman to appear?

Where be the bold achievements done by some?

Where he the battles, Where the shield and spear!

And all the conquests Which them high “Hid rear

Be they all dead, or shall again appear? SPENSEE.

THE first of August, 1137, rose upon a brilliant ceremo-
nial. The princely capital of Bordeaux glittered With all
the splendor that Guienne, and its dependent fiefs could
supply; for on that day the native subjects of Eleanor as—
sembled to accept the resignation of Duke William, and
to give the hand of their liege lady in marriage ’to the heir
of F rance. Though Eleanor was sufficiently dazzled by
the prospect of ruling in the court of Paris, she had the
sagacity to accept the proposal of her barons and refuse
her consent to the arrangement, till by charter and deed she
had secured inviolate the laws and customs of Aquitaine,
and the administration of the government to herself alone.
Upon the conclusion of the ceremony the duke laid down
his robes and insignia of sovereignty, and in presence of his
loving subj ects and weeping grandchildren, took up the her-
mit’s cowl and staff and departed on his lonely pilgrimage. '

The royal cortege set out the following day for the north,
resting only at the principal towns, Where the young duke
and duchess received the homage 0f the feudal lords.

At Blois, the Count of Vermandois, Who had by circum-
stances that seemed to him Wholly accidental been forced
to give his constant attendance upon the artful Petronilla,
embraced once more his beautiful Adelais, and pleading
her ill health, obtained permission of the prince t0 absent
himself for a time from court. The disappointed Petro-
nilla could scarcely conceal her chagrin at this unlooked-
for interruption in her proceedings, and from that moment
conceived the most violent hatred of her innocent rival.

9

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

130 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

On their entrance at Paris, instead of the enthusiastic
greeting and splendid festivities which Eleanor had an-
ticipated, the bridal party was escorted through silent
streets by weeping attendants, who conducted them to the
death-bed of Louis VI. The great legislator of France
gazed with a look of solemn benignity upon the youthful
pair that knelt t0 crave his parting blessing, and remind-
ing them, that their recent union involved not only their
individual happiness, but the peace and prosperity of both
the north and the south, added with his expiring breath,
“ Remember, royalty is a public trust, for the exercise of
which a rigorous account will be exacted by Him who has
the sole disposal of crowns and of sceptres.”

On the conscientious mind of Louis, the words of his dying
father made a deep impression ; but his thoughtless part-
ner was no sooner crowned Queen of France, than she en-
tered upon her career of folly, exerting all her talents, and.
exercising all her influence in the exciting games of court
intrigue. The impassioned verse in which Abelard cele-
brated the beauty and love of the gifted but frail Heloise,
furnished employment for Eleanor’s Provengal IniHSti‘els,
and formed the topic of general remark among the minions
of the court. She assisted the persecuted monk in his
defence before the Council of Sens, and after his death
caused his body to be conveyed to the chapel of the Para-
clete, and consigned to the care of the melancholy Heloise.
She persuaded Louis that the services of his prime minister
Vermandois, were indispensable at Paris, and thus, again,
brought that nobleman within the charmed sphere of
Petronilla’s attractions. She contrived, at the same time,
to secure for herself a devoted admirer in the Count of
Ponthieu, who became the agent of her slightest wish.
Through his gallantry she succeeded in involving the beau-
tiful Adelais in some matters of court scandal, and thus by
exciting the jealousy of the Count of Vermandois, and eX-
posing him to the bewitching spells of her sister, she finally
persuaded him to divorce his lovely and amiable wife, and
espouse the designing Petl'onilla.

ELEANOR. 13-1

Adelais sought to hide her sorrow and her wrongs in the
seclusion of a convent; but her brother, the valiant Count
Thibault of Champagne, was not inclined to sufi‘er the in
dignity in silence. Such, however, was Eleanor’s power
over the plastic mind of her husband, that the count ap-
pealed in vain to the sympathy 0r justice of the king.
Finding that his remonstrance could not reach the royal
ear, he presented his cause before the pope, Who compelled
Vermandois to put away the guilty Petronilla, and take
back the injured sister of Champagne. The repudiated Wife
enraged at her own dishonor, and incensed at the undissem-
bled joy with Which Vermandois exchanged her dazzling
graces, for the long-regretted charms of the weeping
recluse, again had recourse to Eleanor. The queen, not
less vindictive than her sister, and more practised in diplo-
macy, succeeded in fanning an ancient feud between Louis
and Count Thibault, into the flame of war. The king in-
vaded Champagne at the head of a large army, and com-
menced a devastating progress through the province. The
town of Viti‘y, strongly walled and fortified, for a long
time resisted the royal forces; but the queen, Whose ap-
prehensions 0f the temperate counsels 0f Suger, prompted
her to accompany her husband upon every occasion, pri-
vately commissioned a body of Gaseous to set fire to the
town at the very moment of its surrender. The flames
spread from house to house, and finally extegded t0 the
cathedral, and thirteen hundred persons '0 had taken
refuge there, were burned to death. T ing stung by the
cries‘of his perishing subjects, e ed himself for their
rescue, but in vain; and the rrors Of the scene made
such a fearful impression/orf is mind, as seriously to afi’ect
his health. The vision‘of his lamented father, repeating
in solemn tones, “Remember, my son, that royalty is a,
public trust, for the exercise of Which a rigorous account
will be exacted by Him Who has the sole disposal of crowns
and ofsceptres,” haunted his slumbers and destroyed his
rest. Queen Eleanor journeyed With him from one holy
place to another, to entreat the prayers of pious monks in

    
 
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

132 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

his behalf, but the dejection of his mind increased to such
an extent, that even her insinuating blandishments failett
to recall him from his gloomy contemplations. Wearied
with fruitless endeavors, she petulantly remarked to Petro-
nilla, who now triumphed in the possession of a new lover,
the young Count Maurienne, “ Fate has given me the name
of queen With the destiny of a nun. Would we were again
in our native realm, for I tire of this dull life. Instead of
the gay minstrelsy 0f the sweet southwest, I am jaded
with perpetual psalmody, and my attempts to beguile the
weary hours with the ‘joyous science,’ are mocked with
the mummery 0f muttered prayers. I have married a
monk rather than a monarch'3” and the mortified queen
burst into tears. '
While this state of feeling subsisted between the con-
science-stricken Louis and his discontented consort, news
of the fall of Edessa and the conquests of Noureddin reach—
ed Europe, and the sagacious Eleanor saw, in the general
sympathy which the intelligence excited, the means by
which she might make the melancholy of Louis the instru-
ment of her own pleasure. She forsook at once her gay
amusements, joined her husband in ahns, deeds and prayers,
expressed the greatest pity for the misfortunes of their royal
cousins, and constantly wisheéi that she might be permitted
to lead her brave Provengals to restore the gallant Courte-
nays to their lost principality 0f Edessa. The gracious
change in the character of Eleanor delighted the penitent
monarch, and he began to listen with interest and pleasure
to her 0ft-repeated Sllggestion, that a pilgrimage would
prove an acceptable penance for the misdeed at Vitry.
Animated by a renewed hope, he called a council of the
clergy and nobility of his kingdom to deliberate 0n the
propriety of an expedition to the Holy Land, and by their
advice despatched deputies to gain the sanction of Pope
Eugenius. The vicar of Christ entered readily into the de-
sign, and commissioned. the famous St. Bernard, abbot of
Clairvaux, to preach the Second 0mwade. Louis and his
queen, and all their court, attended on the ministry of the

. ELEANOR. 133

holy man, and such crowds flocked to listen to the eloquent
saint that 110' cathedral, however large, could contain them.
His auditors were impressed by his sanctity, persuaded by
his enthusiasm, and carried away by his zeal. “The cross l”
“The cross I” was echoed from every tongue. Louis and
his queen were the first to adopt the holy symbol, and as
the multitudes that pressed forward to follow their pious
example soon exhausted the supply already prepared, the
reverend orator tore his monkish garment into small pieces
and fixed them to the shoulders of his kneeling converts.

Encouraged by his success, St. Bernard passed into Ger-
many, and every city and Village from Constance t0 Carin-
thia responded to the call of war. Those who understood
not even the language which he spoke, were awed by his
gestures, and the dignity of his demeanor, and the miracles
that accompanied his presence. The mind of the emperor
Conrad III, was moved by his startling delineations of the
judgment day, when punishment should be inflicted upon
the idle, and heavenly rewards showered upon the faithful,
and openly professed that the Lord of the Germans knew '
and would perform his duty to the church.

The romantic purpose of becoming a female crusader
now completely occupied the light head of Eleanor, and
as she was in the very plenitude of her charms, and pos-
sessed sufficient wealth to practise any extravagance, she
soon made it the fashion among all the vain sentimentalists
of her court. The absurd arrangements which she made
for the campaign, gave little promise of rational conquest.
The female recruits sent their useless distafi's and embroi-
dery-frames to all the knights and nobles who had the good
sense to suppose that Heaven would be better pleased with
their remaining in peace at home, than by their going
abroad to destroy their fellow-nien ; and this ingenious
taunt had the desired effect upon the doughty knights,
Who, fearing a woman’s raillery, joined an expedition to
Syria to prove their valor. The fair warriors clothed them-
selves in helmet and hauberk, having golden crosses taste-
fully embroidered upon the left shoulder; gilded slippers,

 

134: HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES. .

glittering spurs, and silver-sheathed falehions suspended
from the side completed the equipment, and'mounted 0n
richly—caparisoned steeds, they‘formed a brilliant squadron,
caricoled about Paris and performed a. thousand fantastic
follies in public, calling themselves the body—guard 0f the
Goldmfooted Dame.

CHAPTER III.

A voice, a flute, a dreamy lay,
Such as the southern breeze
Might waft, at golden fall of day
O‘er blue transparent seas.

LOUIS took the cross in 1146, and in the following year,
having received from the pope the consecrated banner as a.
warrior, and the staff and scrip as a. pilgrim, set out for the
general rendezvous at Mentz With his queen and her grotesque

' eavalcade. Here they were joined by an immense number
of nobles and knights and soldiers, among whom were cru~
saders from England and the remote islands of the northern
sea. After the lapse of half a century, the second crusade,
consisting of two hundred thousand people, tracked their
way along the banks of the Danube by the Whitening bones
of those who had fallen victims to the blind fanaticism 0f
the first expedition. Manuel Commenus, Who now sat on
the throne of Constantinople, adopted. the same policy that
had distinguished the councils of his grandfather, Alexius.
His envoys, bearing letters filled With flattery and fair
speeches, met the advancing warriors, but the imperial
guides were instructed to conduct the soldiers of the west
by difiicult and circuitous routes, and the purveyors had
secret orders to furnish them With sacks of flour mixed With
chalk and lime. Conrad, Who was the brother—in-law 0f
Mamie], was so indignant at this breach of hospitality, that
he crossed the Bosphorus without meeting 01' conferring
with the emperor—hut the splendid city of Constantinople

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ELEANOR. 135

presented too many attractions to the female adventurers
to be passed in so hurried a manner.

The Wily Comuenus soon perceived that the readiest
means to divide the forces of" the crusade would be to amuse
the fickle Queen Of France. All the voluptuous refinements
of the Greek court were accordingly put in requisition to
detain his unwelcome visitors, and if the avarieious Bohe-
mond was bribed with the contents of a. treasure-chamber
in the palace, Eleanor might well be excused if her frivo-
lous fancy was captivated by her splendid suite of rooms
adorned With all the luxury of eastern magnificence, and
the richly—attil‘ed slaves that waited her slightest bidding,
and when at last they set forward, the Damascene silks,
costly jewels, and precious gifts, which Manuel showered
upon the finery—loving Amazons, added not'a little to the
eumbrous baggage with which the thoughtless queen loaded
the expedition.

Louis, lulled into security by the flattering assurances
of Manuel, had lingered in the Greek empire till the defeat
of Conrad at Iconium, when convinced by the report of the
diseomfited Germans, of the treachery of his royal host, he
set forward with his troops along the coast of Asia Minor.
They passed Thyatira, Sardis, and Philadelphia without ac-
cident, defeated the Turks 0n the banks of the Meander,
and arrived in safety at Laodieea, The freaks of Eleanor
and her female warriors were the cause of all the misfor-
tunes that afterwards befell the French army. On the sec-
ond day after leaving Laodicea, their way led up the moun-
tains, by a winding and difficult ascent. The prudent king
sent forward the queen and her ladies, escorted by hi8
choicest troops, under the guard of Count Maurienne,
charging them to entrench themselves upon the wooded
heights that overlooked the valley of Laodicea. Himself
followed slowly with the reargnard, encumbered by the
useless baggage, and harassed by the Arabs. The Count
Maurienne, with Petronilla by his side, rode gallantly up
the steep, and halted at the place appointed, but when
Eleanor reached the spot she was so attracted by the ap-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

136 ~ HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

pearance of an adjacent valley, cooled by waterfalls, and
shaded by thickets, Which seemed to beckon them on with an
inviting grace, that she insisted upon pressing forward, and
forming the bivouac there. The Count Maurienne endeav-
ored to dissuade the queen from her purpose, by represent-
ing the danger of abandoning the commanding position
designated. by the king, but opposition only increased her
pertinacity, and aided by the light artillery of Petronilla’s
eyes, she soon brought the discomfited knight to terms.
The scene that opened before them as they descended into
the valley, was sufficient to charm away all fatigue and
fear. The rocky heights at the west, behind which the sun
was just sinking, veiled their bold fronts in the misty
fringes of the Opal clouds; the blue Mediterranean circled
the horizon 0n the south; and far to the east stretched every
variety of woodland, meadow, and g1ade,ti11 the Taurus
ridge,me1ting into the sky, shut out the sands of Syria.
The happy party soon entered the valley. The sumpter
mules were speedily unloaded, the light spars planted, the
white canvass 0f the tents stretched upon them, and a cold
collation spread out for their refreshment. When the re-
past was finished Eleanor caused her couch to be placed
at the door of the tent, so that wild roses nodded at its
pillow, and flinging herself upon it, as the brilliant stars
of that‘eastern clime looked down upon her, she exclaimed,
“Petronilla, my sister, seems not this like our own dear
Provence? 'I could almost fancy myself once more in the
Rose Pavilion.”

"‘ Certes,” said Petronilla, “ and were it not a fitting time
and place to hold the festival of our Court of Love? Me-
thinks yon, count,” with a mischievous glance at Maurienne,
“withstood our entreaties to enter this delightful retreat
beyond the limits of gallantry.”

“ Gra’mercy, fair ladies,” said the count, with mock
gravity, “ that I fear the frowns of this august tribunal
more than the displeasure of my royal master, is perhaps
my sin, and it is with unfeigned apprehensions that I sur-
render to the court.”

ELEANOR. ‘ 137

“I accuse the eount—” began the princess. Maurienne
interrupted her, “ Petronilla my accuser! Then am I lost
indeed. I had hoped to hear her eloquent lips plead my
excuse.”

“Nay I nay I” said Eleanor, striking the velvet turf with
her tiny foot. “The court forbids these disorderly proceed-
ings. Henry (1e B10is,a1'rest thou the Count Maurienne
at the complaint of the princess, bind his hands with
this string of pearls, and confront him with his accuser.
Our brave \Varrenne, take thy spear and stand sentl-
nel by yon copse. A prowling Saracen would make an
awkward addition to 0111‘ goodly company. Knights and
ladies, recline at ease upon these verdant cushions. WVhen
the cause of this culprit shall have received verdict, per-
chance your own delinquencies may pass review.”

“Heaven forefend!” exclaimed a chorus of voices,
mingling ejaculations with merry laughter and gay pas-
quinade.

The queen, now in her element, succeeded in quelling the
tumultuous mirth, though an occasional titter was elicited
by the solemn visages of Maurienne and Petronilla, who
played their part to admiration.

“\Vhere is the petulant Peyrol?” inquired the queen,
looking round the circle, “ we can no more proceed with 0111'
important afi’airs without the aid of song than could the
prophet without the inspiration of music.”

“Peyroi, my liege, attends upon the king,” replied a.
Spanish cavalier, who had recently rode so constantly by
the side of the queen that the courtiei‘s dubbed him her
saddle-beau. ,

“ Gonzalvo,” returned Eleanor, “ we have heard that thou
stringest a lute upon occasion. Let not 0111' pastime be
marred by the detection of this truant boy. Give us a
Moorish ballad, if thy memory serves thee with nothing
better. Our royal spouse will be here anon and summon
us to prayers.”

“I am but a poor pilgrim, and little skilled in the ‘Joy«
0113 Science,m said the Spaniard, with affected modesty;

 

X
5*
if
5.
i
E

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

138 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

“ but the command of m ueen must O'ive me the fittin

q 2: g
inspiration.” He touched a melodious prelude, and sung
in a clear, manly voice :—

1. “I a. minstrel 0f Grenada, Gonzalvo Bereio hight,
Once wandering as a pilgrim, found a meadow richly dight,
Green and peopled full of flowers, of flowers fair and bright,
A place where many a weary man would rest him with delight.

2. “ And the flowers I beheld all looked and smelt so sweet,
That the senses and the soul they seemed alike to greet,
While on every side ran fountains through all this glad retreat,
Which in winter kindly warmth supplied, yet tempered summer’s heat.

3. “And of rich and goodly trees there grew a. boundless maze,
Rich grapes and apples bright, and figs of golden rays,
And many other fruits beyond my skill to praise,

But none that turneth sour, and none that e’er decays.

4. “ The freshness of that meadow, the sweetness of its flowers,
The dewy shadows of the trees that fell like cooling showers,
Renewed within my frame its worn and Wasted powers,

I deem the very odors would have nourished me for hours.”

An arrow that pierced the tent, and fell among the
strings-of the minstrel’s harp, interrupted the symphony,
and called forth discordant screams of terror. A moment
after the Earl Of VVarrenne, breathless and bleeding, rushed
into the assembly, and communicated the startling intelli-
gence, that the Turks had taken possession of the heights
allotted for their encampment, and that the king, unaware
of his danger, was proceeding to the snare, spread for
his whole army. Maurienne hastily cast away his mimic
fetters, and counselling his lovely charge to remain as close
as possible beneath the shadow of the trees, stationed a

)small guard to defend them, and hastened back to the as

sistance of his sovereign.

The Syrian moon now rose broad and clear in the east,
and the frightened females, huddling together like a flock
of timid sheep, could distinctly see the heavy-armecl troops
on Which rested all their hopes, toiling slowly up the moun-
tain, in the face of a tremendous shower of arrows and loose
masses of stone Which the Moslems threw upon them from
above. Men, horses and baggage, overborne by the sudden

ELEANOR. 139

attack, rolled down the precipitous steep, and the expiring
cries of familiar voices could be distinctly heard through
the still air. Maurienne soon succeeded in putting to flight
the Arabs that had attacked the vanguard, but the most
dreadful havoc was made among the followers of Louis,
and the king himself was only saved by the greatest efl’orts
of personal valor. Seven thousand of the flower of French
chivalry paid with their lives the penalty of the queen’s
eaprice. The baggage containing the fine array of the
lady-Warriors, was plundered by the Arabs, and the frag-
ments of their dainty supper was the only provision left for
their sustenance.

The further progress of the French was beset With dan-
gers and privations. The discipline of the army was broken,
and they marched or rather wandered, for they knew not
the roads, along the coast of Pamphilia, purchasing or plun—
dering food of the frightened inhabitants ; and famine
thinned the ranks with such rapidity, and so many horses
and other beasts of burden perished by the way, that it
was finally determined to turn aside from these scenes of
desolation and proceed by sea to Antioch. But upon reach-
ing the coast, a new difficulty occurred. A sufficient num-
ber of ships could not be procured to transport them all,
and the brave peers of France, with honorable pride, agreed
that the simple pilgrims, with the women and children,
should alone make their passage with the king, While them—
selves should continue their route on foot. Louis distribu~
ted what money he had among the soldiers, who were left
to surmount the higher difficulties of the land route, and
engaged a Greek escort and guide to conduct them, and
taking leave of the miserable beings who had followed him
to their own destruction, went on board the ships. The es-
cort soon deserted the French soldiers, the guide betrayed
them, and but few if any ever reached Syria.

The royal party arrived at Antioch in a condition little
short of beggary ; but Prince Raiinond, the uncle of Elea-
nor, opened his hospitable gates to them, and by the beau-
tiful stream of the Orontes the distressed warriors of the

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

140 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

cross refreshed themselves after their fatigues, and tho

thoughtless queen regained once more her roses and her

smiles. Recent experience had greatly cooled her military

ardor, and the gaiety 0f the court of Antioch presented

greater attractions to her fancy than a journey over the

sandy plains of Syria. Prince Raimond, wishing to avail

himself of the panic which a new arrival of crusaders had

spread among the Turks, to extend the limits of his own

territories, set himself at once to prevent the immediate de-

parture of Louis for Jerusalem. The prince was the hand-

somest man of his time, and directly began to pay the most

assiduous court to his lovely niece. The queen, flattered

by his attentions, commenced such a series of coquetries

with him as greatly scandalized and incensed Louis; but

it was not till she attempted to persuade her husband to

join Raimond in an expedition against Cesarea that she

found she had at last irritated the kind monarch beyond the

limits of forbearance. Louis left her in anger, and depart

ed with his forces for Jerusalem, where he was received

with the greatest joy. Crowds 0f ecclesiastics and laymen
going out to meet him, conducted him within the holy gates,

singing, “Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the

Lord.”

Disappointed in the assistance of Louis, Raimond deter-

‘mined to secure an ally in Saiadin, a young Emir 0f the

Sultan. Eleanor, Who was at this time moping with chagrin

at the desertion of her husband, first saw the handsome

barbarian at a Passage of Arms given by Raimond for her
amusement, in which the dark-browed Saracen drove a.)
javelin through the target with such skill and grace as

completely pierced her heart. She immediately conceived

the idea that if she should convert this powerful Infidel t0

the Christian faith, she should achieve a greater conquest
than all the forces of Christendom. Prince Raimond, who
gladly availed himself of any attraction that should detain
the Arab chief Within the walls of Antioch, smiled upon her
pious project. But to bring a follower of the Prophet de<
voutly to consider the tenets of the Latin church, required

ELEANOR. 141

more familiar intercourse and a greater exercise of personal
influence than the ceremonious Observances of Eastern so-
ciety permitted, or the strictly Virtuous deemed quite dis-
creet. The zealous queen, however, scorned to be control—
led by such fastidious considerations. Her apartments
Opened upon a terrace which conducted to a garden filled
with every variety of odoriferous shrub and fragrant flower,
at the foot of which a clump of olive-trees spread abroad
their arms to hide a messy seat from the intrusive rays of
the sun. A little wicket concealed by Vines led from the
garden into the street, and Eleanor kept the key. Through
this wicket she admitted her young disciple, and in this re-
treat, with missionary zeal, commenced her efforts for the
conversion of the Mussulman. It was some time before
the European and Asiatic succeeded in coming to a perfect
understanding ; for though Saladin was tolerably well
versed in the Lingua Franca, his vocabulary comprehended
little else than those terms used in common intercourse 01‘
war. Whether the philosophers of that day had taught
that though some languages may be deficient in expressions
of abstract ideas, all are replete in the dialect of love, cer-
tain it is, that both teacher and pupil became aware of the
fact in their own particular case. But it was no part of
Eleanor’s religious plan to entangle herself in a mesalli«
ance, and when the fascinated Emir began to stammer
forth his admiration, she playfully told him she could un-
derstand love only in the Provengal tongue. The Saracen
took his departure, and though she watched anxiously for
the arrow tipped with the eagle feather, by which he was
wont to announce his coming, she saw him not again for
twenty days. \Vhen the long-Wished-for token at length
appeared,‘and the handsome youth in his crimson robe and
green baldric stood again before her, his face radiant with
joy, and his dark eyes sparkling with delight; when she
heard him pour forth his eloquent passion in the loved Pro-
vengal, With all the fluency and ease of a native, she al-
most fancied a miracle had been wrought, and felt con-
vinced that not to lead such talents to the bosom of the

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

142 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

church would be a grievous sin. The Saracen soon per-
suaded her that love for her alone had endowed him With
supernatural powers, and the delicate flattery determined
her to exercise to the fullest extent the influence that could
produce such wonderful effects. The young Emir belted
his tunic with a silken girdle several yards in length.
Upon this ribbon Eleanor, still intent upon her design, em-
broidered a cross which the youth accepted With his accus-
tomed gallantry, saying, “I worship the Divinity it repre—
sents.” The next day he brought her a casket of diamonds,
and an ivory box filled With the sweetest perfumes. As he
reclined at her feet she opened the box, and twining his
raven hair about her fingers poured the precious liquid
upon his head.

Peyrol Who from his childhood had regarded the queen
With the impassioned devotion of the south, had hardly
consented to share her heart With Louis. Since her mar—
riage, her ambition for conquest had kept him constantly
in a state of jealous excitement. His interested eyes had
been the first to discern her stolen interviews With Saladin;
and on the day of her acceptance of the diamonds, he con-
trived to secrete himself in the garden, and thus witnessed
the Whole affair. Convinced Of her danger, he set off
direct for Jerusalem, to advertise Louis of her conduct, and
While Eleanor fancied herself doing Grod service in her ef-
forts to convert the lord of the. Saracens, though at some
slight sacrifice of personal delicacy, the king arrived at
Antioch, and hurried her away with small leaveztaking of
her uncle, and without even allowing her a parting inter-
view With her heathen convert. Eleanor submitted to this
unaccustomed harshness of her husband, With a very ill
grace. She attempted to explain to him that she was de-
ing more for the preservation of the Sepulchre than King
Baldwin himself. She expressed the most violent anger at
being the object of unfounded suspicion, and entered the
Holy City in a most indignant mood. The upright mind
of Louis could not be made to comprehend the piety that
led to such an ebullition of temper, nor could he well ap-

ELEANOR. 143

preciate the purity of a motive that induced a Wife to ex-
change presents with a lover ; and from this time all con-
fidence between them was at an end. The Queen of France
was, notwithstanding, received and entertained at Jerusa-
1em,with all the honors due her rank; but Peyrol was
instructed to watch her movements, and prevent any further
communication with Raimond.

A council was held at Ptolemais, composed of the chris-
tian powers of Syria and Palestine, and the crusaders from
Europe, and though the restoration of the Courtneys to
their lost principality was the object of the expedition, it
was decided that Damascus was a far more dangerous
neighbor to Jerusalem than the remote city of Edessa.
The decree to march to Damascus was accordingly passed,
and the kings Louis VII, Baldwin III., and Conrad III.
brought their troops into the field.

The best disciplined parts of the army were the Knights
of the Temple, and of St. John. In the early days of
pilgrimages, an institution for the care of the sick had been
established in Jerusalem. In this friendly hospital the
wounded and dying of the first crusade were received and
tended with the greatest care. King Godfrey with affec—
tionate gratitude rewarded their pious labors by the gift of
an estate in Brabant, whence they derived a steady revenue.
The association acquired importance, and finally formed
a religious house under the tutelage of St. John the Baptist.
They took the usual vows 0f chastity, poverty, and obedi-
ence, and the patriarch of Jerusalem invested them With
a black robe, having a white linen cross of eight points
upon the left breast.

In AD. 1113, the Hospital was put under the protection
of the Holy See, and their revenues increasing beyond the
demands of charity, about AD. 1130, they determined to
draw the sword against the enemies of the faith. The
Hospitaliers were accordingly arranged into three classes,
nobility, clergy, and serving brothers, who divided their
duties between making deadly war upon the Infideis, heal-
ing the wounds of the Christian soldier, and praying for

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

144 HEROINES or 'THE CRUSADES.

the souls of the departed. The admirers of valor and piety
either joined their standard or enriched their coffers. Great
men sent their sons to them for instruction, and the Knights
Hospitaliers soon became a powerful monastic and military
order.

A few years later, some French gentlemen founded the
equally honorable institution of the Red Cross Knights.
The original design of this order, was to watch the road
and keep Open the communication between Europe and the
Holy Land. At first they were fed and clothed by the
Hospitaliers, and to indicate their poverty, adopted a seal
with the figures of two men on one horse. They bound
themselves to the three great monastic virtues, and added
some austerities, which were supposed to give them power
with God and man. They were originally styled Milites
Christi, but when Baldwin I. assigned them a residence in
the royal palace, adjacent to the Temple of Solomon, they
assumed the title of Templars, or Knights of the Temple.
They wore linen coifs with red caps close over them, shirts
and stockings of twisted mail, sapra vests and broad belts
With swords inserted, and over the whole was a white cloak
touching the ground. This order, too, rose into dignity
and power; and the military friars 0f the Hospital, and
the Red Cross Knights of the Temple, soon became the
bulwark of Christendom, “the nurse of manly sentiment
and heioic ente1p1ise. ”

Acquainted with the loads, the Tempiaxs led the way to
Damascus, and accustomed to succo1 the w eak,the Hospi-
taliers brought up the rear of the Christian army. The
eastern and southern quarters of the city of Damascus
were defended by impregnable walls; but the north and
west were faced by fields and gardens, and protected only
by towers and ditches. Here the crusaders pitched their
camps; and numerous and long—continued were the en-
gagements between the Christians and Moslems. They
succeeded in driving in the outposts 0f the Infideis and
seizing several fortifications looked upon Damascus as their
own. But now a more serious contest arose. Should Da-

ELEANOR. 145

masons become an appanage 0f Je1*usa1em,a fief of the
French crown, or a German principality? Days and weeks
passed away in fruitless disputes among the crusaders, and
at length it was determined that the prize should be given
to the Count of Flanders, because he had twice visited the
Holy Land. This decision only increased the dissatisfac-
tion. There were rumors of treason in the camp, and the
Templars were accused of accepting bribes. A proposition
was made to remove the camp to Ascalon, and while de-
bate fostered delay the Saracens had time to repair the
fortifications of Damascus, and to summon assistance from
the Sultan. The German emperor, terrified With the report
that the Emir of Mosul was marching t0 the city, was the
first to abandon the siege; and the other leaders, discontent-
ed With themselves and With each other, gloomiiy retraeed
their steps to Jerusalem. Conrad, With the shattered relics
of the German host, immediately returned to Europe ; but
the king of the French lingered several 1n0nths,visiting
the holy places, and seeking opportunities to do military ser-
vice worthy the expedition ; till at length learning from Pey-
i'ol that Eleanor, through the connivance 0f Petronilla, had
exchanged letters With Saladin, and was meditating a flight
to Antioch ; he gathered together the miserable remnant of
his army, amounting to three hundred persons, and accom-
panied by his enraged queen and her crest-fallen Ama-
zons, embarked for Constantinople. Here Eleanor found
some small consolation in repairing the sad inroads made
upon her wardrobe at the defeat of Laodicea. From
Constantinople the dissatisfied pair sailed for France.

It was the intention of Louis to put away his wife imme-
diately on his return, but the sagacious Abbot Sager dis—
suaded him from this course, since he would thus detach
from the crown the great duchy 0f Aquitaine, the probable
inheritance of the young Princesses Mary and Alix. She
was, however, closely watched, and forbidden to Visit her
southern domains. In A.D. 1150, Geoffrey Plantagenet,
the Count Anjou, came to the court of Louis VIL, With
his son Henry, a youth about the age of Saladin, Whose
10

x

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

14:6 HEROINES 0E mm: CRUSADES.

fine person and literary attainments made him an object of?
attraction to all‘ the ladies of Paris. To Geofl'rey Eteanor
confided her troubles, one of the greatest of Which was, the
refusal of the king to adopt the courtly adornings 0f the
times, particularly the Ieng-toed shoes, fastened to the knee
by golden chains; and she was especially vexed that he
had, at the suggestion of the clergy, parted With his long
curls, handsome beard and mustechios.

“Already,” said she, “he wears the shaven chin and
the serge robe, and he needs 03in the tonsure and cowl to
make him a priest.”

The duke repaid her eenfidenee by delineating his own
domestic afflictions arising from the haughty demeanor of
his consort the Empress Matilda, whose irritable temper
had not been improved by her inefi‘eetual struggles With
Stephen for the throne of England. Altogether they hack
a very sympathizing meeting.

TWO years after, Henry of Anjou once more visited Paris
to do homage for his domains, and the queen With a faci1i~
ty acquired. by practice, transferred to him the partiality
she had entertained for his father. The young Plantagenet
was a noble, martial-Iooking prince, With a fair and gra-
cious countenance, and eyes that sparkled with intelligence
and energy. In the light of this new attachment, Eleanor
discovered that King Louis was her fourth cousin, and‘
farther that the divorce he had threatened was a matter of
conscience and propriety. Louis fer the first time in many
years seemed to find happiness in the same plan that
pleased his queen. A council of the church was called at
Beengeneie, and in the presence of Eleanor and Louis, and
a numerous circle of relatives, the marriage was declared
invalid on account of consanguinity.

Leaving her daughters in the care of their father, the
liberated princess joyfully departed with her sister Pe-
tronilla and her Provengal attendants to I:er own country.
On her way southward she stopped sorrt, time at the castle
ef Bleis, Where the 01d Count Thihaut, father of Adelais,
whose domestic peace she had so selfishly invaded, became

ELEANOR. 14:7

enamored of the great Provence dower, and offered his
hand to his fair guest. Unabashed by the lady’s prompt
refusal, the venerable suitor determined to detain her a
prisoner in his fortress till she should comply with his prop-
osition; but Peyi‘ol accidentally learning the design, dis-
guised his mistress and her sister in his own apparel, con-
ducted them through the postern by night, and procuring
a fisherman’s boat7 escaped with them down the Loire.
Here a new danger awaited them. Geoffrey 0f Anjou7 the
young brother of Henry Plantagenet, captivated by the
charms of the princess, stationed himself With a strong
guard, at the Pont de Tas, With the intention of carrying
her Off. Before the fugitives reached the spot they per-
ceived the ambush, and the royal ladies, each seizing an
oar, concealed their faces by bending to their tasks, while
Peyrol ingeniously evaded the questions of the sentinel, by
displaying the fishing-tackle and turning the boat into a lit-
tle creek, as if preparing to commence the morning’s sport.
Hidden by the Willows that shaded the stream, the party
pursued their way with the utmost rapidity, and before the
count had discovered their escape, they were beyond the
reach of capture.

The enthusiastic greetings With which the Provengals
hailed the return of their beloved duehess, had scarcely
subsided into the quiet demonstrations of affectionate Obe-
dience, When the young Henry Plantagenet followed her
to Bordeaux, and in that wealthy city, with all the pomp
that the luxurious Provengal could command, they were
married the first of May, A.D. 1152.‘ Thus the sweet prov-
inces 0f the south became the appanage 0f the English
crown, and a foundation was laid for those desolating wars
that for centuries drained the best blood of both France
and England.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

148 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADEs

CHAPTER IV.

“Imperial being! e’en though many a stain
Of error be upon thee,
There is power in thy commanding nature.”

HENRY immediately conveyed his bride to Normandy
and installed her in the palace at Bayeux, once the resi-
dence of the family of William the Conqueror. The mar-
riage of Eleanor, but little more than a month after her di-
vorce, astonished all Europe. Especially was the King of
France incensed by a union which made his already too
powerful vassal 10rd of seven more beautiful and wealthy
provinces.

He immediately entered into an alliance with Stephen
to deprive Henry of Normandy, and incited the baffled
Geoffrey to make war upon his brother.

“ Let the stupid king do his worst,” said Eleanor to her
husband, as she despatched Peyrol to order the vessels of
Bordeaux into the English Channel. The barons 0f 00 and
no will raise the banner of St. George and the golden leop-
ards far above the oriflamme of France, and rejoice at hav-
ing such fair cause of quarrel with the suzerain and jailer
of their princess.”

The Provengal fleet that was thus brought to guard the
coast of England, was of essential service to Henry in
quelling the agitations excited by Louis not only, but in se-
curing his peaceful accession to the throne of his grand-
father, Henry I. During the siX weeks that elapsed after
the death of Stephen, before he was ready to assume his
crown, the maritime power anchored in the English harbors
preserved the public tranquillity, and kept all foreign ene-
mies in awe. Henry and Eleanor, with a brilliant train,
landed on the coast of Hampshire, at the beginning of De-
cember, AD. 1154, and proceeded direct to VVinchestex-

ELEANOR. 149

The prelates and nobles gathered round them from every
part of the kingdom, and their journey from Winchester to
London was a continual triumph.

Their coronation, which took place in Westminster Ah-
bey, was without parallel for magnificence. The silks,
brocades, and velvets shot with silver or embroidered with
gold, which the new queen had brought from Constantino-
pie, and the jewels which she had hoarded as mementoes
of her self—denying efforts in Palestine, served to illuminate
this august ceremony. The dark beauty of the south wore
her long, black hair closely braided, and bound about her
head, like an eastern tiara, from which flashed the diamonds
of her Paynim lover like jewels set in jet. Her snowy
kirtle, 0f the finest Indian fabric, confined at the throat by
a collar of gems, and fastened by a jewelled belt at the
bediee, fell in an amplitude of drapery to her feet, and the
same transparent vesture covered, without concealing, the
exquisite roundness of her arms. Over this was thrown an
elegant pelisson, bordered with fur, having f 1111 loose sleeves,
lined with ermine. In fine contrast with his sparkling
queen, stood Henry, the first monarch of the warlike Plan-
tagenets. The Saxon lineaments predominated in his face
and person, the wealth of his brown locks, and his thick,
curling mustachios gave an air of manliness to his some-
what boyish visage, but his calm youthful countenance was
not at that period marked with the strong and Violent pas-
sions that afterwards kindled in his eye, and darkened in
his frown. He wore a doublet of crimson damask, and a
short Angevin cloak, which gained for him the soubriquet
of Oourtmantle. The ecclesiastics who graced this cere-
mony also appeared in gowns and cassocks of silk and vel-
vet, another importation of Eleanor from Constantinople.
After the celebration of the Christmas festivities, the royal
pair took up their residence in Bermondsey, a pastoral Vil-
1age,near1y opposite London, where was an ancient Saxon
palace and a priory.

While Eleanor remained in this quiet retreat, Henry de-
voted his energies to settling the affairs of his government,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

15‘0' HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES,

With a prudence and discretion beyond his years. In one
council, he appointed the great officers of the crown; in
another he confirmed to his subjects, all the rights and
liberties secured under the famous charter of Henry Beau-
clerk, in a third he induced the barons to do homage to
his eldest son William, and 111 the event of William’s death,
to his second son He1111y,a child in the cradle. He de—
molished many of the castles reared by the rebellious barons
under Stephen, dismissed the foreign mercenaries 01' Bra.~
bancons, that had long infested the kingdom, and compell-
ed Malcolm, grandson of David and Maude, to exchange
three northern counties for the earldom 0f Huntingdon,
Which the King of the Scots claimed as the descendant of
Earl \Valtheof. During the stormy period of Stephen’s
reign, the ecclesiastical tribunals had acquired an authority.
above the judicial courts ; and it was the ardent desire of
the monarch to reform this abuse. He owed so much,
however, to the friendship and constancy of Theobald,
archbishop of Canterbury, that he found it difficult to work
any innovation upon the J 1111isdiction 0f the church so dear
to the heart of his venerable friend. Eleanor occupied in
her own pleasures, and it is charitably to he hoped in the
duties of a mother, took little interest in these afi'airs ; for
the death of her eldest boy, and the birth of a daughter,
had in some sort awakened her mind to maternal respon-
sibilities. She was particularly solicitous with regard to the
tutor to be chosen for her son Henry, and herself made a.
visit to the archbishop to confer upon the subject. A few
days afte1 the king ente1ed her apartments 1n an unusually
facetious mood.

“ The good Theobald,” said he, “ Who suffered banishment
for my mother, has parted With his right hand to benefit her
son. He has sent us his CW 11 a1 chdeacon as a tutor forHenry. ”

“ And how looks the candidate f01 our favor , is he fair
and wise. 2” asked Eleanor. “‘

“Nay, f101 that, ” said IIemy, “ the archbishop, with his
wonted sagacity, has shown due 11ega1d f01 the tastes of the
family, since the man he has sent is half Saxon, halfSaracen.”

 

 

ELEANOR. 151

“A Pullani,” exclaimed Eleanor, her curiosity at once
excited. “ I met many of this class in Palestine. Comes
he direct from the Holy Land 9”

“ Nay, he was born in London, and except some of the
characteristics of his wily race, is as good a Christian as
ever attended mass. His father, Guilbert Becket, was
taken captive in the first crusade, and confined in the
palace of an emir. The daughter of the Infidel fell Vio-
lently in love with the young Christian, liberated him by
night, and. pawned her jewels to a hand of roving pirates,
to engage them to convey him safe to Europe. Thither
she followed him through a great variety of dangers, re-
plying only ‘London,’ ‘Gruilbert,’ to 311 who questioned her.
These two magic words brought her to the metropolis;
where she found the object of her search. She was hap-
tized by the Saxon name of Matilda, and Becket rewarded.
her devotion by marrying her. Thomas a Becket was
their only son. He passed his childhood under the care
of the canons of Merton; he has studied in the schools of
Oxford and Paris, frequented the lectures on Philosophy
at Bologna, been bred in a thorough knowledge of the
civil and canon law, has Visited Rome, stands high in the
favor of pope and primate, and with all these qualifications,”
added Henry, in a tone of exultatien, “7w is not apriest.”

Eleanor was delighted with the story, and Becket was imv
mediately installed as tutor of Prince Henry. Becket’s
romantic origin, affable manners, but more especially his
nice tact in exhibiting intelligence or ignorance, according
to the demands of delicate emergencies, recommended him
at once to the fever of both king and queen. The princi-
pal residences of the royal family were 'Westminster palace,
Winchester, and the country palace of \Voodstock, the
favorite abode of Henry Beauclerk and Matilda the good.
In this charming retirement, Eleanor amused herself and
the ladies of her court, with mysteries and. mummeries,
contrived and acted by the priests and parish clerks.
Even the miracles of the holy volume were degraded
from their sacred character; and n‘fade the subjects of

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

152 HEROINES OF THE GRUSADES.

clumsy efforts at merriment. Eleanor, who delight“) a
scenic amusements, on one occasion instructed the maste 3f
ceremonies t0 dramatize the miraculous trials of St. Dunstan,
So many characters were necessary for this important play,
that new recruits 0f abbots, clerks and scholars were imported
from the neighboring priory, and the queen’s dairies d’hon-
neur were enlisted in the choir, and faithfully drilled in
the chanting of most unearthly melodies. The usuai
services in the chapel were for several days omitted. The
carpenters displaced the priests, and instead of the sound
of matins and vespers, the walls echoed with the noise of
workmen’s hammers, preparing a false floor for the mimic
purgatory. The trees of the park were robbed of their
leafy honors, to fit up a. forest over the high altar, which
by the removal of a, panel, and the addition of dry leaves,
pebbles and mosses, answered very well for the hermit’s
cave. The eventful night arrived, and expectation, so long
on tiptoe, quietly settled itself upon the temporary benches
to enjoy the intellectual treat, while an imaginary moon
broad as the shield of their Saxon fathers, reflected the
light of a supposed invisible torch. placed behind a Window
shutter. Owing to the imperfection 0f the machinery there-
was some difficulty in raising the curtain, but the queen
was privately informed. that the creaking was not intended
as part of the play. The learned and gifted Provengal
must be pardoned if she exchanged some sly criticisms.
and satirical smiles, with the witty Peyrel, at the expense
of the well-meaning performers.

The scene Opened disclosing a barren heath, in the centre
of which was a mound of rubbish, strewed with grass and sur-
mounted with a. huge sten e, whieh had been transplanted with
much care andlabov, froman adjacent cromlech._ By its side
stood a youth, who bashfully hanging his head and awkward—
ly twirling a wand, thus unfolded the plan of the drama 1—-

“ Here you see this hill and stone,
For that you may know anon.
The story of the blest St. Dunstan :

For dun is hill, and stone is stane,
That is what this here shall mean.

ELEANOR. 153

To the holy Saint was trouble sent,
As we here shall represent—”

When young Harlequin had concluded his prologue, he
paused in great embarrassment staring up at the curtain,
till finding that it refused to fall he stepped to the side of
the stage and assisted its descent With all his strength. i

A considerable bustle then ensued behind the scenes,
during Which the audience amused themselves as is usual
in such cases, by suppressed titters and Whispers. I

The reluctant curtain again rose, and instead of the nota-
ble hill and stone, the individual typified thereby, St. Dun-
stan himself appeared, a burly Saxon priest wedged into
his altar-cave ; an appropriate arrangement admirably
adapted to the tradition, since he could neither sit, stand,
nor lie down at ease in it. The holy man was professedly
engaged at his devotions, rattling 01f credos and ave ma-
ries in a style showing a lamentable want of familiarity
with Latin. The arch tempter was a little behind his time,
for the saint had evidently exhausted his stock of prayers,
and had commenced a repeat When Lucifer appeared in
the disguise of a laborer With spade in hand. Approach-
ing the cave, he held out a bag of gold and invited the
holy Father to follow him. The hermit impatiently waved
his hand and turned his eyes resolutely away from the glit—
tering lure, while the baffled demon walked off the stage.
Confused groans and shrieks from the imps beneath follow-
ed his departure,whi1e the choir of unseen angels sung
With great emphasis—

“ With gold he doth the saint assail,
But not With this can the devil prevail.”

The next scene was of 2, more striking character. The
monk was this time interrupted by the advent of a beauti-
ful damsel, who, gliding like an apparition of light from
the greenwood, stopped before the cave, showered roses
upon his missai, and in the most enticing manner sought to
win him from his devotions. The saint, however, remained
firm, and when she laid hold of his arm, he snatched a pair

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

154 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

of pincers, conveniently heated for the occasion, and zeal-
ously seized the sorceress by the nose, who first cried pite-
ously and then bellowed most lustily—but the heart of the
pious priest was not to be moved. In the struggle, the
glittering mask unfortunately fell off, carrying with it the
whole apparatus of the flimsy disguise, and a saucy—looking
page, thus unexpectedly revealed, scampered off the stage,
much to the discomfiture of the players and greatly to the
amusement 0f the spectators. This contre-temps produced
a most uncommon roaring among the demons below, while
the choir sung with renewed vehemence———

“ With love he doth the saint assail,
But not With this shall the devil prevail.”

Hardly had the cheering and laughter subsided, when
the curtain rose the third time. A sulphurous vapor filled
the apartment, and from a trap-door in the staging, amid
mimic thunders and faint attempts at lightning, rose his
Satanic majesty, in propria persona, with the usual adj uncts
of horns, hoofs and tail. As if to strengthen the trembling
saint for the final conflict, the choir reiterated with great
excitement—

“ With fear he doth your heart assail,
But not with this shall the devil prevai .”

The fiend advanced with diabolical grimace, and the
whole staging trembled beneath his tread, while the terri-
fied devotee shrank t0 the farthest corner of the cell, and
throwing his huge arms round the wooden crucifix, told his
beads with startling volubility. It was evidently the fiend’s
object, to detach St. Dunstan from the cross ; but the broad-
shouldered priest was more than a match for the sturdy
boor, encumbered as he was With the trappings of his new
dignities. A terrible struggle ensued, but such was the
desperate energy with Which the saint grasped the holy
symbol, and so intimately was it connected with the whole
design of the performance, that in attempting to drag the
priest from its protection, the stout yeoman tore the cruci-

ELEANOR. 155

fix from the altar, the forest from its foundations, and while
the choir were preparing to vociferate a splendid song of
triumph, friar and fiend, angels and apparatus were precip-
itated into the yawning purgatory beneath. At the same
moment, the man with the moon abruptly set, leaving the
chapel in total darkness. The musical pitch wavered and
quavered, and terminated in shrieks of afl'right, and the
audience, apprehensive that the devil had not yet his due,
fled in most undignified haste. It was not until the queen
had reached her own apartments, and her tire—women one
after another came hurrying to her presence in ludicrous
disarray, that she forgot her fright and gave way to a ge-
nial burst of merriment. The forlorn damsels at length
found it impossible not to join in her mirth, and every fresh
arrival was hailed With irrepressible peals of laughter.

“ Welcome, my angeliques,” cried the queen. “I feared
that your late promotion would unfit you for mortal duties ;
but I perceive, With pleasure, that a foretaste of the punish-
ment that awaits the unfaithful, has rendered you more
than usually alert this evening. For ourself, we feel the
necessity for repose, and will gladly be disrobed for our
couch.”

Notwithstanding the unsuccessful efi'orts of her Saxon
clerks, Eleanor was not discouraged. She summoned from
Blois a celebrated abbot named William, who, under her
patronage, and assisted by her genius, brought out his tra~
gedy of Flaura and Marcus, the first appearance of the reg.
ular drama in England.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

156 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADE&

CHAPTER V.

For close designs and crooked counsels fit,
Sagaeious, bold, and turbulent of Wit;
Restless, uufixed in principle and place,
In power unpleased, impatient in disgrace.

THOMAS A BECKET had risen rapidly in the royal favor.
His calm discrimination and 0001 judgment had made him
the chosen counsellor of his patron, his sedulous attention
to his pupil had won the heart of Eleanor, while his courtly
qualities and knightly address made him popular with all .
classes of people. The king conferred upon him the honors
of Eye, the wardenship 0f the tower of London, and made
him chancellor of the realm. The versatility of his accom-
plishments enabled him to adapt himself to Henry’s vari-
ous moods, and he thus became the monarch’s inseparable
companion. The rapidity of his rise was equalled only by
the splendor of his course. He rivalled the king in the
appointments of his household, exercised the most un-
bounded hospitality towards those who visited the court,
and became the medium through which the subjects com-
municated with their sovereign. The king was his frequent
guest, and the monarch and the favorite seemed bound by
ties of real friendship. Queen Eleanor had removed her
court from VVoedstock, t0 the palace OfBeaumont, in Oxford,
where the celebrated Cceur de Lion was born, A.D,, 1157.
On the receipt of this pleasing intelligence, the king
set off with his chancellor and train to join his family.
As they rode along, conversing upon terms of the most
easy familiarity, a miserable beggar followed them asking
an aims. The king carelessly bestowed a few pence, and
the chancellor observing the tattered garments of the men-
dieant, faeetiously remarked, that the command was not
to feed the hungry alone, but to clothe the naked.

 

 

ELEANOR. 157

“Thou sayest truth,” said the king, “and art thyself
worthy to illustrate thy own doctrine.”

S0 saying, he seized the chancellor’s cloak, and began
pulling it from his shoulders. The favorite resisted this
charitable impulse, and put spurs to his horse. The king,
however, retained his grasp, and urged his steed to keep
pace With that of the close~fisted courtier, and betwixt their
struggles and laughter, both had nearly been rolled in the
dirt. Becket, finally, released his hold, and the wondering
beggar wrapped his shivering limbs in the finest mantle in
the kingdom.

As their road wound through the rich meadows 0f Even-
lod, they caught occasional glimpses of the nunnery at
Godstow, half-hidden among the trees, and before they
reached the outer line of the convent walls, they saw at a.
short distance before them, crossing a rustic bridge, the
figure of a beautiful girl, mounted upon a coal-black steed.
The ease and grace with which she reined the mettlesome
animal, the exquisite symmetry of her form, set off by the
rich drapery of her robe, first attracted the king’s notice.
Her hair of a golden brown escaping from a turban-Iike
riding-cap, floated like a. veil over her shoulders, and air
and exercise imparted a brilliant bloom to a face of 1in
fairness, and gave additional lustre t0 eyes, whose mir-
ror-like depths seemed formed to reflect the light of heaven.
Henry instinctively drew rein as the beautiful being dash-
ed across their way and struck into a bridle—path, followed
by a venerablelooking serving man, in green livery.

“ What dazzling vision is this ?” said Henry, pausing as
if to recall a half-forgotten memory. “I have seen that
face before, or my eye is, for the first time, at fault.”

“ The appointments of the servant are those of the Clif—
ford’s,” said Becket, Coldly.

“And What is the name of the fair creature With the
golden locks 2” pursued Henry.

“If it be the daughter of Lord Walter de Clifford, her
name is Rosamond,” said Becket, little inclined to satisfy
the monarch’s inquiries.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

158 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

“ Walter de Clifford I” said the king, with a. thrill of rec-
ollection. “I mind me now, When the King of Scotland
laid the sword of knighthood on my shoulder, it was the Lord
de Clifford that buckled 011 my spurs; and this fair girl,
then a, child of exquisite beauty, sat among the maids 0f
the queen, who presided at the tournament. A king bred
in a foreign land must needs be a sad stranger in his own
realm. Canst thou point me to the home of this fair dam-
sel ?”

Becket, who perceived that the impetuosity 0f the mon-
arch would not brook evasion, answered ; “ Clifford castle
is some two days’ distance, on the banks of the Wye. The
Lord de Clifford has been a crusader in Palestine this
many a year, and his daughter, who after her mother’s
death, was in care of the nuns 0f Godstow, is haply on her
way to the convent. The serving man, I see, is old Adam
Henrid, her seneschal.”

“ Let us push on,” said Henry, “ to-night we sup at God-
stow. Much I wonder,” he added, musingly, “ if the sweet
girl holds in recollection the image of the boy knight.”

“ Becket,” he added, aloud, “ there is little about me to
betray the king. I will be to-night, the simple Duke of
Maine. Be thou my squire. Our men in attendance may
proceed to Oxford.” So saying, the impatient monarch put
spurs to his horse, and galloped forward followed by his
reluctant courtier, and alighted at the mummy just after
Rosamond had been received within its walls. The sound
of the bell brought to the great gate of the convent the
portress, summoned from her evening meal, and still hold-
ing in herhand the bunch of leeks and slice of brown bread,
which formed the repast.

“ And what wouldst thou, sir knight 3” she inquired,
gruffiy.

“ Rest and refreshment,” said Henry, in French. “ We
are weary travellers, and seek shelter for the night.”

“ Ye are from beyond the sea,” replied the portress,
“ and we will none of your outlandish tongue. Yonder lies
the way to Oxford.”

 

 

ELEANOR. 159

“ Becket,” Whispered the king, “ let thy ready Wit serve
us in this time of need, and thou shalt not find thy 10rd 1111-
grateful.” The Wily chancellor, who never lost the Oppor-
tunity of laying the monarch under Obligation to himself,
instantly rejoined in Saxon to the nun,

“ Open to us, good mother. The Duke of Maine is a zeal-
ous patron of the church, and perehanee thine own convent
Will be none the poorer for granting him entertainment.”

The mollified portress immediately admitted them, mut-
tering apologeticaiiy, “The wayfarer and benighted are
ever received with Christian charity, by the sisters of the
blessed St. Bernarc .”

The infant Richard was a child of great promise, and his
ambitious mother began, at once, to plan for his future ad-
vancement. She besought her husband to bestow upon
the prince the dukedom 0f Aquitaine, and to permit her to
convey him thither, to receive the homage 0f the barons,
and to arrange a betrothment between him and Philippa,
the infant daughter of her sister Petronilla and Raymond
0f Arragon. To her great joy and surprise Henry acceded
at once to the proposal, and co-operated in her scheme for
remaining some time as regent in her southern dominions.

Louis VIL, King of France, had given his two daughters
by Eleanor, in marriage to the Counts of Blois and Cham-
pagne; and after the death of his second Wife Constantia,
conferred the crown matrimonial upon their father’s sister,
Adelais of Champagne, Widow of the famous Rudolph of
Vermandois. He also bestowed upon the Count of Cham-
pagne the office of seneschal of his kingdom, which of
right belonged to Henry, as Duke of Anjeu, Who, enraged
at this measure, made war upon his liege 10rd. The afi'air
was finally compromised by the affiancing of Henry’s eldest
son with Louis’s third daughter Marguerite. Henry and
Eleanor repaired to Normandy to celebrate the nuptials,
and Becket was sent to Paris to bring the young bride to
Rouen. On this important occasion the chancellor trav-
elled in the greatest state. When he entered a town two

 

160 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

hundred and fifty boys singing national airs led the pro-
cession,whi1e from wagons covered with skins and pro-
tected by guards and dogs the populace were regaled with
draughts of English beer. Other wagons, each drawn by
five horses, led by servants in splendid livery, followed with
the furniture of his chapel, bed-ehamber and kitchen, his

- plate, wardrobe, and attendants. Then came twelve sump-
ter horses each carrying a groom and monkey; then the
esquires, gentiemen’s sons, falconers with hawks upon their
wrists, officers of the household, knights and clergymen, and
last of all Becket himself in familiar converse with a few
friends. The French, when they saw an ambassador af-
fecting a magnificence greater than their own sovereign
could command, exclaimed, “ What manner of man must;
the King of England be, When his chancellor travels in
such state.” The King of France received Becket with the
most distinguishing courtesy, and committed the infant
Marguerite to his care. Becket conveyed the little princess
to Rouen, where the contract of marriage was solemnized,
and the juvenile bride and bridegroom were committed to
him for education, and Louis gave to Henry three cities as
the dower of his daughter.

But a misunderstanding arising with regard to the mat-
ter, a fresh compromise was effected by another match. The
death of the little princess of Arragon had left the hand of
Richard again‘at liberty. This hand was given as a pledge
of amity to Alice, the infant daughter of France, who was
also conveyed to England for education. It was the policy of
Henry to strengthen his government by powerful alliances :
and these early marriages were followed in quick succession
by similar unions between Geoffrey his third son and Con-
stance the heiress 0f Bretagne, and his eldest daughter
Matilda with Henry the lion Duke Of Saxony.

In the midst of 'these domestic and political arrange—
ments Theobald, Archbishop of Canterbury, died ; and the
king entered upon his long—meditated design of reforming
the abuses of the church. He had loaded Becket with
every demonstration of favor and affection, and counting

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ELEANOR. 161

confidently upon his co-operation, offered him the vacancy.
The chancellor objected that he was not a priest, but Henry
insisted that the time required to take orders was only a
few hours. Still the chancellor seemed to decline the daz-
zling gift. He protested that were he once a bishop he
must uphold the rights of the church, and solemnly told
the king the night before his consecration that the mitre
would interpose an eternal barrier between them. Henry
persisted, and Becket at last modestly accepted the first
oflice in the kingdom.

Directly on his investment the new archbishop became
as much distinguished for his austerity as he had before
been for his ostentation. He resigned his office of chan-
cellor, dismissed his knightly train, clothed himself in sack-
cloth, fed upon the coarsest fare, drank water nauseous
With fennel, and daily upon his knees washed the feet of
thirteen beggars, whom he afterwards dismissed with alms.
On all occasions he defended the rights of the church in
opposition to those of the crown. As he was the most
learned man in the kingdom, the most eloquent and the
best beloved,he possessed unbounded influence with all
classes, and Henry soon found in the man whom he trusted
as an ally a most powerful adversary.

But the king did not 011 this account relinquish his plans
for reform. A parish priest had been guilty of murder
under circumstances that peculiarly aggravated the crime.
The judicial courts sought to try the criminal. The bishop
contended that degradation from ofiice was the highest
punishment that could be inflicted upon a son of the church.
The afl‘air created great sensation throughout the kingdom,
and Henry finally convened a general council of the no-
bility and clergy. Several articles, were drawn up called
the Constitutions 0f Clarendon, the drift of which was that
no churchman should be entitled to privileges greater than
those enjoyed by his peers among the laity. Becket at.
first refused to sign the articles and the other bishops fol-
lowed his example. Being threatened with exile or death
he. at length yielded; but afterwards, learning that the

11

 

 

 

 

 

 

162 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

pope did not approve his course, he retracted his consent.
The king incensed at the conduct of his favorite, ordered a
succession of charges to be prepared, on which the arch—
bishop was cited to trial. Becket declined the jurisdiction
of the court and appealed to the pope, finally escaped across
the sea and made his way to the King of France.

Troubles in Aquitaine had made it necessary for Eleanor
to take up her abode there, where, in company With her
children, she remained some time exercising the functions
of regent with great ability. To detach Prince Henry, who
was enthusiastically fond of his tutor, from the party of
Becket, the king sent for him to be crowned at Westminster,
and admitted to a share of the government. But when the
princess Marguerite found that Becket7 the guardian of her
youth, was not to place the diadem upon her head, she
trampled upon the coronation—robes, and perverseiy refused
to leave Aquitaine for London. King Louis took up his
daughter’s quarrel, and entered Normandy at the head
of an army. Henry hastened to defend his domains, and
hostilities were commenced, but the two monarchs had
a private conference, and Henry finally promised to seek
an immediate reconciliation with his exiled primate. The
archbishop of Rouen and the bishop of Nevers were au-
thorized to arrange an interview, and the King of England
awaited the arrival of his rebellious subject in a spacious
meadow, 0n the borders of Touraine. As soon as Becket
appeared Henry spurred on his horse, with his cap in hand,
thus preventing any formal recognition, and discoursed
with all the easy familiarity of former days. At the
gracious words of his master, the archbishop descended
from his horse, and threw himself at the feet of his sov-
ereign; but Henry laid hold of the stirrup, and insisted
that he should remount, saying,

“ Let us renew our ancient affection for each 0ther,—only
show me honor before those who are now Viewing our be-
havior.” Then returning to his nobles, he remarked, “I
find the archbishop in the best of dispositions towards me;
were 1' otherwise“ toward him I should be the worst of men.”

ELEANOR. 163’

The king, however, adroitly avoided giving the kiss of
peace, a circumstance which the primate observed, and
made the subject of the most gloomy presage. Having
waited in vain for the money Which Henry had promised
him, Becket borrowed a sum sufficient to defray the ex-
penses of the journey, and contrary to the advice of his
friends, returned to his diocese. He despatched a letter to
the king at Rouen, which closed thus 2——

“ It was my wish to have waited on you once more, but
necessity compels me, in the lowly state to which I am re—
duced, to revisit my afflicted church. I go, sir, with your
permission, perhaps to perish for its security, unless you
protect me; but whether I live or die, yours I am, and
yours I shall ever be in the Lord. Whatever may befall
me or mine, may the blessing of God rest on you and your
children.”

Before the meeting between Becket and the king, the‘
pope had issued letters of suspension against those Who had
assisted at the coronation of the young prince, and Becket
returned to England with those letters upon his person, and
immediately proceeded upon the work of excommunication.
These tidings were conveyed to Henry by the first ship that
sailed for Normandy, and the outraged monarch exclaimed
in a fury of passion, “Of the cowards who eat my bread
is there not one to rid me of this turbulent priest 3” Four
knights, at the head of whom was Reginald Fitzul'se,i1n-
mediately set out for England, and proceeding straight to
Canterbury, entered the house of the archbishop, and re-
quired him, in the king’s name, to absolve the excommuniv
sated prelates. Becket refused, and repaired to the church
with the utmost tranquillity to eveninglvespers. The sol-
emn tones of the organ had ceased, and the archbishop had
opened the hook and commenced the lesson of the martyr-
dom of St. Stephen, “ Princes sat and spake against me,”
when the knights, with twelve companions, all in complete
armor, burst into the church. “ Where is the traitor?
Where is the archbishop 2” inquired Fitzurse; “ Here am

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

164 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

I,” replied Becket, “the archbishop, but no traitor.” He
read his doom in the eyes of his pursuers. “ Tyrant king,”
muttered he, “though I die I will be thy undoing.” He
wrote hastily upon a tablet, “ TVoodstock,” and giving it to
his only attendant, whispered, “Deliver this to Queen
Eleanor. Terry not till then find her.” Then turning
calmly to the knights,

“ Reginald,” said he, “I have granted thee many favors,
what is thy object now? If thou seekest my life, I com-
mand thee, in the name of God, not to touch one of my
people.”

“I come not to take life,” replied Reginald, “ but to
witness the absolution of the bishops.”

“ Till they offer satisfaction I shall never absolve them,”
said the prelate.

“ Then die i” exclaimed the knight, aiming a blow at his
head. The attendant interposed his arm, which was broken,
and the force of the stroke bore away the pi'elate’s cap, and
wounded him on the crown. As he felt the blood trickling
down his face, he joined his hands and bowed his head,
saying, “In the name of Christ, and for the defence of his
church I am ready to die.” Turning thus towards his mur-
derers, he waited a second stroke, which threw him on his
knees, and the third prosti‘ated him on the floor, at the foot
of St. Bennett’s altar. He made no effort towards resistance
or escape, and without a groan expired. The assassins
instantly fled, and the people, WhO had by this time assem-
bled, crowded into the cathedral. The priests with pious
reverence took up the body of the dead archbishop, and
laid it in state before the high altar. They tore his gar—
ments in pieces, and distributed each shred as a sacred
relic. The devout wiped up his blood and treasured the
holy stains, and the more fortunate obtained a lock of hair
from his honored head. Becket was interred with great
solemnity in Canterbury cathedral, and all the power he
had exercised in life was but a trifle t0 the influence of the
miracles wrought at his tomb.

Henry was celebrating the holidays in Normandy, when

ELEANOR. 165

the news of this event threw him into the deepest melan-
choly. The train of calamities, which would inevitably
follow the curse of the church, made him tremble for his
throne, and the natural horror of the crime alarmed his
imagination and partially disordered his reason. He knew
not how to receive the murderers, 1101' yet how to treat with
the pope, and finally concluded to give the matter over to
the judgment of the spiritual courts. The assassins in con-
sequence travelled to Rome, and were sentenced byway of
expiation to make a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. T0 evade
meeting the legates 0f the pope, Henry determined to seize
this opportunity for his long meditated invasion of Ireland.

The same month that witnessed the splendid coronation
of Henry and Eleanor, had been signalized by the succes-
sion of N icholas Breakspear, to the throne of the Vatican.
This prelate, consecrated under the name of Adrian IV. was
the only Englishman that ever sat in the chair of St. Peter;
and his partiality for his native sovereign had led him to be—
stow upon Henry, a grant of the dominion of Ireland. Now
When troubles arose in that province and Circui'nstances
rendered absence from his own dominions desirable, the
king led an army into Ireland.

From the time of the marriage of her daughter Matilda
with the Lion of Saxony, Eleanor had not visited England.
The arrival of Becket’s messenger in Bordeaux, conveyed
to her the first intelligence of the prelate’s death ; and the
mysterious word T'Voodstock, immediately revived a half-
forgotten suspicion excited by the stratagems of Henry, to
prevent her return to her favorite residence. Her woman’s
curiosity prevailed over her love of power, and she intrust-
ed the regency to her son Henry, repaired to England, and
lost 110 time on her way to \Voodstock. As she approached
the palace, her keen eye scanned every circumstance that
might lead curiosity 01' 1111] suspicion, but with the excep-
tion of a deserted and unkept look, the appearance of the
place indicated no marked change. Though she came
with a small train and unannounced, the drawbridge was
instantly lowered for her entrance, and the aged porter re-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

16,6 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

ceived her with a smile of unfeigned satisfaction. The
state rooms were thrown open and hastily fitted up for the
reception of the royal inmates, and the servants, wearied
with the listless inactivity of a life without motive or ex~
citement, bustled about the castle and executed the com-
mands of their mistress, with the most joyful alaerity.
Under pretence 0f superintending additions and repairs,
Queen Eleanor ordered carpenters and masons, who under
her eye, Visited every apartment, sounded every wall, and
tore off every panel, where by any possibility an indi-
vidual might be concealed. She did not hesitate even to
penetrate the dungeons under the castle ; and whenever the
superstition of the domestics made them hesitate in mortal
terror, she would seize a torch and unattended thread her
way through the darkest and dampest subterranean passa-
ges of the gloomy vaults. All these investigations led to
no discovery. The pleasance offered little to invite her
search. It had been originally laid out in the stiff and
tasteless manner of the age, with straight walks and eiose
clipped shrubbei'y, but so long neglected it was a tangled
maze, to which her eye could detect no entrance. Below
the pleasance the postern by a wicket gate communicated
with a park, which was separated only by a stile from the
great forest of Oxfordshire. Mounted on her Spanish jen-
net, Eleanor galloped through this park and sometimes
ventured into the forest beyond, and she soon discovered
that the attendants avoided a thicket which skirted the park
wall. Commanding the grooms to lead in that'direction,
she was informed that it was the ruins of the old Inenagerie,
located there .by Henry 1., overgrown by thorns and ivy
and trees, that shut out the light of the sun. The aged
porter assured her that no one had entered it in his day,
that Wild beasts still howled therein, and that the com-
mon people deemed it dangerous to Visit its Vicinity.
He added, that one youth who had charge of the wicket,
had been carried off and never again seen; and that all
the exorcisms 0f the priests could never lay the ghost.
The old man crossed himself in devout horror and turned

 

 

ELEANOR. 1,67

away; but the queen commanded him to hold the bridle
of her horse, while she should attempt the haunted pre-
cincts alone. The thick underwood resisted all her efforts,
and she found it impossible to advance but a few steps,
though her nnwonted intrusion aroused the beetles and
bats, awakened the chatter of monkeys and the startled
twitter of birds, and gave her a glimpse of what she thought
were the glaring eyeballs of a wolf. A solemn 0W1 flew out
above her head as she once more emerged into the light of
day, and the timid porter welcomed her return with numer-
ous ej aculations of thanksgiving t0 the watchful saints ; but
he shook his head with great gravity as he assisted her to
remonnt saying,

“ I would yon dismal bird had kept his perch in the hol-
low oak. Our proverb says, ‘Woe follows the owl’s Wing
as blood follows the steel.’ ”

Disappointed in the wood, Eleanor relinquished her fruit-
less search. But by dint of questioning she 1earned,that
though the palace wore the appearance of desertion and
decay, it had been the frequent resort of Henry and Becket,
and since the favorite’s death, her husband had made it a
flying Visit before leaving for Ireland. Farther than this
all inquiries were vain. The unexpected return of her hus-
band, and his look of surprise and anxiety at finding her at
1Woodstock, again awakened all her jealous fears. His
power of dissiinnhition, notwithstanding, kept her con-
stantly at fault, and during the week of his stay, nothing
was elicited to throw light upon the mystery. Henry had
been negotiating With the pope to obtain absolntion for
Becket’s murder, and was now on his way to N ormandy to
meet the legates. The morning before his departure, Queen
Eleanor saw him walking in the p1easance,and hastened
to join him. As she approached she observed a thread of
silk, attached to his spur and apparently extending through
the walks of the shrubhery. Carefully breaking the thread
she devoted herself by the most sednlons attention to her
husband, till he set out for France, when she hastened back
to the garden, and taking up the silk followed it threugh

 

E;’\
g
i

t

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

168 HEROINES OF THE CRUSAEES.

numerous turnings and windings till she came to a little
open space near the garden wall, perfectly enclosed by
shrubbery. The ball from which the thread was unwound
lay upon the grass. There the path seemed to terminate ;
but her suspicions were now so far confirmed that she de~
termined not to give up the pursuit. A broken bough, on
Which the leaves were not yet withered, riveted her atten-
tion, and pulling aside the branch she discovered a con-
cealed door. With great difficulty she opened or rather
lifted it, and descended by stairs Winding beneath the eas-
tle wall. Ascending on the opposite side by a path so
narrow that she could feel the earth and rocks on either
hand, she emerged into What had formerly been the cave
of a leopard, fitted up in the most fanciful manner With
pebbles, mosses, and leaves. She made the entire circuit
of the cave ere she discovered a place of egress: but at
length pushing away a verdant screen, she advanced upon
an open pathway Which wound, now under the thick
branches of trees, now through the dilapidated barriers
that had prevented the forest denizens from making war
upon each other, now among ruined lodges Which the keep-
ers of the wild beasts had formerly inhabited; but wher-
ever she wandered she noted that some careful hand had
planted tree, and shrub, and flower in such a manner as to
conceal the face of decay and furnish in the midet of those
sylvan shades a most delightful retreat. At last she found
herself inextricably involved in a labyrinth whose apart-
ments, divided by leafy partitions, seemed so numerous
and so like each other as to render it impossible for her to
form any idea of the distance she had come, 01‘ the point
to which she must proceed. The sun was going down When
by accident, she laid her hand upon the stile. Following
its windings, though with great difficulty, she emerged into
the path that terminated in the forest. The low howl Of a.
wolf—dog quiekened her steps, and she arrived at the palace
breathless with fear and fatigue. Sleep scarcely Visited
her pillow. She revolved the matter over and over again ‘
in her mind. “Where could Henry find halls of silk?

ELEANOR. 169

For whose pleasure and privacy was the labyrinth con-
trived ? What hand had planted the rare exotic adjacent
to the hawthorn and the sloe ? Was this tortuous path the
road to a mortal habitation? And who was the fair in—
mate 2” She could hardly wait for the dawn of the morn—
ing, and when the morning came it only increased hei'
impatience, for heavy clouds veiled the sun, and a contin-
ued rain confined her for several days to her apartments.
When she next set out on her voyage of discovery she
took the necessary precaution to secure a hearty coadjutor
in the person of Peyrol, who silently followed her with the
faithfulness of early affection, wondering to what point their
mysterious journey might tend. At the secret door she
fastened a thread, and with more celei-ity than she had
hoped, traced her former course to the labyrinth; with
much difliculty she again found the stile, and after a diligent
search perceived a rude stair, that winding around the base
of a rock assumed a regular shapely form, till by a long
arched passage it conducted to a tower screened by lofty
trees, but commanding through the interstices of the foliage
a view of the adjacent forest. Here all effort at conceal-
ment was at an end. The doors opened into rooms fitted
up with all the appliances of wealth, and with a perfection
of taste that showed that some female divinity presided
there. Vases 0f fresh-culled flowers regaled the senses
with rich perfume. A harp lay unstrung upon the table, a
tambour frame on which was an unfinished picture of the
Holy Family leaned against the wall,whi1e balls of silk
and children’s toys lay scattered around in playful disorder.
Everything indicated that the tower had been recently oc~
cupied, but no inmate was to be found. Retracing their
steps into the forest they proceeded by a. well-beaten path
along the banks of a little stream, to a pebbly basin in
which the waters welled up with a faint murmur that spoke
of rest and quiet. A sound of music made them pause,
and they heard a low gentle voice followed by the lisping
aceents of a child chanting the evening hymn to the Vir-
giri. Stepping stealthily along they saw, half shaded by a

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

170 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

bower inwoven With myrtle and egiantine, a beautiful fe-
male kneeling before a crucifix hung with votive otFei'ings.
Her face was exquisitely fair, and her eyes raised to the
holy symbol seemed to borrow their hue from the heavens
above. A soft bloom suffused her cheek, and her coral lips
parted in prayer revealed her pearly teeth. The delicate
contour of her finely rounded throat and bust were dis-
played by her posture, and one dirhpied shoulder was visi-
ble through the wavy masses of bright hair that envelopeci
her figure, as though the light of the golden sunset lingered
lovingly about her. An infant, fairer if possible than the
mother, With eyes of the same heavenly hue, lay by her
side. He had drawn one tiny slipper from his foot, and
delighted With his prize laughed in every feature and
seemed crowing an accompaniment to her words. Startled
by the sound of footsteps, the mother turned, and meeting
the dark menacing gaze of Eleanor, snatched up the baby-
boy, Which clasped its little hands and looked up in her
face, instinctively suiting the action of entreaty to the
smile of confident afi'ection. The elder boy before unnoticed
advanced as if in doubt, whether to grieve 0r frown.

The deep earnest gaze of his hazel eyes and his soft
brown hair, clearly indicated his Norman extraction, and
when he passed his arm half—fearfully, half—protectingly
around his mother’s neck, and the eloquent blood mounted
to his cheek Eleanor recognized the princely bearing of the
Plantagenets.

“ False woman,” said she, darting forward and confront-
ing the trembling mother with flashng eyes, “ thou art the
paramour of King Henry, and these your base—born pro-
geny.” T0 the paleness of terror succeeded the flush of in-
dignation not unmingied with the crimson hue of shame, as
the fair creature raised her head and repelled the accusation.

“ Rosamond de Clifi'ord is not King Henry’s paramour.
My 10rd is the Duke of Maine; and when he returns from
the wars Will acknowledge his babes before the nobles 0f
the land.”

“Aye, the Duke of Maine,” retorted Eleanor, in scornful

 

 

 

ELEANOR. 171

mockery, “ and 0f Anjou, and of N ormandy, and through
his injured queen 10rd of the seven beautiful provinces of
the south. Thy white face has won a marvellous conquest.
The al'ch—dissimulator boasts many titles, but one that bars
all thy claims. He is the Imsbcmd of Eleanor 0f Aqui-
taine I” “Becket! where is Becket, Why comes not my
friend and counsellor Z” exclaimed Rosamond in the accents
of deepair, as a conviction of the truth flashed upon her
mind. “ Dead,” replied the infuriated woman, approach-
ing nearer and speaking in a hoarse Whisper. “Henry
brooks n0 rival in his path, nor Will Eleanor.” The implied
threat and fierce gestures warned Rosamond of her danger,
and clasping her frightened children to her breast, she sank
down at the feet of the queen in the utmost terror and abase-
ment. “ Heaven assoil thee of thy sin‘,” said Eleanor, turn-
ing to depart, “ at dawn we meet again.”

CHAPTER VI.

“Oh! think what anxious moments pass between
The birth of plots, and their last fatal periods;
Oh! ’tis a dreadful interval of time,

Fill’d up With horror, and big with death.”

THE first conference of Henry with the legates proved un-
satisfactory7 but at the second, in the presence of the bish-
ops, barons and people, with his hand on the gospels, he
solemnly swore that he was innocent both in word and
deed of the murder of Becket. Yet, as his passionate eX-
pression had been the occasion of the prelate’s death, he
promised to maintain two hundred knights for the defence
of the Holy Land ; to serve in person against the Infidels
three years, either in Palestine or Spain, and to restore the
confiscated estates of Becket’s friends. Pleased With the
successful issue of this negotiation, Henry was preparing
to return with joyful haste to England, when his peace was

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

172 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

disturbed by quarrels originating in his own family. For
some unaccountable reason his children seemed all armed
against him, His son Henry demanded immediate posses-
sion of either England or Normandy, and on being refused
appealed to his father—in-law Louis VII. Before three days
had elapsed, Richard and Geoffrey followed their brother,
and soon after Henry learned to his dismay that Queen
Eleanor had herself set off for the court of her former hus-
band. Remembering the perilous vicinity in Which he had
left the queen, it at once occurred to him that she was the
original instigator 0f the plot. By a skilful manoeuvre, he
intercepted her flight, and sent her back to Winchester a
prisoner. Immediately his undutiful sons, adding their
mother’s quarrel to their own grievances, bound themselves
by oath to the King of F rance that they would never make
peace with their father except by Louis’s consent. The
Duke of Flanders joined the league of the parricides, and
the King of Scotland poured into the northern counties his
strongest forces. Never was the crown of Henry in such
danger.

While repelling the attacks of the insurgents in N orman-
dy, he received a visit from the Bishop of Winchester,>who
entreated him to return once more to England, as his pres-
ence alone could save the kingdom. Henry at once set
out. His countenance Was gloomy and troubled, and his
mind seemed deeply affected by the rebellious of his chil-
dren, the perfidy of his barons and general combination of
the neighboring princes, and above all, by his fearful un-
certainty With regard to the fate of those Whom he had so
long and so carefully guarded. To ease the torment Of his
mind, he secretly determined to make a pilgrimage to the
tomb of the recently—canonized martyr St. Thomas a Becket.
He landed at Southampton, and without waiting for rest or
refreshment, rode all night towards Canterbury. At the
dawn of the morning, he descried the towers of Christ’s
Church. Dismounting from his horse, he exchanged the
garb 0f the king for that of a penitent, and walked bare~
foot towards the city, so cruelly cutting his feet with the

 

 

ELEANOR. _ 173

stones that every step was marked with blood. He entered .
the cathedral, descended to the crypt, knelt before the holy
relics of his former friend, confessed his sins; and then re-
sorting t0 the chapter—house, bared his shoulders, and sub-
missively and gratefully received three stripes from the
knotted cords which each priest, to the number of eighty,
applied for his spiritual benefit. Bleeding and faint, he
again returned to the crypt, and passed the night in weary
vigils upon the cold stone floor. The following morning he
attended mass, and then mounted his horse and rode to
London, where the fasting, fatigue and anxiety he had un-
dergone threw him into a fever. Scarcely had he recover-
ed, When he learned that his enemies had abandoned the
idea of invading England and were concentrating their
efforts upon his continental dominions, and that an army
more numerous than any which Europe had seen since the
expedition 0f the crusades, was encamped under the walls
of Rouen. These Circumstances made it necessary for him
to embark again for France.

In two successive campaigns he foiled the attempts of
his rebel sons and their foreign allies, and finally brought
them to demand a general pacification. The three princes
engaged to pay due obedience to their father, the King of
the Scots agreed to hold his crown as a fief of England, and
this made it necessary for all parties to proceed to York.

Peace being again restored, after a. great variety of de—
‘tentions and delays, Henry at last found himself at liberty
to obey the promptings of his heart, and Visit Woodstock.
He endured with such patience as he could the enthusiastic
greetings of the household, and at the imminent jeopardy
'of his secret, took his way through the pleasance. He was
first alarmed by finding the concealed door in the wall
wide open, and every step of his advance added to his ap-
prehensions. There were marks of a bloody struggle at
the entrance to the tower, and everything within indicated
that the occupants had been disturbed in the midst of their
daily avocations. The rocking-horse of Prince William
stood with the rein across his neck, as if the youthful rider

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

174: HEROINE‘S OF THE CRUSADES.

had just dismounted, the pillow 0f the little Geoffrey still
retained the impression of his cherub head; the thimble
and scissors 0f Rosamond lay upon the table, but the em-
broidery was covered thick With dust, and rust had cor.
roded the strings of the harp.

The scene by the Hermit’s \Vell was yet more desoiate.
Withered herbage and leaves had stopped the welling foun-
tain, and entirely choked the current of the stream. Ros-
amond’s bower, once invested With every attraction, 110W
neglected and deserted struck a chill upon his soul. Rank
weeds had overrun the verdant seats, the eglantine strug-
gled in vain with the ivy, whose long and pendnlous
branches waved and flapped in the night-breeze like the
mourning hatchments above a. tomb. A bevy of swallows
took wing at his entrance, the timid rabbit fled at his in-
trusive step, and a green lizard glided from beneath the
hand with Which he supported his agitated frame against
one of the columns. Rosamond was gone.

But by what means had she been conveyed from the re-
treat where she had so long dwelt content With his love, and
happy in the caresses of her children? Was she a wan-
derer and an outcast, with a bleeding heart and a blighted
name? Had she made her couch in the cold, dark grave?
Had her indignant father returned from the Holy Land,
and immured her in the dungeons of Clifford castle to hide
her shame? Or had some other hand dared to blot out the
life so dear to him? .

The thought was madness. He ran, he flew to the pal-
ace. The old porter was summoned and closely questioned.
He remembered the time of the queen’s last visit, her anx-
iety to penetrate the wood and search the castle. The
night before her departure three of her French servants
suddenly disappeared, but as several horses were missing
at the same time, and the queen had been employed in
writing letters, it was supposed that they were couriers.
There were lights seen, and cries heard in the wood. One
of the grooms affirmed that the ghost of the youth who
some years before was spirited away, appeared in the stable

ELEANOR. 175

and a boy belonging to a neighboring peasant had never
smee been heard of. Though Henry traced this story
through all the interpolations and additions that ignorance
and credulity could give it, neither his utmost inquiries nor
his subsequent researches could elicit any further fact.
Satisfied that nothing could be learned at Woodstock, the
king hurried to Winchester. The passionate queen, amidst
upbraidings and revilings, acknowledged that she had diS-'
cevei'ed the retreat of his mistress, and that, stung by
jealousy, she had threatened to take her life by the poniard
or poison; that to prevent the escape of her fair rival, she
had stationed two of her Gascon servants, a guard at the
tower-stair. But she declared that When she returned on
the following morning to execute her fell purpose, she found
the grass dripping With gore, and not far distant the dead
- bodies of her servants, and the corpse of another whom she
had known in her early days as Sir Thomas, guarded by a
wolf-dog just expiring from a sword-wound ; and that, as‘
sisted by Peyroi, she had dfagged the bodies into the
thicket, and then vainly endeavored to trace the fugitives.
Notwithstanding all the threats that Henry employed to
extort further confession, she persisted in aflirming her ig-
norance 0f the fate of Rosamond.

Little crediting her asseveratiens, he increased the rigor
of her confinement, and installed Alice, the affianced of
Richard, with almost regal honors, in the state apartments.
This sudden partiaiity of his father roused the jealousy of
Richard, and he demanded the hand of his bride in terms
not the most respectful nor conciliatory. Henry felt that
the bond between his son and France was suificiently strong,
and ingeniously delayed the nuptials.

Then ensued another rebellion led. by young Henry ; but
before the day fixed for battle arrived, anxiety and fatigue
threw the prince into a fever, from which he never recov-
ered. On his deathbed his soul became agitated with fear
and remorse. He sent messengers to his father to implore
forgiveness for his unfilial conduct, and ordered. the priests
to lay h'm on a bed of ashes, where having received the

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

176 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

sacraments, he expired. The king was about the same pe—
riod called upon to part, in a more hopeful manner, with
his second daughter, Eleanor, who had been for some time
betrothed t0 Alphonso; King Of Castile. Henry’s affection
for his children in their early years, was of the most tender
character; and Eleanor’s fondness for him fer some time
subsequent to their marriage, partook of the passionate
devotion of the south, but when her fickle attachment was
assailed by the demon of jealousy, her love was changed
to hate: and as Henry justly imagined, the rebellion of his
sons was the consequence of her instructions.

His domestic afflictions aggravated the melancholy ocea-
sioned by the mysterious disappearance» of Rosamond, and»
he lamented in bitterness of spirit that the tempting lure of
wealth and dominion offered in the alliance of Eleanor,ha&
bribed him from his boyish purpose of placing Rosamond
0n the throne of England. He cursed the ambition that
had nurtured foes in his own household, and deplored the
selfish passion that had remorselessly poured sorrew into
the young life that ventured all upon his truth. The calm
heroism of his early character was changed into petulant
arrogance. He frequently spent whole days hunting in the
forests, or riding alone in different parts of his dominions.
In the simple garb of a country knight, he had often sought
admittance t0 the ancient seat of the Cliffords, and the
nunnery 0f Godstowe, hut witheut success. The sight of a V
crowd of people collected round a returned pilgrim at
length suggested another‘mode of disguise. Procuring a
palmer’s weeds, he repaired to Herefordshire, and craved
an alms from the servants, at Clifi'ord castle. He was at
once admitted, and the curious household gathered rouncl
the holy man to listen to his story.

It had been, he said, a long time since he had left the
Holy Wars. He had been a wanderer in» many lands, but
his heart had led him to his native country, to seek for
those whom he had known in his youth. He would fain
see, once more, the good Lord de Clifford, for he had savecl
his life in Palestine. The servants replied that the Lorch

ELEANOR. 177

de Clifford had not been heard from for many a year.
“ Might he gain a moment’s audience of the Lady de
Clifi'ord ?” The lady died soon after her lord’s departure.
“ Could he speak With Adam Henrid ?” .The good senes- ‘
chal had been long dead.

His voice faltered as he inquired for Rosamond. Au[
ominous silence was the only reply. “ And. J aqueline, the
lady’s maid ?” She, too, lay in her grave. He ran his eye
along the group, and said With a look ofembarrassment and
pain, “ There is none to welcome my return. It was not so
in the good days when my lord and my lady rode forth to
the chase with their gallant train, and the sound of feast-
ing and wassail resounded in the castle hall. Remains
there none of Lord Walter’s kin to offer welcome or
charity in our lady’s name ?” A proud boy stepped forth
among the listeners, and with princely courtesy extended
his hand. *

“ Come with me, holy father,” said he, “ it shall never
be said, that a pilgrim went hungry and weary from the
castle of the Clifi'ords.” With a step that accorded better
with his impatience than his assumed character, Henry
followed the lad to an inner apartment, Where a repast was
soon spread before him. , As soon as the servants had with—
drawn he entered into conversation with his young host.
“Thou art a De Ciifi’ord,” said he, as though it were an
undoubted fact. “ What is thy name ?” “ William,” re-
plied the youth; “ and this clerk,” pointing to a fair boy
who sat reading in the deep embrasure of the Window, “ is
my brother Geoffrey.” “And how long have you dwelt at
the castle '3” “ Some winters,” replied the boy, after a mo-
ment’s hesitation. “ Who brought you hither Z” “_We
came with Jaqueline, from our cottage in the wood.”
“ And where is your mother ?” said Henry, making a despe-
rate effort to speak with calmness. “ She went With J aque-
line so long ago, that Geoffrey does not remember her.”
“ And your father 2” said Henry, with increased agitation.
“ Jaqueline said our father was a king, and we must never
leave the castle till he came for us.” “And why did J a.-

12

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

178’ HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

queline leave the castle?” “ She went to the convent for
confession ; and there was where she died: but it is a long
way.” The heart of the father yearned towards his sons,
as he gazed from one to the other, and compared their fea-
tures with the miniature that their infant charms had set in
his memory, but With the sweet certainty that he had at
last found the objects of his search, was born the thrilling
hope that their mother yet lived. Then a struggling
crowd of thoughts, emotions, and purposes rushed through
his mind, and foremost among them all was the idea that
Eleanor might be divorced, Rosamond’s wrongs repaired,
the diadem of England placed upon her brow, and his de—
clining years solaced by the afi'ection of these duteous sons
Who should take the places and titles of the rebel princes.
Yet even in the midst of the tumult of his feelings his wonted
self—control taught him not to risk the safety of his new-
found joys by any premature discovery. Rising from the
table With an air of solemnity, he pronounced his parting
blessing in a tone of the deepest fervor, and hurriedly took
his leave. Retaining his disguise, but occupied With
thoughts that ill-became a palmer’s brain, he bent his steps
towards the nunnery 0f Godstowe. N ear the close of the
second day he entered the confines of Oxfordshire, and
found himself, little to his satisfaction, in the vicinity of a
country fair, with its attendant junketing, masquerade,
and feats of jugglery and legerdemain. To avoid the
crowd, he determined to seek lodging in a booth that stood
a little apart from the main encampment. The weary
monarch had stretched himself to rest, When the sound of
uproarious mirth disturbed his slumbers, and a Welsh bal-
lad—singer, whom he remembered to have seen in the ser~
vice of Giraldus Cambrensis, the tutor of J ohn, commenced
in a voice of considerable power and pathos, the following
song :——
When as King Henry ruled this land,
The second of that name,

Besides the queen, he dearly loved
A fair and comely dame;

ELEANOR. 179

Most peerless was her beauty found,
Her favor and her face;

A sweeter creature in this world
Did never prince embrace.

Her crisped looks like threads of gold
Appeared to each man’s sight,

Her sparkling eyes like orient pearls
Did cast a heavenly light;

The blood Within her crystal cheeks
Did such a. color drive,

As if the lily and the rose

For mastership did strive.

Yea, Rosamond, fair Rosamond,
Her name was ealled so,

To Whom dame Eleanor our queéfi
Was known a deadly foe.

The king therefore for her defence
Against: the furious queen,

At Woodstock builded such a. bower,
The like was never seen.

Most curiously that bower was built
Of stone and timber strong,

One hundred and fifty doors

Did to this bower belong;

And they so cunningly contrived
With turnings round about,

That none but with a cléw 0f threéd
Could enter in or out

And for his love and lady’s sake
That Was so fair and bright,

The keeping of this bower he gave
Unto a valiant knight. V

But Fortune, that doth often from}
Where she before did smile,

The king’s delight, the lady’s jay
Full soon she did beguile.

For why, the king’s utigracious eon
Whom he did high advance,
Against his father raised Wars
Within the realm of France.

But yet. before our comely king
The English land forsook,

Of Rosamond, his lady fair,

His farewell thus he took.

 

180- HEROINES‘ or THE CRUSADES.

“ My Rosamond, my only Rose 1
That pleasest best mine eye, ' 1
The fairest flower in all the world

To feed my fantasy,

The flower of my affected heart,

Whose sweetness doth excel,

My royal Rose, a. thousand times

I bid thee now farewell.

“ For I must leave my fairest flower
My sweetest Rose a space,

And cross the seas to famous France,
Proud rebels to abase.

But yet my Rose, be sure thou shalt
My coming shortly see,

And in my heart, When hence I am,
I’ll bear my Rose with me.”

\Vhen Rosamond, that lady bright,
Did hear the king say so,

The sorrow of her grieved heart
Her outward looks did show,

And from her clear and crystal eyes
Tears gushed out apace,

Which like the silver pearled dew
Ran down her comely face.

Her lips erst like the coral red,
Did wax both wan and pale,

And for the sorrow she conceived
Her vital spirits did fail.

And falling down all in a swoon,
Before King Henry’s face,

Full oft he in his princely arms
Her body did embrace.

And twenty times with Watery eyes,

He kissed her tender cheek,

Until he had revived again

Her senses mild and meek.

“ Why grieves my Rose, my sweetest Rose 5"
The king did often say. .

“ Because,” quoth she, “ to bloody wars

My lord must pass away.

 

“ But since your grace on foreign coasts,
Among yout- foes unkind,

Must go to hazard life and limb,

Why should I stay behind?

 

ELEANOR. 181

N ay, rather let me, like a page,

Your sword and target bear,

That on my breast the blows may light,
That should offend you there.

“ 01' let me in your royal tent

Prepare your bed at night,

And with sweet baths refresh your grace
At your return from fight.

So I your presence may enjoy,

No toil I will refuse;

But wanting you my life is death,

Nay, death I’d rather choose.”

“ Content thyself, my dearest love;
Thy rest at home shall be,

In England’s sweet and pleasant soil;
For travel suits not thee.

Fair ladies brook not bloody wars;
Sweet peace, their pleasures breed
The nourisher of heart’s content,
Which Fancy first did feed.

“ My Rose shall rest in Woodstock’s bower,
With music’s sweet delight,

Whilst I among the piercing pikes

Against my foes do fight.

My Rose in robes of pearl and gold,

With diamonds richly dight,

Shall dance the galliards of my love,
While I my foes do smite.

“And you, Sir Thomas, Whom I trust
To be my love’s defence,

Be careful of my gallant Rose

When I am parted hence.”

And therewithal he fetched a. sigh,
As though his heart Would break,
And Rosamond, for very grief,

Not one plain Word could speak.

And at their parting well they might,
[n heart be grieved sore,

After that day fair Rosamond

The king did see no more.

For when his grace had passed the sea;
Arid into France was gone,

Queen Eleanor with envious heart

To Woodstock came anon.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

182

HEROINES of THE CRUSADES.

And forth she calls this trusty knight,
W'ho kept this curious bower,

Who with his clew of twiued thread,
Came from this famous flower;

And when that they had wounded him,
The queen this thread did get,

And went where Lady Rosamond

Was like an angel set.

But when the queen With steadfast eye,
Beheld her heavenly face,

She was amazed in her mind

At her exceeding grace.

“ Cast off from thee these robes,” she said,
“ That rich and costly be ;

And drink thou up this deadly draught,
Which I have brought to thee.”

Then presently upon her knee,
Sweet Rosamond did full;

And pardon of the queen she craved,
For her offences 3.11.

“ Take pity on my youthful years,”
Fair Rosamond did cry,

“ And let me not with poison strong,
Enforced be to die.

“ I Will renounce my sinful life,
And in some Cloister bide,

Or else be banished if you please,
To range the world so wide.

And for the fault which I have done,
Though I Was forced thereto,
Preserve my life and punish me,-
As you think good to do.”

And With these words, her lily hands
She wrung full often there,

And down along her lovely face,
Proceeded many a tear.

But nothing could this furious queen
Therewith appeased be;

The cup of deadly poison strong,

As she sate on her knee,

She gave this comely dame to drink,
Who took it in her hand,

And from her bended knee arose,
And on her feet did stand,

ELEANOR. 183

And casting up her eyes to heaven,
She did for mercy call,
And drinking up the poison strong,
Her life she lost withal.

“ Help 2 ho ! Have done With your foolish madrigal,”
cried a stout yeoman, Who had watched the terrible agony
depicted upon the face of the king, during this rehearsal;
“the holy palmer is well nigh suffocated With your folly.”

“ Give him a. taste of one of the psalms of David,” hic~
coughed a little man from the opposite side of the booth,
“ the pious aye thrive upon the good book,” and he laughed
at his own profanity.

“ A horn of good English beer will do him better,” roared
a Yorkshire man, pouring out a bumper of ale. “ Build
up the body, mom, and the soul will do weel eneugh.”
“ Gramercy I” cried the minstrel, going nearer and gazing
upon his distorted features. “ Some evil demon possesses
him. ’Tis a terror to look upon his bloodshot eyes.” “ An
if the evil demon is in him ’twere best to cast him out,”
interposed the owner of the booth. Suiting the action to
the word, he dragged the senseless king from the couch 0f
fern leaves, to a more refreshing bed upon the dewy grass.
The cool air at length revived the miserable monarch, and
the very torture of returning recollection gave him strength
to rise and pursue his course. On he sped through the night,
insensible to fatigue and regardless of rest. As he struck
into the bridle path where his eyes were dazzled by the bright
vision that first led his feet to Godstowe, the faint sound
of the convent bell fell upon his ear. He thought it the
ringing of the matin chime; but approaching nearer, the
solemn toll smote heavily upon his heart, for he recognized
in it the knell of a parting soul. He quickened his steps,
and by reason of his friar’s gown, gained ready admittance
t0 the convent. The messenger that had been despatched
for a priest to shrive the dying nun had not yet returned,
and Henry’s services were put in requisition to perform the
holy office. Without giving him time for question or ex-
planation, the frightened sisters hurried him through the

 

184 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

long passages of the dormitory and introduced him into a.
cell, where stretched upon a pallet of straw, lay the pale
and wasted form of Rosamond. The faint beams of morn-
ing struggling through the open casement, mingled with
the sickening glare of waxen tapers, which according to
the rites of the church, were placed at the head and foot
of the bed. The couch was surrounded with objects intend— ‘1
ed to familiarize the mind With the idea. of death, to fit
the soul for its final departure. A coffin half filled With
ashes stood near, whereon was placed the crown and robe,
in Which she had professed herself the bride of Christ,
now ready to adorn her for her burial, and the necessary
articles for administering extreme unction, were arranged
upon a small table, above which hung a cross bearing an
image of the dying Saviour. With a despairing glance at
these terrible preparations, Henry approached the bed,
and gazed upon the unconscious sufi'erer. Unable to com-
mand his voice, he waved his hand and the attendant dev-
otees retired from the room; the lady abbess whispering
as she passed, “I fear our sister is too far gone to con-
fess.” Hastily throwing back his cow], he bent over the
sleeper, raised her head, clasped in’ his own the atten-
uated hand that had so often returned his fond pressure,
and in the accents of love and despair, whispered her name.
The dying one languidly lifted the snowy lids that veiled
her lustrous eyes, and looked upon him, but in the vacant
gaze was no recognition. “ My Rosamond I” cried Henry,
passionately pressing a kiss upon her ashy lips. A thrill
ran through her frame, her slight fingers quivered in his
clasp, and the world of recollections that rushed back upon
her brain, beamed from her dilating eyes. Her palsied
tongue assayed to speak, but Henry caught only the low
sound, “ My children 1” “ My children”———reiterated the
monarch—he said no more—her breast heaved—her lips
trembled with the last faint sigh, and a. smile of inefiable
joy rested on the features of the dead.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ELEANOR. 185

CHAPTER VII.

Ingratitude! thou marble-hearted fiend,
More to be dreaded when thou showest thee in a. child,
Than the sea-monster.

THE protracted imprisonment onueen Eleanor infuri-
ated her Provengal subjects. The southern court, deprived
of its most brilliant gem, no longer attracted the gifted and
the gay from all parts of Europe. The troubadours in efi‘ect
hung their harps on the Willows, and the faithful Peyrol,
banishedfrom the presence of his beloved mistress, at-
tempted to console the weary hours of her captivity, by
tender Plaintes, in which with touching simplicity he be-
wailed her misfortunes. “ Daughter of Aquitaine,” wrote
he, “fair fruitful vine, thou hast been torn from thy coun-
try, and led into a. strange land. Thy harp is changed
into the voice of mourning, and thy songs into sounds of
lamentation. Brought up in delicacy and abundance, thou
enjoyedst a royal liberty, living in the bosom of wealth,
delighting thyself with the sports of thy women, with their
songs, to the sound of the lute and tabor; and now thou
mournest, thou weepest, thou consumest thyself with sor-
row. Return, poor prisonermreturn to thy cities, if thou
canst; and if thou canst not, weep and say, ‘Alas! how
long is my exile.’ Weep, weep, and say, ‘My tears are
my bread both day and night.’ Where are thy guards,
th)7 royal escort ?—where thy maiden train, thy counsellors
of state? Thou criest, but no one hears thee I for the king
of the north keeps thee shut up like a town that is be-
sieged. Cry then—cease not to cry. Raise thy voice like
a trumpet, that thy sons may hear it; for the day is ap-
proaching when thy sons shall deliver thee, and then shalt
thou see again thy native land.”

But the warlike chiefs of Guienne did not confine them-
selves to expressions of tenderness. Richard and Geoffrey,

 

186 HEROINES? OF THE CRUSADES.

though often hostile to each other, were always ready to
lead the barons 0f the south to battle, and for two years
the Angevin subjects OfHeni'y and the Aquitaine subjects
of Eleanor, incited by her sons, gave battle in the cause of
the captive queen, and from Rochelle t0 Bayonne the
whole south of France was in a state of insurrection. The
melancholy death of Geoffrey added to the afflictions of
his already wretched mother. In a. grand tournament at
Paris he was thrown from his horse and trodden to death
beneath the feet of the coursers. He was distinguished for
his manly beauty and martial grace, and Eleanor had re-
garded him with an affection as intense as was the cause
less hatred she bore to his wife Constance. His infant son
Arthur, for whom Eleanor’s namesake had been set aside,
inherited the dower of his mother both in possessions and.
enmity. Not long after the death of her favorite son
Eleanor was called upon to part with her youngest daugh-
ter Joanna, who became the bride of \Villiam II. King of
Sicily. Thus deprived of all affection, Eleanor dragged
on a. monotonous existence during Henry’s protracted search
for Rosamond.

The innocence of his queen being fully proved, the soft-
ened monarch began to regard her with more complacency :
but the vindictive spirit of Eleanor, incensed by the indig—
nities she had suffered, and enraged by being the victim
of unjust suspicions, could not so easily repass the barriers
that had been interposed between theii‘ affections, and
though she accompanied her 10rd to Bordeaux, she set her-
self to widen the breach between him and Richard, and he
soon found it necessary to remand her again to the seclu-
sion of Winchester palace.

When Henry received ahsolution from the pope for the
murder of Becket, he solemnly swore to Visit the Holy
Land in person, and the day had been fixed for his depart‘
ure with Louis King of France. The death of that mon-
arch prevented the expedition, and Henry had delayed it
from time to time, though the patriarch of Jerusalem ani
the grand-master of the knights Hospitallers, had made

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ELEANOR. 187

the long and difficult journey to England, and in name
of Queen Sibylla, had delivered to him as the successor of
Fulk of Anjou, the royal banner and the keys of the Holy
City and Sepulchre. Now impressed with a sense of the
vanity of human hopes, and the fading grandeur of earthly
distinction, he determined if possible, to divert his mind
from the endless train of sad recollections, by plunging
into the excitement of novel scenes and rekindling his
wasting energies at the fane of Religion. The eyes of all
the European nations were at this time directed, with pecu~
liar anxiety to the distresses 0f the Christians in Palestine.
At the death of Baldwin III. the sceptre passed to the
hands of his brother Almeria, who wasted his subjects and
treasure in a fruitless war with the Vizier of Egypt. The
crown from Almeria descended to Baldwin IV., his son by
Agn es de Courteney, heiress t0 the 10st principality 0f Edessa.
Baldwin IV. was a leper; and finding that disease incapacb
tated him for performing the royal functions, he committed
the government to his brother—in-law Guy de Lusignan, a.
French knight whom Henry had banished for murder. At
the death of Baldwin his sisterSibyIla and her husband Guy
became King and Queen of Jerusalem, but the Count of
Tripoli refused to do them homage. At last he consented
to proffer his allegiance to the queen, on condition that she
should be divorced from Lusignan and choose a partner
Who should be able to protect the kingdom. SibyHa was a
woman of great beauty, majestic person and commanding
talents. She-consented t0 the proposal of the Count of
Tripoli, only requiring in return the oath of the barons that
they would accept for sovereign whomsoever she should
choose. The terms were settled, the divorce obtained, and
the ceremony of her coronation took place. As soon as she
was crowned, turning proudly to the rebel lords, she placed
the diadem 0n the head of Lusignan, saluted him as her
husband, bent the knee to him as king, and with a voice
of authority, cried aloud, “Those Whom God has joined
together let not man put asunder.” The simple truth and
affection of the queen, and the grandeur of the spectacle

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

188 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

awed the assembly; and the astonished barons submitted
without a murmur.

The famous Saladin, about the same time, began his career
of conquest in the East. Tiberius, Acre, Jafi'a, Cesarea and
Berytus were the trophies Of his victories. One hundred
thousand people flying from the sword of the Turks crowd-
ed into Jerusalem, and the feeble garrison was not able to
defend them. Saladin, unwilling to stain with human
blood the place which even the Moslems held in reverence,
offered the inhabitants peace on condition of the surrender
of the city, and money and lands in Syria ; but the Christ
tians declared that they would not resign t0 the Infidels
the place where the Saviour had suffered and died. Indig-
nant at the rejection of his offer, Saladin swore that he
would enter the city sword in hand and retaliate upon the
Franks the carnage they had made in the days of Godfrey
de Boulogne. F or fourteen days the battle raged around
the walls with almost unexampled fury. The Moslem fana-
tic fearlessly exposed his life, expecting that death would
give him at once to drink of the waters of Paradise,—the
Christian, hoping to exchange an earthly for a heavenly
Jerusalem, poured out his blood in protecting the Holy
Sepulchre; When it was found that the wall near the gate
of St. Stephen was undermined, all farther efforts at de-
fence were abandoned ; the clergy prayed for a miraculous
interposition of heaVen, and the soldiers threw down their
arms and crowded into the churches. Saladin again offer-
ed favorable conditions of peace. The miserable inhabi-
tants spent four days in visiting the sacred places, weeping
over and embracing the Holy Sepulchre, and then, sadly
quitting the hallowed precincts, passed through the ene-
my’s camp, and. took their disconsolate way towards Tyre,
the last stronghold of the Latins in Palestine.

Thus after the lapse of nearly a century, the Holy City
that had cost Europe so much blood and treasure, once
more became the property of the Infidel. The great cross
was taken down from the church of the Sepulchre and
dragged through the mire of the street, the bells 0f the

ELEANOR. 189

churches were melted, while the floors and walls of the
mosque of Omar, purified with Damascene rose-water, were
again consecrated to the worship of the false prophet. The
melancholy tidings of this event occasioned the greatest
sensation throughout the Christian world. The aged pon-
tifi‘ died of a broken heart. The husband of Joanna put
on sackcloth and vowed to take the cross. Henry, Philip,
the new King of France, the Earls of Flanders and Chain—
pagne, and a great number of knights and barons resolved
to combine their forces for the redemption of the Holy
City.

Immediately upon the death Of Rosamond, Henry had
made all the reparation in his power to her injured name,
by acknowledging her children and placing them at Wood-
stock to be educated with his son John. The boys grew up
to manhood, and developed a perfection of personal ele-
gance and strength of character more befitting the sons of
a king than any of the children of Eleanor. He promoted
them to offices of honor and trust, and made Geofl'rey chan-
cellor of the realm.

Everything was now ready for the king’s departure. In
a general council held at Northampton it was enacted that
every man who did not join the crusade should pay towards
the expense of the expedition one tenth of all his goods;
and the Jews were fined for the same purpose one fourth
of their personal property. Henry wrote letters to the em-
perors of Germany, Hungary and Constantinople, forliber-
ty to pass through their dominions, and receiving favorable
answers, passed over to France to complete the arrange—
ment with Philip, when the whole plan was defeated by
that monarch’s demanding that his sister Alice should be
given to Richard, and that the English should swear fealty
t0 the prince as heir-apparent to the throne. Henry refused;
and his son Richard, in the public conference, kneeling at
the feet of the French monarch, presented him his sword,
saying, “ To you, sir, I commit the protection of my rights,
and to you I now do homage for my father’s dominions in
France.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

' 190 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

The king, amazed at this new act of rebellion, retired
precipitately from the council, and prepared with some of
his former alacrity, to meet the combination against him.
But Fortune, that had hitherto smiled upon him, seemed now
to forsake him. He was defeated in every battle, driven
from city to city, his health became impaired, his spirits
failed, and at last he submitted to all the demands of his
enemies, agreeing to pay twenty thousand marks to Philip,
to permit his vassals to do homage to Richard, and above
all, to give up Alice, the cause of so much domestic misery.

He stipulated only for a list of the disaffected barons
Who had joined the French king. The first name that
caught his eye was that of John, the idolized child of his
old age. He read no further, but throwing down the paper,
fell into one of those violent paroxysms of rage to Which of
late years he had been so fearfully subject. He cursed the
day of his birth, called down maledietions upon his un-
natural children and their treacherous mother, flung him-
self upon the couch,t01‘e the covers With his teeth, and
clutched the hair from his head, and swooned away in a
transport of anger and grief. A raging fever succeeded;
but in his lucid moments he superintended an artist, who,
at his command, painted upon canvass, the device of a
young eaglet picking out the eyes of an eagle. Day after
day the monarch lingered and suffered between paroxysms
of' pain and grief, and intervals of lassitude and insensi-
bility; and When others forsook his bedside in weariness
or alarm, Geoffrey, unconscious 9f drowsiness 0r fatigue,
stood a patient watcher by his dying father. The feeble
monarch recognized in the voice of this son the tones Which
his ear had loved in youth, and obeyed its slightest bid-
ding; and the only alleviation of his agony was found in
gazing upon the face that revived the image of his lost
Rosamond. Taking the signet—ring from his finger, he
placed it upon the hand of Geoffrey; “ Thou art my true
and loyal son,” said he. “The blessing of heaven rest
upon thee for thy filial service to thy guilty sire. Com?
mend me to thy brother \Villiam and his beautiful bride.

ELEANOR; 191

As for the others, give them you parable,” pointing to the
picture of the eagle, “with my everlasting curse.” He
leaned his head upon the breast of his son, and supported
in his arms, expired.

Eleanor survived her unhappy consort more than twenty
years, and in that time made some amends for the follies
and vices of her early life. The first step of her son
Richard on his accession to the throne, was to release his
mother from her confinement, and make her regent 0f the
kingdom. She employed her freedom and her power in
acts of mercy and heneficence, making a progress through
the kingdom, and setting at liberty all persons confined
for breach of the forest-laws, and other trivial offences, and
recalling the outlawed to their homes and families. During
the absence of Richard in the Holy Land, she administered
the government with prudence and discretion, and after the
accession of John, resmned the sceptre of her own d0-
minions, slowly and painfully gathering, in the crimes and
miseries Of her children, the fruit of the evil counsels she
had given them in their childhood. At the age of eighty
she retired into the convent of F ontevraud, and three years
' after died of sorrow, when the peers of France branded her
son John as the murderer of Arthur.

 

 

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CHAPTER I.

“ What thing so good which not some harm may bring!
E’en to be happy is a dangerous thing?”

“SING no more, for thy song Wearieth me,” exclaimed
the impatient daughter of N avarre, tossing upon her couch
with the heavy restlessness of one who courts slumber When
nature demands exercise. The Moorish maiden, accuse—
tomed t0 the petulance 0f the beautiful Berengaria, arose
from her cushion and laying aside her lute, murmured
despondingly, “ The proverb saith truly, ‘ ’Tis ill-pleasing
him Who is ill-pleased With himself.’ ” Abandoning further
attempts to soothe her mistress, the attendant retired to the
extremity of the long apartment and gazed listlessly from
the easement. “ Art vexed that my ear loved not the
sound of thy lute, peevish child ?” inquired the youthful
princess. “ Read me a riddle, or tell me a marvellous tale
of the Genii, such as thou hast learned in thy southern
land.” \Vith the air of one Who performs an accustomed
task while his thoughts are far away, the girl resumed her
seat, and recited

A TALE 0F ARABY.

Once upon a time three Genii, returning from their mis-
sions to mortals rested beside the well Zemzem. And as
they sat recounting to each other the things that they had
seen, behold they fell into conversation concerning the
Eternal One (Whose name be exalted), the destinies that
reign over the fate of men, the characteristics of the world,
and the misfortunes and calamities which happen unto all,
both the righteous and the Wicked. And one said to another,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

196 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

“ Declare unto us now what is thine opinion, and what
knowest thou concerning this thing. What is that, diffused
in air, dissolved in water or concealed in earth, the subtle
essence of Which, being bestowed upon one of human
mould, shall bring him nearest to the throne of Allah,
(blessed be his name), and give him right to eat of the tree
that standeth in the seventh heaven by the garden of the
Eternal Abode 2” And the first said, “ It is Beauty,” and
the second, “ It is Love,” and the third, “ It is Happiness}?
And there arose a contention among them; and when they
found that neither could convince the others, they agreed
to depart each on his way, to search the elements of all
things for that concordial mixture With Which he would
nourish a human soul into immortality. So they went their
way. And after the lapse of a cycle of years, they re-
turned again and sat by the well Zemzem. And each bore
in his hand a phial purer than crystal, sealed With the seal
of Solomon the Wise, the magnificent. Then spake the first,
saying, “ Earth hath no form of beauty from the flash of
the diamond hidden in its deepest caves, through all the
brilliant variety of gems and sands of gold; n0 delicate
pencilling from the first faint tinge upon the rose—bud’s
cheek to the gorgeous dyes 0f the flowers and fruits that
deck the vale 0f Cashmere ; water hath no shade of color-
ing from the sea-green lining of its coral caves, to the
splendid iridescence of its pearly shells; air hath no tint of
the virgin stars, n0 ray of parted light; vapor beareth 110
beauty in its morning clouds and rainbow hues, from Which
I have not ravished the subtlest source. Whatever form of
Beauty can become apparent to the sense, either as breath
of fragrance, sweetness of sound, or grace of motion, sub-
limated to its purest element,1ieth here enclosed for the
endowment of Whomsoever we shall choose.” And he held
up the phial, and lo! it contained a liquid having a faint
coloring of the rose.

Then spake the second and said, “ The Almighty (blessed
be he) hath given unto me that mysterious power by Which
I read the thoughts and purposes of men, even as the Holy

BERENGARIA 0F NAVARRE. _ 197

Prophet (on whom be benedictions) was wont to read the
‘ Book Of Life.’

“ From the heart of the child that turneth ever to watch
the movements of its mother, from the heart of the ser-
vant that seeheth the favor of her mistress, from the heart
of the sister that exults with pride in the glory of her
brother, from the heart of the maiden that beateth bash—
fully and tenderly at the sound of the footsteps of her lover,
from the heart of thebridegroom that yearneth with strong
desire towards his bride, from the heart of the father that
expands in the fulness of joy at the sight of his first-born,
from the heart of the mother that watcheth ever the steps
of her child, whether he sporteth in innocence by her side
or wandereth with vice in foreign parts; I have gath-
ered the sweetest and purest and truest thought of Love.
Its impalpable essence lies hidden in this phial,” and he
placed it before them. And 10! it seemed filled with a
vapor which flushed in their gaze with the hue of the dawn.

Then spake the third and said, “ It is not permitted unto
me the servant of Ifraz the Unknown, to declare unto you
in what outward manifestations of human hope or desire,
in what inward workings of thought and feeling, I have de-
tected and imprisoned the elusive spirit of Happiness,”
and he held up his phial before them. And With one
voice they exclaimed, “It is empty.” And they laughed
him to scorn.

Then spake he in anger and said, “ Truly the fool pro-
ceedeth upon probability, and the wise man requireth
proof.” And they replied, “Gd to, now, we will abide
the proof.”

And forthwith they took their way to the land of Suris-
tan. And as they passed by the well of Israel, Ben Izak
(on whom be peace), they saw a maiden bearing a pitcher
of water. And the first said, “ Behold, now, immortality
is given unto man by the Almighty the Ordainer of fate
and destiny (whose name be exalted), but unto woman it
is not given except as her beauty shall delight the heart of
man.” But the second said, “ Except as love gives her a

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

198 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

seat by the Well of Life ;” and the third, “ Except as [La]?-
piness translates her to P_aradise.” Then said the first,
“ Let us contend no more, but let us take this damsel and
bestow upon her, each our separate gift, and she shall be a
sign and a testimony concerning these things.” And thus
they agreed together.

And when the maiden retired to her couch, and the angel
of sleep had laid his finger upon her eyelids, the first genii
calling upon the name of God the A_ll-perfect (blessed be
he) broke the seal of his phial, and poured a portion of the
liquid upon her lips. And the three genii watched her
slumbers till the dawn; and thus they did evening by
evening. And they beheld her form developing in loveli-
ness, tall and straight as the palm, but lithe and supple as
the bending branch of the oriental willow. Her smoothly
rounded arms gleamed like polished ivory beneath the
folds of her transparent izar, and the tips of her rosy fin-
gers were touched with the lustre 0f henna. Her lips had
the hue 0f the coral when it is wet with the spray of the
sea, her teeth were as strings of pearl, and the melting ful-
ness of her cheek was sufi'used with the soft bloom of the
peach. In her eyes was the light of the stars, and her
eyelids were adorned With kohl. Her hair was glossy and
black as the plumage of the raven, and When she covered
it with her vei1,her countenance beamed from it comely
as the full moon that walketh in thevdarkness 0f the night.
Her speech was as the murmur of the Waterfall and the
clear tones of the nightingales of the J ordan. She was a
wonder unto herself and unto her neighbors. Her step had
the lightness of the gazelle and the grace of the swan ; and
When she went forth abroad, the eye that beheld her beauty
exclaimed, “Glory be to him who created her,pe1‘fected
her, and completed her.” But the genii beheld with sor-
row and mortification that she became vain, and that fool-
ish thoughts sprang up in her heart; so that it was said of
her, “ Hath God the High, the Great, put an evil spirit in
the perfection of beauty 3” Then said the second genii,
“ Ye shall see What the elixir of law shall do.” And he

BERENGARIA 0F NAVARRE. 199

entered into her chamber, and he broke the mystic seal
which was the seal of Solomon Ben David (on both of
whom be peace), and a sweet odor was diffused through
the apartment. And the lips of the sleeper moved as with
a pleasant smile, and there beamed upon her countenance
the nameless charm with which the houris fill with delight
the dwellers in the Garden of Eternity. And it came to
pass that all who looked upon her loved her and said,
“ There is none among the created like her in excellence
of beauty, or in charms of disposition. Extolled be the
perfection of the Creator of mankind.” And they strove
one with another which should possess the inestimable
treasure. And contention and strife arose daily among
them; and her heart inclined unto all, and she feared to
unite herself with one, lest grievous wars should follow.
Therefore her soul was filled with grief, and she ceased not
to weep by day and by night, and the tears were on her
cheeks. Then said the third genii, “ Behold sorrow is of
earth, and the beauty and love ye have bestowed have
gathered with them the nexious principles inwoven in
the basis of human things. Ye shall behold the power of
happiness.” Then he took the colorless phial, and he broke
the seal thereof, calling upon the name of Ifraz the Un-
known, and 10, hour after hour the invisible, impalpable
elixir seemed to permeate her being, and the light of her
eye was tempered to a holy ray, the color blanched on her
cheeks, and the Vivacity of love gave place to the serenity
of content. And as she walked forth the voluptuous and
the wise said, “ Behold she is too pure for earth, the Ter-
minator 0f delights and Separator of companions will soon
call for her. Extolled be the perfections of the Eternal in
whose power it lieth to annul and to confirm.”

And when the two genii saw that Beauty and Love avail-
ed not, they were filled with envy, and they seized the
damsel and conveyed her away to the cave of enchant-
ment. And the third genii being transported with grief
and disappointment, broke the phial, and that which re:
mained 0f the elixir of Happiness returned to its primeval

 

 

200 HEROINES OF‘ THE URUSADES.

seurce, and entered again into the Combinations of hmhan
things. But the seal being broken it became known to
mortals that the elixir of Life existed in the elements, and
hence it is, that those Who are skilled in the mysteries of'
nature have searched its grand areanum with the powerful
agencies of alchemy, and tortured' the genii with spells and
incantations to wring from them the mighty secret.

Berengaria had listened to the story with unwonted inter-
est, and at its close started up from her couch and eagerly
inquired, “ What has been the resuth Have they dis—
covered the long-sought principle? I have heard wondrous
tales concerning these alchemists. Men say they deal in the
black art ; but were there one in Navarre, I wonYd brave the
imputation 0f sorcery to question him concerning the elixir
of beauty.” “ A Moorish physician dwells in the suburbs
of Pampeiuna,” replied Elsiebede, measuring her sentences-
with timid hesitation, “ whom I have often seen in the by-
ways, gathering herbs, it is said he readeth the fates of
mortals in the stars.”

“ Let us go to him, ” exclaimed the princess, “bring me
’my pelisson and veih ”

The giil obeyed with a trembling aTacrity, that to a less
occupied 0bse1 ver would have betrayed that the expedition
was the unexpected accomplishment of? a Iong-cherished:
desire.

“ This way,” said Elsiebede, drawing her mistress from
the public street, now beginning to be thronged with labor-
ers returning from their toih “ the alchemist brooks not
impertinent intrusion, and we must beware that no officious
attendant, nor curious retainer find the place of his abode.”
Silently and swiftly the two maidens threaded a- narrow
a11ey,1eading through! an unfrequented part of the town,
turning and winding among buildings more and more re—
mote from each other, till it terminated on a grassy heath,
surrounding a dilapidated mansion. The sun had already
set, and Berengaria, never too courageous, began to shudder
at the loneliness of the place. With instinetive fear, she
clung trem-blingly t0 the arm of her resolute dependent;

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 201

whispering, “ Whither dost thou lead me? There is here
no sign of human life. Let us return.” But the spirited
slave bent the weak will of the mistress to her purpose;
and with alternate assurances of safety and incitements t0
curiosity, led the way to the rear of the ruined pile, where
descending a stone stair, she gave three raps upon a lowé
door. The grating of rusty bolts was heard, the door was
cautiously opened, and Berengaria felt herself suddenly
drawn within the portal. A glare of dazzling light blinded
and bewildered her, and a stifling vapor added to her for-
mer terror, almost stupefied her senses.

The voice of Elsiebede somewhat reassured her, and as
her eyes became accustomed to the light, she took a survey
of the scene before her. The apartment seemed to have
been originally the kitchen of the castle, one end being oc~
cupied by a wide, large chimney, now built up except in
the centre, where a furnace, covered with crucibles, glowed
with the most intense heat. A white screen with a small
dark screen before it, nearly concealed one side, of the
apartment, while on the other side from three serpent-
formed tubes connected through the wall with retorts,
gleamed tongues of colored flame. Various gallipots, alem-
bios, horologues, diagrams, and dusty manuscripts were
deposited upon shelves in angles of the wall.

The principal occupant was a man of a lean, haggard
figure, bowed less by age than by toil and privation. A
few black, uncombed locks escaping from the folds of a
turban, once white, now begrimed with smoke and dust,
straggled over a swarthy forehead, marked with lines caused
by intense thought, and abortive speculations. He was
dressed in Moorish garments, the sleeves tucked above the
elbows, revealing his emaciated arms, while his talon~1ike
fingers grasped an immense triangular crystal, through
which he was casting refractions upon the screen. His
deep, cavernous eyes seemed to gleam with the fires of in-
sanity, yet he spoke in a tone of deep abstraction, though
with something like the voice of affection. “Disturb me
not, my daughter, but stand aside till I have completed my‘

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

202 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

experiment.” The maidens remained silently by the door,
and Berengaria had leisure to note the motions of a dwarf
African, Who sat diligently blowing the bellows 0f the fur-
nace, rolling his eyes, and saluting the ladies With smiles
which served at once to exhibit his white teeth and his
satisfaction at the interruption.

Notwithstanding her fears at finding herself in so‘ strange
a situation, the curiosity of Berengaria was so excited by
the novelty of the scene, that she waited patiently While the
philosopher experimented first With one light and then with
another, till apparently becoming dissatisfied with the re-
sult, he attempted to change the position of the tubes.
Scarce was his purpose accomplished, when a deafening
explosion rent the air, followed by sounds as of the falling
of the ruin overhead. Profound darkness ensued, and the
groans 0f the wounded alchemist mingled with the demo-
niac laughter of the African, and the echo of her own
shrieks increased the terror of the princess almost to agony.
Elsiebede alone retained any share of self-possession. “ A
light, a light, Salaman,” exclaimed she. Instantly a line
of blue flame crept along the wall, and a tiny torch in the
hand of the dwarf mysteriously ignited, revealed again his
malevolent countenance, and threw his misshapen and
magnified image in full relief upon the screen. An odor
of brimstone that seemed to accompany the apparition, did
not serve to allay Berengaria’s apprehensions. Elsiebede
for once forgot her mistress. Hastily snatching the torch
from the negro, she lighted a lamp and raising her father
from the stone floor, began to examine his wounds. The
blood was oozing from a contusion upon the back of his
head, one side of his face was dreadfully burned, and his
right hand lay utterly powerless. Giving hurried direc-
tions in Moorish t0 the grinning Ethiope, Elsiebede with
his assistance placed her father upon a couch behind the
screen, and bathed the painful wounds with a balmy
liquid from one of the dusty phials, accompanying her
soothing appliances with the soft and gentle expressions of
afi’ection. Their language was foreign to the ear of Beren-

BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 203

garia, but she discovered by the tones of the father, and
the tears of the daughter, that he was chiding her as the
cause of his misfortune. At length overcome by his up-
braiding, Elsiebede drew from her bosom a silken purse,
and taking thence a jewel kissed it fervently, and like one
resigning her last treasure at the call of duty, put it into
his extended hand. The black meanwhile had prepared a
cordial, Which he intimated would soon give her father
rest. The alchemist eagerly swallowed the draught, and
soon sank into a heavy sleep.

Berengaria, whose impatience had scarcely brooked the
delay necessary for this happy consummation, hurried the
reluctant Elsiebede away. “I knew not, Elsie,” said she,
when they were at a safe distance from the ruin, “ that thy
father dwelt in Pampeluna. I thought thou Wert an
orphan, when my father moved by thy beauty and dis-
tress purchased thee of the rude Oastilian. Tell me thine
history.”

“ My father,” replied Elsiebede, “ was when young the
physician of the Moorish prince, and occupied himself in
separating the hidden virtues of nature from the impurities
with which they are combined. When walking abroad to
gather plants for the prosecution of his inquiries, he met
every day a young flower girl, carrying her fragrant wares
t0 the palace of the Alhambra. Attraeted by her beauty,
he purchased her flowers, and interested himself in her his—
tory. Helearned that she belonged to a band of Saracens 0r
Gyptianos, that had recently settled in Grenada. He loved
her and she became his Wife.

“ I was their only child. My youth was spent in listen-
ing to the wondrous tales of the East, with which my mother
delighted me, 01' in acquiring the elements of science with
my father. The sudden illness and death of my mother
destroyed all my happiness. My father betook himself
again to the most abstruse studies, spent whole nights in
watching the stars, practised incantations t0 the spirits of
the air, and pondering continually upon the mystery of
death, commenced the search for that mighty principle

 

204: HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

Which is said to prolong human existence. Many wonder-
ful secrets of nature were in this process revealed to his
sight; but he became so sad and gioomy, and his eyes
beamed on me with such an unwonted fire, that I feared
lest grief should dethrone the angel of reason. T0 divert
his mind, I began to lead him forth in his accustomed
walks. One day when we had lingered rather later than
usual beyond the walls of Grenada, 3 band of armed Oas—
tilians fell upon us, and carried us away captives. The
noble Sancho found me singing. songs for my cruel master,
and redeemed me from my fate.”

“And what became of thy father?” inquired Berenga-
ria. “ He was enabled by some of his medicines to heal a
long—established malady of his captor, and thus obtained
his freedom: since which, until within a few months, he
has wandered through Spain in search of his- 10st child.”
“And wherefore didst thou commit to a dying man the
precious jewel which I saw in thy hand 2” The tears of
Elsiebede began to fall fast, and with a choking voice she
replied, “ Question me not, I entreat thee. Oh, my mis-
tress, concerning the ring, at another time I will tell thee
all.” Touched with the instinctive reverence that nature
always pays to genuine sorrow, the princess forbore further
inquiries, and the two maidens completed their walk in
silence. .

The terror that Berengaria had suffered took away all
desire to prosecute her inquiries With the alchemist, but
with unusual consideration, on the following day, she dis-
missed Elsiebede at an early hour, giving her permission to
pass the night with her father. The poor girl returned in
the morning overwhelmed with grief. The alchemist was
dead. . From her self-reproaehes and lamentations Beren- .
garia learned, that in his scientific researches he had con-
sumed all his property, and melted every valuable belonging
to his daughter, except her mother’s ring. This gem she had '
steadily refused to give him, both on account of its being a
memento and a charm, and the failure of his experiment
with its fatal results he had in his dying hour attributed te

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 205

the lack of the potency of the precious gem. Stung With
remorse, Elsiebede declared that if the ring could not save
her father’s life, it should at least procure him a grave, and
telling her mistress that she could never again look upon
the jewel Without a shudder, begged her to accept it, and
to assist her in burying him according to the rites of the M0-
hammedan religion. In catholic Navarre this was next to
an impossibility; but through the generosity of the prin—
cess, and the ingenuity of Salaman, the corpse was secretly
conveyed to the Moorish cemetery in Grenada.

CHAPTER II.

“0, such a day
So fought, so followed, and so fairly won,
Game not till now, to dignify the times.”

IT was a gala-day in Navarre. Sancho the Strong, the
gallant brother of Berengaria, had proclaimed a tourna-
ment in compliment to his friend Richard Plantagenet,
Count of Poitou. In the domestic wars Which had vexed
the south of France since the marriage of Eleanor 0f Aqui-
taine With Henry of Anjou, these valiant youths had fought
side by side, and from a friendship cemented by intimacy
as well as similarity of tastes and pursuits, had become
fratres jmutz', 0r sworn brothers, according to the customs
of the age. Both were celebrated for their knightly ac-
complishments and their skill in judging 0f Provenga]
poetry, and each had proved the prowess of the other in
chivalric encounter, and provoked the genius of his friend
in the refined and elegant contests 0f minstrelsy and song.
The brave Sancho had arranged the lists, giving to his
friend the first place as knight challenger, reserving the
second for himself, and bestowing the third upon their
brother in arms, the young Count Of Champagne. The
gay pavilions were set, a splendid concourse assembled,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

206 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

and Berengaria, proclaimed Queen of Beauty and Love,
had assumed her regal state attended by all the beauties
of Navarre, when to the infinite disappointment and morti-
fication of the prince, Count Raimond of Toulouse arrived
to say, that Richard, having received letters from his
mother, had found it necessary to depart suddenly for Eng-
land ; but that the festivities 0f the day might not be mar-
red by his absence, he entreated that the bearer of the
message, Count Raimond, might occupy his pavilion, be-
stride his war—steed, and do his devoir in the lists. With
a courtesy that ill-concealed his chagrin the noble Sancho
accepted the substitute, and conducting him to the tent
glittering with green and gold, consigned him to the care
of the esquires ; while himself went to acquaint his sister
with the mortifying fact that the spectacle, for which they
had prepared with such enthusiastic antieipations, was yet
to want the crowning grace expected from the presence of
that flower of knighthood, Richard Plantagenet.

T0 conceal from the spectators the knowledge of this un-
toward event, their father, Sancho the Wise, who held the
post of honor as judge of the combat, decided that Count
Raimond of Toulouse should assume the armorial bearings
01" Richard, and personate him in the lists. These prelimi-
naries being satisfactorily arranged, the heralds rode forth
and proclaimed the laws of the tournament, and the games
proceeded. The Count of Champagne and the royal
Sancho, better practised in the exercises of the lance than
the Spanish cavaliers who opposed them, won applause
from all beholders ; but the crowd seemed to take especial
delight in the prowess of Count Raimond, shouting at every
gallant thrust, and every feat of horsemanship, “ A Richard,
a Richard I A Plantagenet 1” Notwithstanding the un-
favorable auspices under which the tournament commen-
ced, the sports of the day were as gay and animated as the
moist sanguine could have hoped. The three challengers
had overborne all opponents. With a heart fluttering with
pride and pleasure, the young Blanche of Navarre had
seen her sister confer a golden coronet upon the Count of

BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 207

Champagne, and Sancho had also received from Beren
garia a chaplet in honor of his knightly achievements. But
the first in honor as in place, was the warrior who had per-
sonated Richard. \Vhen, however, he laid aside his vizor,
to receive the weH-won laurel as leader of the victors, the
multitude discovered that the hero whom they had greeted
with such enthusiastic applause was Count Raimond of
Toulouse, and new bursts of acclamations rent the air,
while the marshals, and squires, and heralds, forgetting
for a moment their duties, gathered round the throne of
Love and Beauty t0 interchange congratulations with the
gratified count.

In the general excitement 110 one had noticed the en—
trance of a knight adwentm'ous, one of those wandering
cavaliers who, to perfect themselves in feats of arms, travelled
from province to province, challenging the skill of all
comers in chivah‘ous combat. The appearance of this
knight—errant was such as attracted all eyes. He was
mounted on a bay horse of spirit and mettle that hardly
yielded to the strong rein; his helmet was surmounted
with a crest of the figure of a red hound, while his erect
form‘shielded in brown armor, and the firmness with which
he maintained his seat gave him the appearance of a bronze
statue,b01‘ne along in the procession. Disregarding the
indications that the fortunes of the day were already de—
cided, the stranger knight rode directly to the pavilion em-
blazoned with the arms of Richard, and struck his spear
with such force upon the shield, as to summon at once the
attendants to duty.

“Whom have we here ?” exclaimed Sancho, with a
hearty laugh. “ By our Lady, Count Raimond, this day’s
sun shall not set till the heathen hound 0n the crest of yon
crusading knight hath bit the dust. Pardieu, I almost envy
thee thy good fortune to tilt against s0 fair a foe.” The
interest Which this new-comer gave to the flagging sports
was evinced by the eager inquiries and hurried whispers
that went round among the spectators. A breathless silence
ensued, as Count Raimond couched his lance and started

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

208 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

forward to meet his strange challenger. “A Raimond! A
Raimond I” cried the crowd, as the two combatants dashed
upon each other.

“Long life to the Red Knight,” “Success t0 the Cru-
sader,” was echoed by the fickle multitude, with increased
satisfaction, as the hero of Toulouse, overthrown by the
violence of the shock, struggled beneath his fallen charger,
while the stranger applying rein and spur, caused his gal-
lant steed at one bound, to leap over the prostrate horse
and rider, then dexterously compelling the animal to cari—
cole gracefully in'front 0f the queen’s galley, and lower-
ing his lance, the victorious knight courteously bowed as if
laying his honors at the feet of Love and Beauty. The
prizes for the day were already bestowed ; but the enthusi-
astic Berengaria found it impossible to let such prowess go
unrewarded. Hastily untying her scarf, she fastened it to
the end of his spear, and the Crusader, with the armorial
bearings of Navarre streaming from his lance, rode slowly
and proudly from the lists.

The squires meanwhile had extricated the vanquished
Raimond from his perilous position, and conducted him
to his tent, Where his bruises were found to require the skill
of the leech. All were busy with conjectures concerning
the unknown, many sage surmises very wide of the truth
were hazarded by those best acquainted with heraldic de—
vices, and arguments were rapidly increasing to animosi—
ties, when the slight tinkling of a bell again drew the at-
tention 0f the concourse.

“ A champion! A champion,” exclaimed they again as
a second knight, strong and broad-shouldered, sheathed in
shining black armor, entered the arena. Glimpses of a
ruddy complexion and sparkling eyes, were visible through
the jetty bars of his Vizor, and a raven with smooth and
glossy plumage, its beak open, and a bell suspended from
its neck, was perched upon his helmet. His coal-black steed
was a. war—horse of powerful make, deep-chested and of
great strength of limb ; his red nostrils distended by
his fiery impatience, glowed like the coals of a furnace,

BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 209

while the gauntleted hand that with matchless skill con—
trolled his speed, looked as though it might have belonged
to a giant of the olden time. The impetuosity 0f the black
knight left the spectators not long in doubt of his purpose.
Count Henry of Champagne was summoned to reassume
his armor and make good his claim to his recently won
laurels. “Pray heaven thine eye and hand falter not,
Count Henry,” exclaimed Sancho, as he personally inspect-
ed the armor of his friend, and cautioned the squires to
see that each ring and buckle was securely fastened. “ The
issue of this combat should depend upon thine own right
arm, not upon a weak spring 01‘ careless squire.” The
courtesy of the black knight seemed proportioned to his
strength and skill. Reining his horse to the left, he gave
the count the full advantage of the wind and sun, and in-
stead of meeting him in full career, eluded the shock,
parried his‘thrusts with the most graceful ease, and rode
around him like a practised knight condueting the exer-
cises 0f the tiltyard in such a manner, as to develop and
display the prowess of an ambitious squire; and When at
last Count H enry lost his saddle, it was rather the effect of
his own rashness, than from any apparent purpose of his
antagonist ; for exasperated to the last degree at being thus
toyed with, he retreated to the extremity of the lists, put
his horse upon its full speed and dashed upon his oppo-
nent. The black knight perceiving the intent of this ma-
noeuvre, brought his weH-trained steed at once into an
attitude of perfect repose, and sitting immovable as an
iron pillar, received the full shock upon his impenetrable
shield. The horse of the count recoiling from the effect of
the terrible collision, sank upon his haunches, and the
girth breaking, the rider rolled in the dust. Something
like a smothered laugh broke from beneath the bars of the
stranger’s vizor, as he rode round his vanquished foe, and
extended his hand as though inviting him to rise. But his
demeanor was grave and dignified, when he presented
himself before the admiring Berengaria, who in default of
a better Chaplet stripped her tiny hand of its snowy cover,
14

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

210 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

ing, and bestowed the embroidered glove‘as the guerdon
of his skill. “ Part we so soon, sir knight 2” said Sancho,
reining his steed, so as to keep pace With that of his unex-
pected guest. “ I would fain set lance in rest against s0 fair
3 foe.” Without deigning a reply, the knight put spurs to
his horse, and leaping the barriers disappeared in the wood.
Rejoining his two friends in the pavilion‘who were con-
doling With each other over their inglorious defeat, Sancho
burst into a, stream of invective. “ Ungrateful cravens,”
cried he, “ t0 repine at heaven’s grace. I would have given
the brightest jewel in the crown of Navarre, for leave to
set lance in rest against either of you doughty knights.”
“ Thou shouldst have been very welcome,” exclaimed
Raimond, laying his hand upon his wounded limb. “ Our
Lady grant henceforth that dame Fortune send all such
favors to thee,”and he laughed in spite of his discomfiture. A
startling blast from the wood interrupted the colloquy, and
Count Raimond petulantly exclaimed, “ Methinks the foul
fiends have congregated in the forest! That hath the sound
of the last trumpet.”

“ Aye, verily,” replied Count Henry, reconnoitering from
the door of the pavilion, “ and yonder comes Death on the
pale horse. Prince Sancho, thine hour has come, prepare
to meet thy final overthrow.” There seemed a terrible sig-
nificance in the words, for upon a. snowy charger, whose
mane and tail nearly swept the ground, just entering the
lists, was seen a knight, dressed in a suit of armor of such
shining brilliancy as almost to dazzle the eyes of the be-
holders. His crest was a White dove With its Wings spread,
and conspicuous upon his right shoulder appeared a blood-
red cross. He carried neither lance nor spear, but an im-
mense battle-axe hung at his saddle-bow. “ By my troth,”
said Sancho, “ be he the angel of death himself, I will die-
pute his empire, even though he bring twelve legions of his
mysterious retainers to back him. It shall not be said that
the chivalry of Spain, aye, and of France to boot,” casting
a glance at his crest-fallen friends, “are but trophies of
the prowess of these unknown demi-gods.” “ Heaven grant

BERENGARIA 0F NAVARRE. 211

thou mayest make good thy boast, for truly these demi-gods
wield n0 mortal weapons,” said Count Raimond, with a bit-
ter smile, as the prince anticipating a challenge rode forth
to meet the white champion. Unpractised in the use of the
mace, Sancho, whose ire was completely roused at seeing
the honors 0f the day borne off by strangers, disregarded
the laws of the tournament (Which required the challenger
to use the same weapons as his adversary), and seizing his
spear, attacked his opponent with a fierce energy, which
showed that he fought for deadly combat, and not for trial
of skill in knightly courtesy. The brilliant figure, at the
first rush, bowed his head, till the plumage 0f the dove
mingled with the flowing mane of his courser, and suffered
the animal to sheer to the right, thus compelling the prince,
in his onward career, to make a similar involuntary 0bei~
sauce as the result of his ineffectual thrust. Completing the
demivolte, the two champions again returned to the onset ;
and now the mace 0f the white knight describing shining
circles round his head, received upon its edge the spear 0f
the prince, clave the tough oak wood asunder, and sent the
spear-head whil‘lingvthrough the air almost to the feet of
the spectators. A second, a third, and a fourth spear met
With the same fate. The welkin rang with the applause 0f
the heholders. “ Bravo, sir white knight 1” “ Glory to
the Red Cross 1” “Honor t0 the crusader l” “ Death to
the Paynim,” accompanied the flourish 0f trumpets and
the shouts of heralds, which, together with the flutter 0f
pennons and the waving of signals from the galleries of
the ladies, showed the exciting interest of the scene. At
length the dove-crested warrior, by a skilful manoeuvre,
brought himself into such proximity as to be able with one
blow to strike the helmet from the head of his antagonist;
at the same moment, however, he extended his hand and
prevented the unbonneted prince from falling prone beneath
the feet of his horse. The gallant Sancho thus compelled
to yield, with knightly grace accompanied his vanquisher
.to Berengaria’s throne. “ Thy best guerdon, my sister, for
thy brother’s conqueror,” said he. “Beside the arm of

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

212 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

Richard Plantagenet, I thought there was not another in
Christendom that could break the bars of my vizor and
leave my skull unscathed. Why dost tho‘u hesitate “.3” ex
claimed he, observing her embarrassment. “The daughter
of Sancho the Wise is not wont to be tardy When called
upon to honor the brave. Has the same blow that still
keeps the blood dancing in the brain of thy brother, para-
lyzed thy hand ?” “Nay,” said Berengaria, While a bril--
liant blush suffused her cheeks, “ but I would fain see the
countenance 0f the brave knight, who carries off the honors
0f the field from such a competitor,” and drawing the ring
of Elsiebede from her finger, she bestowed it upon the via-
tor. Rising from his knees, the knight inclined courteously
t0 the Squires, who With a celerity lent by curiosity, unlaced
his casque and unfastened his gorget, revealing the face of
Richard Plantagenet, beaming fair and ruddy from the
bright yellow curls that clustered round it, and eyes that
sparkled in the full appreciation of the surprise and merri-
ment that his unexpected apparition occasioned. “ Mon
cher frere,” exclaimed Sancho, grasping his hand, “I am
conquered by Richard, then am I victor. Give me joy,
knights, ladies, and squires.” The heralds taking up the
word, sounded the tidings through the field, while the spec—
tators shouted, “A Richard! a Richard! Long live the
gallant Plantagenet l” The Counts of Toulouse and Cham-
pagne, assisted by their attendants, hastened to the scene,
and discovering the scarf and glove 0f Berengaria resting
beneath the loosened hauberk, recognized each his con-
queror, and found in that circumstance a greater balm for
their wounded pride, than all their bruises had experienced
from the mollifying appliances 0f leechcraft. The knights
challengers thus all vanquished by the single arm of Rihh—
ard,1eft the field With the highest sense of satisfaction, and
the ready Wit of their champion, pointed the sallies and di-
rected the mirth 0f the banquet, which followed, and con-
tinued long into the night.

BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 213

CHAPTER III.

“Beshrew your eyes,
They have o’erlooked me, and divided me;
One half of me is yours, the other half yours,
And so all yours.”

IN the general excitement attendant upon the discovery
of Richard and the breaking up of the tournament, Beren-
garia had remarked the agitation of Elsiebede, and seized
an early opportunity to learn the cause. “ Where hast
thou known Count Richard 2” said she in a tone of feigned
indifference. “ I have never seen him till to-day,” replied
the attendant. “ But thou didst start and turn pale When
the White Knight disclosed the features of Plantagenet ?”
“ Aye, because I saw my lady bring a curse upon his head.”
“ A curse upon him? How meanest thou, silly child ?” re-
plied the princess, growing pale in her turn. “Pardon,
my dear mistress,” continued Elsiebede, falling upon her
knees, “I should have told you, the ring bestowed upon a
knight, is a fatal gift.” “ Andwhy fatal ?” inquired Beren-
garia, somewhat relieved that she had no greater cause for
disquiet. ' “I know not Why. The jewel of the ring has
been in the possession of my mother’s tribe for many gene-
rations, and Whenever man has called it his own, sorrow
and distress have followed, till this tradition has become a
proverb. ‘

“’TWill thwart his Wish, and break his troth,
Betray him to his direst foe,
And drown him in the sea."

“ Thou art too superstitious,” said Berengaria, as her at-
tendant recited the malediction, with an appearance of the
most profound sense of its reality; “ but to please thee, foolish
child, I will regain the toy.” Berengaria secretly determined
to lose no time in relieving Richard from his dangerous pos-
session, and accordinglylost n0 occasion for conversing With

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

214 HEROINES OI" 1am emsmas.

the prince ;'but though he treated her With the most dis~
tinguished courtesy, the term of his visit to Navarre expired
before their acquaintance had ripened into an intimacy
that would warrant her venturing upon the delicate task of
reclaiming her gift. Months elapsed before Berengaria
again saw the knight who had made such an impression
upon her youthful imagination, and she began to fear that
the ring had, in reality, conducted him to his predestined
sepulchre in the sea, When her brother Sancho returning
from a tour in France, brought intelligence of the most
gratifying character. “ Rememberest thou, my sister,”
said he, “ the valiant Plantagenet, who so gallantly bore
off the honors of our tournament '9” “ Aye, verily,” replied
the princess, casting down her eyes. “He has been wan-
dering through Germany, challenging all true knights to
chivalrous combat, and has. met with many strange adven-
tures,” continued Sancho. “ Recount them,” said Beren-
garia, “ I listen With attention.” “ Thou who didst reward
his valor, as red, and black, and White knight in one day,
canst well appreciate his partiality for disguises,” resumed
her brother : “ and it seems, that during this expedition, one
had nearly cost him his life. Passing through the domin-
ions of the King of Almaine, he assumed the dress of a
palmer, but being discovered, was cast into prison. Ardour,
the son of the king, learning that a knight of remarkable
strength and prowess was confined in a dungeon, brought
him forth and invited him to stand a buffet. Richard ac-
cepted the challenge, and received a blow that laid him
prostrate. Recovering himself, he returned the stroke with
so much force, that he broke the cheek-bone of his antago-
nist, who sank to the ground and instantly expired. The
king awakened to fresh transports of fury, at the loss of his
son, gave orders that the prisoner should be closely fettered
and returned to the lowest dungeon of the castle. But
the monarch had, also, a daughter, a princess of great
beauty, Who became exceedingly interested in the man that
had so dexterously slain her brother. Learning that a plan
was on foot to make the bold knight the prey of a lion, she

BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 215

found means to enter his cell, and acquaint him with his
danger. The bold heart of Plantagenet did not fail him
in this extremity. Rewarding the solicitude of the tender
Margery with a kiss, he desired her to repair to him in the
evening, bringing forty ells of white silk, and a supper
with plenty of good beef and ale. Thus fortified in the
outer and inner man, he calmly awaited his fate. The next
day, as soon as the roar of the monster was heard, he wrap—
ped his arm in the silk, and evading the spring of the
animal, gave it such a blow in the breast, as nearly felled
it to the ground. The lion lashing itself with its tail, and
extending its dreadful jaws, uttered a most hideous yell;
but the hero suddenly darted upon the beast, drove his arm
down the throat, and grasping the heart tore it out through
the mouth, and marched with his trophy, yet quivering
with life, to the great hall of the palace, where the king
with a grand company of dukes and earls, sat at meat.
Pressing the blood from the reeking heart, Prince Richard
dipped it in the salt, and offered the dainty morsel t0 the
company. The lords rose from the table, and declaring,
that since the days of Samson, n0 mortal had achieved so
wonderful an exploit, dubbed him Coeur de Lion, 0n the
spot. The barbarian finding it impossible, longer to detain
a prisoner who seemed to enjoy the especial favor of Prov-
idence, bestowed upon him gifts and presents, mounted
him on a fleet horse, and with great joy, saw him depart.
A herald has this morning arrived, to say that he wends
his way hither; therefore, prepare, my sister, to receive
the lion-hearted prince, With a state becoming his new
honors.”

Berengaria needed no second bidding. She was already
more interested in the gallant Plantagenet than she dared
confess, even to herself, while the conduct of Richard, upon
his arrival, intimated plainly the attraction that had drawn
him to Navarre, and the flattering attention with which both
the elderrand younger Sancho treated him, promised fair
speed to his wooing. He was exceedingly fond of chess,
and this game served to beguile many hours when the

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

216 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

weather precluded more active sports. Though a practised,
Richard was often a careless player, and his fair antago-
nist gained many advantages over him, while he perti-
naciously declared himself vanquished by her beauty rather
than her skill. The ready blush that followed his compli—
ments gave occasion for renewed expressions of admira-
tion, and often in the midst of triumph the victor found
herself covered with confusion. Many gages of trifling
value were lost and won between the amicable rivals, but
it was not till after repeated defeats that Richard began to
suspect there was some article in his possession that his
beautiful opponent was particularly anxious to win. He
playfully proposed to stake his head against one lock of
her hair, and when he lost the game, gravely inquired
whether she would accept the forfeit, with its natural fix-
ture, or whether like the vindictive daughter of Herodias
she would require it to be brought in a charger, as was the
head of J ohn the Baptist. Re-arranging the pieces before
she could interpose a remonstrance, he declared the stakes
should next be his heart against her hand. The game was
terminated in his favor. Gallantly seizing her hand, press-
ing his lips upon it, he protested that in all his tourna-
ments he had never won so fair a prize; then suddenly
exclaiming, “What magic game is this, in which a man
may both lose and win?” he laid his broad palm upon
his side, and with an appearance of great concern, con-
tinued, “ By the blessed mother my heart is certainly gone;
and I must hold thee accountable for its restoration.”

Making a strong effort at recovering her composure, Be~
rengaria asserted that she had neither lost nor won the
game, since he had arranged the pieces unfairly, and pro-
ceeded to capture her queen almost without her knowledge,
and certainly without her consent.

The Sportive colloquy finally ended in a compromise,
Richard agreeing that the affair could justly be accommo-
dated by Berengaria’s staking her heart against his hand,
and she playfully avowing that a gamester so unflprincipled
might expect to lose both body and soul, if he did not

'eERENeARIA 0F NAVARREI 217

commit the arrangements to one of greater probity. The
keen eye of Plantagenet ‘soon discovered that this game
possessed an interest fer his fair rival far beyond the
preceding ones, and in deubt Whether it arose from her
anxiety to gain his hand, 01‘ from her desire delicately to
assure him that he couid never Win her heart, he suffered
himself to be beaten. The result only increased his per-
plexity; for the princess, though evidently elated by her
success, seriously proposed to relinquish her claim upon his
hand, in consideration of the ring that glittered upon his
finger. Too much interested any longer to regard the
game, Richard pushed aside the chess-board, and fixing his
eyes upon her, inquired, “Wherefore wouidst’ thou the
ring 3”

The princess more than ever embarrassed by the serious-
ness of his voice and manner, stammered forth, f‘The
jewel is a charm.” “ True,” said Richard, With unafi'ected
warmth, “ Berengaria’s gifts are all charms.” “ Nay,
may 1” said she, with uncontrollable trepidation, “I mean
—I mean—it is a fatal pesseseion.”—‘——“Of Which I am a.
most undoubted witness,” interrupted he, “since by its in-
fluence I have, lost my head, my heart and my hand.”
“ HaVe done with this idle jesting, and listen to me,” said.
Berengaria, earnestly. “ It Will thwart thy dearest Wish,
and betray thee to thy direst foe.” “ None but Berengaria
can thwart my dearest wish,” said Richard, steadily re-
garding her, “ and from my direst foe,” he added, with a.
gesture of defiance, “this good right arm is a sufficient
defence.” Tears shone in Berengaria’s eyes, and she add—
ed, “ Why wilt thou misunderstand me? I tell thee it Will
break thy troth.” “ Our Lady grant it,” responded he,
with a shout 0f exultation. “ Since the day I first'received
it, I have not ceased to importune King Henry to cancel
my engagement with Alice of France.” The bafliied prin-
cess having no further resource burst into tears. “ N ay,
weep not, my sweetest Berengaria,” said Richard, tenderly,
“ the gem is indeed a talisman, since by its aid only have I
been able to discover the treasure thou hadst so effectually

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

218 HEROINES OF THE CRUSAnEs

concealed from my anxious search. Fear no evil on my be-
half, my poor life has double value since thou hast betrayed
an interest in my fate.” He stooped to kiss the tears from
her cheek, and passing a chain with a diamond cross about
her neck, left her alone to recover her composure.

CHAPTER IV.

“Ah me! for aught that I could ever read,
Could ever hear by tale or history,
The course of true love never did run smooth.”

“ A LONG and secret engagement, replete with hope de-
ferred, was the fate of Richard the Lion—hearted and the
fair flower of Navare.” The vexatious wars in which
Eleanor of Aquitaine constantly involved her husband and
children occupied Richard in combats more dangerous than
those of the tourney. The heart of Berengaria was often
agitated with fears for his safety. She was also compelled
to reject the addresses of numerous suitors, attracted by
her beauty and wealth, and she thus subjected herself to
the imputation 0f caprice, and the displeasure of her
father, when her thoughts were distracted by rumors that
Richard was about to consummate his marriage with Alice.
An occasional troubadour who sang the exploits of her gal-
lant lover sometimes imparted new life to her dying hopes,
and again when a long period elapsed without tidings of
any kind, she bitterly reproached herself for permitting
him to retain an amulet which she was so well assured
would change the current of his affections; and notwith-
standing the general frankness of his character, and the
unfeigned earnestness of his manner, which more than his
words, had convinced her of his truth; she was often tor—
tured with the suspicion that Richard had only amused
himself with the artlessness of a silly girl, and had no in—

BERENGARIA 0F NAVARRE. 219

tention 0f demanding her of her father. Her only confi-
dant in the affair was her brother Sancho the Strong, who
consoled her by violently upbraiding her for the unjust sus-
picion, and resolutely Vindicating the honor of his absent
friend. \Vhile the mind of Berengaria was thus cruelly
alternating between hope and fear, her sister Blanche was
wedded to Thibaut, brother of Count Henry of Champagne.
On the festive occasion Richard accompanied the bride-
groom: and when Berengaria once more read admiration
and love in every glance of his speaking eyes, and listened
to his enthusiastic assurances of devotion, and above all,
when she heard his wrathf'ul malediction against those who
interposed the claims of Alice, she wondered how she
could ever have distrusted the sincerity of his professions.
But though her heart was thus reassured, the first intelli-
gence that she received from Champagne through the me-
dium 0f Blanche,0verwhe1med her with new apprehen-
sions. It was asserted, that an alliance had been formed
between Richard and Philip, the young King of France,
to wrest Alice from the custody of Henry, and that the two
princes, to prove that they looked upon each other as broth-
ers, exchanged clothing, ate at the same table, and occu-
pied the same apartment. The confident Sancho even, was
somewhat shaken by this report; particularly as the Gas-
0011 subjects of Richard began to prepare for war. Insti-
gated by his own doubts, but more especially by the mute
appeals of Berengaria’s tearful eyes, Sancho made a journey
to the north to prove the guilt or innocence of his friend. At
Bordeaux he learned that Richard had gone to Poictiers.
At Poictiers it was said he might be found at Tours. At
Tours the rumor was confirmed, that Richard had transfer-
red his allegiance from Henry to Philip, and that Henry,
in consequence of his son’s rebellion, had fallen sick at
Chinon, and that Richard had been summoned to that
place to attend the monarch’s death-bed. Without delay,
therefore, Sancho posted forward to Chinon. As he as-
cended an eminence commanding a View of the road for
some distance, he saw a band of armed horsemen riding in

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

220 HEROIN’ES OF“ THE CRUSAfiEs.

advance of him, and thought he discerned, in the van, the
crest of Richard Coeur de Lion. Putting spurs 10 his
horse, he joined the rear of the cavalcade, which proved to
be the funeral procession of Henry IL, led by his erring
son to the abbey 0f Fontevraud. The mournful tones of
the bell mingled with the clanging tread 0f the mail-clad
nobles, as solemn and slow they followed the prince up the
long aisle of the church. The air was heavy with the
breath of burning incense, and the strong and ruddy glare
of the funeral torches, revealed With fearful distinctness
the deep furrows made by age, and care, and grief in the
noble features of the deceased monarch. The walls draped
,with the sable habiliments of woe, returned the muflied
tones of the organ, while drooping banners, that canopied
the bier, shook as with a boding shudder, at the approach
of the warrior train. One solitary mourner knelt beside
the altar, at fair—haired youth, whose features of classic
purity, seemed to have borrowed their aspect of repose from
the dread presence before him. It was Geoffrey, the
younger son of Rosamond. The solemn chanting 0f the
mass was hushed, and the startled priests suppressed their
very breath in awe, as heavy sobs burst from the great
heart of Coeur de Lion, and shook the steel corselet that
was belted above his breast. Geoffrey silently rose, and
moving to the head of the bier, left the place of honor to
his repentant brother. “ My father l” exclaimed Richard,
bending over the dead, and lifting the palsied hand, “ My
father I Ch canst thou not forgive ?” He stopped in speech-
less horror, for blood oozed from the clammy lips that till
now had always responded to the call of affection.

The sensitive heart of Sancho, wrung with a kindred
agony, could no longer brook the terrible spectacle. He
left the abbey, and was followed by one and another of the
crowd till the self—accusing parricide was left alone with
the body of his sire.

When the Prince of Navarre returned to Pampeluna, he
forbore to pain his sister’s heart by a recital of the melan-

BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 221

choly circumstances that had so affected his own, but he
carried to her an assurance that Richard would wed only
Berengam'a, sealed With the mysterious jewel now reset as
the Signet ring of the King of England. He described the
splendid coronation of his friend, the wealth of his new
realm, and the enthusiastic rapture with Which his new
subjects hailed his accession to the throne. He also in-
formed her that Richard, previous to his father’s death, had
taken the cross for the Holy Land, and that all his time
- and thoughts were now occupied in settling the affairs of
the realm for this object ; and that the alliance with Philip,
which had caused her so much anxiety, was an engage-
ment, not to marry A1ice,_ but to enter with the French
monarch upon the T/Liml Urusade.

The prospects of her mistress awakened all the enthusi-
asm 0f Elsiebede. She dreamed by night and prophesied
by day of long journeys on horseback and by sea, and she
interspersed her prognostications With agreeable tales of
distressed damsels carried off by unbelieving Afrites, and
miraculous escapes from shipwreck by the interposition of
good Genii. But though her tongue was thus busy, her
hands were not idle. She set in motion all the domestic
springs to furnish forth the wardrobe of her mistress and
herself With suitable splendor, and amused the needle—WO-
men with such accounts of eastern magnificence that they
began to regard the rich fabrics upon Which they were emi-
ployed as scarcely worthy of attention.

In the beginning of the autumn of 1190, Queen Eleanor
arrived at the court of N avarre to demand of her friend
Sancho the Wise the hand of his daughter for her son Rich-
ard. The king readily accepted the proposal, for beside
being Berengaria’s lover, the gallant Plantagenet was the
most accomplished, if not the most powerful sovereign of
Europe. Under the escort 0f the queen dowager the royal
fiancee journeyed to N aples, where she learned to her mor-
tification and dismay that her intended 10rd was not yet
released from the claims of Alice, and that the potentates
assembled for the crusade were in hourly expectation of

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

222 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

seeing the armed forces of Christendom embroiled in a
bloody war to decide her title to the crown matrimonial of
England.

The forebodings 0f Elsiebede did not increase her equa«
nimity. “It is all the work of the fatal ring,” said the
superstitious maiden. “ Did I not tell thee it would thwart
his dearest Wish?” Berengaria could reply only by her
tears. Other circumstances made her apprehensive con-
cerning the fate of the expedition. The Emperor Frederic
Barbarossa was among the first of those whose grief arose
t0 indignation at the fall of Jerusalem. He wrote letters
to Saladin demanding restitution of the city, and threaten-
ing vengeance in the event of non-compliance. The cour-
teous Infidel replied, that if the Christians would give up
to him Tyre, Tripoli and Antioch, he would restore to them
the piece of wood taken at the battle of Tiberias, and per-
mit the people of the west to visit J erusalem as pilgrims.
The chivalry of Germany were exasperated at this haughty
reply, and the emperor, though advanced in age, With his
son the Duke of Suabia, the Dukes of Austria and Moravia,
Sixty-eight temporal and spiritual lords, and innumerable
hosts of crusaders, drawn out of every class, from honora-
ble knighthood down to meanest vassalage, set out from
Ratisbon for the East. The virtuous Barbarossa conducted
the march With prudence and humanity. Avoiding as
much as possible the territories of the timid and treacher-
ous Greek Emperor, Isaac Angelus, he crossed the Helles~
pont, passed through Asia Minor, defeated the Turks in a
general engagement at Iconium, and reached the Taurus
Ridge, having accomplished the difficult journey With more
honor and dignity and success than had fallen to the lot
of any previous crusaders.

When the army approached the river Oydnus, the gallant
Frederic, emulating the example of Alexander, desired to
bathe in its waters. His attendants sought to dissuade him,
declaring that the place had been marked by a fatality
from ancient times ; and to give weight to their arguments,
pointed to this inscription upon an adjacent rock, “ Here

BERENGARIA 0F NAVARRE. 223

the greatest of men shall perish.” But the humility 0f the
monarch prevented his listening to their counsels. The icy
coldness 0f the stream chilled the feeble current in his aged
veins, and the strong arms that had for so many years buf-
feted the adverse waves of fortune, were nOW powerless to
redeem him from the eddying tide. He was drawn out by
the attendants, but the spark of life had become extinct.
The tidings of this melancholy event came to Berengaria,
when her heart was agitated by the perplexity of .her own
situation not only, but by the intelligence that Richard’s
fleet had been wrecked off the port of Lisbon, and that he
was himself engaged in hostilities with Tancred. Coeur
de Lion was indeed justly incensed With the usurper of his
sister’s dominions. Upon the first news of the fall of Jeru-
salem, William the Good had prepared to join the crusade ‘
with one hundred galleys equipped and provisioned for
two years, sixty thousand measures of wine, sixty thousand
of Wheat, the same number of bariey, together With a table
of solid gold and a tent of siik, sufficiently capacious to
accommodate two hundred persons. Being seized with a.
fatal disease, he left these articles by will to Henry II. and
settling upon his beloved Joanna a princely (lower, intrast-
ed to her the government of the island. No sooner was
he deceased, than Tancred, an illegitimate son of Roger of
Apulia, seized upon the inheritance and threw the fair
Widow into prison. The roar of the advancing lion startled
Tancred from his guilty security, and he lost no time in un-
barring the prison doors of his royal captive. But Richard
required complete restitution, and enforced his demands by
the sword. He seized upon Messina, but finally through
the intervention of the French king, accommodated the
matter by accepting forty thousand ounces of gold, as his
father’s legacy and his sister’s dower. He also afiianced
his nephew Arthurof Brittany, t0 the daughter of Tancred,
the Sicilian prince agreeing on his part to equip ten galleys
and six horse transports for the crusade. Completely recon-
ciled t0 the English king, Tancred, in a moment of confi-
dence, showed him letters in which Philip had volunteered

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

224 HERomEs OF THE GRUSADES.

to assist in hostilities against Richard. This treachery en
the part of Philip brought matters to a crisis. Seizing the
evidences of perfidy, Richard strode his way to» the French
camp, and With eyes sparkling with rage7 and a voice of
terrible power,11pbi‘aided him With his baseness. Philip:
strongly asserted his innocence, and declared the iettei‘s a,
forgery, a mere triek of Richard to gain a pretext for break-
ing 0% the afihir With his sister. The other ieadei‘s inteiu
posed and shamed Philip into, acquiescence with Richard’s
desire to he released from his engagement with Alice,
Some days after the French king sailed for Acre-

But though the hand of the royal Plantagenet was thus
free, the long anticipated nuptials were still postponed. It
was the period Of the lenten fast, When no devout Catholic
is permitted to marry. Eleanor finding it impossible
longer to leave her regency in England, conducted Beren-
garia t0 Messina, and consigned her to the care of Queem
Joanna, Who was also preparing for the voyage. The
English fleet, supposed 10st, arrived in the harbor 0f Messina,
about the same time, and arrangements were speedily made
for departure. As etiquette forbade the lovers sailing
together, Richard embarked his sister with her precious
charge on board one of his finest ships, in the care ef the
noble Stephen de Turnham, while himself led the convoy
in his favorite galley Trenc-the-mere, accompanied by
twenty—four knights, Whom he had organized in honor of”
his betrothment, under a pledge that they would With him
scale the walls of Acre. ”rom- their badge, 3 fillet of blue
leather, they were calied knights of the Blue Thong.

Thus with one hundred and fifty ships and fifty galleysy
did the lion-hearted Richard and his brid‘ehoist sail. for
the Land of Promise, that El Dorado of the middle ages,
the Utopia of every enthusiast whether of eenqpest, romance
or religion. ' '1

BERENGARLA 0F NAVARRE. 225

CHAPTER V.

‘ The strife 0f fiends is 011 the battling clouds,
The glare of hell is in these sulphurous lightnings;
This is no earthly storm.”

TRUSTFULLY and gaily as Infancy embarks upon the un-
tried ocean of existence, the lovers left the harbor of Mes—
sina, and moved forth with their splendid convoy, upon the
open sea. By day the galley 0f Berengaria chased the fly-
ing shadows of the gallant Trenc-the-mere along the coast
of Greece, or followed in its rippling wake among the green
isles 0f the clustering Cyclades; by night, like sea—fowl
folding their shining wings, the vessels furled their snowy
canvass, and with silver feet keeping time to the waves,
danced forward over the glassy floor of the blue Mediter-
ranean, like a charmed bride listening to the sound of pipe
and chalumeaux that accompanied the spontaneous Verse
with Which the royal troubadour wooed her willing ear.

The treacherous calm that had smiled‘ upon the com-
mencement of their voyage, at length began to yield to the
changeful moods of the stormy equinox, Which like a cruel
sportsman, toyed With the hopes and fears of its helpless
prey. Clouds and sunshine hurried alternately across the
face of the sky. Fitful gusts of Wind tossed the waves in
airer plucked the shrouds 0f the ships and darted away,
wailing and moaning among the waters. Then fell a calm
——and then—with maddening roar the congregated floods
summoned their embattled strength to meet the mustering
winds, that, loosened from their caves, burst upon the sea
with terrific power.

The females crept trembling to their couches, dizzy With
pain and faint With fear. The sickness 0f Berengaria in-
creased to that state of insensibility in Which the body,
palsied With agony, has only power to assist the mind in
shaping all outward circumstances into visions of horror.

15

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

226 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

She was again in the cell of the alchemist ; saw lurid flames,
heard deafening explosions, with unearthly shrieks and
groans proceeding from myriads 0f fiends that thronged
round her with ominous words and gibing leer. She felt
herself irresistibly borne on, on, With a speed ever accel-
erated, and that defied all rescue, and with all there was
an appalling sense of falling, down, down, down, into inter~
minable depths.

The fantasy sometimes changed from herself, but always
to her dearer self. Richard contending with mighty but
ineffectual struggles against inexorable Genii, was hurried
through the unfathomable waters before her, the fatal ring
gleaming through all their hideous forms upon her aching
sight ; and the confused din of strange sounds that Whirled
through her giddy brain could never drown the endless Vi-
brations 0f the whispered words,

“ ’TwilI thwart his wish and break his troth,
Betray him to his direst foe,
And drown him in the sea.”

The capricious winds at length sounded a truce between
the contending elements. The baffled clouds, like a retir-
ing enemy, discharging occasional arrows from their eX-
hausted quivers, hurried away in wild confusion, while the
triumphant sea, its vexed surface still agitated by the tre—
mendous conflict, murmured a sullen roar of proud defiance.

The Princess of Navarre, relieved from the thraldom of
imaginary horrors, became aware of the actual peril which
the fleet had encountered. It was in vain that the anxious
attendants interposed, she persisted in being conducted to
the deck, whence with longing eyes she gazed in every di-
rection for the bark of her lover. Not a vessel was in sight.
A wild waste of waters mocked her anxious scrutiny. Her
own galley was so far disabled, that it was with much toil-
ing and revving, the mariners brought it into Limousa, the
capital of Cyprus, and no sooner had they cast anchor, than
Isaac Comnenus, the 10rd of the island, assailed the stranger
bark with so much Violence, that they were forced to row

BERENGARIA 0F NAVARRE. ‘ 227

again with all speed. into the offing. While the ship lay
thus tossing at the mercy of the waves, dismantled frag-
ments of shattered wrecks floated by, the broken masts and
spars contending With the waters, like 10st mariners strug-
gling for life. ‘

While Berengaria gave way to the harrowing conviction
that the Trenc-the-mere, with its precious freight, had foun-
dered in the storm, Richard, whose ship had been driven
into Rhodes, was collecting his scattered fleet and scouring
the sea for his 10st treasure. Arrived of? Cyprus, he beheld
the royal galley, and learning that it had been driven from
the harbor by-the pitiless despot, he landed in great wrath,
and sent a message to Isaac, suggesting the propriety of
calling his subjects from the work of plundering the wrecks
to the exercise of the rites of hospitality.

The arrogant Cypriot answered that, “whatever goods
the sea threw upon his island, he should take without leave
asked of any one.” “ By Jesu, Heaven’s king, they shall
be bought full dear,” retorted Richard, and seizing his bat-
tie-axe, he led his crusaders to the rescue, and soon drove
the self-styled emperor, with his myrmidons, t0 the moun-
tains. Without loss of time, Richard pursued him thither,
and guided by the heron 0f burnished gold that gleamed
from the imperial pavilion, penetrated the camp in the
darkness, made a great slaughter of the enemy, and
brought away ail the treasure; Isaac again escaping With
much difficulty. Two beautiful Arab steeds, Fanuelle and
Layard, fell to the lot of the conqueror.

“ In the world was not their peer,
Dromedary nor destrere.”

With this magnificent booty King Richard returned, and
taking possession of his enemies’ capital, made signals for
the entrance of the galley that had so long kept unwilling
quarantine without the port. Berengaria, almost overcome
with fatigue and fear, and fluttered with joy, was lifted on
shore by the strong arms of the conquering Coeur de Lion.
As he assisted her trembling steps towards the palace, a

I

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

228 , HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

Cypriot 0f beggariy appearance threw himself on his
knees before them, and presented to their astonished eyes
the talismanic ring! Richard felt his gentle burden lean
more heavily upon his arm, and saw in her colorless face,
that all her apprehensions were reawakened. Gently
whispering her words of encouragement, he turned to the
stranger, and bursting into a hearty laugh, exclaimmf,
“ Ha! knave, where got’st thou the bauble? Hast news
of my chaneeflor 2” The mendicant replied, that a num-
ber of bodies had floated upon the beach, and that from
the hand of one he had drawn this ring, which he brought
to the English monarch in the hope of ransoming his wife
and family, who had been taken prisoners. Richard, re-
joiced at the recovery of the valued jeWel, readily granted
the request of the petitioner, adding ass a bounty, a broad
piece of gold. Slipping the Signet upon his finger, he
turned to his fair charge, saying, “ Cheer thee, sweet-heart,
thy ring has accomplished its destiny. The poor chancel-
lor is ‘drowned in the sea,’ and thou mayest henceforth
look upon it with favor, for to-day it shall consummate my
‘ dearest Wish,’ since the good bishop now waits to crown
thee Richard’s queen.”

Relieved, that the ring, after all, boded no evil to Richard,
and reassured by his words, Berengaria yielded to» the sweet
emotions that crowderl upon her heart, and joyfully per-
mitted him to conduct her into the presence of the arch-
bishop, Who, With the knights and nobles, awaited their
coming. “Ami there,” accorfiing to an ancient writer, “in:
the joyous month of May, 1191, in the flourishing and spa-
cious isle of Cyprus, celebrated as the very abode of the
goddess of love, ($id King Richard solemnly take to Wife
his beloved lady Berengaria.” The allied cresatiers, With
the consent of the Cypriots, insisted that Richard should
be crowned King of Cyprus, and a double coronal of gems
and Fleur—de—lis, was placed upon the head of the bride, as
Queen of Cyprus and of England. The daeghter of Isaac
came soon after to crave the grace of the new sovereigns,

BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 229

and the father, resigning his dominions, was bound in sil-
ver chains, and presented a captive t0 Berengaria.

It was now early summer, and the fleet of Richard, re-
fitted and refreighted from the rich harbors of Cyprus,
sailed once more for Acre. As they approached the bay,
they descried a large ship laden t0 the water’s edge, and
despatched a light vessel to inquire whither she was bound,
and what was her cargo. They were answered by an in-
terpreter, that she came from Apulia, and was laden with
provision for the French army. Perceiving only one man,
they insisted on seeing the rest of the crew. Suddenly a
multitude of Saracens appeared upon deck, and replied by
a general shout of defiance. Immediately Richard gave
orders to board the stranger. The officers of the light-
armed galleys felt some hesitation in assailing the lofty
sides of the Turkish vessel. “I will crucify all my soldiers
if she escape,” cried Plantagenet. His men, dreading more
their sovereign’s wrath than all the arrows of the enemy,
bent to the ears with all their strength, and drove the sharp
beaks of their galleys into the sides of the foe. After a
short contest the Infidels surrendered, and the English
found upon the prize great quantities of provision, barrels
of Greek fire, arms, and treasures of gold and silver, which
they had hardly unloaded when the vessel, scuttled by its
despairing crew, sank like lead in the mighty waters.

Elated by this important capture, the Christians pro-
ceeded on their way. Just without the port of Acre they
were met by a spy, who reported that the harbor was ren-
dered inaccessible by a vast chain of iron, which the Sar-
acens had stretched across the entrance. This formidable
obstacle lent new vigor t0 Richard’s arm. Selecting the
largest and strongest galley in the fleet, he filled it with the
stoutest rowers, took his station 011 the hows 0f the vessel,
ordered it to- be directed against the middle of the chain,
and watching the moment of utmost tension, struck it so
violently With his battle-axe, that it gave way, and the
Whole fleet passed triumphantly into the harbor.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

230 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

C H A P T E R V I .
SELECTED FROM THE CHRONICLE OF VINSAUF, 1191.

“ ON the Saturday before the festival of the blessed
Apostle Barnabas, in the Pentecost week, King Richard
landed at Acre with his retinue, and the earth was shaken
by the acclamations of the exulting Christians. The peo-
ple testified their joy by shouts of welcome, and the clang
of trumpets ; the day was kept as a jubilee, and universal
gladness reigned around, on account of the arrival of the
king, long wished—for by all nations. The Turks, on the
other hand, were terrified and cast down by his coming, for
they perceived that all egress and return would be at an
end, in consequence of the multitude of the king’s galleys.
The two kings conducted each other from the port, and
paid one another the most obsequious attention. Then
King Richard retired to the tent, previously prepared for
him, and, forthwith, entered into arrangements about the
siege; for it was his most anxious care to find out by what
means, artifice, and machines they could capture the city
without loss of time.

“No pen can sufificiently describe the joy of the people
on the king’s arrival, nor tongue detail it. The very
calmness 0f the night was thought to smile upon them with
a purer air; the trumpets clanged, horns sounded, and the
shrill intonations of the pipe, and the deeper notes of the
timbrel and. harp, struck upon the ear; and soothing sym-
phonies were heard, like various voices blended in one;
and there was not a man who did not, after his own fashion,
indulge in joy and praise; either singing popular ballads
to testify the gladness of his heart, or reciting the deeds of
the ancients, stimulating by their example the spirit of the
modems. Some drank wine from costly cups, to the health
of the singers; While others mixing together, high and low,
passed the night in constant dances.

BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 231

“And their joy was heightened by the subjugation of
the island of (Jypruss, by King Richard; a place so useful
and necessary to them, and one which would be of the
utmost service to the army. As a further proof of the
exultation of their hearts, and to illume the darkness of the
night, wax torches, and flaming lights sparkled in pro-
fusion, so that night seemed to be usurped by the bright
ness of the day, and the Turks thought the Whole valley
was on fire.”

CHAPTER VII.

“ Out upon the fool! Go speak thy comfort»:
To spirits tame and abject as thyself;
They make me mad 1” BAILLIE.

FROM the port of Acre, the great plain of Esdraelon
stretches east to the Lake of Gennesareth, dividing the
country into two parts. This plain has been the Aceldama
0f the nations that have warred in Palestine. There the
stars in their courses fought against Sisera, there Saul and
his sons fled and fell down slain before the Philistines,
there the good King Josiahwas conquered by the Egyp-
tians, and there the Christians and Moslems With deadly
enmity contended for the sovereignty of the Holy Land.
The city of Acre was the possession of the Infidels. Around
it the besiegers, gathered out Of every nation in Europe,
lay in countless multitudes; splendid pavilions, gorgeous
ensigns, glittering weapons, and armorial cognizances of
every hue and form that individual fancy and national
peculiarity could suggest, studding the plain, with all the
varied colors that light weaves upon the changing textiire
of autumn foliage. Beyond the beleaguering forces were
encamped the sons of Islam, Turks, Tartars, Egyptians,
and Bedouins, covering mountains, valleys, hills, and
plains, with White and shining tents, While the black ban-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

232 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

ner of Saladin floated above all in proud defiance of the
crimson standard of the cross. The arrival of the English
increased the camp of the crusaders, so that it stretched in
a. semicircle round Acre, from sea. to sea, precluding all
intercourse between the Soldan and the city, while the
Pisans with their light galleys cut off all supplies by sea. ;

Richard with the money he had brought from Cyprus;
liberally rewarded the valor 0f the soldiers and diffused
new courage among the troops. The King of England 011
the coast of Palestine, did not acknowledge himself the
vassal 0f the King Of France. In the council of the chiefs
he had equal, if not greater influence, and in matters of
general interest the rival sovereigns were usually found
upon opposite sides. Sybilla, Wife of Guy de Lusignan,
was dead. Conrad 0f Montserrat, Prince of Tyre, having
married her sister Isabella, claimed the ideal crown of
Jerusalem. Philip supported the pretensions 0f Conrad,
while Richard lent his powerful aid to Lusignan. The
Genoese and Templars sided with Philip, the Pisans and
Hospitallers with Richard. Philip strove to seduce the
vassals of Richard in right of his suzerainship, and offered
three piecesof gold a month to each of the Norman knights
that would join his standard, while Richard, more wealthy
and less parsimonious, offered four pieces to such French
feudatories as would be indueed to fight under the ban-
ner of England.

These factions destroyed the unanimity so essential to suc-
cess, and embarrassed every enterprise. In this posture
of affairs, both monarchs were attacked with the fever inci-
dent t0 the climate, and thus though the garrison 0f Acre
were suffering from famine, the besiegers were not in a.
condition to press their advantage.

King Richard lay tossing upon his couch, consumed with
fever and impatience, and scarcely enduring the gentle en-
deavors of his beloved queen to win him from the vexing
thoughts that disturbed his repose. “ Drink, my lord,”
said Berengaria, presenting him a cooling draught, “ and

BERENGARIA 0F NAVARRE. 233

compose thyself to rest. The leech saith that sleep is the
best medicine for these Syrian maladies.”

“Talk of sleep to the steed that bears the war trump,
but speak not of rest and quiet to Richard While the ban-
ner of Islam floats in sight of the Christian camp. But for
this cursed fever I should have stood beside the noble A1-
beric, and my gallant Knights of the Blue Thong 0n the
walls of Acre.”

Berengaria repressed an involuntary shudder. “ Nay
then, must I thank God for the fever, since else, we had
this night to bewail not the loss of the French count alone,
but the destruction of the bulwark of Christendom.” V

“ Thou reasonest like a woman, as thou art,” said Rich-
ard, in a petulant tone. “ Thinkest thou the English curtel
axe no better weapon than a Gascon’s spear ?”

“ M y woman’s reason follows the fears of my woman’s
heart,” said the queen, her eyes filling with tears, “and
teaches me were Richard gone, both Palestine and Beren-
garia would lie at the mercy of the French king.”

“By my halidome thou speakest truth,” said Richard,
tossing uneasily upon his side. “Therefore it chafes me
to lie here inactive, lest perehance the crafty Philip first
plant his standard upon the towers of Acre.”

Feeling her utter inability to select topics in which the
irascible monarch would not find causes of irritation, Be-
]‘engaria summoned his favorite Blondel with the lute. But
scarcely had Richard consented to listen to a Provengal
chanson when the Earl of Salisbury entered.

“Ha! Longespee,” exclaimed the monarch, “ thou hast
tidings from the leaders of the christian host.”

At the first entrance of Richard’s warlike brother Beren-
garia had retired so as to be invisible to her 10rd, and mo-
tioned to silence. Hastily returning Richard’s salutation,
William conferred apart for a few moments with the queen
and Joanna.

“ The maladyinereases,” said she, in much agitation.
“Chafe him not with ill tidings, I do beseech thee. Al-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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234 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

ready the fever burns to the verge of madness. Life de-
pends upon his repose."

“ \Vhat whisper ye 3” exclaimed Coeur de Lion, startling
them by his energy. “I tell you I Will know 211]. Long-
sword, shamest thou the blood of the Plantagenet by coun-
selling with women and leeches ? Speak, man, I command
thee.”

Not daring farther to irritate the imperious invalid, the
son of Rosamond came forward and stated that the Turks,
perceiving the christian army very much dejected at the
loss of Count Alberic and his scaling party, had sent to beg
a truce of eight days, promising at the same time, if the
Soldan did not send them speedy assistance, to give up the
city, on condition that all the Turks might be allowed to
depart With their arms and property. In consequence of
the severe indisposition of Richard, the chiefs had deemed
it prudent not to disturb him With these matters ; and hence
the King of France and the Duke of Austria had taken the
responsibility of returning a favorable answer to the propo-
sition.

“ By my father’s soul,” exclaimed Richard, “ the son of
France is more craven than I deemed. To give up the
prize when just Within our grasp is not to be thought of.
Send the ambassadors to me. They shall find that Coeur
de Lion Will not barter glory for a deserted city. “ G0,”
added he, observing the hesitation 0f Longsword, “ and
venture not into my presence again without the envoys.”

“But the leech said—” interposed Berengaria. “The
curse of sweet Jesus upon the leech I Am I to be subject
to nurses, dosed with physio, and soothed with lullabys,
like a muling child ? Away ! or my Chamberlain shall en-
force thy absence,” said he, darting his first angry glance
at his trembling queen.

Finding all remonstrance vain, the discomfited females
yielded to his impetuosity, only obtaining for themselves
the grace of being present at the interview. I11 as he was,
the monarch was clothed in his robes of state ; and With a
cheek glowing with fever and eyes sparkling With unwonted

BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 235

brilliancy, was supported by cushions upon a settle, hastily
arranged to answer the purpose of a throne. Scarce] y were
these preliminaries arranged, when the Chamberlain ushered
in Longsword with the envoys. The swarthy Egyptian Mes-
toc, with his splendid caftan and white turban, particularly
attracted the admiration of the silent females, and seemed
to exercise a fascinating power upon Elsiebede, who perused
his countenance as though she discerned in it the familiar
features of a friend.

The anger which Richard had testified tbwards his at-
tendants, was modified into a haughty courtesy as he con-
versed with the noble Saracens. He cut ofi‘ at once all
parley concerning the proposition for permitting the Turks
to leave the city without ransom, but he graciously accord—
ed his assent to the truce. Berengaria observed with ter-
ror that though Caracois exhibited as lively an interest in
the negotiations as the gravity of the Turks ever allowed,
Mestoc seemed more occupied in scanning the person of
the monarch, and regarded With wonder and curiosity the
Signet that glittered upon his finger.

The conference was scarcely over, when Richard sank
back pale and exhausted from his recent exertion, and the
leech being speedily summoned, insisted that the king
should be left alone with him for the remainder of the
night. Preparing a sleeping draught, and almost forcing
it down the throat of his refractory patient, he moved the
light into the anteroom 0f the tent, and giving the cham—
berlain strict orders not to admit any one, upon Whatever
pretext, sat down to watch the effect of his remedies. After
a few uneasy tossings and muttered ejaculations 0f vexa-
tion and disquiet, the monarch sank into a heavy slumber,
broken only by occasional imprecations against the Infi-
dels, Whom he battled in sleep with an animosity that
would have done credit to his waking vengeance.

As the twilight deepened into darkness, the coolness 0f
the Syrian evening shed the grateful dew 0f slumber upon
the weary eyelids of those who had answered the constant
demands of the royal invalid, and brought the happy 0b-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

236 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

livion of rest to those Who had engaged in the more war-
like duties of the arblast and mangonel. The sounds of
life gradually decreased, and a profound silence reigned
throughout the christian camp uninterrupted, save by the
tread 0f the patrol Who took his weary round upon the out-
posts, like the sentinel of a beleaguered city.

In her protracted efforts to quiet the sobbing queen, E1-
siebede learned a curious and inexplicable fact, namely,
that a greater draft is made upon the patience and energy
of the nurse by the over-excited feelings of the sensitive
Wife, than by the real wants of the sick man himself.
Thus the leech had long been dozing upon his watch, ere
the anxious Moorish girl had found it possible to leave the
bedside of her mistress. At length the incessant calls upon
her sympathy subsided into sighs which gradually relaxed
into the regular breathing of healthy slumber, and the im-
patient attendant stealing noiselessly from the apartment
sought among the attendants for the wily Salaman.

“Awake, Saiaman,” she whispered, softly. The black
instantly arose, Without salutation 01' remark, and stood be-
fore her rolling his eyes in perfect self—possession, as though
to repel the suspicion that a person of his active vigilance
could have been detected in the weakness of slumber. Lay-
ing her finger upon her lip, Elsiebede led the way among
sleeping guards to the little enclosure in front of the tent.
“ Bring me,” said she, “ the signet-ring from the hand of
the king.” Salaman, Who had long labored under the hal-
lucination that 110 feat could be beyond his ability, looked
absolutely 80567" at this unheard—of proposition, ejaculating,
“ It is to put my head into the lion’s mouth 1” but instantly
recovering his self—complacency, he added, “ Nothing can
be easier. Remain here till I come.” Skiliuily avoiding
the tent ropes, he wormed himself under the folds of the
pavilion into the outer apartment, where the Chamberlain
and guard were snoring in melodious concert, and carefully
lifting the curtain entered the royal presence. But through
the darkness that reigned, he could not readily discern the

BERENGARiA or mums. 237

precise location of the monarch’s couch. Creeping stealth-
ily over the floor, he first laid his hand upon the foot of the
physician, Which With an instinctive kick warned him of
his dangerous Vicinity. Finally, as his eyes became ac-
customed t0 the darkness, he discovered the sparkle 0f the
jewel upon the hand of the monarch, hanging over the side
of the bed. T0 withdraw the ring from the somewhat at-
tenuated finger was the work of a. moment, but the touch,
however slight, was sufficient to disturb the slumberinglion.
“ He! the foul fiend !” ejaculated the dreamer, clutching
the woolly hair of the negro. “ The talisman is safe—cheer
——thee——Berengaria———” Inarticnlate sounds followed, which
finally died away in silence ; when Salaman, with practised
caution, extricated his head from the lion’s paw, and effect-
ed his retreat by the same stealthy and tedious process.
Elsiebede awaited his coming with torturing impatience.
Grasping the ring, she mnflled her face in the veil usually
worn by eastern females, and bidding him follow her took
her way towards the city; The moon, just dipping its sil-
ver rim in the Mediterranean with its parting beam, threw
the lengthened shadow of the patrol full across their way.
Cowering behind the awning of a tent they paused breath-
less and terrified, while the sentinel, turning his face to-
wards Jerusalem, shouted above their heads in a tone ren‘
dered clear and startling by the stillness 0f the midnight,
“Help! Help! Help for the Holy Sepulchre!” The ad-
jacent sentinel took up the cry, repeating the words to his
neighbor, who passed the watchword on, till “ Help I Help I
Help for the Holy Sepulchre l” echoed in all the languages
of Europe, smote upon the ear of every sleeper in the chris-
tian camp. When the sounds died away in the distance,
the patrol continued his round. The terror of Elsiebede
afl'orded infinite amusement t0 Salaman, whose irrepressi—
ble laughter added to her fears of being discovered, and
Increased her trepidation.

After this adventure they pursued their course With re-
newed speed, and arrived without molestation at the out
post, where the guard challenged their advance. Elsiebede

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

238 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

presented the monarch’s Signet saying, “Delay not our
errand,” and the guard muttering, “There is ever some
woman’s prank in the light head of the queen,” suffered
them to pass. As they took their solitary way between the
camp and the walls of Acre, Salaman ventured to inquire,
“ Whither goest thou, Elsiebede ?”

“I scarce know,” replied the girl, in a husky voice, “ but
this evening there came before King Richard, one who
looked upon me with my mother’s eyes ; and as he left the
pavilion, he whispered me in the language of the Gyp-
tianes, ‘Meet me when the moon sets, at the tower of
Maledictum.’ ” ‘

“ This way lieth the tower,” said Salaman, drawing her
to the right. They now approached the black and frown-
ing walls of Acre, and turning an angle came close upon a
small party of Turks sleeping upon the earth, and were
challenged in the Moorish tongue. Salaman readily an-
swered in the same language. Mestoc immediately advan-
ced, and taking the hand of Elsiebede led her apart, and
a long and earnest conversation ensued.

When she returned to Salaman, tears were on her cheek,
and hiding her face in her veil, With no other explanation
than, “He is the brother of my mother,” she led the way
back to the royal tent. “ Haste thee,” said she, thrusting
the ring into his hand. “ Should the prince awake, we are
lost.” Salaman sped on his errand, and repeated his
perilous adventure with success. Not daring, however, to
place the ring upon the monarch’s finger, he laid it upon
the covering near his hand, and effected a retreat, as far
as the anteroom, where he uniuckily stumbled against the
settle on which rested the guard. The Chamberlain instantly
started to his feet, and Salaman quick as thought 0ver~
turned the light, and escaped into the sleeping apartment
of the common attendants, but here his progress was
arrested by a half—awakened soldier, Who seized his ankle
and held him fast. Hither as soon as the lamp could be
relighted, he was pursued by the Chamberlain, but such
was the confusion, betwixt the muttering of those unwilling

BERENGARIA 0F NAVARRE. 239

to be disturbed, and the blunders of those who fancied
themselves broad awake, such was the cursing of devil,
Turk and Infidel, that no one had the faintest idea of what
had happened. Scarcely had the Chamberlain fixed his
eyes upon the real culprit, when with the angry and impor-
tant air of a responsible person, most unceremoniously
wakened, Elsiebede entered, and advancing straight to
Salaman, seized and began to shake him with the greatest
violence, thus freeing him from the grasp of the guard.
“ Waken, minion,” said she, “ waken, I say. What gam-
hols art thou playing again in thy sleep? I warrant me,
thou hast an unquiet conscience. My lady will send
thee from her service, if thou dost not confess thy sins, and
rest in peace.” The black rubbed his eyes, and stum-
bling about like one but half awake, succeeded in gain-
ing his pallet, and joyfully ensconced himself beneath the
covering.

“Thou seest,” said Elsiebecle, turning to the chamheiL
lain, “the knave hath a. trick of sleep—walking. Order
these that they may remain quiet, for I would not that my
mistress should be disturbed.” Thus saying, she quitted
the apartment.

“A trick of walking, he certainly hath,” grumbled the
Chamberlain, “ but whether sleeping or waking, misdoubts
me. The misshapen unbeliever can bring no good to a,
christian householc .”

In the royal tent,the1'e was still greater clamor. The
monarch roused by the first unlucky step of Salaman, and
finding himself in darkness, vociferated loudly for a light;
but gaining no answer waxed wroth, and seizing the medi-
cine cup as the readiest missile, hurled it in the direction
of the snoring physician. The silver coming in contact
with the skull of the doctor, animated him to a remarkable
degree; betwixt the darkness and the pain, he plunged
about the room without knowing for what intent, till he fell
prostrate across the couch 0f the king, who mistaking him
for an invading Turk, beat him terribly With the pillows ;
and roaring for sword, spear and battle-axe, in the name

 

 

 

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240 HEROINES OF THE URUSADES.

of all the saints in the calendar, defied him to mortal com-
bat.

At this juncture the Chamberlain returned with the light,
and seeing the king thus inflicting summary justice upon
the leech, despite his own vexation burst into a hearty
laugh, in which Richard, having already expended the su—
perabundance of his cholei', as soon as he comprehended
the state of the case, joined With the greatest glee. The
doctor meanwhile failed to see the point of the joke, and
rubbing his head, declared with professional authority that
nothing could be worse for the patient than such immode-
1~ate exercise and laughter. Picking up the cup, with a
rueful countenance he mixed a fresh potion, which the fa-
cetious monarch drank to his health, and so composed him-
self again to rest.

Coeur de Lion received his ring when it was found upon
the floor, without any sign of surprise, and readily account-
ed for its loss, saying, “ Our royal Signet is scarcely safe
upon this emaciated hand, especially since we are liable to
do battle for Christendom without gauntlet 0r sword.” The
castigation which he had given the doctor put him in such
high good humor, that he swallowed the necessary nostrums
with great facility, and the worthy leech fully appreciating
this part of the joke availed himself of the king’s unwont—
ed condescension, to administer those nauseous restoratives
which the monarch had before obstinately refused.

BERENGARIA 0F NAVARRE. 241

CHAPTER VIII.

“1th,, never shall the land forget
How gushed the lifeblood of the brave,
Gusheci warm With hope and courage yet
Upon the soil they fought to save” BRYANT.

THE eight days’ truce was over, and ?hilip, recovered
from his illness, again led the assault to the walls of Acre.
Richard, also slowly convalescin‘g, was borne t0 the scene
of conflict, where he directed the operations of his warlike
engines, ofl'ering a reward for every stone the soldiers dis-
lodged from the tower Maledictum. The French had a.
machine of great power which they called “ Bad neighbor,”
and the Turks, on their side, Opposed to it a similar one
named “ Bad brother.” These engines were plied day and
night, and the tower became the scene of every variety of
fierce attack and resolute defence, both by single combat
and united efl'ort. One morning a gigantic Turk, wearing
the armor of Count Alberic, showed himself upon the wall
in an attitude of defiance, when Richard, who had yielded
to the representations of the chiefs, so far as to refrain from
personal encounter, seized an arblast and sent an arrow
Winged With death to the heart of the Infidel. The exas~
perated Turks ran together to avenge his fall. The Chris-
tians met them with equal alaerity, and a slaughter ensued
which continued till the darkness of night separated the
combatants.

The Christians had commenced undermining the tower,
and had proceeded to some distance under the wall, when
they encountered a party of Turks who were mining for
egress in the opposite direction. The noise of the digging
and the uncertain light had prevented each from discovering
the other, till the earth, suddenly giving way between them,
the foes stood face to ‘face, mattoeks and shovels in hand.

But when the astonished Turks saw that they had thus as-
16,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

242 HEROINES or THE CRUSADES.

sisted the Christians to enter the city, they fled with great
precipitation, and at once closed up the entrance. That
night a part of the tower Maledictum fell, and the Sara-
cens perceiving that all further resistance would be vain,
offered conditions of peace. They agreed to give up the
city of Acre With all the treasures contained in it, both in '
money, arms, and clothing, to pay over two hundred thou-
sand Saracenic talents, and restore the true cross Which
had been taken by the Moslems in the battle of Tiberias.
After much debate the council of chiefs acceded to these
proposals, and all the Paynim noblemen in the city were
given up as hostages till the conditions should be fulfilled.
The preliminaries arranged, the gates were thrown open,
and~the Turks With grave but cheerful countenance and
undaunted demeanor passed out of the city through the
Christian camp towards Tiherias.

SELECTED FROM VINESAUF.

“At last When all the Turks had departed, the Chris-
tians With the two kings at their head, entered the city
Without opposition through the open gates With dances and
joy, and loud vociferations, glorifying God, and giving
Him thanks, because he had magnified His mercy to them,
and had visited them and redeemed His people. Then the
banners and various standards of the two kings were raised
on the walls and towers, and the city was equally divided
between them. They also made a proportionate division
of the arms and provisions they found; and the whole
number of captives being reckoned, was divided by lot.
The noble Caracois, and a large number fell to the lot of
the King of France ; and King Richard had for his portion
Mestoc and the remainder. Moreover, the King of France
had for his share the noble palace of the Templars, with
all its appurtenances; and King Richard had the royal
palace, to which he sent the queens With their damsels and
handmaids ; thus each obtained his portion in peace. The
army was distributed through the city, and after the prc»

BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 243

tracted contest of so long a siege, gave themselves in
dulgence, and refreshed themselves With the rest they
needed.”

No sooner were the Crusaders settled in the city than
new troubles arose. Leopold, Duke of Austria, being a rel-
ative of Isaac Comuenus, Who had joined the Templai‘s,
insisted that the Cypriot lady should be transferred to his
custody ; but Berengaria having become tenderly attached
to her, refused to give her up. The quarrel ran high, and
the exasperated Richard, in a moment of wrath, tore down
the banner of Austria from the walls of Acre. This indig-
nity gave rise to a mortal enmity, Which hindered the arms
and embarrassed the counsels 0f the croises during the
whole campaign. The Christians, however, repaired the
shattered walls and dwellings of the city, the clergy re-
built and consecrated the altars, and the army watching
for the fulfilment of Saladin’s promises, rested from their
fatignes in the enjoyment of security and luxury. Before
the expiration of the period granted for the redemption of
the hostages, Philip Augustus, feigning illness, but in reality
suffering With a consuming jealousy of the superiority of
his rival, declared his intention of returning to Europe.
The chiefs assembled in council protested against this un-
worthy desertion 0f the common cause, since Saladin, de—
pressed by the fall 6f Acre, was in no situation to contest
their route to Jerusalem. When Richard heard of Philip’s
determination, he outdid himself in the curses and male-
dictions he called down upon the recreant prince, and per-
emptorily refused to hold any communication upon the
subject: but at last having expended the violence of his
anger, he compromised by giving his consent to the measure
on condition that the Duke of Burgundy and a large part
of the French should remain in Syria, and that Philip
should make oath to leave the realm of England unmolest—
ed, till forty days after Richard should himself return to
his dominions. The French monarch then left Acre amidst
the hisses and imprecations of the spectators. He stopped

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

244 HEROINES OF' THE CRUSADES.

at Tyre, and resigning to Conrad his claim upon the con-
quered city, and the ransom of the Turkish captives, sailed
for Europe. The term fixed for the redemption of the hos-
tages had well nigh expired, and still Saladin protested his
inability to find the true cross, and under different pretexts
excused himself from redeeming the prisoners.

The palace of the Emir in Acre, with its sheltered veran-

, dahs, cooling fountains, and richly cultivated gardens af-
forded a delightful residence for the household of Coeur de
Lion. Elsiebede, in whom it revived the recollections of
her childhood in the Alhambra, revelled in luxuries, each
of which was endeared by happy associations.

A safe retreat being thus provided for his tender charge,
Richard, intending as soon as practicable to commence his
route to Jerusalem, ordered the petrarias, mangonels, and
other warlike engines to be packed for transportation. He
also despatched messengers to Conrad, Prince of Tyre, re-
quiring him to repair with his hostages and army to Acre,
to receive his share of the ransom, and to be ready to march
against the Infidels. The marquis refused ; declaring that
he dared not venture into Richard’s presence, and that if
the true cross were ever recovered, he was to receive half
of it 'for the King of France, and until that time he should
not give up the hostages.

A longer period having elapsed than that which had
been assigned for the treaty, the council of chiefs Was
called to deliberate upon the fate of the captives. To
leave three thousand prisoners without a sufficient guard,
would be to surrender the city again to the Turks. T0 at-
tempt to convey them with the army would be an incon-
ceivable burden, attended with infinite danger. To pro-
vision such a multitude, whether in the city or camp, would
be an intolerable tax upon the rapidly exhausting finances ;
and to set them free would be to add that number of active
warriors to the ranks of their vigilant foe, and so to defeat
the very end of the expedition. It was therefore deter-
mined that the hostages, on the following day, should be
led forth upon an adjacent hill, and executed for the discom

BERENGARIA 0F NAVARRE. 245

fiture of the Mohammedans, and the edification of all true
Christians.

The noble Mestoc, considered as one of the most im—
portant and valuable of the hostages, receiyed distinguish-
ing marks of favor. He was lodged according to his rank,
and enjoyed a freedom beyond that extended to the other
prisoners, and thus Elsiebede obtained frequent interviews
Without giving rise to a suspicion of the relationship be-
tween them.

On the evening of the council of the chiefs, Salaman had
managed, by means best known to himself, to hear all that
passed, Which he faithfully reported to Elsiebede.

The following night, as Mestoc was quietly reposing un-
conscious of the fate that menaced the Turkish prisoners,
he was surprised by a visit from his niece, Who, informing
him of the purposes of the Christians, besoIJght him to make
his escape in a disguise she had prepared for the purpose.

The noble Egyptian refused, but moved by her plead-
ings, said to her, “Hadst thou a messenger by whom I
might transmit a token to the Soldan—but no, the gray of
night already foretelleth the dawn. It is too late. Had
the Soldan valued the poor services of his servant, he had
not left him to die by the hand of a christian dog. Allah
be praised, Death is the key that opens the gate of Para-
dise.”

Finding further importunity vain, Elsiebede With many
tears took her departure, revolving in her mind other meth~
ods of procuring a release. _

At early morning, the prisoners Were conducted in mourn-
ful procession through the gates of the city, by a great mul-
titude 0f the most devout and warlike Christians, who, ac—
cording to a contemporary writer, “ marched forward with
delight to retaliate With the assent of Divine Grace, by
taking revenge upon those Who had destroyed so many of
the Christians With missiles, bows, and arbalests.”

A report from an unknown source was in circulation
among the soldiers, that fresh promises of ransom had been
received from Saladin, and that if the execution could be

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

246 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

delayed till evening, messengers would arrive with the
treasure. By this artifice the chief emirs were preserved
till long past noon. But no sign of rescue then appearing,
those who looked for the downfall of Mohamn’iedanism by
the utter annihilation of its followers, caused the work of
vengeance to proceed.

The calm indifference with which the Turks regarded the
terrific preparations for their execution, elicited even the
admiration of the Christians. It was not in the heart of a
chivalrous knight like Richard, to look unmoved upon the
destruction of his brave and gallant foes. “ By the holy
saints,” exclaimed he, “ this is a hangman’s work. It were
enough to tempt the sword of a Christian knight from its
scabbard, to see you lion-hearted warriors slaughtered like
a parcel of silly sheep held in the butcher’s shambles.
Were they but the cross upon their shoulders, I would
sooner reckon them among my followers than the stupid
boors of Austria or the tilting squires of F rance. Long-
sword, summon our good bishop of Salisbury, with the sym—
bols of our holy religion. Peradventure, Divine Grace may
turn the hearts of these brave men to the acknowledgment
of the true faith.”

In obedience to the order of the king, the bishop came
forward, and holding up the cross, proclaimed life and lib-
erty to all those who would renounce their heathen super-
stitions, and reverence the holy symbol. Not a voice re-
plied to the offer of pardon, and as the priest, followed by
the executioner, like the destroying angel of the passover,
moved among the ranks of the doomed and presented the
crucifix, each man answering, “ God is God and Mahomet
is his prophet,” bent his head to the fatal stroke, till 01' the
whole number the noble Mestoc alone remained. King
Richard regarded him With a troubled look, as the priest
approached, and involuntarily raised his hand to stay the
blow. The executioner paused; and the soldiers gazing in
silent wonder, turned their eyes doubtfully from their sov~
ereign to his captive, Who stood unmoved among the head-
less bodies of the heroic band, that had with him defended

BERENGARIA 0F NAVARRE. 247

the city to the last extremity, and that now lay stretched
around him, the bleeding holocaust upon the altar of a.
strange faith.

The death-like silence that prevailed was broken by the
faint sound of a trumpet, and at a distance was seen the
flutter Of a truce flag borne by a herald riding at full speed.
The messenger advanced to the field of blood, hastened t0
the royal presence and presented a letter. The king cut—
ting the silk With his sword, rapidly ran his eye over the
contents, and then advancing, frankly extended his hand
to the rescued Mestoe, saying, “ Thy Soldan has at length
fulfilled the conditions of thy ransom. I grieve that he so
little valued the lives of thy brave companions. His tardy
measures forced me upon an evil work. Heaven grant that
one day I may, upon his own person, be able to avenge
their death.” Then,0rde1‘ing the squires to prepare the
Cypriot horses, he held the stirrup while the gallant Emir,
With the same grave and tranquil air, that had character-
ized him through the Whole of that eventful day, mounted
Lyard, and himself vaulting upon the saddle of the beau-
tiful Fanuelle, led the way to the palace.

EXTRACT FROM VINESAUF.

“ On the morreW, therefore, of St. Bartholomew, being
Sunday, the army was drawn up, early in the morning, to
advance along the sea-coast, in the name of the Lord. Oh!
what fine soldiers they were I You might there see a,
chosen company of virtuous and brave youth, whose equals
it would have been difficult to meet With, bright armor and
pennons, with their glittering emblazoning; banners of
various forms; lances with gleaming points; shining hel-
mets, and coats of mail; an army well regulated in the
camp, and terrible to the foe ! King Richard commanded
the van, and kept the foremost guard. The Normans and
English defended the standard, the Duke Of Burgundy and
the French brought up the rear, and by their tardy move-
ments and long delay incurred severe loss. The army

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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t
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t

 

 

 

 

.248 HEROINES OF THE CBUSADES.

marched from the seashore, which was on its right, and
the Turks watched its movements from the heights on its
left. On a sudden the clouds grew dark, the sky was
troubled, when the army arrived at the narrow roads im-
passable for the provision wagons ; here7 owing to the
narrowness of the way, the order of march was thrown into
confusion, and they advanced in extended line, and with-
out discipline. The Saracens, observing this, poured down
suddenly upon the pack—horses and. loaded. wagons, slew
both horses and men in a moment, and plundered a great
deal of the baggage, boldly charging and dispersing those
who opposed them, as far as the seashore. Then there took
place a fierce and obstinate conflict; each fought for his:
life. Oh7 how dreadfully were our men then pressed! for
the darts and arrows thrown at them broke the heads, arms
and other limbs, of our horsemen, so that they bent, stun-
ned to their saddLe-hows; but having quiekiy regaine<£
their spirits, and resumed their strength, and thirsting for
vengeance, like a lioness when her whelps are stolen, they
charged the enemy and. broke through them iike a net.
Then you might have seen the horses with their saddles dis-
placed, the Turks fleeing and returning, and the battle
raging fiercer than before ; the one side labored to crush,
the other to repel ; both exerted their strength with the ut-
most fury, till King Richard hearing that the rear was put
into great confusion, rode at full gallop to their assistance,
cutting down the Turks right and left like lightning 'with
his sword. And quickly, 373 of yore the Phiiistines fie<fi
from Maccabeus, so were the Turks now routed, and so did
they fly from the face of King Richard and make for the
mountains; but some of them remained amongst as, having
lost their heads.”

This extract is a fac-simile of all the chances and changes
that occurred to the Christians on thei: reseafae i‘mm Acre
t0 Jafi'a.

BERENGARLA or NAVARRE. 249

CHAPTER IX.

“He that hath nature in him, must be grateful;
’Tis the Creator’s primary great law,
That links the chain of beings to each other.”

AT Jafi'a a new contention arose. The French barons,
fatigued with marching and fruitless skirmishing, advoca-
ted the policy of remaining a time in the city and rebuild-
ing its fortifications; while Plantagenet, anxious to press
his advantage, was desirous of proceeding to Ascalon.
The soldiers remembering with regret the “ loaves and
fishes” of Acre, inclined to the counsel of the Duke of Bur-
gundy, and Richard was forced to submit his better judg-
ment to the unanimous voice of his followers.

It was in vain that the king urged the soldiers to a rapid
completion of the works. The summer faded into autumn,
and the fortifications were still incomplete. The Moslems
began to collect in the vicinity of Jafi'a, and all parties of
Christians, whether of foraging 0r falconry, were subject to
frequent surprise and attack. On one occasion, a party of
Templars fell into an ambuscade 0f the Turks, and Rich-
ard, hearing of their danger, rushed out with a few troops
to their assistance. The conflict was dreadful. Hordes 0f
Infidels fell upon the little band, who, struggling in the
midst of their foes, with great loss carved their way to the
city. On their return, William Longsword remonstrated
with the monarch for this useless exposure of life, to which
the generous Coeur de Lion, changing color with indigna-
tion, replied, “Richard Plantagenet knows not the pru-
dence that weighs safety against glory, and for the rest it
is the office of a king to defend his subjects, and the busi-
ness of a crusader to destroy the enemies of the cross.”

The defences 0f Jafi'a being complete, Richard prepared
to prosecute the war with vigor. Leaving the city with a.
small garrison, he led his troops as far as Ramula, and

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

250 HEROINES or THE CRUSADES.

made their camp on the bloody field Where Stephen, Earl
of Blois, received his mortal wound. A Winter of extra-
ordinary inclemency aggravated their hardships. The
Winds tore up the tents, and the rain spoiled the provisions,
and rusted the arms. Through the hovering myriads 0f
Saracens the Christians pressed their way almost in sight
of J erusalem. Richard was animated by the most ardent
expectation. But the Templars, Hospitaliers and Pisans,
represented the impossibility of capturing the city, with
their army in its present condition, the impracticahility 0f
garrisoning it against the Turks in the neighborhood, and
the certainty that the soldiers as soon as the sepulchre was
recovered, would return to Europe, leaving the- rest of
Palestine in the hands of the Infidels. Influenced by these
unanswerable arguments, the disappointed king gave orders
to fall back upon Ramula, and continued to retrograde With
his murmuring and discontented army to Ascalon, a city
of great consequence, being the link between the Turks in

. J erusalem, and the Turks in Egypt. The pains and perils
of this backward march eclipsed all former sufferings, and
When the dismantled walls of Ascalon at length received
them, Famine stared upon them With her hollow eyes, and
Faction With its sharpenedfangs tore asunder the remaining
cords that bound together the wasted body of the croises.
The Duke of Burgundy deserted the standard of Richard,
part of the French soldiers retired to J afi'a, others to Acre,
and others to Tyre; and While the proudest nobles and the
most dignified 0f the clergy were employed like the mean-
est vassals, in repairing the ruined fortifications, Leopold
wrapped in haughty selfishness surveyed the works with
contemptuous sneers, and remarked, “ The father of Aus-
tria was neither a carpenter nor a mason.”

The Turkish Soldan aware of the distress of his enemies,
considered the war as nearly at an end, and dismissed a
portion of his troops. He even extended the courtesies 0f
civilized life to the valiant Richard, furnished his table With
Damascene pears, peaches, and other delicacies, and With a.
liberal hand supplied the snow of Lebanon to cool his Wines.

BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 251

The chief emirs Who, attracted by curiosity or admira-
tion, Visited the comt 0f the B1 itish Lion, returned With
the most exaggerated accounts of the mbanity and prowess
of the gallant “ Melech Ric. ”

One morning, at an hour somewhat earlier than his usual
levee, Richard was surprised by a visit from Mestoc, ac-
companied by a female closely veiled. “Welcome, my
noble Moor,” exclaimed the king, as the Saracen advanced
and bowed with the ceremonious obeisance of eastern
courtesy. “ Heaven bless the chance that hath brought
thee hither. N ext to a trusty friend, Plantagenet holds in
honor a worthy foe.”

The Saracen gravely replied, “ The Melech Ric wrongs
the errand of his servant, if he discern not in his ransomed
captive, one Whom he hath made his friend.”

“I doubt not the truth of thy saying,” replied the king,
“ since reason and. experience teach that ingratitude is in-
compatible With true courage.”

“The chief of the Egyptians is, indeed, thy friehd,”
continued Mestoc; “ but were he twice thy foe, he brings
a passport to the heart of the king, for ‘ from the place of
the beloved, a zephyr hath blown, and thou seest one
whose presence is as the breath of the heliotrope.’ ” Turn-
ing to his companion, he lifted her veil, and disclosed the
features of Elsiebede.

“Elsiebede !” exclaimed the monarch, in astonishment
and alarm. “ What of my queen? of Joanna? of Eng-
land ?”

“ My royal mistress is in health,” replied Elsiehede, “ and
by this token,” handing him a casket, “ commendeth her
love to her absent 10rd : and peace resteth upon the house-
hold.”

“And Wherefore comest thou hither? and why under
such convoy '2” inquired Richard.

“ The errand of my mistress required a faithful messen-
ger; and the chief Will explain the mystery of my com-
ing,” replied the girl.

With a puzzled 100k, Richard turned to Mestoc. “ It is,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

252 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

perhaps, unknown to the prince of the west,” said the
Chieftain, “ that this damsel, Elsiebede, is the daughter of
my sister.”

“How 2” exclaimed Richard, gazing with astonishment
upon the Moorish girl. “ Our fair queen has long blinded
our eyes to other beauty, or we should have seen What the
most careless observer could not fail to note, that she has
the countenance and hearing of a princess.”

“ The family of the Prophet {blessed be he},” said Mes-
toc, his swarthy cheek reddening with a touch of pride,
“ boasts not a more noble origin, than the Gyptianos slave
of the Frankish queen.”

“ But by what means hath she discovered herself to thee
in this strange land ?” inquired Richard.

“ What saith the proverb 2” replied the Saracen. “ ‘The
heart thrills at the sound of the kinsman’s voice.’ When
the Melech Ric gave audience to the ambassadors 0f Sal-
adin, the ring upon his finger, once the talisman of our
tribe, arrested my gaze ; but the maiden’s eyes, brighter than
the jewel, moved me to speak to her in the Egyptian tongue.
She comprehended my words, and met me that night at the
tower Maledictum, where I learned her history and made
her acquainted With her kindred. She visited me in prison,
and When I refused to fly, despatched Salaman t0 the Sul—
tan to beg my life. For the rest, thou knewest that I thank
the brave leader of the Franks no less than the timely ran-
som for my rescue. Before leaving the camp of the Lat-
ins I gave the Zealous Ethiope alpassport, commanding all
true Mussuhnans to bring him Wherever found, safe to my
presence. When, therefore, thy queen, distressed by the
enemies in thine own household, sought for means to com-
municate with thee, Salaman conducted Elsiebede to my
tent; and I have hasted to convey her to my deliverer.
For what saith the proverb? ‘In the sky it is written,
on the pages of the air, he Who doeth kind actions Will
experience the like.’ Notwithstanding, let the damsel,
I pray thee, depart With me ; in the tent of my women she
shall have careful attendance. If thou wouldst confer with

BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 253

her, the cunning Ysop knows her place of rest.” Richard
assented, and the Saracens withdrew. ‘

The letters from the queen contained intelligence of the
most startling character. The Genoese and Pisans, rivals
for the carrying trade of the East, had made Acre their
seaport, and to give dignity to their commercial animosi-
ties had espoused, the one the party of Conrad, the other
that of Guy de Lusignan. Their feuds had kept the resi-
dents of the city in a constant state of apprehension, and
Berengaria entreated her lord to return to Acre, or to cause
her immediately to be transported to J afi‘a. In the same
package were despatches from England, of a nature equally
alarming. No sooner had Philip reached Italy than he
applied to Pope Celestine for a dispensation from his oath
to leave Richard’s domains in quiet. When that request
was denied, he proceeded in a covert manner to detach
Prince John from his allegiance, promised him Alice in
marriage, and offered to make him 10rd of all Richard’s
possessions in France. The prompt measures of Queen
Eleanor had in some degree counteracted this design.
Forbidding J ohn, under the penalty of a mother’s curse, to
invade his brother’s rights, she conveyed the hapless Alice
to the strong castle of Rouen, Where she subjected her to
an imprisonment more rigorous than she had herself suf-
fered in Winchester. The principal barons had leagned
With John, or against him, and the whole realm was in a
state of ferment.

The political troubles of England, the treachery 0f the
French king, the solicitude of his beautiful queen, and the
dubious prospects of the crusade, raised a tumult of agita—
ting thoughts in the mind of the king, and he passed the
night in a state of sleepless excitement. Scarcely waiting
for the dawn, he summoned Salaman and despatched him
for Mestoc. Impelled by the pressing exigencies of the
case, he intrusted the generous foe with a knowledge of the
embarrassments of his position, and entreated his good
offices in bringing about an accommodation With Saladin,
stipulating only for the possession of Jerusalem and the

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

254 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES

restoration of the true cross. The Saracen undertook the
commission, and after three days returned With the answer.
With the stateliness of eastern formality the Mussulmau
declared his strong desire of peace, and his admiration of
the courage and abilities of Plantagenet; but he asserted
that he could never resign Jerusalem, since the sacred city
Was as dear to the Moslem as the Christian world, and that
the principles of his religion forbade his conniving at
idolatry by permitting the worship of a piece of wood.
Thwarted in this negotiation, Richard again employed Mes-
toc to propose a consolidation of the Christian and Moham-
medan interests by the establishment of a government at Je-
rusalem, partly European and partly Asiatic, Which should
secure to the pilgrims free access to the Holy Sepulchre, and
feudal rights to all Christians who should choose to settle in
Palestine. Mestoc returned from this embassy accompa-
nied by a young Emir named Saphadin, a brother of the
Turkish emperor. The overture 0f Coeur de Lion had been
favorably received by the sagacious Saladin, but foreseeing
that a stronger bond than a political alliance would be ne-
cessary to bind the two nations together, he had added to
the articles the proposition of a union between his brother
and the fair sister of Melech Ric. Saphadin was also
commissioned to conduct the English king and his followers
in safety to Acre.

CHAPTER X.

“A pen—to register; a key,—
That Winds through secret wards;
Are well assigned to Memory,

By allegoric bards.

WHEN Richard arrived at Acre, he found affairs in the
greatest confusion. The dissensions between the rival par~
ties had terminated in open hostilities, more pressing mes-
sages urging his return had arrived from England, and he

BERENGARIA or NAVARRE. 255

was forced to the conclusion that without some concession
on his part, the whole crusade would prove an entire failure.
The military abilities of Guy, were inferior to those of
Conrad. Richard thus found it easy to satisfy his claim
by bestowing upon him the rich and beautiful island of
Cyprus, while he eonciliated the Genoese, by consenting
to the coronation of the Marquis of Tyre.

Matters being thus accommodated between the jealous
mercenaries, the mind of the king recurred to the original
project Of identifying the interests of the east and west, by
uniting the heir of the thousand tribes, with the daughter
of Henry Plantagenet. But J oanna, less susceptible of re-
mantic enthusiasm than her mother, steadfastly rejected
the offer of her Paynim lover, and the bishop of Salisbury,
with other zealous priests sustained her decision, and Coeur
de Lion overborne by their clamor, was forced to relinquish
his cherished project. As some slight compensation to the
disappointed Saphadin, he conferred upon him the honor
of knighthood, and dismissed him with the strongest eX-
pressions of favor. Coeur de Lion then despatched a band
of nobles to bring Conrad, the newly elected king, with all
due honor to Acre.

Delighted with his splendid prospects, Conrad ordered
magnificent preparations to be made for the ceremony of
coronation, and gave himself up to the most extravagant
joy. But returning one day from an entertainment given
by the bishop, he was suddenly seized and stabbed by two
assassins, followers of the Old Man of the Mountain.

His sudden death threw affairs again into confusion.
The French who were encamped outside of Tyre, to the
number of ten thousand, called upon the widow to give up
the city for the service of King Philip. This she steadily
refused to do; declaring that her lord had commanded
her With his dying breath to resign it to no one but Rich-
ard, 0r whosoever should be elected King of Palestine.
The French at once commenced hostilities, and the siege
of the city had been some time in progress, when Count
Henry of Champagne arrived in the camp. He was one

a.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

256 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

of the most powerful vassals of the King of France; his
mother was the half—sister both of Richard and Philip ; his
father had twice visited the Holy Land, and he was him-
self faithful to the interest of the crusade, and a general
favorite among the warriors. The French leaders besought
him to accept the crown of the kingdom, marry the Widow
of the marquis, and heal the dissensions that embarrassed
the movements of the croises. Richard’s consent to this
measure was easily obtained. The nuptials were solemnized
with royal magnificence, and the new king immediately
published an edict, calling upon all his subjects to arm for
the ensuing campaign, and join the English forces at Acre.
Before they were ready to set out for the final conquest of
the Holy City,_ fresh accounts were received from England
of the increasing power of Prince John, and the treachery
of Philip Augustus, hut Richard disregarding these press-
ing calls, determined to strike one more blow for the Holy
Sepulchre. Hymns and thanksgiving testified the popular
joy, and so sanguine were the soldiers of the speedy accom-
plishment of their wishes, that they carried with them only
a month’s provisions. When they reached Bethlehem, the
heats of summer had already commenced, and Richard
began to feel that his force was not sufficient to encounter
the hardships of the siege, and keep up communication
with the stores upon the coast. It was therefore agreed
that a council should be held, consisting of twenty persons;
five Templars, five Hospitallers, five French nobles; and five
native Christians of Syria, to decide upon the measures to
be adopted. They ascertained that the Turks had destroy—
ed all the cisterns within two miles of the city, that the
waters of Siloa would be insufficient for the use of the
army, and. as the siege was therefore utterly impracticable,
they gave it as their unanimous opinion that the most eligi-
ble plan, would be to proceed direct against Babylon. The
French stoutly opposed this project, declaring that they
would march nowhere else than to the siege of J erusalem.
The debate grew so warm that the Duke of Burgundy With-

BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. ’ 257

drew his forces from the main body of the army, and took
up a separate position.

Harassed by conjectures concerning the condition of his
English subjects, discouraged at the disafi'ection of his s01-
diers, grieved at the sight of sufferings which he could not
alleviate, and mortified With the prospect of a final failure
of his enterprise, Richard strolled from the camp to the
brow of an adjacent eminence. Occupied by sad and
gloomy meditations, he walked, with his eyes fixed on the
ground, unaware of the extensive prospect that spread out
before him, nor was he conscious of companionship, till
William Longsword taking his arm, disturbed his revery by
saying, “This way, sire, from yonder point can be seen
Where the setting sun gilds the towers of Jerusalem.” In—
stinctively the Iion-hearted monarch raised his broad shield
to shut out the View, while tears forced themselves from his
manly eyes. “ Nay, my brother,” said he, “ since God
forbids to my unworthy arm the redemption of his Holy
Sepulchre, I may not bless myself with a sight of his sa-
cred city.” He turned away, and silently retraced his
steps. .

That night as he lay tossing upon his couch unable to
sleep, he was surprised by a stealthy Visit from Saiaman.
The officious black had gained permission of Mestoc to com
duct the king to the cell of a hermit, Who dwelt in one of
the rocky caves with which the wilderness of Judea abounds.
The devout man, whose venerable countenance and solemn
appearance gave a strong guaranty for his truth, received the
king with the deepest respect, and declared to him that a
long time ago he had concealed a piece of the Holy Cross,
in order to preserve it until Palestine should be rescued from
the Infideis. He stated that Saladin had often pressed him
with the most searching inquiries concerning it, but he had
faithfully guarded the secret, and t0 the King of England
he now committed the precious relic, for the adoration Of
those brave men who had so valiantly fought in defence of
the Christian faith. Reverentiy wrapping it in a 010th of

gold, ,Richard conveyed it to the camp, and the following
17

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

258 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

day the whole army were permitted to press their lips upon
the sacred wood.

The troops had then orders to retire towards Jafl'a, but
civil rancor and fierce dissensions prevailed to such an eX-
tent among the forces, that but little discipline or order
could be preserved. When they arrived before the piece,
they found it closely besieged by the Saracens, and 011 the
point of surrender. The conflict which ensued was the
most hotly contested of any that occurred during the Third
Crusade. Richard performed prodigies of valor. His bat-
tle-axe gieamed everywhere in the van of the fight, opening
for his followers bloody paths through the centre of the
Turkish divisions. The gallant Fanuelle, plowing her way}
through the serried ranks, bore him proudly on, while the
arrows and javelins 0f the Saracens, rattled idly upon his
iron vest, till at length a fallen foe, pierced with a spear
the breast of his favorite, and amid the exuiting yells 0f
the barbarians, horse and rider fell to the ground. In-
stantly starting to his feet, he drew his sword, and con-
tinued the combat undaunted as before. The generous
Saphadin, who from a distance - had watched the prowess
of the valiant European, despatched a groom to his rescue
With a splendid Arabian barb. Remounting, Richard con-
tinued the contest till the going down of the sun, when
darkness separated the combatants. Jafi‘a was rescued,
and the joy of this signal Victory in some measure compen-
sated the English for their bitter disappointment in aban-
doning Jerusalem. On reviewing his troops, Richard saw
from their diminished numbers the utter hopelessness of
attempting any further conquest, and this sad conviction
strengthened the motives which determined his return to!
Europe. His late success gave him the vantage-ground in
soliciting an honorable peace with the Soidan, who, nOW
that Richard was preparing to depart, was better able to
estimate candidly, and appreciate fairly the knightly qual-
ities and heroic courage that had distinguished his career
in the Holy Land.

The Emperor Saiadin and Richard Plantagenet, each

BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 259

with a brilliant train of attendants, met near Mount Tabor,
to confer upon the momentous interests that clustered
round the Holy City, and to arrange a protracted truce.
The preliminaries occupied some days. The Saracens i11-
sisted upon the destruction of the fort of Ascalon, the
Christians negotiated for the restoration of Jerusalem. It
was at last settled, that Joppa and Tyre, and the country
between them should be ceded to Henry, Count of Cham-
pagne, that Ascalon should be dismantled, and that the
Christians should have free access to the Holy Sepulchre
without molestation 01' tribute. The presence of Mestoc
and Saphadin contributed not a little to the harmonious
adjustment of these intricate affairs. The treaty was to
remain in force three years, three months, three weeks,
three days, and three hours, a number of mysterious sanc—
tity with the people of the East, and a space which
Richard thought sufiicient for him to compose the factions
in England, and return to complete the conquest of Pales-
tine.

Since her expedition to Jafi'a, Elsiebede had remained in
care of her uncle ; and Richard was now informed that Sa-
phadin, disappointed in his suit with the lady Joanna, had
transferred his affections to the bewitching Gyptianos. The
crosses which Coeur de Lion had borne in the crusade had
somewhat moderated the imperiousness of his temper, and
taught him the policy of a seeming acquiescence in inevi-
table necessity; and thus though vividly impressed with
an anticipation of Berengaria’s frowns, he gracefully ac-
ceded to the request of Mestoc, and bestowed the Moorish
girl and her swarthy attendant upon his noble friend.

The Soldan had arranged the pavilion 0f the christian
monarch with the utmost magnificence, at the southern ex-
tremity 0f the encampment, While his own sable tent had
been pitched opposite 0n the north. Near the close of a.
bright Syrian day, as Richard sat listening to the strains
with which Blondel beguiled the tedium 0f the listless
hours, his Chamberlain entered to announce the emperor.
The illustrious Soldan came Without the usual attendants

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

260 HERoiNEs OF THE CRUSADES.

of his rank, and Richard surprised and not ill-pleased by
this mark of friendly familiarity, received him with the
frank eordiality characteristic of his nature. The face of
the noble Kurd wore a seriousness that seemed the result of
thought rather than the habitual gravity of his nation and
religion, and Richard, with instinctive delicacy, dismissed
the minstrel, and waited in silent wonder fer the commu-
nication of his honored guest. But What was his surprise
when the gifted Saracen, instead of employing the common
Lingua Franca, addressed him easily and fluently in the
liquid Provengal. “ The Meleeh Ric,” said he, “ wonders
to hear his mother-tongue in a foreign land, but not stranv
ger to thee than to me are my words. F orty and three times
have the constellations described their circles in the heav-
ens since my lip assayed this language ; but thy presence
has been to my heart like the beams of the rising sun that
causes the statue of Memnon to speak.”

Astonishment prevented reply ; but every feature of
Coeur de Lion evinced the intensest curiosity. “ Know
then,” said Saladin, answering the mute interrogation,
“ that as the warmth of our Eastern clime flushes the grape
with a deeper hue than the temperate north, so it earlier
awakens and strengthens the passions in the human breast.
Hence was it that though but a youth I saw and loved a
beautiful daughter of Frangistan. Her eyes—God said to
them, Be—and they were, affecting my heart with the po-
tency of wine. Her voice—it made me forget the spirits
that stand about the throne of Allah (blessed be his name),
and had not the Prophet ordained that she should suddenly
be torn from me, I might-have become a convert to the faith
of the Nazarene.”_

“Would to heaven thou hadst l” ejaculated Richard,
“ for Godfrey 0f Boulogne could not more worthily fill the
throne of J erusalem.” _

Without appearing to note the enthusiasm of Richard,
the Saracen slowly unfastened the scarf that bound his caf—
tan, and exhibited the embroidered cross of Aquitaine.

“ Thou art a Christian in thy secret heart,” said Richard,

BERENGARIA 0F NAVARRE. 261

starting up at the sight and grasping the hand of the SOI-
dan. “ It solves the mystery of thy victories. I knew
that no unbaptized Infidel could have so prevailed against
the armies of the Lord.”

“Nay,” said the Mussulman, smiling gravely, “think
not the prince of the thousand tribes worships a symbol as
do the Franks, though for the memory of her Whose slender
fingers wrought the emblem, I have sometimes spared the
lives of those whom our laws hold accursed—but there, is no
God but one God, and Mohammed is his Prophet.”

Somewhat abashed Richard sat holding the scarf in his
hand and murmuring half aloud, “ The Provengal tongue;
the cross of Aquitaine ; a daughter of Frangistan.” Then
raising his eyes he said, with a look of painful embarrass-
ment, “Noble Saladin, thy generous interest in the Eng-
lish crusader is sufficiently explained. Destroy not, I pray
thee, the gratitude of the son of Eleanor by alluding to the
follies of the mother.”

“Nay,” said Saladin, satisfied that he had correctly in—
terpreted the hereditary peculiarities, Which his observant
eye had detected in Richard, “ the name of the beloved is
secure from reproach; but my memory still looks upon her
as she was, and I would fain teach my imagination to re-
gard her as she is. Dwells she in the trembling tent of
age? or has the angel Azrael drawn around her silent
couch the curtain of perpetual night?”

“She lives,” returns Richard, proudly, “regent of my
noble realm. Thousands receive benefits from her bands,
which as thy poet saith, ‘are the keys of the supplies of
Providence.’ ”

“I am content,” replied the Saracen. “ For the rest,
hitherto, I have kept my secret in a. house With a lock,
Whose key is lost, and whose (1001' is sealed. So let it be
henceforth between us. The peace of Allah rest upon Me-
lech Ric, and may he die among his kindrec .” As he arose
to leave the tent the voice of the muezzein was heard
through the camp calling, “ To prayer, to prayer.” The
noble chief paused upon the threshold, and turning his face

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

262 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

toward Mecca, bOWed his forehead t0 the dust, and rever-
ently repeated the Mohammedan blessing.

Early on the subsequent day, the Latins prepared for
departure, and there remained only the last formalities 0f
ratifying the treaty. As the two monarchs, disdaining the
common obligation of an oath, advanced to the centre of
that fair and flowery meadow, and extended their hands
above the parchment, they seemed the representatives of
Mohammedan superstition and Christian enthusiasm, and a.
prophetic eye might have read in the appearance of these
leaders of the belligerent powers, that for a century had
caused the earth to tremble beneath their tread, the char-
acter and the destiny of the nations Which they repre-
sented. The form and countenance 0f the Saracen, erect
and calm, but lithe and wary, with a certain air of majesty
and repose, indicated a. consciousness of the decay of
youthful vigor, but a sense of compensation however in
the resources of Wisdom and skill laid up in the storehouse
of experience, for the necessities of declining years. In
the compact and muscular frame, and sparkling eyes of
Richard, were expressed that reckless spirit of pursuit,
that ardor 0f passion,enthusias1n of love, romance, and
religion, that steady self—relianee, born of conscious strength
and indomitable will, which characterized the growing
nations of Europe, and finally gave the dominion 0f the
world to the Anglo-Saxon race. Grasping each other’s
hands, these two exponents of Oriental tactics and Euro-
pean chivalry mutually pledged their faith to the treaty,
and)parted less like deadly foes, than faithful friends, Who
hoped to meet again.

BERENGARLA 6F NAVARRE. 263

CHAPTER XI.

- “He that can endure
To follow with allegiance a fallen 10rd,
Doth conquer him that did his master conquer,
And earns a place i’ the story.”

ON his arrival at Acre, Richard learned that the friends
of Conrad accused him as the instigator 0f the assassi-
nation, and that reports had been conveyed to Europe im-
peaching his honor as a king, and his fame as a warrior.
Deeming it unsafe to attempt the passage in the Trenc-the-
mere, he committed Berengaria and her ladies again to the
care of Stephen de Turnham and his faithful Blonds], and
saw them safely embarked for Navarre, Sept. 29, 1192.
The following month, having provided for the safe return
of the soldiers and pilgrims who had accompanied him on
his fruitless expedition, he himself last of all, in the dis
guise of a Templar, sailed from the port of Acre. As the
rocky heights of Lebanon and the lofty summit of Carmel
faded from his view, he stretched his hands towards the
receding shores, and while tears streamed from his eyes,
prayed aloud, “ Oh Holy Land, I commend thee to God ;
and, if his heavenly grace shall grant me so long to live,
I trust that I shall return according to his good pleasure,
and set thee free from all thine enemies.”

The voyage proved more disastrous than was common,
even in those days of unpractised navigation. Many of
the English vessels were wrecked upon the shores of Africa,
others fortunately reached friendly ports whence the war
riors returned by land to Britain. Six weeks after his de-
parture from Acre, the vessel of Richard encountered a
pirate ship off the coast of Bai-bary. Learning from the
commander that his misfortunes had become known, and
that the F rench lords were prepared to seize him as soon as
he should land in Marseilles, he determined, as his~ ship

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

264 HEROINES on" THE CRUSADES.

was already unseaworthy, to- pass up the Adriatic, and make
his way through Germany. Landing not far from Venice
with six companions, he pursued his route to the north.
But news of the dispersion of his fleet had already reached
Germany, and orders had been issued, that all travellers
should be closely interrogated. His companions were
arrested; but the monarch escaped, attended only by a
boy who understood the language of the country, and con-
ducted him to houses of entertainment,unfrequented by
persons of rank. Thus resting by day and travelling by
night, they reached the borders of the Danube. Secure in
his disguise, the king began to enjoy the frank hilarity and
hearty cheer of the inn kitchen, and with a good nature
appropriate to his assumed character, assisted in the prep-
arations for the evening repast. A loitering spy Observ-
ing a costly jewel upon the finger of the pretended friar, at
once reported the suspicious circumstance to the governor.
A company of soldiers were immediately despatched to
arrest him, the leader of which was an Austrian who had
served under him in Palestine. The house was searched,
and the landlord subjected to a close scrutiny concerning
harboring a man of the description of the hunted monarch.
“There be no such person here,” indignantly exclaimed
the boor, “ unless it be the Templar in the kitchen roast-
ing fowls.” The officers immediately followed the hint,
and surprised the fictitious palmer With the spit in his hand.
The Austrian cavalier recognized, at once, the hereulean
frame and ruddy countenance 0f the king. “ It is he.
Seize him,” cried he to his minions. Notwithstanding a.
valiant resistance, Richard was overborne by numbers and
conveyed to the castle of Tenebreuse, where for several
months all trace of him was lost.

Meanwhile the vessel containing the princesses arrived
safely at Naples, whence they journeyed to Rome. The
enmity of Philip, and vague reports concerning the ship-
wreck of her husband, so terrified Berengaria that she re-
mained here under the protection of the pope till the ensu-

BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 265
Eng spring. During the carnival, the services of the royal
ladies were in requisition for a. brilliant masquerade. The
affair, involving an uncommon call for bijouterie, the queen
found no little amusement in searching the shops of the
jewellers in pursuit of appropriate decorations. On one of
these excursions her attention was attracted by the appear-
ance of a boy clad in mean apparel who was ofi'ering a.
valuable jewel for sale. The eagerness and suspicion with
Which the shepman regarded it excited her curiosity, and
stepping forward she recognized the Signet ring of Richard.
Hastiiy purchasing the precious talisman she ordered the
youth to follow her, intending to question him further con-
cerning his master; but When she reached her. apartments,
he had disappeared. She sent messengers in every direc—
tion, and caused the most searching inquiries to be made,
but all in vain ; he was nowhere to be found. Her anxiety
for the fate of Richard, found vent in fruitless exertions
and floods of tears. The mysterious circumstances reawa-
kened all her superstitious apprehensions. She was con-
vinced that the fatal ring which she had so foolishly given
and so weakly allowed him to retain, had finally accom-
plished his prediction, “ betrayed him to his direst foe, 0r
drowned him in the sea.” At one moment she bewailed
him as dead, at the next uphraided her friends for neglect-
ing to deliver him from the dungeon in Which she was posi-
tive the Duke of Austria had confined him. Blondel,
Whose devotion to his royal friend equalled her own, set
ofi’ at once under the character of a wandering minstrel in
search of his master.

At length the pope, moved by Berengaria’s distress,
placed her under the escort of Count Raimond of Toulouse,
the hero of the tournament, who, with a. strong guard, con-
ducted the queens across the country to Navarre. The
valiant Raimond soon found it an easier and pleasanter
task to soothe the mind of the lovely J oanna, than to listen
to the unavailing complaints of the despairing Berengaria,
and s0 resigned did he become to his grateful duties, that
before they reached the end of their journey he had become

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

266 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

a candidate for the oflice during life of sympathizer and
protector.

In the joy of welcoming her youngest daughter, Queen
Eleanor forget her hereditary enmity to her cousin of T011-
louse, and Count Raimond received the hand of Joanna
With the resignation of the contested claimto that splendid
fief, Which had so long filled the south of France with strife
and bloodshed. Deprived of the society of the tranquil
and considerate Joanna, Berengaria was more than ever
lonely and disconsolate, and the death of her father, San-
cho the \Vise, not long after, added another weight to the
sorrow that oppressed her.

Eleanor’s detention of the Princess Alice had drawn
upon Normandy a fierce invasion by Philip Augustus, and
the noble domain might have fallen a prey to his rapacity
had not Sancho the Strong, moved by the pleadings of his
sister, traversed France With a choiee band of knights, and
compelled his grasping sovereign to abandon the siege of
Ronen.

Meantime the faithful Blondel traverses many a weary
league in search of the lion-hearted king. His harp gives
him ready entrance to the castles of the great and the cot-
tages 0f the lowly. \Varriors mingle their rude voices with
the chorus of his soul-stirring tensons, and lighthearted
maidens weep pitying tears at the sound of his tender
plaintes. Stern jailers, like the Furies that guarded the
lostEurydice,1eave their dismal avocations, and “listen-
ing crowd the sweet musician’s side.” The lyre of Orpheus
draws back the rusty bolts and opens wide the ponderous
doors, and many a hapless prisoner is charmed With the
strains of light and love that for years had only visited his
dreams.

But Richard is not among the minstrels ; his voice echoes
not in the chorus of the warriors ; his sad complaint is not
neard among the wail of the captives. The troubadour
turns away disappointed from each new trial, but restless

BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 267

affection prompts him to repeated endeavors, and ephem-
eral hopes continually lead him on.

He wanders along the banks of the Danube, he sits be-
neath the dark shadow of the Tenebreuse, from whose por-
tals no ransomed captive has ever yet come forth to the
free light of day. He assays his most thrilling strains,
but the guards, insensible as the granite effigies that frown
upon him from the lofty turrets, remain unmoved. He
throws down his lyre in despair, and hot tears gush from
his eyes. The image of Berengaria floats before him, her
cheek flushed with hope, and her eyes sparkling with love.
He sees her leaning enchanted from the vessel’s side, lis-
tening t0 the voice of her royal lover, While the Wind with
fairy fingers sweeps a wild symphony through the straining
cordage of the gallant Trenc—the-mere. With the recollec-
tions come the long-forgotten emotions of that blissful sea-
son. Instinctively his hand grasps the harp ; his spirit
kindles with the inspiration; a melodious prelude rings
out upon the still air, and he sings,

“ Your beauty, lady fair,
None views without delight;
But still so cold an air
N o passion eau excite.
Yet this 1 patient see,
While all are shunn’d like me.”

Is it the voice of the warder mingling With his own in
the concluding strain, or has his rapt fancy taught the
echoes to mock his impatience with the loved tones of the
royal troubadour ? He pauses- ’Tis neither memory nor
fancy. From the lonely turret and the closely barred case-
ment pours a liquid strain, and his fond ear drinks again
the clear tones that answered to his own, When in harmoni-
ous rivalry each sought the rich reward of Berengaria’s

smile.
“ No nymph my heart can wound,
If favors she divide,
And smile on all around,
Unwilling to decide :
I’d rather hatred bear
Than love with other share.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

268 HEROINES 012" THE cmsmss.

It is the voice of-Plantagenet I ! The song, the tune are
his ! He lives ! He may yet be ransomed.

A rough hand is laid upon the shoulder of the minstrel,
and a surly voice bids him, Begone ! He departs Without
question or reply. He courts no danger ; for on his safety
depends the life of his friend. The listless stroll 0f the
harper is exchanged for the quick firm pace of one Who
hastes t0 the accomplishment of a worthy purpose. He
avoids the populous cities, and tarries not in the smiling
villages. He reaches the sea-coast—he finds a vessel—
he lands in England—he obtains audience of the queen
regent. She Who subscribes herself “Eleanora, by the
wmt/z of God Queen of England,” makes all Europe ring
With the infamy of those princes Who have combined to
keep her son in chains. The power of the pope is im-
plored, the mercy of the holy mother is invoked. The
Emperor Henry VI. requires the royal prisoner at the
hands of Leopold. Richard is brought before the diet at
Worms, to answer for his crimes.

He is acciised of making an alliance with Tancred, of
turning the arms of the crusade against the christian King
of Cyprus, 0f affronting the Duke of Austria before Acre,
of obstructing the progress of the croises by his quarrels
with the King of France, 0f assassinating the Marquis Con-
rad Prince of Tyre, and 0f concluding a truce With Saladin
and leaving Jerusalem in the hands of the Saracen emperor.

The noble Plantagenet arises in the majesty of his inno-
cence and, “as the lion shakes the deW—drops from his
mane,” dispels the false accusations of his enemies. The
eloquence of truth carries irresistible conviction to the
hearts of the congregated princes. They exclaim loudly
against the conduct of the emperor, the pope threatens him
with excommunicatien, and the reluctant Henry is com~
pelled from very shame to consent to the prisoner’s release.
But a heavy fine is required, and the monarch is remanded
to his captivity till the sum shall be paid. Every vassal
in England and Normandy is taxed for the ransom Of his
10rd. The churches and monasteries melt down their plate,

BERENGARLA 0F NAVARRE. 269

the bishops, abbots, and nobles, contribute a portion of
their rent, the inferior clergy a tenth of their tithes, and
Eleanor conveys the treasure to Germany, and brings back
her long lost-son !

CHAPTER XII.

“Do you like letter-reading? If you do,
I have some twenty dozen very pretty ones:
Gay, sober, rapturous, solemn, very true,
And very lying, stupid ones, and Witty ones.”

LETTER FROM THE KNIGHTS OF ST. .JOHN TO RICHARD.

“ To Richard Plantagenet, by the grace of God, King of
England, your poor and unworthy servants of the Hospital
of St. John, humbly set forth these things. We remember
When it pleased the great Richard to depart from Palestine,
leaving the Holy City still in the hands of the Moslems,
that he pledged the honor of a knight, to return Whéh the
troubles of his own kingdom should be composed, and once
more do battle in the cause of the saints.

“According to our poor ability we preserved the con-
ditions of the treaty, and the land had rest from war. The
mighty sultan, Saladin, then kept his goods in peace. But
God has called him to the judgment to answer for his
crimes against the christian nations. His brother Sapha-
din usurps the throne of J erusalem, and his sons strive to
rend the kingdom in pieces, that each may take his share.

“ N OW the Scripture saith expressly, ‘A house divided
against itself shall not stand,’ and the fulfilment thereof is
shown in that Which they begin to do. A scarcity of food
exhausts their forces, and it were easy for a christian army,
while they lie torn with faction and reduced by famine, to
march through the length and breadth of the land, and
make the strong places our own. But the forces of the
military friars are insufiicient for the pious work; therefore

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

270 HEROINES OF THE‘ CRUSADES.

we turn our eyes towards Europe, we fix our regards upon the
islands of the sea, and lift our hands to Heaven and pray
that the lion-heai-ted monarch, with his valiant knights,
would once more ‘ come up to the help of the Lord against
the mighty.’ May God and his saints incline your heart to
the divine undertaking, and may the counsels 0f the Lord
prevail. Amen.
“ Written from Palestine A.D. 1195.”

ENCYCLICAL LETTER OF CELESTIN III.

“ T0 the most Potent Sovereigns of Europe, to the princes,
nobles, and barons, who by the favor of God, hold author—
ity over the dominions and vassals of our Lord and Saviour
-—t0 the cardinals, bishops, prelates, and other clergy that
rule the Church of God, Pope Celestin III. called to be the
vicar of Christ, and in virtue of his oflice heir to the Apos«
tolic See, sendeth greeting.

“ My brethren, it hath been shown to us that Jerusalem,
the city of the Saviour’s life and passion, still lieth in the
hands of the Moslems, that the Infidels mock the rites of
our holy religion even in the land where the sacred myste-
ries were first instituted, and that the Christians of Syria
cry unto the brethren of the west for aid. Wherefore we
command you all to spread again the crimson standard of
the cross, and march against the pel‘seeutors 0f the faith.
By the authority of the blessed St. Peter, from whom we
hold the keys of the kingdom of Heaven, whereby we open
and no man can shut; we shut, and no man can open; we
ordain that all those who in heart and truth obey this, our
holy mandate, shall have claim to those indulgenees needfnl
for the flesh, in this toilsome warfare; absolution from those
sins which they have heretofore committed, or shall hereaf-
ter fall into :———and we set before them an abundance of the
honors of this life, and in the life to come life everlasting.

“ Given at Rome, under our hand and seal, this tenth
day after Epiphany, in the Year of Grace 1196.”

BERENGARIA 0F NAVARRE. 271

LETTER FROM ELSIEBEDE TO BERENGARIA.

“ Elsiebede to the most honored Queen Berengaria. My
noble mistress Will pardon the wife of Saif Addin if she
intrude upon her gracious attention the story of the changes
that have befallen one whom Allah (blessed be his name)
hath raised from the low estate of a servant, to the dignity
of sole wife of the monarch of the East. Though the voice
of love charmed my ear, and made my heart tremble with
sweet delight, yet tears overflowed my eyes when it was
told me I should look no more upon the face of her whose
fostering care had sustained my youth, and brought me to
the land of my kindred. My beloved lady and her valiant
10rd have departed for their own land, but still I hear their
names echoed from the base of Carmel, to Damascus the
garden of delights. The Arab horseman threatens his
steed with the weight of King Richard’s arm, the Saracen
mother hushes her babe with the fear of the Melech Rio, and
blesses her daughter with the benison, ‘Allah make thee
fair as Bereugaria.’ But ‘The strength of the mighty and
the charm of the lovely availeth naught, since death, the
terminator of delights, waiteth at the threshhold of every
dwelling.’ Scarce could the vessels that bore the croises
have reached the shores of Frangistan, when Disease, more
potent than even the sword of the lion-hearted Plantagenet,
laid its hand upon Saladin the Powerful, the Illustrious,
and his life was consumed beneath its burning touch.
Then the black banner that awoke thy terrors at the first
sight of Palestine, and that so often like the wing of Azrael,
waved over the fields of the slain, by his last command,
was rolled in the dust, and the shroud that was to wrap his
body in the grave, was borne aloft in the sight of his peo-
ple, While the imams and muezzins cried aloud With an eX-
ceedin'g bitter cry, ‘ Behold all that remains to the mighty
Saladin, the prince of the thousand tribes, the vizier of
Egypt, the conqueror of Syria, the Emperor of the East.
Behold oh man, and prepare to die !’

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

272 HEROINES .OF THE CRUSADES.

“ Until his death the virtuous Soldan had faithfully pre-
served the peace made With the Melech Ric, and it wae
the wish of his brother, my lord Saif’ Addin, upon whom
the emirs and ataheks bestowed the kingdom of Syria,
still to keep faith and truce With the Christians, but as your
holy writing saith, ‘A man’s foes shall be they of his own
household,’ even so hath it happened unto my lord. The
undutiful sons of Saladin have seized Aleppo, Damascus,
and Egypt. They have drawn the sword of battle, and
our land again groaneth under the miseries of war. From
these things it chanced that certain timid Christians, fear—
ing again the renewal of all those sufferings, from which
they had rested during the space of three years, called again
on their brethren of Europe for aid. And there came a great
company of crusading Germans, brutal and blood-thirsty, to
wrest the territory of Palestine from the hanés 0f the sover-
eign. \Vhen the Latins 0f Acre saw What manner of men
they were, they represented to them the virtues and modera-
tion of the noble Saif Addin, and entreated that the Chris-
tians 0f the Holy Land should have space for negotiation anti
treaty, before the commencement of hostilities. But they
would not hear; and so the cruel war was again begun».

“ Then my lord girding himself for the conflict, showe<l
that the spirit of Saladin survived in his brother. He ad-
vanced t0 the north to meet his foes, and a terrible slaugh-
ter took place in the vale 0f Sidon. The followers of the
prophet were slain on every side, and the Latins also were
greatly discomfited, and took refuge in Tyre. A portion:
of the Germans proceeded to Jafi'a‘; thither Saif Addie
pursued them, and after a continued siege, took the city
and put them all to the sword. Oh the same night, Count
Henry of Champagne, wearing the title, but not the crown
of the King of Jerusalem, was killed by a fall, and the
Christians being thus left Without lord 0r ruler, concluded
a peace with the Emperer. Isabella, the Widow of Count
Henry, is again a Wife, being taken in marriage by AL
merie, brother of Guy de Lusignan.

“ The prophet saith truly, ‘ Though the storm rage with;

BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 273

out, there may be peace in the tent,’ and I dwell in safety
within the sacred walls of J erusalem. Cohr Eddin, my
first-born, already assays to bend the bow of his father, and
his infant brother nestling in my bosom, just lisps the name
of his warlike sire. Farewell. The blessing of her who was
ready to perish, rest upon thee and thine, and Allah make é
thee happy as Ayesha, the best beloved wife of the pro-
phet, on whom be peace.

“ Written from Jerusalem in the year of the Hegyra 57 6,
according to the era of the Franks, 1198.”

The fiburt/L Crusade, which the French monarch regarded
with indifference, and which the King of England despised
as being the enterprise of his German enemies, ended thus
without ad vantage or glory to Christendom. The hostilities
which had been engendered in the Holy Land, continued
to vex and agitate Europe long after the causes had ceased
to operate. The Emperor Henry VI. died of poison ad-
ministered by his wife Constance, and the pope prohibited
his interment until the hundred and fifty thousand marks
which he had received for Richard’s ransom, should be
paid over into the treasury of the Holy See.

Insignificant wars exciting the baser passions of human
nature and developing few of its nobler qualities, occupied
the remaining years of the two great rivals, Richard Plan-
tagenet and Philip Augustus. The Princess Alice was at
last surrendered to her brother, and at the mature age of
thirty-five, With a tarnished reputation 'and a splendid
dower, was given in marriage to the Count of Aumerle.
Richard spent scarce four months of his reign in England,
and Berengaria never Visited the island. They resided
upon his ducal estates in Normandy, 01‘ passed their time
in Anjou and Aquitaine. It was at the siege of the castle
of Chaluz, in the latter province, that Richard met his
death. A peasant plowing in the field, pretended that he
had discovered a wondrous cave, in which were concealed
golden statues, and vases of precious stones, of unrivalled
beauty and value. “The lively imagination of the king,

heated by the splendid fictions 0f Arabian romance,” led
18

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

274 HEROINES OF THE GRUSADES.

him at once to credit the report, and determined him upon
securing the enchanted treasure. He immediately sum-
moned the barbn to give up to him as feudal 10rd, a Share
of the rich prize. The Castellan declared that nothing had
been found but a pot of Roman coins which were at his
service. The impetuous monarch could not be satisfied.
with this explanation of the afi'air, and immediately co.m-
menced a siege. He was pierced by an arrow from the
walls, and the wound though not mortal was so inflamed
by the unskilfulness of the physician, and the king’s im-
patience under treatment, as to cause his death. Queen
Eleanora was at this time in England ; but Berengaria at—
tended him in his last moments, and forgetting the years
of neglect, and the ebullitions of ill temper that had poison-
ed her domestic happiness, watched and wept over him
with the tenderest care.

Scarcely had he breathed his last, When J oanna, Count-
ess of Toulouse, arrived in Aquitaine. She had come to
entreat the assistance of the monarch against the haughty
barons who had taken up arms against her husband. But
When she looked upon the kingly form of her beloved bro-
ther stretched in the stillness of death ; when she saw that
the dull, cold eye kindled not as of yore at the recitative
of her wrongs; and when she lifted the powerless hand
ever ready for her defence, her long-tried courage gave
way and she sank fainting by his side. The weight of this
new grief, added to her former afflictions, pressed upon her
enfeebled frame, and on the third day she expired, entreat~
ing Berengaria to bury her With her brother Richard. The
sorrowing queen conveyed the royal remains of her hus-
band and sister for interment to the stately abbey of F on-
tevraud, and laid them in the tomb of their father Henry
II., and within a few short weeks after paid the last tribute
of affection to her sweet sister Blanche, Wife of Thibaut,
Count of Champagne.

The world was now a desert to Berengaria. She retired
to her dower estate of Orleans, where she founded the no-
ble abbey of L’Espan, and passed the remainder of her
life in acts of charity and beneficence.

ISABELLA]

 

 

 

:u.

 

f‘

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER I.

“The lady I love Will soon be a bride,
With a diadem on her brow;
Oh Why did she flatter my boyish pride,
She’s going to leave me now.”

IT is a marvel to those unacquainted with the philos-
ophy of navigation, that ships may sail with equal speed
in opposite directions, under the impelling force of the
same breeze : and it is often an equal paradox with casual
observers of mental phenomena, that individuals may con-
tribute as really to fine success of an enterprise by the law
of repulsion as by the more obvious exercise of voluntary
influence. Thus Isabella 0f Angouléme, who was perhaps as
little occupied with plans military or religious, as any
beauty that counted warriors among her conquests could
well be, as effectually impelled a noble knight and leader
to undertake the Holy War, as did Adela, Countess of
Blois, whose whole heart was in the work.

Isabella was the only child and heiress of the Count of
Angouléme. Her mother was of the family of Courteney,
the first lords of Edessa. In very early youth Isabella had
been betrothed to Hugh X. de Lusignan, the Marcher or
guardian of the northern border of Aquitaine. The little
bride dwelt at the castle of her lord, flattered and caressed
by every vassal who hoped to win the favor of his master,
while the gallant Hugh, surnamed 1e Bran, watched over
her interests, and directed her education with the care of a
man anticipating full fruition in the ripened charms and
unrivalled attractions of one who looked upon him as her
future husband.

Count Hugh as a distinguished peer of France, had been
summoned to form one of the splendid cortege which Philip

 

 

 

 

 

278 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

Augustus despatched into Spain, to bring home the fair
Blanche 0f Castile, the bride of his son Prince Louis.
During his absence the parents of Isabella sent messengers
to the castle of Valence, to request their daughter’s pres-
ence on the occasion of a high festival in Angouléme.
The beautiful fiancee of Count Hugh was required to recog-
nize King John of England, as the sovereign 0f Aquitaine,
and feudal 10rd of the province of Angoumois.

Dressed in a simple robe of White, with her hair parted
02 la merge upon the brow, and confined only by the golden
eorenet designating her rank, she advanced with a timid
step through the assembly, and kneeling at the feet of the
king, placed her tiny hands in his, while with a trembling
voice she pronounced the oath of homage. The first peep
Which the fair child gained 0f the great world in this bril-
liant assembly, Where she was made to act so conspicuous
a. part, intoxicated her youthful imagination; and the ef-
fect of her artless simplicity 0n the heart of the dissolute
monarch, already sated With the adulation of court beau-
ties, was such as one feels in turning from a crowded vase
of gaudy exotics, to contemplate the sweetness of the native
Violet. Hence was it that Isabella, though scarcely fifteen,
entered into all the schemes of her parents, for preventing
her return to the castle of her betrothed, and.with0ut op-
position, gave her hand. to a man Who had been for ten’
years engaged in an ineffectual struggle against the canons
of the church, for the possession of his beautiful cousin,
Avisa, Whom he had married on the day of Richard’s corona-
tion. NOW smitten with the charms of Isabella, J ohn sub-
mitted at once to his spiritual fathers, and the archbishop
of Bordeaux having convoked a synod to consider the mat-
ter With the assent of the bishops of Poitou, declared that
no impediment existed to their marriage. The nuptials
were, therefore, celebrated at Bordeaux, in August, 1200.

Enraged at the loss of his bride, on his return from
Castile, the valiant Count Hugh challenged the royal felon
t0 mortal combat; but the worthless king despising the re-
sentment 0f the outraged lover, sailed With Isabella in

ISABELLA. 279

triumph to England, where they passed the Winter in a con-
tinual round of feasting and voluptuousness. Thwarted in
the usual method of redress, Count Hugh had recourse to
the pope, the acknowledged 10rd of both potentate and
peer. Innocent III. at once fulminated his thunders against
the lawless prince; but as the lands, if not the person of
the heiress 0f Aquitaine, were the property of King John
as her 10rd paramount, not even the Church could unbind
the mystic links of feudal tenure that barred the rights of
Count Lusignan.

Disappointed in his hopes of vengeance in this quarter,
the count became suddenly impressed with the right of
young Arthur 0f Bretagne, to the throne of England, and
being joined by the men of Anjou and Maine, he suddenly
laid siege to the castle of Mirabel, where Queen Eleanor,
then entering her eightieth year, had taken up her summer
residence. The son of Geoffrey entered readily into the
plot, for he had little cause to love the grandmother, who
had advocated the setting aside his claims in favor of those
of his uncle; and it was the intention of Count Hugh to
capture the aged queen, and exchange her for his 10st
spouse.

In ‘an age when decent people were expected to break
their fast at the early hour of five, King John was sur-
prised at his midday breakfast by a messenger, summoning
him to his mother’s rescue. Rising hastily in terrible
wrath, and swearing a. horrid oath, he overset the table
with his foot, and leaving his bride to console herself as
she could, set off immediately for Aquitaine. Arrived be-
fore the castle of Mirabel, he gave fierce battle to his
enemies. The contest was very brief, and victory for once
alighted upon the banners of John. The unfortunate Count
Hugh, and the still more unfortunate Arthur, with twenty-
four barons of Poitou were taken prisoners, and chained
hand and feet, were placed in tumbril carts and drawn
after the Conqueror wherever he went. The barons, by the
orders of King John, were starved to death in the dungeons
of Corfe castle. The fate of the hapless Arthur was Never

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

280 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

clearly known. Many circumstances make it probable
that he died by the hand of his uncle; and the twelve
peers of France convened to inquire into his fate, branded
John as a murderer, and declared the fief of Normandy a
forfeit t0 the crown. Thus was this important province re-
stored to the dominion of France, after having been in the 3
possession of the descendants of R0110 nearly three cen—3“
turies. i

The only male heir now remaining to the House of Plan- ‘
tagenet, was the recreant John; and Queen Eleanor look-
ing forward. with fearful foreboding t0 the destruction of
her race, sought an asylum in the convent of Fontevraud,
where she died the following year.

The unhappy lover of Isabella dragged on a. weary
existence in the donjon of Bristol castle, and the heart of
the queen, already wounded by the cruelty of John, and‘
touched with pity for the sufferings of Lusignan, began to
recount in the ear of her imagination the tender devotion
of her first love, and to contrast her miserable, though
splendid destiny with the peace and happiness she enjoyed
in the castle of Valence.

The controlling spirit of the thirteenth century was In-
nocent III. “ Since Gregory the Seventh’s time the pope
had claimed the empire of the world, and taken upon him-
self the responsibility of its future state. Raised to a tow-
ering height, he but saw the more clearly the perils by
Which he was environed. He occupied the spire 0f the
prodigious edifice of Christianity in the middle age, that
cathedral of human kind, and sat soaring in the clouds on
the apex of the cross, as when from the spire 0f Strasburg
the View takes in forty towns and villages on the banks of
the Rhine.” From this eminence Pope Innocent surveyed
the politics of Europe, and put forth his mandates to bring
the power and wealth of the nations into the treasury of
the church. N 0 measures had ever been adopted which
combined so effectually to move the passions of an ardent
age, in a direction indicated by papal authority, as the ex—

ISABELLA. 281

peditions to the Holy Land. Louis and Philip of France
and Henry of England had taxed their subjects for the
benefit of the crusade. Pope Innocent went a step farther,
and gave a new character to the sacred wars by imposing
a similar tax upon the clergy. The eloquent pontiff de-
scribed the ruin of Jerusalem, the triumphs of the Mos-
lems, and the disgrace 0f Christendom 3 and, like his pred-
ecessors, promised redemption from sins and plenary in-
dulgence to all who should serve in Palestine.

An ignorant priest, F 111k of N euill y, took up the word of
exhortation, and with less piety than Peter the Hermit and
greater zeal than St. Bernard, itinerated through the cities
and villages of France, publishing the command of the
successor of St. Peter.

The situation of the principal monarchs was unfavorable
to the pious undertaking. The sovereignty of Germany
was disputed by the rival houses of Brunswick and Suabia,
the memorable factions of the Guelphs and Ghibelines.
Philip Augustus was engaged in projects to wrest from the
King of England his transmarine dominions, and J ohn was
incapable of any project beyond the narrow circle of his
personal pleasures and preferences. ‘

Notwithstanding, therefore, the power of the pope and
the fanaticism 0f Fulk, the whole matter might have fallen
through but for the lofty enthusiasm of the descendants of
Adela. Countess of Bleis. In every expedition to the Holy
Land, there had not lacked a representative from the house
of Champagne; and Thibaut, fourth Count of the name,
was the first to unfurl the crimson standard in the Féflfi
Crusade. The young Thibaut held a grand tournament at
Troyes, to which he invited all the neighboring princes
and knights for a trial in feats of derring-do. The festivi-
ties of the day were nearly over, and the victors were eX-
changing congratulations and commenting upon the well-
won field, when the intrepid Full: appeared in the lists
and challenged the warriors t0 enf<.>ree an appeal to arms
in the cause of Christendom. Geoffrey Villehardouin, the
marechal of Champagne, who held the post of honor as

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

282 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

judge of the combat, immediately gave place to the holy
man, and the unbonneted Chieftains drew around and
With respectful regard listened While the subtle priest,
from the temporary throne, descanted upon the sufferings
of 10st Paiestina.

Encouraged by the example of his ancestors, animated
by the distinction acquired by his elder brother as King of
Jerusalem, fired with indignation against the Infidel that
claimed that brother’s crown, and stimulated by a. holy am-
bition to inscribe his own name upon the rolls of honored
pilgrimage, the noble Thibaut came forward, and drawing
his sword, laid it at the feet of the priest, who blessed and
consecrated. both it and him to the cause of God. His
cousin Louis Count of Blois and Chartres, immediately ad-
vanced to his side and made a similar dedication. Then
followed his brother-in—law, Baldwin Count of Flanders,
Matthew de Montmorenci, Simon de Montfort, Geofi‘rey
Villehardouin, and a host of others, till the whole assem-
bly becoming infected with the spirit of enthusiasm, sprang
to their feet, and drawing their swords, held them up in the
sight of heaven, and with unanimous voice vowed to engage
in the Holy War. This vow was subsequently repeated in
the churches, ratified in tournaments, and debated. in pub-
lic assemblies till, among the two thousand and two hun-
dred knights that owed homage to the peerage of Cham-
pagne, scarce a man could be found willing to forfeit his
share in the glorious enterprise by remaining at home.

As Sancho the Strong had died without children, Na-
varre acknowledged Thibaut, the husband of Blanche, as
king; and bands of hardy Gascons from both sides of the
Pyrenees flocked to his banners. The feudatories of the
other pilgrim warriors, animated by this glorious example,
joined the standards of their respective leaders, and crowds
of prelates and barons waited but the final arrangements
for departure. The perils of the land route to J erusalem
had been often tried. They were such as to intimidate the
bravest, and check the impetuosity of the most ardent.

At the extremity of the Adriatic sea, the Venetians had

ISABELLA. 283

found a shelter, during the dark and stormy interval that
succeeded the downfall of the Roman Empire. There nest-
ling in the sedgy banks of the islands that clustered around
the Rialto, Commerce, through a long period of incuba-
tion, had nourished her venturesome brood, and now the
white wings of her full-fledged progeny, like the albatross,
skimmed the surface of the seas and found ready entrance
to every harbor on the coast of the Mediterranean.

The Venetian republic had owed a nominal allegiance to
the Greek empire, but entering the field as a rival to the
Genoese and Pisans for the carrying-trade of Europe at the
beginning of the crusades, she had displayed from her
towering masts the banner of the cross, While she cultivated
a friendly intercourse With the Infidels of every clime. To
this avaricious but neutral power the sacred militia deter-
mined to apply for a passage to the Holy Land, and six
deputies, at the head of whom was Villehardouin, were
despatched to the island city to settle the terms of trans—
portation.

The ambassadors were received with distinction, and a
general assembly was convened to listen to their proposals,
The stately chapel and place of St. Markwas crowded With
citizens. The doge and the grand council of ten sat in
solemn dignity While the marechal of Champagne unfolded
thus the purposes of the embassy.

“ Illustrious Venetians : the most noble and powerful
barons of France have sent us to you to entreat you in the
name of God to have compassion on J erusalem which
groans under the tyranny of the Turks, and to aid us on
this occasion in revenging the injury Which has been done
to your Lord and Saviour. The peers of France have turn-
ed their eyes to you as the greatest maritime power in
Europe. They have commanded us to throw ourselves at
your feet, and never to change that supplicatory posture till
you have promised to aid them in recovering the Holy
Land.” The eloquence of their words and tears touched
the hearts of the pe0p1e. Cries of “We grant your re-
quest,” sounded through the hall. The honored Doge Dan-

 

1‘7:

 

 

 

«mu, . V . .

 

 

 

T!"
é!
T."
.‘t‘m

284 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADEs

d010, though more than ninety years of age and nearly
blind, consecrated what might remain to him of life to the
pious work, and multitudes imitated his self—devotion.
The treaty was concluded, transcribed on parchment, attest-
ed with oaths and seals, and despatched to Rome for the
approbation of the pope. Villehardouin repaired to France
with the news of the success of his embassy. The gallant
Thibaut sprang from his bed of sickness, called for his war-
horse, summoned his vassals, and declared his intention to
set off immediately upon the pflgrimage. The exertion
was too great for his feeble frame ; he sank fainting in the
arms of his attendants, and expired in the act of distribut-
ing among his feudatories the money he had designed for
the Holy War. A new leader was then to be chosen, and
the lot finally fell upon Boniface 0f Montserrat, younger
brother of the celebrated Conrad, Marquis of Tyre.

CHAPTER H.

“ I’ll laugh and I’ll sing though my heart may bleed,
And join in the festive train,
And if I survive it I’ll mount my steed
And off to the Wars again.”

IN the spring of the year 1202, the crusaders being join-
ed by numbers from Italy and Germany, arrived at Venice.
“ On the Sunday before they were ready for embarkation, a
great multitude assembled in the place of St. Mark. It
was a high festival, and there were present the people of
the land, and most of the barons and pilgrims. Before
high mass began, the Doge of Venice, who was named.
Henry Dandolo, mounted the pulpit, and spoke to the peo-
ple, and said to them, ‘ Signors, there have joined them-
selves to you the best nation in the world, and for the
greatest business that ever men undertook; and I am an
old man and a feeble and should be thinking of rest, and

ISABELLA. 285

am frail and suffering of body. But I see that no one can
order and marshal you like I who am your 10rd. If you
choose to grant to me to take the sign of the cross, that I
may guard you and instruct you, and that my son may re-
main in my place to guard the land, I will go live or die
with you and the pilgrims.’ And when they heard him
they all cried out With one voice, ‘ We beg you in God’s
name to grant it, and to do it, and to come with us.’ Then
great pity took possession of the men of the land, and of the
pilgrims, and they shed many tears to think that this val-
iant man had such great cause to remain, for he was an old
man and had beautiful eyes in his head, but saw not with
them, having lost his sight through a wound on the crown;
exceeding great of heart was he. So he descended from
the pulpit and walked straight to the altar, and threw him—
self upon his knees, pitifully weeping ; and they sewed the
cross on a large cape of cotton, because he wished the peo-
ple to see it. And the Venetians began to take the cross
in large numbers and in great plenty on that day,unti1
which very few had taken the cross. Our pilgrims were
moved with exceeding joy even to overflowing as regarded
this new crusader, on account of the sense and the prowess
that were his. Thus the doge took the cross as you have
heard.” But by a singular circumstance the expedition
was diverted from its original design. Isaac Angelus, the
Vicious and tyrannical Emperor of Constantinople, had been
deposed by his subjects, deprived of his eyesight, and cast
into prison. His brother Alexius was invested with the
’purple, and rejecting the name of Angelus, assumed the
royal appellation 0f the Comuenian race. Young Alexius,
the son of Isaac, was at this time twelve years of age. Es-
caping from the guards of" his uncle in the disguise Of a
common sailor, he found a refuge in the island of Sicily.
Thence he set off for Germany, having accepted an invita-
tion to reside with his sister Irene, wife of Philip ofSuabia.
Passing through Italy, he found the flower of western chiv-
alry assembled at Venice ready for the crusade, and it
immediately occurred to his young and ardent mind that

 

 

 

 

286 . HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

their invincible swords might be empleyed in his father’s
restoration. As be derived his birth in the female line
both from the house of Aquitaine and the royal race of
Hugh Capet, he easily interested the sympathy 0f the
Franks, and as the Venetians had a long arrear of debt and
injury to liquidate with the Byzantine court, they listened
eagerly t0 the story of his wrongs, and decided to share the
honor of restoring the exiled monarch. The place of their
destination being thus changed, the crusaders With joyful
haste embarked.

“A similar armament, for ages, had not rode the Adri- '
atic : it was composed of one hundred and twenty fiat-bot-
tomed vessels, or palanders, for the horses; two hundred
and forty transports filled with men and arms; seventy
store-ships laden with provisions; and fifty stout galleys,
well prepared for the encounter of an enemy. While the
wind was favorable, the sky serene, and the water smooth,
every eye was fixed with wonder and delight 0n the scene
of military and naval pomp which overspread the sea.
The shields 0f the knights and squires, at once an ornament
and a defence, were arranged on either side of the ships ;
the banners 0f the nations and families were displayed
from the stern ; 0111* modern artillery was supplied by three
hundred engines for casting stones and darts : the fatigues
0f the way were cheered with the sounds of music; and
the spirits of the adventurers were raised by the mutual
assurance, that forty thousand Christian heroes were equal
to the conquest of the world.” As they penetrated through
the Hellespont, the magnitude of their navy was compressed
in a narrow channel, and the face of the waters was dark-
ened with innumerable sails. They again expanded in the
basin of the Propontis, and traversed that placid sea,ti1]
they approached the European shore, at the abbey of St.
Stephen, three leagues t0 the west of' Constantinople. As
they passed along, they gazed with admiration 0n the cap-
ital 0f the East, or, as it should seem, 0f the earth ; rising
from her seven hills, and towering over the continents Of
Europe and Asia. The swelling domes and lofty spires 0f

ISABELLA. 287

five hundred palaces and churches were gilded by the sun,
and reflected in the waters; the walls were crowded with
soldiers and spectators, whose numbers they beheld, of
whose temper they were ignorant; and each heart was
chilled by the reflection, that, since the beginning of the
world, such an enterprise had never been undertaken by
such a handful of warriors. But the momentary apprehen—
sion was dispelled by hope and valor; and “Every man,”
says the Mareehal of Champagne, “glanced his eye on the
sword or lance which he must speedily use in the glorious
conflict.” The Latins cast anchor before Chaleedon; the
mariners only were left in the vessels : the soldiers, horses,
and arms were safely landed ; and, in the luxury of an impe—
rial palace, the barons tasted the first fruits of their success.

From his dream of power Alexius was awakened by the
rapid advance of the Latins; ahd between vain presump-
tion and absolute despondeney n0 effectual measures for
defence were instituted. At length the strangers were
waited upon by a splendid embassy. The envoys were in-
structed to say that the sovereign 0f the Romans, as
Alexius pompously styled himself, was much surprised at
sight of this hostile armament. “ If these pilgrims were
sincere in their vow for the deliverance of Jerusalem, his
voice must applaud, and his treasures should assist, their
pious design ; but should they dare to invade the sanctuary
of empire, their numbers, were they ten times more com
siderable, should not protect them from his just resentment.”
The answer of the doge and barons was simple and mag-
nanimous. “ In the cause of honor and justice,” they
said, “ we despise the usurper of Greece, his threats and
his offers. Our friendship and Ms allegiance are due to the
lawful heir, to the young prince, who is seated among us,
and his father, the Emperor Isaac, who has been deprived
of his seeptre, his freedom, and his eyes, by the crime of
an ungrateful brother. Let that brother confess his guilt
and implore forgiveness, and we ourselves will intercede,
that he may be permitted to live in affluence and security.
But let him not insult us by a second message ; our reply

 

 

288 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

will be made in arms in the palace of Constantinople.”
Ten days after, the crusaders prepared themselves to attack
the city. The navy 0f the Greek Empire consisted of only
twenty ships. The vessels of the republic sailed without
Opposition, therefore, into the harbor, and the Croises, with
cheerful zeal commenced the siege of the largest city in the
world. The Franks divided their army into six battalions:
Baldwin of Flanders led the vanguard with his bowmen,
the second, third, fourth and fifth divisions were command-
ed by his brother Henry, the Counts of St. Paul, Blois, and
Montmorenci, and the rearguard 0f Tuscans, Lombards,
and Genoese was headed by the Marquis of Montserrat.
So far from being able to surround the town, they were
scarcely sufficient to blockade one side; but before their
squadrons could couch their lances, the seventy thousand
Greeks that had prepared for the conflict vanished from
sight. The Pisans and the Varangian guard, however, de~
fended the walls with extraordinary valor, and victory was
for a long time poised in the scales of doubt. ‘
Meanwhile, on the side of the harbor the attack was suc—
cessfully conducted by the Venetians, who employed every
resource known and practised before the invention of gun-
powder. The soldiers leapt from the vessels, planted their
scaling-ladders, and ascended the wails,whi1e the large
ships slowly advancing, threw out grappling—irons and
drawbridges, and thus opened an airy way from the masts
t0 the ramparts. In the midst of the conflict, the venerable
dege, clad in complete armor, stood aloft on the prow of
his galley; the great standard of St. Mark waved above
his head, while with threats, promises, and exhortations,
he urged the rowers to force his vessel upon shore. On a.
sudden, by an invisible hand, the banner of the republic
was fixed upon the walls. Twentyfive towers were stormed
and taken. The emperor made a Vigorous effort to recover
the lost bulwarks, hut Dandoio, with remorseless resolution,
set fire to the neighboring buildings, and thus secured the
conquest s0 dearly won. The discomfited Alexius, seeing
all was lost, collected what treasure he could carry, and in

 

 

 

 

ISABELLA. 289

the silence of the night, deserting his wife and people,
sought refuge in Thrace. In the morning the Latin chiefs
were surprised by a summons to attend the levee of Isaac,
who, rescued from his dungeon, robed in the longdost pur-
ple, and seated upon the throne in the palace of the Bla-
quernel, waited with impatience to embrace his son and
reward his generous deliverers.

Four ambassadors, among Whom was Villehardouin, the
chronicler of these events, were chosen to wait upon the
rescued emperor. “ The gates were thrown open on their
approach, the streets on both sides were lined with the bat-
tle—axes of the Danish and English guard; the presence-
chamber glittered with gold and jewels, the false substi-
tutes of virtue and power ; by the side of the blind Isaac,
his Wife was seated, the sister of the King of Hungary:
and by her appearance, the noble matrons of Greece were
drawn from their domestic retirement and mingled With
the circle of senators and soldiers.” The ambassadors with
courteous respect congratulated the monarch upon his res—
toration, and delicately presented the stipulations of the
young Alexius. These were, “ the submission of the East—
ern empire to the pope, the succor 0f the Holy Land, and a
present contribution of two hundred thousand marks of
silver.” “These conditions are weighty,” was the empe-
ror’s prudent reply : “ they are hard to accept, and difficult
to perform. But no conditions can exceed the measure of
your services and deserts.”

The ready submission of Isaac and the subjection 0f the
Greek church to the Roman pontiff, deeply offended his
subtle and revengeful subjects, and gave rise to so many
plots and conspiracies, that the neWIy—restored emperor
prayed the crusaders to delay their departure till order
was reestablished. To this they assented, but the odious
taxes for rewarding their services were collected with dif-
ficulty, and Isaac resorted to the violent measure of robbing
the churches of their gold and silver. Occasions 0f dissen-
sion ripened into causes of hatred. A devastating fire was
attributed to the Latins, and in consequence desultory en—

19

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

290 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

counters took place, which resulted in open hostility. The
feeble emperor died, it is said, of fear; his cousin, a bold,
unscrupulous villain, assumed the imperial buskins, and
seizing the young Alexius, put him to death.

The crusaders at once determined to make war upon the
usurper. Constantinoplez the empress of the‘East, the city
that for nine centuries had been deemed impregnable t0
mortal arm, was taken by storm. The right of Victory,
untrammelled by promise or treaty, confiscated the public
and private wealth of the Greeks, and the hand of every
Frank, according to its size and strength, seized and ap—
propriated the rich treasures of silks, velvets, furs, gems,
spices and movables which were scattered like glittering
baits through all the dwellings of that proud metropolis.
When the appetite for plunder was satisfied, order was in-
stituted in the distribution of spoils. Three churches were
selected for depositories, and the magnitude of the prize
exceeded all experience or expectation. A sum seven
times greater than the annual revenue of England, fell to
the lot of the Franks. In the streets the French and Flem-
ings clothed themselves and their horses in painted robes
and flowing head-dresses of fine linen. They stripped the
altars of their ornaments, converted the chalices into drink-
ing cups, and laded their beasts with wrought silver and
gilt carvings, which they tore down from the pulpits. In
the cathedral of St. Sophia, the veil of the sanctuary was
rent in twain for the sake of its golden fringe, and the al-
tar, a monument of art and riches, was broken in pieces
and distributed among the captors.

Having thus taken Constantinople and shared its treas—
ures among themselves, the next step was the regulation
of their future possessions and the election of an Emperor.
Twelve deputies were appoi11ted,six to represent the in-
terest 0f the F ranks and six that of the Venetians ; in the
name of his colleagues, the bishop of Soissons announced
to the barons the result of their deliberations in these words.
“ Ye have sworn to obey the prince whom we should choose;
by our unanimous suffrage, Baldwin Count of' Flanders and

 

 

ISABELLA. 291

Hainault, is now your sovereign and the Emperor of the
East.” “ Agreeably to the Byzantine custom, the barons
and knights immediately elevated their future 10rd upon a
huekler and bore him into the church of St. Sophia. When
the pomp ofmagnifieence and dignity was prepared, the
coronation took place. The papal legate threw the im-
perial purple over Baldwin; the soldiers joined With the
Clergy in crying aloud, ‘He is worthy of reigning;’ and
the splendor of conquest was mocked by the Grecian cere-
mony, of presenting to the new sovereign a tuft of lighted
wool and a small vase 'filled with bones and dust, as em-
blems of the perishableness of grandeur, and the brevity
of life.”

The splendid fiefs which the ambitious Adela had map-
ped out for the heroes of the first crusade, now fell to the
lot of her descendants in the division of the Greek Empire.
One was invested With the duchy of Nice ; one obtained a
fair establishment on the banks of the Hehrus; and one,
served With the fastidious pomp and splendor of oriental
luxury, shared the throne of Baldwin, the successor of Con-
stantine the Great.

CHAPTER III.

“But I’ll hide in my breast every selfish care,
And flush my pale cheek with wine,
W’hen smiles await the bridal pair,
I’ll hasten to give them mine.”

WHILE the Eastern Croises were thus engaged in appor-
tioning among themselves, the rich domains of the Greek
Empire, Simon de Montfort, who had abandoned the ex
pedition, when its destination was changed from Jerusalem
to Constantinople, was not less actively employed in a do-
mestic crusade, published by Innocent HL, against the
heretics 0f the south of F i‘ance. In the province of Tou-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

292 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

louse, certain sects had arisen variously known as Believers,
Perfects, and Vaudois, but all rejecting some of the tenets
of Rome, and from the city of Albi, designated by the
general name Albigeois. In his misguided zeal, Innocent
III. despatched three legates to constrain these Albigeois
to abjure their heresies and return to the bosom of the
church. He empowered them to employ for this purpose,
“ the sword, water and fire, as these good monks should
find it necessary to use one or the other, or all three to-
gether for the greater glory of God.” Though the Albi—
genses, like other Christians, professed the doctrines of
peace, they were somewhat infected with the warlike spirit
of the age ; consequently becoming exasperated at the eX-
ecutions deemed necessary to bring the lambs into the
fold, they rose upon the missionaries, and stoned one of
them to death. The pope retaliated by proclaiming the
usual indulgence to those who should engage in the holy
war, for exterminating the heretics. Count Raimond VL,
the husband of Joanna, immediately took up arms in de-
fence of his subjects, and against him Simon de Montfort
headed the army of the church. With him came a monk
of great austerity, afterwards St. Dominic, the founder of
the Dominican order of friars, who encouraged the soldiers
in their work of blood. The city of Beziers long held out
against them. It was finally taken, the inhabitants given
up to slaughter, and when a. difficulty arose about discrimi-
nating between the heretics and the catholics, “ Slay them
all,” said Dominic, “the Lord will know his own.” It is
estimated that the number that perished was sixty thou-
sand. The war went on, characterized, as such wars always
are, by the atrocity of private murder, and wholesale
butchery, till de Moutfort led his army to the siege of
Toulouse. Count Raimond, beset on every side by foes, ap-
plied to his brother-in-law, the King of England, to the
King of Arragon, whose sister he had married after the
death of Joanna, and to Philip Augustus his liege lord.
The first engaged in domestic broils, and the last involved
in a contest with the pope, concerning the divorce of Inge-

 

 

ISABELLA. 293

borge, could render him no assistance, but Don Pedro King
of Arragon, entered warmly into the contest and fell brave—
ly fighting in the battle of Muret.

The count was at last compelled to conclude an ignomi-
nious peace with the pope; and thus the forces of the
church were victorious in the south of France, as they were
in the Greek Empire.

To return to Isabella. The troubles With which King
John had involved himself by the murder of the young
Duke of Bretagne, seemed destined never to end. All
Aquitaine had been in a state of revolt since the decease of
his mother and the captivity of Count Hugh, and his queen
finally persuaded him to trust to the magnaminity of her
lover, for the peace of his dominions in France.

De Lusignan left England in 1206, and by his discretion
and valor, soon restored the revolted provinces to the sway
of the line of Plantagenet. The intolerance of the king
next aroused the animosity 0f the English barons, and to
prevent a popular outbreak, he demanded their sons as
hostages, under the plausible pretext of requiring the ser-
viees of the youthful lords as pages for his queen, and com-
panions of his infant son, Henry.

The Lady de Braose, when her children were demanded,
imprudently replied, “I will not surrender my boys to a.
king who murdered his own nephew.” The unfortunate
words were repeated to the malicious monarch, and meas-
ures for vengeance immediately instituted.

The Lord de Braose, With his wife and five innocent
little ones, were confined in Windsor castle and starved to
death.

While the husband of Isabella was thus alienating from
himself the affections of his subjects, he had the temerity
t0 dare the colossal power of Rome. A dispute arose as in
the days of his father, concerning the incumbent 0f the see
of Canterbury. The pope had commanded the monks to
choose Cardinal Langton for their primate, without the
ceremony of awrit from the king. They complied, and

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

294 HEROINES .OF THE CRUSADES.

John sent one of his knights to expel them from the con
vent and take possession of their revenues.

The affair went on with admonitions from the spiritual
father, and defiant retorts from the refractory king, till Inno-
centIII.1aid an interdict upon the realm. This terrible man-
date at once covered the whole nation with the garb and the
gloom of mourning. The priests with pious reverence
stripped the altars of their ornaments, collected the crosses
and relies, took down the images and statues of saints and
apostles, and laying them upon the ground carefully cover-
ed them from the eyes of the profane.

N o matin chime awoke the pious to their devotions, n0
vesper bell summoned the youths and maidens to unite in
the evening hymn ; n0 joyous peal invited the happy throng
t0 the nuptial ceremony, n0 solemn toll gathered the sor-
rowing multitudes to the burial service. The bridegroom _
took the hand of his bride and whispered his vows with
boding fear, standing in the churchyard, surrounded by the
silent Witnesses, whose very presence was a terror. The
father relinquished the dead body of his child to unhallow—
ed hands, that made for it an obscure and unconsecrated
grave by the wayside ; the tender infant was not presented
at the font for baptism, but received the holy'rite in the pri-
vacy 0f the monkish cell, and the dying man partook of the
last sacrament under circumstances that rendered still more
terrible the approach of death.

Men neglected their usual avocations, feeling that the
curse of God rested upon them; children relinquished their
amusements, subdued by the mysterious fear that pervaded
all ranks of society.

But the tyrant J ohn and his thoughtless queen felt no
sympathy with the afflictions of their people, no reverence
for the ordinances of religion. They made no concessions
they manifested no signs of repentance. Each was en-
gaged in the pursuit of pleasure, without regard to the
other’s feelings, or the laws of God. If the fickle and
wounded aflections 0f Isabella wandered from her 10rd to
some noble knight, who compassionated her wrongs, her

 

 

ISABELLA. 295

crime was made known only by the terrible vengeance
which her malignant husband inflicted upon her supposed
lover; nor was she aware that the suspicions of the king
had been awakened till retiring to her apartment at night,
she beheld with horror the dead body of the nobleman,
suspended above her couch, the bloodshot eyes fixed upon
her with a ghastly stare, and the pale lips opened as if
assaying t0 whisper in her ear the secret of the dark trag-
edy. From this haunted chamber she was not suffered to
depart for long weary years. But though J ohn thus
manifested his righteous horror of his wife’s dereliction
from the path of rectitude, he was himself unscrupulous in
the perpetration of any species of iniquity. Parsimonious
and cruel to his beautiful queen, he lavished upon his own
person every extravagant indulgence; without honesty or
honor. He was a bad son, a bad subject, a bad husband,
a bad father, and a bad sovereign. The record of his
thoughts is a disgrace to human nature, the record of his
deedsz a recapitulation of crimes.

Finding his interdict of no avail, Innocent resorted to his
most powerful weapon. He excommunicated J ohn, pro-
nounced utter destruction upon his body and soul, forbade
ail true Catholics to associate with him, absolved his subjects
from their oath of allegiance to him, commanded all orders
of religion to curse him, and exhorted all christian princes
ito assist in dethroning him.

Philip Augustus found this crusade far more to his taste
than the one he had before undertaken in the Holy Land,
and Simon de Montfort having enjoyed a short repose from
his work of blood in Languedoc, stood ready to enforce the
authority of the church. To protect his transmarine do-
minions from these powerful foes, J ohn found it necessary
to solicit an alliance with his former rival Count Hugh de
Lusignan, but the perverse bachelor was eonciliated only
on condition that the queen should be liberated from her
irksome imprisonment, and that her eldest daughter, the
Princess Joanna, should be afiianced to him as a compen-
sation for the loss of the mother. The necessity of the

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

296 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

case did not admit of debate or delay, and the little prin-
cess was forthwith betrothed to her mature lover, and con-
signed to the castle of Valence; where she occupied the
apartments and sported in the pleasance, that had formerly
delighted the childhood of Isabella. With his heart thus
reassured, Count Hugh repulsed the army of the French
king, and kept the Poictevin border in peace.

Philip Augustus disappointed in this attempt, prepared
for the invasion of England ; but While his fleet waited in
the ports of N ormandy, the Iegate Pandulph sought an in-
terview With John, and terrifying him With the prospect of
Certain ruin brought him to submit unconditionally t0 the
pope. The pusillanimous monarch was thus induced to pass
a charter in Which he declared he had for his own sins and
those of his family, resigned England and Ireland to God,
to St. Peter, and St. Paul, and to Pope Innocent and his
successors in the apostolic chair; agreeing to hold those
dominions as feudatories 0f the church of Rome by the an-
nual payment of a thousand marks. He consented to re~
ceive Langton for the primate, laid his crown and seeptre
at the feet of Pandulph, and kneeling down placed his hami
in those of that pi-elate, and swore fealty in the same man-
ner as a vassal did. homage to his 10rd. The legate then
revoked the sentence of excommunication,p1aced the crown
upon the head of John, pocketed the first instalment of the
tribute money, and returning to France informed Philip
that England was a part of the patrimony of St. Peter, and
it would be impious in any Christian prince to attack it.

Isabella was residing With her children at Gloucester,
When her inconstant husband, smitten with the charms of
Matilda the fair daughter of Lord Fitz Walter, stormed
the castle of her father, banished him from the kingdom,
and bore away the trembling girl to the fortress of London.
There confining her in one of the lofty turrets 0f the White
tower he set himself to Win her affections; but the noble
maiden spurned all his overtures With virtuous indignation.
When the hoary libertine found that flattery and coercion

 

 

ISABELLA. 297

were alike vain, his adoration changed to hate, and the hap~
less lady fell a victim to poison. This crowning act of vil-
lainy completed the exasperation 0f the English nobles,
and a confederacy was formed to resist farther aggressions
upon their liberties. Cardinal Langton, in searching the
records of the monasteries, had found a. copy of the charteré
executed by Henry Beauclerk upon his marriage with Ma-
tilda the Good.

From this charter the primate drew up the bill of rights,
which has become world-renowned as the Magna Charta.
At Runnymede between Windsor and Staines the mail—clad
barons met their guilty sovereign, and

“ There in happy hour
Made the fell tyrant feel his people’s power.”

The signing of the great charter of English liberty was
soon followed by the death of King John, and the diplo-
matic talents of Isabella were called into exercise to secure
the vacant throne for her son Henry, then a. boy of only
nine years of age. The diadem of his father having been
lost in Lincoln washes, and that of Edward the Confessor
being in London, the little prince was crowned with a gold
throat collar that she had worn in those happy days while
the aflianced bride of Count Hugh la Marche. Only a,
small part of England at first owned the sway of Prince
Henry, but the nobles at length rallied around the young
Plantagenet, and the valor and wisdom of the protector
Pembroke soon drove the invading French from the island.
N 0 share in the government was committed into the hands
of the dowager queen, and before the first year of her wid-
owhood had expired she set out for her native city of An-
gouléme.

As she passed through the provinces of France her atten-
tion was attracted by groups of children, habited as pil-
grims with scrip and stafl', gathered about the doors of
churches, repeating pious ascriptions of praise or tuning
their infant voices to sacred hymns. Her curiosity was
strongly excited, and she questioned them concerning the

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

298 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

motives that influenced to so strange a proceeding. “ Fair
Solyma lies in ruins,” replied the little fanatics, “ and it
may please God who out of the mouths of babes and suck-
lings hath ordained strength, to redeem it by our feeble
hands.” These scenes occurred daily upon her route. In
vein the queen employed argument and entreaty, threats
and promises to induce them to return to their homes.
They followed in the train of a company of monk; who,
with the diabolical design of profiting by’a crime then too
common, were working upon their superstitious hopes and
fears to decoy them to the sea—coast, where they might be
shipped to Egypt and sold as slaves. Thirty thousand mis-
guided innocents were thus collected from Italy and Ger-
many, and most of them fell a sacrifice to the mercenary
motives of those Who traded in the bodies and souls of
men.

When Isabella arrived at Angouléme, the valiant Lusig-
nan was absent from his territories, fighting under the ban-
ners 0f the cross, and her maternal heart was allowed the
solace of frequent intercourse with J oanna, the little bride
of her former lover.

CHAPTER IV.

“1’11 hang my harp on the willow—tree,
And 01? to the wars again;
My peaceful home has no charms for me,
The battle-field no pain.”

CONVINCED by the crusade of the children that the spirit
Which had moved the former expeditions to the Holy Land
was still active in Europe, Pope Innocent exclaiming,
“While we sleep these children are awake,” determined
once more to arm the Christian world against the Moslem.
The commands of the Vatican calling upon men to exter-
minate the Infidel were hurled upon every part of Europe.

 

 

ISABELLA. 299

In a circular letter to sovereigns and clergy the pope de-
clared that the time had at last arrived when the most hap-
py results might be expected from a confederation of the
Christian powers.

Count 1a Marche was among the first to hear and obey the
mandate of the spiritual head. With the Duke of Nevers
he commanded the French croises that in 1215 sailed for
Egypt, where he was actively engaged in the Holy warfare
when Isabella Visited Valence. The siege of Damietta was
carried on with the usual atrocities. Tidings 0f the death
of Saphadin weakened the forces of the garrison, and
Camel, younger son of Elsiebede, 10rd of the fertile coun-
try of the N ile, was compelled to seek refuge in Arabia.
The first success of the crusaders was followed by disaster
and discord ; and When after a siege of seventeen months
Damietta was taken, they found in pestilence and famine
more terrible foes than in the sixty thousand Moslems that
had perished beneath their swords.

Queen Isabella was seated in her former apartment in
the castle of Valence describing to her daughter the person
of the young King of England and his noble brother the
Prince Richard, and painting to the imagination of the
child the charms of the infant Princess Isabella, When the
horn of the warder rang out shrill and clear on the evening
air. The window of the turret commanded the View of the
drawbridge. From that window where, eighteen years be-
fore, Isabella had watched with delight for the return of
her gay knightly lover, she now beheld with palpitating
heart the advance of a jaded, weary troop, at whose head
rode one whose proud crest drooped as though the inspira-
tion of hope had ceased to animate the warrior—frame, and
the heart bereft of the blissful fervor of love no longer an-
ticipated the sweet guerdon of his lady’s smile. A tide of
recollections swept over her spirit; dizzy and faint she
sank upon a seat in the embrasure 0f the window, and
veiled her agitation in the curtaining drapery. She heard
his tread upon the stair, no longer the elastic step that she
had been wont to welcome with the Sportive gaiety of a

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

300 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

heart free from care ; the door was thrown open, her daugh-
ter with bounding footstep so like her own in former days,
flew to meet him as he entered. She saw the childish fin-
gers unlace the helmet, unbind the gorget, unbelt the sword,
and lay aside the armor. The form of the warrior was
slightly bent, there were furrows upon the sunburnt cheek,
deep lines upon the noble brow, and threads of silver among
his dark locks. A heavy sigh was the first salutation of
his little bride. He drew the fair girl to him and pressed
his lip upon her cheek, but the anxious observer Saw that
the 100k and the smile were the expression rather of pater-
nalvregard than of lover-like fondness ; they were not such
as had lighted up his countenance and’ kindled in his eyes
When with gleesome alacrity she had rendered him the
same gentle service. Her agitation subsided, and when
the little J oanna took the hand of the Count 1a Marehe, and
led him forward to present him to her mother, she receive&
his embarrassed greeting with the stately courtesy of a
queen and the dignity of a woman. The marvellous beauty
that won for Isabella the appellation of the “ Helen of the
middle ages” soon eclipsed the infant graces of the prin-
cess, and reinstated her in the heart once all her own. We
accordingly fimi in the records of the year 1220, that “ Isa-
bella, Queen Dowager of England, having before crossed
the seas, took to her husband her former spouse, the Count
of Marche, in France, without leave of the king, her son, or
his cormcil.”

Notwithstanding this romantic change in their relations,
Joanna continued to reside at the castle of Valence, under
the care of the gallant count, Who remained her steady
friend and protector. She was of infinite service to her
parents and her country. .The English were greatly in-
censed at the marriage of Isabella, and the council of the
regency withheld her jointure as the widow of John, and
neither the representations nor threats of her valiant hus-
band could induce them to repair the wrong. A war soon
after occurred between England and Scotland, and Alex-
ander II., the chivalrie descendant of Maude, declared that

ISABELLA. _ 301

he could not trust the strength of a political treaty without
the bond of a union with the royal family of England.
King Henry therefore despatched a messenger with an af-
fectionate letter to his mother, demanding the restoration
of his sister. Count 1a Marche refused to resign the gum"
dianship of his lovely stepdaughter until the dower of his
wife should be restored. The young king had then recourse
to Pope Honorius HL, traducing his mother and her hus-
band in no measured terms, and praying him to lay upon
them the ban of excommunication. By a process almost
as tedious as the present “law’s delays,” the pope investi-
gated the affair, till Alexander becoming impatient, Henry
was glad to accommodate the matter by paying up the ar-
rears of his mother’s dower. The little princess was then
sent to England, and married to Alexander IL, at York,
1221. She was a child of angelic beauty and sweetness,
and though only eleven years of age, had thus twice stopped
a cruel war. The English styled her Joan Makepeace.
The domestic bliss of Count Hugh and Isabella was less
exquisite than might have been anticipated from the con-
stancy of his love, and the romantic revival of her attach-
ment: nor did the birth and education of eight beautiful
children concentrate their affections 0r afford suflicient
scope for their ambitious aspirations. Differences con-
stantly arose between the King of France and her son
Henry, and it was often the duty of her husband to fight
in behalf of Louis, his liege-lord, against her former sub-
jects 0f Aquitaine. It was her sole study, therefore, to
render French Poitou independent of the King of France.
She “was a queen,” she said, “and she disdained to be the
wife of a man who had to kneel before another.” Causes
of mortification on this point were constantly occurring.
Count 1a Marche sought to obviate the difficulty by allying
his family with the blood royal. He offered his eldest
daughter in marriage to the brother of the French king,
but the prince refused her, and gave his hand to Jane of
Toulouse. On this occasion the king made his brother
Count of Poictiers, and thus it became necessary for Count

 

 

302 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

-Hugh and his haughty wife to fill the role of honor, and do
homage to the young couple as their suzerains. From this
time forward the unfortunate count found that the only
way to secure domestic peace was to make perpetual war
upon the dominions of his sovereign. As a good soldier
and a ]oya1 knight who hangs his hopes upon a woman’s
smile, he perseveringly followed the dangerous path till he
was utterly dispossessed 0f castle and patrimony, feudatory
and vassal. There remained then ,no resource but to cast
themselves upon the charity of the good king. The repen-
tant count first despatched his eldest son to the camp of

, Louis, and encouraged by the gracious reception of the youth,

,5 soon followed with the remainder of his family. The mon-
arch compassionated their miserable situation, and granted

to his rebellious subject three castles on the simple con-
dition of his doing homage for them to Alphonso, Count of

Poictiers. After this humiliating concession, Count Hugh
was disposed to dwell in quietness : but the restless spirit
of Isabella was untamed by disaster. The life of King
Louis was twice attempted, and the assassins being seized
and put to the torture, confessed that they had been bribed
to the inhuman deed by the dowager Queen of England.
Alarmed for the consequences, she fled for safety to the
abbey of Fontevraud, where, says a contemporary chroni-
clei‘, “ She was hid in a secret chamber, and lived at her
ease, though the Poietevins and French considering her
as the cause of the disastrous war with their king, called

her by no other name than J ezebel, instead of her rightful
appellation of Isabel.” Notwithstanding the disgrace and
defeat that Count Hugh had suffered, no sooner was the
fair fame of his wife attacked than he once more girded on
his sword and appealed to arms to prove the falsehood 0f
the accusation upon the body of Prince Alphonso. Little
inclined to the fray, Alphonso declared contemptuously,
that the Count 1a Marche was so “ treason-spotted” it would
be disgrace to fight with him. Young Hugh, the son of

Isabella, then threw down the gage in defence of his
mother’s reputation, but the cowardly prince again de-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ISABELLA. 303

clined, a1] eging that the infamy of the family rendered the
young knight unworthy s0 distinguished an honor.

The last interview between Hugh de Lusignan, Count 1a.
Marche, and Isabella of Angouléme, ex-Queen of England,
took place in the general reception room in the convent of
Fontevraud. The dishonored noble sought his wife to ac-
quaint her with the ruin of all their worldly prospects and
the stain upon their knightly escutcheon. The last tones
that he heard from those lips that once breathed tenderness
and love were words of indignant upbraiding ahd heart-
broken despair. All his attempts at consolation were re--
pulsed with cruel scorn. She tore herself violently from
his last fond embrace, sought again the secret chamber and
assumed the veil, and for three years sister Felice, most in-
aptly so named, was distinguished among the nuns by her
lengthened penances and multiplied prayer}.

The land of his nativity no longer possessed any attrac-
tions for the bereaved and disappointed count. All the as—
sociations of his youth became sources of painful reflection,
and anxious to escape from the scenes where every familiar
Object was but a monument of a buried hope, he deter-
mined to share the crusade which St. Louis was preparing
against the Infidel. He fell, covered with wounds and
glory in one of the eastern battles, fighting beside his old
antagonist Alphonso Count of Poictiers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

VIOLANTE.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER I.

"’Twas but for a moment—and yet in that time
She crowded the impressions of many an hodr:
Her eye had a glow, like the sun of her clime,
Which waked every feeling at once into flower 1”

THE fall of Constantinople had not been without its
effect upon eastern politics. The christian Prince of Anti-
och acknowledged the feudal superiority of Baldwin, the
new Emperor, and Saphadin, the Sultan of Syria, justly
apprehended that an easy and ready communication being
thus opened with Europe through the Greek Empire, the
splendid conquest might result in the carrying out of the
original plan upon Palestine. To avert this danger, he re-
paired t0 Antioch to conclude, if possible, a treaty for six
years’ peace with the Christians. The sons of Elsiebede
were permitted to accompany the army of their father on
his most distant expeditions; and through the enlightened
policy of Saphadin, 0r Saif Addin, during his absence, con-
trary t0 the usual Oriental Observances, the Moorish Euro-
pean filled the office of regent of Jerusalem. Under her
benign administration the pilgrims had access to the holy
places, and protection in the practice of all the rites of
Christianity. Salaman, whose self-rcomplacency and curi-
osity gave him a benevolent interest in all matters pertain-
ing to politics, humanity, or religion, was the usual medium
of communication between the empress and those who had
occasion to solicit favors from her hand. He was the Mer-
cury to convey safe conducts, the Apollo to usher petition-
ers into her presence.

The garb 0f the pilgrim had consequently become to her
a familiar sight, and it was therefore without surprise that
she saw her attendant enter with a toil-wom man leaning

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

308 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

upon a palmer’s staff. Her beneficence to the Christians,
and her affability towards all her dependents had made
her a frequent listener to the tales of pilgrims, and intent
upon her own thoughts she heard with an abstracted air the
story of the mendicant, till he uttered the name of Richard.
Instantly she was all attention.

The old man had been the confessor of Henry II., but
won by the cordial frankness and generous impulses of
Coeur de Lion, he availed himself of every opportunity af-
forded by his intimacy with Henry to forward the interests
of the young prince. The king had confided t0 the priest,
as his spiritual father, his attachment to the fair and frail
Alice of France ; and the monk had betrayed the secret of
the'confessional to Prince Richard. By a law of Henry 1.,
all priests guilty of this crime were condemned to perpetual
wandering, and Richard, in his first agony and remorse, at
the death of his father, caused the penalty to be strictly

. enforced. The poor monk, therefore, had for nearly twenty

years practised a weary piligrimage from one holy place to
another, resting in monasteries, walking unshod before
shrines 0f peculiar sanctity, and kneeling or watching in
every cave or hermitage where the hallowed remains of a
saint might be supposed to avail for his absolution. Pur-
sued thus by the furies of remorse, and the curses 0f the
church, he had visited the shrines of St. Wulstan, St. Dun-
stan, St. Thomas of Canterbury, St. J ames of Compostella,
the crucifix 0f Lucca, the congregated Saints at Rome, the
cave of St. Cyprian in Africa, and had now come to pray
God to release his soul at the church of the Holy Sepulchre.

At the mention of St. J ames of Compostella, Elsiebede
seemed agitated, and when the monk ceased his story, she
anxiously inquired Whether in his travels through. Spain,
he had rested in Pampeluna.

“ I tarried there some days,” returned the pilgrim, “ but
it is several years since, and but for a strange circumstance
it might have faded from my memory; for he who thinks
ever upon his own sins has little leisure to study that which
pleases or benefits others.”

VIOLAN'I‘E. 309

“ Relate to me this circumstance,” cried Elsiebede,
eagerly.

“ As I knelt at high mass,” resumed the priest, “ a. noble
lady, closely veiled, bowed at the altar by my side. When
the solemn ceremony was over, and she rose to depart, an
attendant whispered me to follow. She led the way to her
oratory in the palace of the king, where she showed me
that she was the widow of my deceased lord, Richard
Coeur de Lion.”

“My dear lady Berengaria,” exclaimed Elsiebede, the
tears falling from her eyes like rain.

“ It was, indeed, that honored queen,” ’said the pilgrim;
“who learning that I had loved and served the noblest
prince in Christendom, sent for me to confess the follies of
her past life, and t0 entreat me to perform for her in Pales-
tine certain vows which she had made during the long
and painful imprisonment of her royal husband. It was
her purpose to expiate her own sins by a life of voluntary
penitence and devotion in the convent of L’Espan: but
before retiring from the world, she desired to make one
more effort for the people of God in the Holy Land. She
made me acquainted, therefore, most noble lady, with thy
former estate in her household, and how God had exalted
thee to be the spouse of a. prince and ruler, as he did afore-
time the royal Esther, who came to be Queen of Persia.
She bade me remind thee 0f the kindness that had been
shown thee, when thou wert a stranger in a strange land,
and she commendeth her love to thee by this precious
jewel, that thou mayest look upon it, and show mercy to
those who are ready to perish for the faith of our holy
church.” With a pious precision that mocked the impa-
tience 0f Elsiebede, he drew from his scrip a small reliquary
which he slowly unclasped, and taking thence the magic
ring, around which clustered so many associations, pre-
sented it to the Sultana. Salaman, who had lost not a
motion nor a word of the pilgrim, at sight of the ring, for-
got the respectful observance that had been enforced since
his residence at the eastern court, pressed forward and

 

 

310 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

gazed upon the precious talisman. The emotions of Elsie-
bede precluded utterance, and the monk waited her reply
in silence, till Salaman comprehending her wishes in the
matter, accompanied the pilgrim to the house of the patri-
arch, and made the necessary arrangements for the per-
formance of his vows.

The gratitude of Elsiebede for the return of her long-
loved, long-lost treasure, bringing before her as it did,
the image of her widowed mistress, and the tender sym—
pathy, which years of intimacy had engendered, warmed
her heart still more to the Christians, and she studied
to inculcate in the minds of her children, an amicable dis-
position towards the Latin inhabitants of Palestine.

The sister of Sybille, Isabella, firstly, widow of Conrad,
secondly, widow of Henry, Count of Champagne, and
thirdly, widow ofAlmeric 0f Lusignan, the tWelfth King
of Jerusalem, at last died,1eaving her proud pretensions
and her disputed possessions to Mary, her daughter by
Conrad. Alice, her daughter by Henry, was married to
Hugh of Lusignan, the son of her last husband, and had
been already proclaimed Queen of Cyprus. The claim of
Mary, therefore, to the throne of Jerusalem was undisputed,
and as. Palestine was at that time without 10rd 0r ruler
worthy to sway the ideal sceptre that cost so much blood
and treasure, the Bishop of Acre, and the Lord of Cesarea
were deputed by the christian knights to wait upon Philip
Augustus, King of France, and demand of him a husband
for the young princess.

WVhiie the potentates of Palestine and Europe were thus
occupied in the benevolent enterprise of procuring her a.
husband, the orphan, Mary, dwelt quietly at Acre; and it
occurred to the politic Saif-Eddin, that a union between
the young princess and his eldest son, Cohr—Eddin7 might
cement a peace between Syria and Palestine. The ambi-
tious youth became very much interested in the affair, and
readily entered into his parent’s plan for his aggrandizement.

The magnificent embassy despatched by the Emperor of
the East, to demand the hand of the fair heiress for his son,

 

 

 

 

 

“w": , , “W: _. . w,.,,fl<,~g,—M»,v-«w;.~___w 7 wwh- .» -.

 

 

VIOLANTE. 311

set out fromDamascus loaded With most rare and costly gifts.
Cohr-Eddin, with the enthusiasm of a lover, determined to ex-
ercise the liberty of the European princes and gain an inter-
view With his intended bride. Before setting out he received
from his mother a fragment of the true cross, and thus armed
with what he thought would render him irresistible to the
christian maiden, he rode gaily along at the head of the splen-
did cavalcade, beguiling the way in converse With a cele-
brated Howadji, learned in the precepts of the Koran, and in
the gorgeous and metaphorical fictions of eastern poetry.

In the desert, as in the sea, the eye takes in a vast circle
Without obstruction from forest or dwelling: the scouts
0n the second day, therefore, easily discerned, far in the
rear, a solitary horseman upon a. fleet Arabian barb. He
did not, however, join the troop, but passing it to the north,
disappeared in the distance ere conjecture had settled upon
his identity, or the cause of his sudden apparition.

When the hour for evening prayers arrived, on the last
day of the journey, the co'rtége turned aside into a small
grove of palms, and sought refreshment by a fountain,
Which threw up its clear waters, and With untiring voice,
warbled its perpetual hymn. The breath of the evening
was scented by the odor of the sorrowful nyctanthes, and
as they entered, they observed that the place had been ren~
dered sacred by the burial of one whose marble tomb, des-
titute of name or inscription, was shaded by the tender
leaves of the sensitive mimosa.

The repast being over, the story-loving Saracens gathered
around the Howadji, Who continued to unfold the stores
of his learning, descanting upon the beauties of the place,
and the infiuen ces 0f the sta1~s,that, like the generations of
the earth, follow each other in solemn procession, through
the heavens ; and drawing from his memory gems of poetry
appropriate to the time and occasion. Thus said he :-

“ Open thine eyes to consider the Narcissus,
Thou wouldst say it is the circle of the Pleiades around the sun;
Yet since the Rose has removed the veil from before her cheek,
The Narcissus has become all eyes to gaze upon her.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

312 HEROINES or mm CRUSADES.

" The Violet has felt humbled and concealed her head under the purple man-
tle that covers her;
One would-say that the verdure has formed beneath her feet inviting unto
prayer.”

“ Yet as the sun among the stars, and the rose among the flowers of the gar-
den, '
So is the Beloved to the partial eyes of the lover.”

A voice singing or chanting in the Persian, seemed to
reply from the precincts of the tomb :—

“ Child of Adam, heir of worldly glory, let not Hope deceive thee,
For I passed an undistinguished grave in the midst of a garden,
And the narcissus, and the rose, and the violet clustered round it,
And the star-like anemone shed its red light upon it.

And I said, whose tomb is this?
And the soil answered,
Be respectful, for this is the resting-place of a. lover.”

“ So I said, God keep thee, oh ! victim of love,
For thou hast fallen beneath the simoom of passion,
Or perished with the mildew of disappointment.”

The voice ceased—the company waited in silence for the
renewal of the sontr: but the nightingale alone took up the
strain, and the spreading of the tents and the sweet slum-
ber that falls upon the weary, efi'aced the remembrance of
the mysterious serenade from the minds of all but 00hr-
Eddin. A superstitious fear weighed upon the spirit of
the lover, and haunted his imagination. It was destiny
warning him of disappointment, it was a rival triumphing
in his chagrin; in either case it argued ill for the success
of his suit, and robbed him of his rest.

When they set forward the following morning, they
again caught a glimpse of the unknown cavalier, spurring
on before them, and a messenger, mounted on the fleetest
steed of the party, was despatched to overtake the stranger,
and learn his purpose. The mission was unsuccessful, and
the affair was passed over in silence.

The embassy was received with great distinction by the
christian lords in charge of Acre. The advantages of the

VIOLANTE. 313

proposed alliance were such as carried conviction to the
most obtuse minds. The ardor 0f the lover, enforced by
his presence, and by an animation unusual to the formal
Orientals, gave to the Templai‘s the strongest hopes of be-
ing able to make their own terms With the Sultan, and they
eagerly advocated the propriety of a betrothal between the
parties, before the messengers could return from Europe
with the husband provided by the French king.

But as the Princess Mary had been made fully aware of
the importance of her hand to Christendom, and as her
imagination might have been captivated by the glowing
descriptions of the western knight Who should lay his honors
at her feet, the affair was considered of too delicate a char-
acter to admit of their interference : they concluded,
therefore, to leave the lover to plead his own cause with
the proud queen.

As Cohr-Eddin was conducted to the hall of audience,
he encountered an individual, whose person seemed famil-
iar, but whose face was studieusly concealed, and who evi-
dently sought to escape observation. When he entered
the royal presence the lady appeared agitated, and despite
her efforts at self-control tears forced themselves from her
eyes, yet the unpropitious omen at the same time gave
such a subdued and tender expression to her lustrous
beauty, that the young Moslem acknowledged at once the
power of her charms. But neither the stately courtesy,
nor the florid flatteries of eastern compliment, nor the rich
presents which he laid at her feet, nor the tempting offer
of the crown matrimonial of Syria, nor even the piece of
sacred wood Which he brought to back his suit, had power
to move the heart of the christian maiden. She steadfastly
plead her engagement to abide by the arrangements of her
ambassadors. The penetrating Saracen perceived, how-
ever, that it was the state of her affections, and not her
principles that made his case utterly hopeless. He could
not escape the suspicion that the mysterious horseman
was in some way connected with his disappointment; but
as he could not learn the name or rank of his rival, his

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

‘314 ‘EEROINEs-OF fen CRUSADEs

Wounded pride had not the usual alleviation of meditatea
revenge. ‘

On his return to Damascus, he found that during his
absence a division of the Empire had been determined
upon; that his younger brother had been made Suitan of
Egypt, while to himself was committed the sovereignty of
Syria and Palestine.

Affairs were in this posture When Jean de Brienne, the
nobleman designated by Philip Augustus, with a train of
three hundred knights arrived at Acre. The next day he
received the hand of Mary in marriage, and shortly after.
Wards was crowned King of Jerusalem.

CHAPTER 11.

“Death grinned horribly
A ghastly smile.”—

 

A FEW years of unsuccessful conflict with the politic and
warlike Saphadin, sufficed to acquaint the new king With
the condition of affairs in Palestine. He displayed his
valor in many a fierce encounter, and saved his states from
utter annihilation, but he foresaw the approaching ruin of
the holy cause, and wrote a letter to the pope, stating that
the kingdom of Jerusalem consisted only of two or three
towns, Which by a Vigorous action on the part of his foes,
might be wrested from him at any moment.

Innocent III. answered by a circular letter, calling on all
the sovereigns and clergy 0f Christendom, to seek a crown
of glory in the sacred wars of Palestine ; and by an epistle
t0 Sapha‘din, in Which he reminded the powerful Infidel,
that the Holy Land was in the possession of the Mussul-
mans, not on account of their Virtues9 but the sins of the
Christians. The anger of Heaven, howeVer, he said, was
tempered With mercy, and the time Was at hand When that

VIOLA‘NTE. 315

mercy would be shown in an especial manner, and he
finished by exhorting the Sultan to resign peacefully, a
country which was a source of more inconvenience than
profit to the Moslems.

As the dignified Saracen made no overtures 01" capitula-
tion, the pope found it necessary to put this boasted mercy
to the proof, and the Sim]; 07msade was accordingly preach-
ed in every church of Eu‘rope. A general council was
held in the palace of the Lateran, AD. 1215, for the im-
portant but dissimilar purposes of crowning Frederic II.
grandson of Frederic Barbarossa, and for chastising vice
in its various forms and condemning heresy in all its
phases, and also for the sake of inducing princes and people
to join the expedition to the Holy Land.

“There were present the Patriarchs of Constantinople
and Jerusalem, the ambassador of the Patriarch of Antioch,
seventyfour metropolitan primates, and three hundred and
forty bishops. The abbots and friars numbered eight
hundred, but the representatives of the higher clergy could
not be calculated. The Emperor of Constantinople, the
Kings of France, England, Hungary, Jerusalem, Arragon,
and the sovereigns of many other countries, were repre-
sented in the assembly.”

After the general interests of the church had been con-
sidered and the heretics summarily given over to all the
miseries of this life, and the pains of that to come, war
against the Saracens, was declared to be the most sacred
duty of the European wOrld. The usual privileges and in-
dulgences were accorded to the pilgrims, all tournaments
during the three years appointed for the crusade, were pro-
hibited, and universal peace was decreed, to all christian
kingdoms for the same period. Frederic II. was crowned
on condition ofjoining the expedition.

The troubadonrs again took down their harps, and the
voice of song echoing through castle and hall aroused the
enthusiasm of youth, and awoke the slumbering energies
‘of age. The pontiff himself declared his intention of visit-
ing the Holy Land, and the warriors said one to another,

 

316 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

“ Let us spread our sacred banners and pass the seas ; let
us impress upon our bodies the sign of the cross; let us
restore Christ to his inheritance, and by 0111‘ deeds of arms
merit the admiration of men, and the approbation 0f Heav-
en.”

 

This crusade is divided into three parts. The expedition
of Andrew H. King of Hungary; the war in Egypt, led
by the Pope’s legate and King Jean ; and the campaign of
the Emperor Frederic II., the first two divisions with their
multiplied and sanguinary events, shaping the destiny and
afl'ecting the fortunes of Violante, the infant daughter of
J 01111 de Brienne and Mary, King and Queen of J erusalem.

Not long after Philip Augustus furnished from his d0—
minions s0 Wise and noble a knight to protect the rights of
Mary and Jerusalem, he was called upon to exercise again
his royal prerogative of match-maker and king-maker by
deputies from Constantinople.

The first Latin sovereign of the Greek Empire, Baldwin
of Flanders, left his crown to his brother Henry. This
prince dying without children, the next heir was his sister
Yolande, widow of a French noble, and mother-in-law to
Andrew H. King of Hungary. But the sceptre of empire

. in Constantinople, as well as in Jerusalem, could be swayed
only by the firm hand of a warrior, and the deputies be-
sought Philip Augustus to provide at once a husband
for Yolande, and an emperor for the throne of the Caesars.
The choice fell upon Peter Courtenay, cousin of the French
king. The bridegroommmonarch elect, was conducted by
a noble retinue t0 the Court of Hungary, where the mar-
riage ceremony was performed by the successor of Inno-
cent, Pope Honorius III. King Andrew then, in setting
off for the crusade, accompanied the bridal party, dignified
by the presence of the sovereign pontiff to the gates of
Constantinople, where he witnessed the august ceremony
of investing the monarch with the imperial purple, and
saw the pope place the diadem 0f the East upon the head
of his royal father-in—law. From Constantinople the Hun.-
garian leader sailed for Cyprus, where he was admitted to

 

 

 

 

 

'_< AM‘ : , _*W~—.._fi

 

VIOLANTE. 317

an audience, With Hugh and Alice, king and queen of that
island and thence with favorable winds passed over the
Levant, and landed in safety at Acre.

This city was at that time the metropolis of the Holy
Land, and in the palace formerly occupied by the queens
Berengaria and Joanna, the stern western warriors knelt
and did homage to Violante, the young Princess of Pales-
tine. Saphadin had retired from the constant toils of roy-
alty, and blessed With the respect of his people, and the
sweet affection of Elsiebede, resided in security at Damas-
cus. ,

Cohr-Eddin, the reigning monarch, unprepared for the
sudden invasion of his territories, was unable to call to-
gether his scattered tribes in sufficient force to hazard a.
general battle With the croises. The King of Hungary
therefore led his army unmolested across “ that ancient
river, the river Kishon,” over the plain of Jezreel, to the
valley of the Jordan. They bathed in the sacred river;
made the piigrimage 0f the lake Gennesareth ; Visited the
scenes made sacred by the miracles of the Saviour, and
returned to Acre.

On the mount of Transfiguration the Saracens had built
and fortified a tower of exceeding strength, and the sol-
diers, anxious to achieve something worthy the expedition,
clamored to be led to the siege of this fortress; but hordes
of armed Mussulmans were every day crowding t0 the Vi-
cinity, and the restless Andrew, afraid to undertake any-
thing further, resolved on a return to Europe.

Neither the entreaties nor threats of the Latin Christians,
Who had received him with hospitality, and exhausted their
supplies in his entertainment, could persuade him to ven-
ture a blow for Palestine. Taking with him most of his
soldiers, he returned through the Greek Empire, collecting
relics from every holy place on his route, having so impov-
erished his kingdom by the expenses of the expedition,
that it did not for years recover its pristine state. Thus
ended the first division of the Sixth Crusade.

Still the Latins of Palestine were not left destitute. The

 

 

 

318: HEROINES OF THE GRUSADES.

Duke of Austria remained with a company of German
crusaders, and the next year, when a-reinforcernent arrived,
King Jean de Brienne with the Templars and Hospitaliers,
decided to transfer the seat of war to the dominions 0f
Melech Camel, the youngest son of Saphadin and E1sie~
bede. Damietta was considered the key of Egypt, and.
thither the crusaders sailed in the month of May, A.D. 1216.
A gallant band, selected from every nation in the army, led
the assault against the citadel on St. Bartholomew’s day.
The garrison defended themselves with valor, but finally
capitulated, and the rest of the city was looked upon as an
easy conquest.

It was at this time that the Counts Le Marche and Nev-
ers arrived at the head of the French division‘of the cru-
sade, but notwithstanding this new importation of knightly
valor, the siege of Damietta went on but slowly. The
legate of the pope advanced a claim to the oflice of com-
mander-in-chief in right of his spiritual superiority; the
Syrian Christians rallied around their King Jean de Bri-
enne, and the French would yield obedience to none but
their native leaders. Thus the captured castle of Damietta.
became a very Babel, from the confusion of tongues. Sev-
enteen months were passed in furious attacks and idle
skirmishes. The Saracens fought many we11~contested bat-
tles with the Christians in their camp, but the issue of most
of these conflicts was disastrous to the Moslems.

While the valiant Melech Camel was thus engaged in
the gallant defence of his dominions, the death of Saif—Ed-
din deprived him of the counsels and assistance of the most
successful Chieftain that ever ruled the East.

When the news of the sad event reached Egypt, the sub—
jects 0f the Sultan withdrew from their allegiance and
joined the standard of a young Emir who attempted to
make the sufferings of his country the means of his own
aggrandizement. Melech Camel, obliged to escape for
safety, fled over to Arabia, and thence directed his course
toward Syria. Passing through El-akof, or territory of the
winding sands, he came to the valley of Kadesh, where he

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_ '3"; , myg—w—s-—,¢»tvqurw,

 

VIOLANTE. 319

deseried a caravan encamped for the night. In doubt
whether the convoy was guarded by the tributaries of his
brother, or by a hostile tribe of Bedouins, he cautiously ap-
proached the well around Which tethered horses and mules
were browsing upon the scanty herbage, and multitudes of
camels were lying in quiet repose. White tents like a set-
ting of pearls around a central diamond encircled a silken
pavilion of unrivalled magnificence, 0n the top of Which
gleamed a silver crescent, at once the symbol of the Mos-
iem faith, and the reflection of its bright archetype in the
sky. The watch-fires burned low, and no sounds of life
broke the profound silence that reigned throughout the ex-
tended realm of night. Dismounting and throwing the
rein of his steed across his arm, to be prepared for any
emergency, he advanced stealthiiy to the entrance of the
circle. As he lifted the awning a small, dark, misshapen
figure, like the fabled genii that guard the treasures of the
East, rose up before him, and one glance at the ugly but
welcome visage 0f Salaman assured him that he was among
friends. The intelligence which he received from the faith-
ful black, was even more gratifying than his appearance.
The caravan was laden With provisions for the suffering 801'
diers in Egypt. Elsiebede herself occupied the royal pavil-
ion, and CohrEddin was levying forces to come to the
rescue of Damietta. Salaman led the way to a tent Where,
after listening to these satisfactory details, the fugitive
monarch was left to the enjoyment of a repose to which he
had long been stranger. L

The meeting between Elsiebede and her favorite and un-
fortunate son, was of the most tender character. She ac-
quainted him With the particulars of his father’s death, and
of the affairs that disturbed the peace of the empire.
When Cohr-Eddin, returning from his unsuccessful suit to
the heiress of Jerusalem, found that his brother had been
sent to Egypt, he was confirmed in the suspicion that his
rival was no other than Melech Camel. He recalled the
figure of the solitary horseman, the voice at the tomb, and
the disguised stranger, and, incensed at the thought that

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

320 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

his brother had supplanted him in the afi'ections offhez
princess, he determined to pursue him to his newdomin-
ions and take summary vengeance upon him. To soothe;
the irritated and jealous feelings of'O‘ohr-Eddin, Elsiebede
had been under the necessity of revealing the secret which
her younger son had confided to her on the eve of his de—
parture for Egypt, namely, his early attachment for Mary
formed during a residence at the Latin court, the hope he
had cherished 0f uniting the kingdoms by a. union with the
object of his affections, and the struggle it had cost him to
relinquish those pretensions. COhr-Eddin, less noble than
his brother, could scarcely be brought to credit the asser-
tion that C‘amel’s Visit to Acre had originated in a desire to
leave Mary free to accept his proposals, but as it was then
the festival of the Ramadan, in which it is not permitted:
for the faithful to make war upon each other, the execution
of his revenge was necessariiy delayed, and before the eX-
piration of the sacred period, his presence was requirect
upon the frontiers of his kingdom to repel the irruption Of'
the Mongols.

The timely relief afi‘brded by the stores of' the caravan?
and the warlike fame and forces of his brother, soon rein-
stated Camel in his possessions; but their united efforts
were insufficient to drive the Christians from Egypt. Be-
fore leaving Palestine, Cohr—Edd‘in apprehensive that his
own territories might 'be garrisoned against him, destroyed
the wall of Jerusalem, and broke down its defences with
the exception of the tower of'DaVid, and the temple of the,
sepul'chre ', and after many gallant battles, deeming it im«
possible to raise the siege of Damietta, he proposed to the
Crusaders peace. The Moslems, he said, would give up
the piece of the true cross, release all the Christian prison—
ers in Syria and Egypt,rebui1d the walls of Jerusalem, and
relinquish the sacred city to its Latin king, John de
Brienne.

The French and the Germans hailed with joy the pros—
pect of a speedy termination of the war”; but the fanatical

VIOLANTE. 321

devotees of the church, the Templars, legates, and bishops
were deaf t0 the counsels of moderation, and it was decided
to pursue the siege with Vigor.

Damietta was taken; but with such determined valor
had the Moslems defended their city, that of the popula-
tion, which, at the commencement of the siege, consisted of €
seventy thousand souls, scarce three thousand upon the
day of final attack appeared upon the ramparts. A gate
was forced, and the warriors of the cross rushed forward to
commence the work of plunder. They met neither a re-
sistant nor a suppliant enemy. The awful silence struck a
chill upon their souls. They passed along the deserted
streets. The waysides were strewn with dead bodies in
every state of putrescence. They entered the dwellings.
. In every room ghastly corpses, with visages shrunken by
famine 01' bloated by pestilence,g1ared upon them. Turk
and Mameluke, Copt and Arab, master and servant, rich
and poor, were heaped in undistinguished masses, the
dying with the dead. Infants appealing in vain to the
pulseless breasts 0f famished mothers,1ifted their feeble
cries for sustenance -, dogs ran about the streets, and pesti-
lential effluvia rose like an exhalation from the vast chamel-
house, whose appalling stillness the Christians had invaded
with songs of triumph and rejoicing. They had overcome
the Moslems, but they found the conqueror Death seated on
the throne of dominion. Awe-struck and ahashed they
fled from before the presence of the King Of Terrors, gladly
granting life and liberty to the surviving Moslems, 0n con-
dition of their performing the horrid and melancholy task
of cleansing the city from the remains of their relatives
and friends.

The way into Palestine was now open, and King J ean
proposed to the victorious Christians to march immediately
thither ; but the legate 0f the pope insisted that the com-
plete conquest of Egypt should first be effected. His arro-
gance overruled wiser counsds, and it was resolved to
pursue Melech Camel to Cairo. The croises accordingly
advanced on the eastern bank of the N ile, till their progress

21

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

.
322 ‘ HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

was arrested by the canal of Ashmoun: 0n the south side of
which the forces of Islam Were stationed. Every emir of
Syria had sent assistance to Melech, and the Latins were pre
vented from leaving their position, till the period of the
annual influx of the Nile, when the Mussulmans opened
their sluices, inundated their enemy’s camp, cut off all
communication with the sea-coast, and enclosed them like
fish in a net. The tents and baggage were swept away;
the provisions spoiled, the terrible scourge that had de-
stroyed the inhabitants of Damietta, appeared in the camp,
and the humbled Christians made overtures of peace,
promising to evacuate Egypt, on condition of being per
mitted to return in safety to Acre. The generous Melech
Camel acceded to this proposal. Hostages were exchanged
for the performance of the treaty, and the noble King of
Jerusalem, together with his wife and their daughter,
Violante, were among the number.

The Sultan of Egypt received his guests with distinguish-
ed honor, and provided for their princely entertainment
in Cairo. As the sympathetic Latin chief took leave of his
sufi‘ering followers, tears overflowed his manly cheeks.
“Why do you weep ?” exclaimed the compassionate
sultan. “ I have cause to weep,” returned the king, “ the
people whom God has given to my charge, are perishing
amidst the waters, dying with hunger, or falling a prey to
the pestilence.” “ Despairnot,” replied the noble Melech,
“ for what saith the proverb '9 ‘TO everything there is an
end,’ therefore, mourn not, for misfortunes shall find a.
termination.” He turned to his soldiers, and gave orders
that the granaries of Egypt should be opened for their suf-
fering foes. ‘

As the royal hostages approached the palace of the SuL
tan, they were preceded by troops of vassals, called ap-
paritors, who, sword in hand and with great clamor, led
them through narrow and winding passages, where at every
gate cohorts of armed Ethiupians, bowed with their faces
in the dust before the Sultan, and welcomed his triumphant
return, with the harsh dissonance 0f the Saracen drum,

VIOLANTE. 323

and the shrill tones of the Syrian pipe. They entered next
upon a broader space open to the clear light of day, where
were galleries wainscoted with gold, and ornamented with
marble pillars and sculptured images of the 01d Egyptian
deities; and paved With mosaics of colored stone. There
were basins filled with limpid waters, which glided in
shining streams over rocks arranged to resemble the ravines
and grottoes of the wilderness. The branches of the olive,
pomegranate and fig were loaded With fruit, and the place
resounded with the warhling of birds of varied and gor-
geous plumage; while through vistas pleasantly opening
to them as they passed, the eye caught glimpses of artificial
forests in which bounded the silver—footed antelope, and the
bright-eyed gazelle, with multitudes of graceful and beauti—
t'ul animals, “ Such as painters imagine in the wantonness
of their art, such aspoetic fancies describe, such as we see
in dreams, and such as are found only in the lands of the
Orient and the South.” The open court turned upon a cor-
ridor, and at the entrance beneath a crystal floor, there rolled
a clear stream through which the glittering gold fish sport—
ed, and the mottled trout pursued the shining insects with
restless avidity. The little Violante unpractised in the de-
ceits of art, lifted her robe and Stepped daintily upon the
glassy surface, as if to lave her tiny feet in the translucent
waters. Finding that the firm basis yielded not to the
tread, she passed on with a puzzled look of surprise and
pleasure, till her attention was attracted by the sound of
a multitude of voices, and melodious harpings with Which
the satellites of the ante-chamber greeted their approach.
Bands of Mamelukes dressed in robes of the greatest magw
nificence, prostrated themselves thrice before their Sultan,
and then raised their feathery wands to bar the progress of
the train to the inner court of the harem. The gates rolled
back upon their golden hinges, and a troop 0f maidens
fair as the houries, approached to receive the christian fe-
males, while the Sultan with the king and his knights
turned away from the closing gates, like lost spirits ban-
ished from the bowers 0f Elysium.

 

324 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

Welcomed by the inmates of the seraglio, the royal
ladies were conducted to baths, where all sense of fatigue
was lost in the plastic embrace of the fragrant waters;
after which reclining upon couches they enjoyed delicious
repose, while their dark-eyed‘ attendants plaited their hair
according to the eastern fashion, and apparelled them with
the flowing and gracefuI drapery 0f the Egyptian court.
Thence they were ushered into a refectory, where seate&
upon divans, they regaled themselves with a simple c0113;
tion of cakes and fruits, inhaling the balmy air redolent
with accumulated sweets, gathered from the fragrant gar-
dens that bordered the N iIe. From the banquet room they
passed to an apartment magnificently adornefi with all the
appliances of Oriental luxury. Lofty windows admitted’
the light, which, shaded by curtains of varied colors, was
tempered to a soft radiance that filled the apartment with
an indefinable bloom. Suddenly the silken partitions in-
woven with pearls and gold in the midst of the hall, were
drawn aside, and Elsiebede, descending from a. canopied
throne, and resigning the stately dignity of’ the queen7
greeted her European guests With the gracious familiarity
that she had learned in the household of Richard Coeur de
Lion. Reclining upon cushions that ofl‘ered restand inspired
a soft languor, they listened to her sweet assurances of
favor uttered in the welcome language of Frangistan, 01°
watched the airy motions of Sportive girls, who keeping
time to the tinkling ornaments that decorated their delicate
limbs, sported before them in the joyous evolutions of the
dance. The unaffected grace of the little Violante, who
joined the performers, gave infinite delight to the almé 01'
learned women, who accompanied by the Syrian lute, sang
verses in compliment to the distinguished guests.

Upon the evacuation of' Egypt by the Christians, the
volunteers returned to Europe, and the Barons of Syria
and the military orders retired to Acre. The hostages
being new at liberty, the king set off for Palestine, leaving
his wife and child to travel by the imperial caravan, under
the safe conduct of the Sultana. He found his kingdom in

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

VIOLANTE. 325

a distracted state. The Templars were in effect the lords
of Palestine, and a cessation of hostilities with the Infidels,
was but a signal for the breaking out of animosities be
tween the rival Christians.

Disheartened with the gloomy aspect of things, the dis
consolate king sat in his palace at Acre, devising schemes
to mend his broken fortunes, each one of which, upon
mature consideration, he was forced to abandon as hope-
less and impracticable, when the Chamberlain entered
and presented a letter. The epistle was from Elsiebede,
and brought the melancholy intelligence of the death of
his beloved Mary, whose femains, preserved in wax, and
attended by her own christian maidens, had been brought
to Acre under the convoy of the fleet of Meleoh Game].
With the delicate tenderness of one who had tasted grief,
the Sultana dwelt upon the virtues of the deceased queen,
and consoled the bereaved husband with assurances that
her disease had been treated by the most learned leeches 0f
the royal household, and her last hours been blest with the
attendance of a christian priest, and the performance of
the rites enjoined by the christian faith. Concerning the
orphan, Violante, she continued, “Let the damsel, I pray
thee, abide with me, that I may show kindness unto her for
her mother’s sake. She shall have the nurture of a prin-
cess in the house of the Egyptian, for God hath made her
unto me as Moses to the daughter of Pharaoh. The an-
gel of the storm rideth upon the sea, while the Winter 1'e<
maineth, but when the queen of the flowers shall ascend
her throne of enamelled foliage, thou mayest require her,
and she shall come to thee, by the blessing of Allah (whose
name be exalted), and by the blessing also of thy prophet
Jesus, in whom thou trustest.”

The burial-gl'onnd of Acre was crowded with christian
graves. The best and noblest of the brave sons of the
West, champions and martyrs of the cross, had there gained
worthy sepulture; but it was meet that the Queen of Jeru-
salem should find her last resting-place among the ancient
kings of' that time-honored metropolis. By the favor of Cohr—

 

 

 

 

 

 

326 HEROINES OF THE-CRUSADEs

Eddin permission was gained to convey her body thither;
mass was said for her soul in the church of the Holy Sep-
ulchre ; her grave was made in the valley of Jehoshaphat;
and Christian and Saracen stood together in reverent si-
lence, while the Patriarch of Jerusalem committed “ Earth
to earth, and dust to dust,” to wait the morning of the
resurrection.

CHAPTER III.

“The death of those distinguished by their station,
But by their virtue more, awakes the mind
To solemn dread, and strikes a saddening awe.”

WHEN the loss of Damietta and the evacuation of Egypt
was known at Rome, Pope Honorius III. reproached the
emperor, Frederic II. with being the cause of the signal
failure of the christian arms in the East, and threatened
him with excommunication if he did not immediately ful-
fil his VOW, by leading his armies against the Infidel.
This insolence roused the indignation 0f the prince, and
excited him to hostility. He proceeded to claim the king~
dom 0f the two Sicilies, in right qf his mother, Constance,
and marching thither, drove out the partisans 0f the Holy
See, established bishops of his own choosing in the vacant
benefices, and even threatened to plunder Rome. Hono-
rius discovering that he had involved himself in strife
With a powerful enemy, wrote a conciliatory letter to the
emperor, saying, “ I exhort you, my dear son, to recall to
your recollection, that you are the protector of the Roman
Church; do not forget what you owe to that good mother,
and take pity on her daughter, the church of the East, which
extends towards you her arms, like an unfortunate, who has
no longer any hope but in you.”

Frederic, too much occupied in his plans for adding
Italy to the German Empire, to undertake a distant expedi<

VIOLANTE. 1327

tion that afforded so little prospect of an inCrease 0f patri-
mony 01‘ glory, was, notwithstanding, Willing to avail him-
self 0f the popular enthusiasm. He professed his intention
to obey the mandate of the holy father, and prepared for
the pious work, by causing his son Henry to be crowned
King of the Romans, and by adding the imperial tO-the
kingly dia‘dem upon his own head, 1220. It is even proba-
ble that the subjugation of Italy, and the assertion of the
rights of the temporal against the spiritual power, might
have prevented Frederic from ever attempting anything for
Palestine, had not the sagacious pontiff found an irresisti-
ble ally in the beautiful Violante, Queen of J erusalem.

Wearied 0f endeavoring to convert his marital rights to
the sovereignty of Jerusalem, into actual and firm ’ d0-
minion, Jean de Brienne listened to the suggestions of the
Roman legate, that his claims to the nominal crown might
be transferred with the hand of his daughter to some pow-
erful prince of Europe.

Accompanied by the patriarch of Jerusalem, Jean de
Brienne sailed for Egypt on his route to Italy. Meiech
Camel received his guests With a. pompous distinction cal—
culated to impress them With the security and prosperity
of his government; and Violante, whose sojourn With E1—
Siebede had been protracted to several years, welcomed her
father with the timid reserve consequent upon the harem-like
seclusion in Which she had been nurtured. Her dress was
Oriental, both in richness of material and peculiarity of
costume. She returned the king’s embrace gracefully and
affectionately, but When the patriarch fixed his admiring eyes
upon her, she instantly concealed her blushing countenance
behind the folds of her veil, and the prelate observed that
though the prayers she repeated in her agitation, were such
as the church prescribed, she held in her hand an “Im-
plement of praise,” or Moslem rosary, of thrice three and
thirty precious stones, and that she involuntarily mingled
With her more orthodox devotions, “ Ya Alla khalick, ya
Alla kareem.” He would fain have relieved her of the In-
fidel charm, but the spoiled princess resisted his pious en-

 

 

 

 

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328 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

deavor, and sought refuge from his remonstrances in the
female apartments of the palace.

The stay of J ean de Brienne in Egypt was marked by an
event of great consequence, both to the Christians and
Mussulmans. The health of Elsiebede had long been de-
clining; and in the maturity of years, passed in benevo~ ‘
lent efforts to harmonize the discordant interests of those
among whom she dwelt a stranger and a sovereign, she
sank to her rest. Violante wept bitterly at the loss of her
patron and friend, but the Moorish maidens, to whom she
had rendered herself inexpressibly dear, were not permit-
ted by their law to indulge in expressions of sorrow, though
an involuntary tear accompanied the consolatory words with
which they addressed Melech Camel : “ Alla wills it.
May the blessing of the All-merciful rest upon thee.”

Violante had so long dwelt in the house of Elsiebede,
that the distinctions of faith were forgotten, and she was
allowed to mingle with the mourning-train that carried the
body, to the burial : but King Jean de Brienne and the pa-
triarch of Jerusalem were prohibited from profaning the sa-
cred ceremony by their presence.

The serene dawn of an Eastern morning was gilding the
domes and minarets of Cairo, as the body of Elsiebede was
carried forth to the mosque, to be prepared, according to
the faith of her fathers, for its final home. As the bearers
entered the door, the congregation repeated in solemn ca-
dence, “ Praise be to God, the Lord of the worlds, the most
merciful, the king of the day of judgment. Thee do we
worship, and of thee do we beg assistance. Direct us in
the right way, in the way of those to whom thou hast been
gracious ; not of those against whom thou art incensed, nor
of those who go astray.”

The imam then stood up and called upon one and another
to testify concerning the life of the illustrious dead ; and
each vied with the other in recounting her acts of benefi-
cence and piety, till the priest concluded with, “ She was
more glorious than the four perfect women who dwell in
the bowers of the blest. She was more bountiful than Fa-

VIOLANTE. 329

tima; she had the virtue of Kadijah; she was more con-
stant than Asia ; she had the purity of Mary.”

Wrapped in fine linen impregnated With spices and per-
fumes, and laid in a coffin of cypress, the remains were then
carried to the place of interment, where a crowd of females
who were not permitted to enter the mosque, sat closely
veiled upon the ground in the utmost abandonment of silent
sorrow. Others embraced the pillars that ornamented the
graves, and cried out, “A leaf hath withered on the tree
of life, a new guest cometh t0 the City of the Silent.”

The body was preceded by a noble Moor, who bore upon
his head a box of cendal wood inlaid with mother-of—pearl.
Arrived at the grave, the bearers set down the bier, and
the imam called upon all to join him in prayer. Scarcely
had the air ceased to Vibrate with their voices, when the
muezzins, placing fl'ankincense in golden censel‘s, touched
it with burning coals, and a fragrant cloud laden with the
breath of their petitions, seemed to float away towards heav-
en. The imam standing at the head of the grave, opened
the cendal box, and taking thence the leaves of the Koran,
distributed them among the people, and all began to read
in a low recitative chant, the words of the holy book, “ By
the brightness of the morning ; and by the night, When it
groweth dark; thy Lord hath not forsaken thee, neither
doth he hate thee. Verily the life to come shall be better
for thee than the present life; and thy Lord shall give thee
a reward wherewith thou shalt be well pleased. Did not he
find thee an orphan, and hath he not taken care of thee?
And did he not find thee wandering in error, and hath he
not guided thee into the truth 2 And did he not find thee‘
needy, and hath he not enriched thee? Wherefore declare
the goodness of thy Lord.” The coffin was deposited in
the ground, and every friend and every bystander cast a
portion of dust upon it, until the grave was filled. The
imam then called out to the loved one, “Oh Elsiebede!
daughter of' Eve, say that God is thy God, say that M0-
hammed is the prophet of Get .” He paused a moment as
if listening for her response, and then continued, “ Cer~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

330 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

tainly thou hast acknowledged God for thy God, Islamism
for th y religion, Mohammed for thy prophet, the Koran for
thy'priest, the sanctuary of Mecca for thy Kibla, and the
faithful for thy brethren.” He turned to the congrega-~
tion, and spreading forth his hands repeated the bene-
diction, “ Oh Lord pour patience on us, and cause us all to
die Moslems.”

Melech Camel, as chief of the household, then approach—
ed, and planted a sprig of cypress on the right and on the
left of the grave, and each friend and relative performed
the same sad duty, and then all standing together with
their hands stretched out above the resting—place 0f the be-
loved Sultana, repeated the portion of the sacred writings
appointed for the closing service: “ By the sun and its
rising brightness——by the moon when she followeth him—~
by the day when he showeth his splendor——by the night
When it covereth him with darkness——by the heaven and
him who built it——by the earth and him who spread it
for'th—by the witness and the witnessed—by the soul and
him who completely formed it, and inspired into the same
its faculty of distinguishing and power of choosing wicked-
ness and piety—now is he who hath possessed the same
happy~—”

The precession then slowly and sadly departed from the
hallowed precincts, and none marked the bowed and wast-
ed figure of Salaman leaning upon the broken turf that hid
from his dimmed and aged eyes the face of his only friend.
His attachment for Elsiebede had been such as is common
to animals remarkable for sagacity and fidelity, and the
range of his intellect introducing him to no personal aspir-
ings, all his thoughts had been concentrated in the one idea
of serving his mistress. He had shared her confidence and
favor in weal and in woe, and followed her fortunes with a
zeal and industry that engrossed all his powers. N 0w that
she was no more, there remained for him neither aim nor
purpose, neither hope nor desire. Without a country, with-
out a religion, he had worshipped Mass with the Christians,
and repeated the Creed with the Moslems ; but since Elsie-

VIOLANTE. 331

bede had entered upon an untried state, his desire to in-
sure to her every possible g00d,1ed him, at great personal
inconvenience, to procure an ebony cross, that if she failed
0f the Mohammedan paradise, she might, through its influ-
ence, gain an entrance into the Christian’s heaven. \Vith
a feeble hand that scarce obeyed the promptings of his
generous affection, the faithful black hollowed a place for
the venerated symbol, and with great difficulty planted it
firmly at the head of the grave. The pious task accom-

plished, he knelt to repeat a christian prayer Which they

had learned together in the household of Berengaria. The
familiar words overwhelmed him in a. tide of long-forgotten
reminiscences, and he fell prostrate upon the mound.

The following morning Violante obtained permission to
accompany the maidens to the burial-ground, and assist in
garlanding the grave of the Sultana. At the sight of the
silent worshipper they hushed their voices, but he heeded
not their approach. The princess ventured to lift the hand
that rested upon the cross. It was stiff and cold. She
drew aside her veil and gazed upon his face. The faithful
Salaman had expired upon the grave of Elsiebede.

CHAPTER IV.

“Her lot is on you——silent tears to weep,
And patient smiles to Wear through sufi'ering’s hour
And sumless riches from Affection’s deep,
To pour on broken reeds—a wasted shower!
And to make idols, and to find them clay,
And to bewail that worship—therefore pray !”

VIOLANTE, the eastern beauty, whose hand held the keys
of all the seaports 0f the Levant—the sceptre 0f the Latin
kingdom of Palestine, and the diadem 0f Jerusalem—and
whuse voice alone could pronounce the magic “ Sesame”
that should open the gates of commerce, and pour the

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

332 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

treasures of Sheba, and Dedan, and Ophir into the coffers
0f the church, created a great sensation in Europe.

The titular king, John de Brienne, was ready to re-
sign all the real 01' fancied good that might appertain
to his daughter’s dominions, in favor of any candidate
whom the pope should select as her future husband; and
the presumptive queen, whose eastern preferences led her
still to retain the timid reserve in Which she had been
educated, was not supposed to have any choice in the mat-
ter. The wily pontiff desirous to bind the Ghibelline fac-
tion like a victim to the horns of the altar, proposed a union
between the son of the Emperor Frederic, and the daughter
of John de Brienne. The young prince was delighted with
his brilliant prospects, and readily assured the legate 0f
the pope, that his sword should be ready at all times and
in all places to execute the decrees of the church.

Since her arrival at Rome, Violante had lived in almost
utter solitude, mourning for the girlish sports that had given
wings to the flying hours in the palace of Cairo, and weep-
in g at the remembrance of the constant beneficence and ten-
der counsels 0f the good Queen Elsiebede. She received the
advances of the royal heir of Hohenstaufen with an embar-
rassment that might portend either success or failure to his
suit. He repeated his visits, and at each interview made
desperate efforts to impress her with a sense of his devotion
and to Win in return some token of her regard; but his
self—felicitations reached no farther than a general convic-
tion, that she was very beautiful and very bashful. John
de Brienne represented to his daughter the necessity of
fixing the affections of the young king, She listened with
respectful silence, and interposed no objections to the
arrangements making for her future happiness. The nup-
tials were to be celebrated on the occasion of a high fes-
tival, at F erentino, and the emperor with the chief digni-
taries of his court was to grace the splendid ceremony.
The week before the appointed day, Frederic arrived in
Italy, and prompted by curiosity, sought an interview with
his prospective daughter. Violante received the majestic

VIOLANTE. 333

emperor with the same maiden coyness that had character-
ized her interviews with her lover; but Frederic, whose ar-
dent fancy was captivated by the fascinating Oriental, was
not to be baffled by her shyness. After attempting an in-
different conversation, in the French language, he changed
his tactics, and modulating his voice to the low, deep tones
of the Arabic, spoke to her of her former life, of her
mother, of her future home. Suddenly the countenance
of the delighted girl became radiant With animation, the
eloquent blood mounted to her cheek, her eyes dilated With
joy, and the admiring monarch listened in mute surprise,
while in the graceful and poetical language of the East she
narrated the particulars of her sojourn at Cairo, and describ-
ed the games and sports she had enjoyed in the company
of the Moorish maidens. She showed him her jewel rosary,
with its pendant charm, the talisman 0f the Gyptianos, the
last gift of Elsiebede; but When she essayed to speak of
the virtues of the sultana, tender recollections crowded so
fast upon her, that her lips refused their office, and gushing
tears alone finished her tale of gratitude and love. Her
royal auditor soothed her agitation With assurances of
sympathy and kindness, and on leaving the apartment,
was flattered by her urgent request, that he would visit her
again. Engagements Of this sort, the amatm‘y monarch
seldom failed to fulfil. Each interview increased the
charm, and deepened her affection ; and before the expira-
tion of the week, he waited upon the pope t0 apprize his
holiness, that Violante had rejected the son, in favor of the
father. The pontiff, well pleased With the turn affairs had
taken, interposed but one condition, and Frederic having
solemnly promised to undertake the crusade Within two
years, took the place of Henry at the altar, and espoused
the heiress of Jerusalem.

Pleased with his lovely acquisition, and occupied with
the affairs of his reahn, Frederic delayed under various
pretexts the fulfilment of his vow, and neither the expostu—
lations 0f pope nor peer had any influence upon his pur-
poses, till he learned that Honorius had entered into a

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

334 HEROINES ‘OF THE CRUSADES.

league with his son Henry, the disappointed bridegroom,
and instigated the cities of Lombardy t0 revolt. Alarmed
at the disaffection of his subjects, Frederic renewed his
promise, and went so far as to consign his kingdom to the
protection of the church, during his absence. The death
of the pope, in 1227, afforded him another temporary respite.

He had, however, in this change of pontifis, as littie mat-
ter of congratulation, as the fox in the fable : Gregory IX.
proving a more veracious and intolerant scourge, than his
predecessor. After making arrangements to prosecute the
designs of Honorius upon the Albigenses, the new pope
published the eastern crusade, and called upon Frederic
to set out without loss of time. - 4

The lovely Violante was drooping in her European home
The harsh and guttural language of the Germans, offended
her ear, their rude and unpolished manners presented an
efi'ectual barrier to the light and graceful amusements,
Which she sought to introduce in her court, and her delicate
frame chilled by the severity of a climate to which she was
unaccustomed, shrank from every exposure. She pined to
revel once more, in the bland and balmy airs that sweep
the fragrance from Hermon, and to be served with the
courteous reserve, and graceful Observances which she had
enjoyed in the harem of Cairo. Her only hope of return-
ing to her native land, was in the fulfilment of her hus-
band’s vow; but finding that her mild entreaties served
only to irritate his imperious temper, she refrained to press
the subject, and confined her anxieties to her own breast.

While the lovely exotic was thus withering under the
blighting influence of the uneongenial atmosphere of the
n01‘th,Jean de Brienne visited the German court. Alarmed
at his daughter’s pale and wasted appearance, he regarded her
With a tender sympathy, such as he had never before mani—
fested towards her; and the heart-broken queen poured
out her sorrows before him7 and entreated him to take her
back to Palestine. The sweet pensiveness so like the eX-
pression of her mother’s countenance, and which had al-
ready become habitual to her youthful features touched a

VIOLANTE. 335

secret chord in his heart, and the thought that Frederic
had squandered the wealth of her affection, and repulsed
her winning caresses with coldness and contempt, roused
his indignation. He expostulated With the monarch in 110
measured terms. The emperor admitted, that he had won
the affections of Violante, by his apparent interest in the
Holy Land, and gained her hand by a promise to restore
to her, her rightful inheritance ; but he sneeringly insinu-
ated, that these courteous condescensions, were the fanciful
gages staked by all lovers, which as husbands they were
not bound to redeem. He laid down the proposition that
oaths in religion, politics, and love were but means to an
end, only binding, in so far as they accorded With the con-
venience of those who made them. He cited examples of
the clergy, with the pope at their head, who wedding the
church, and professing to live alone for her interests, made
her the means of their own aggrandizement, the pander of
their base passions ; the policy of kings, who, receiving the
sceptre of dominion for the ostensible purpose, of securing
peace and happiness to their subjects, pursued their own
pleasure, Without regard to civil commotion 01‘ discord;
and he illustrated his theory by multiplied instances in the
domestic life of the sovereigns of Europe, Who, for the
gratification of personal pique, put away those whom they
had promised to love and cherish t0 the end of life. Vio-
lante listened to this discourse like one who for the first
time comprehends the solution of a problem, that has long
taxed the ingenuity and embarrassed the reason. His sen—
timents explained the mystery in his manner, the discrep-
ancy between his professions and performances, and like
the spear of Ithuriel, dispelled at once the illusion of her
fancy, and made him assume before her his own proper
character. She fixed her large Clark eyes upon his counte-
nance, as though striving to recall the image she had wor-
shipped there. She saw only the arrogant sneer 0f skepti—
cism, and the smile of selfish exultation. Her sensitive
heart recoiled with horror at the prospect of the cheerless
future, which in one fearful moment passed like a vision

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

336 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

before her, and With a piercing cry she fell fainting to the
floor. The husband calmly summoned the maids as he
left the apartment, While the father, with a heart distracted
between pity and ange1‘,tende1‘1y lifted her lifeless form
and conveyed her to a couch.

Robert, the second son of Peter Courtenay and Yoland,
succeeded his father upon the throne of Constantinople.
An inglorious reign of seven years left the empire in a.
distracted state, and an early death transferred the crown
to his infant son Baldwin. The barons 0f the Greek Em-
pire felt the necessity of placing the sceptre in the hands
of a man and a hero; and messengers were despatched to
the veteran King Of Jerusalem, to beg him to accept the
imperial purple, and become the father of the young prince,
by bestowing upon him the hand of his second daughter in
marriage. The position and authority of Jean de Brienne
as the Emperor of Constantinople, gave him power to pun-
ish Frederic’s baseness, and he speedily signified to the
emperor, that the might of his sword, backed by the
strength of the Greek forces, was now ready to enforce the
decrees of the pope.

Frederic, finding that he could no longer With any safety
defer his pilgrimage, ordered a general rendezvous of his
troops at Brundusium preparatory for departure. Before
however the appointed time for sailing had arrived, a pes—
tilence broke out in the camp, numbers died and greater
numbers deserted, and the emperor himself, after having
embarked and remained at sea three days, returned, declar-
ing that his health would not admit of his taking the voy-
age. Exulting in the fortunate circumstance that had re-
leased him from the dreaded expedition, he hastened his
march to Germany.

As he entered his palace, he was struck by the grave
and serious manner with Which his retainers, usually so en-
thusiastic, received him. An ominous gloom reigned in the
court, and as With 10rd1y tread he passed through the king
corridors, he felt that his step was breaking the silence of
death. In the anteroom 0f the queen’s apartment, he found

VIOLANTE. 337

her maidens indulging in the utmost expressions of grief.
The feeble wail of an infant smote upon his ear, and strid-
ing through the hushed and darkened chamber, he sought
the couch of the neglected Violante. That couch was a.
bier. Those lips, upon Whose Sportive accents he had hung
With exquisite though momentary rapture, were forever
dumb. rl‘hose features, that had kindled with a glow of
love at his every word of tenderness, were now settled in
their last calm repose.

Poor Violante! Thy pilgrimage was brief. The first
sweet stage of childhood scarcely passed, Fancy led thy
willing footsteps through the Elysian fields of Love, and
robed the object of thy young afi‘ections With a halo of
purity and truth.——The life-long experience of woman—
the indefinable slight and wrong that press home upon her,
the bitter sense of utter helplessness and dependence, the
inexplicable woe 0f the primevai curse,——cr0wded into the
little span of a few short months, brought thee early to the
sepulchre,——seventeen summers, and a Winter Whose rigor
congealed the very fountain of thy life,—t0 hope, to love, to
give thy life to another, and die.—Such is thy history,
beautiful Violante, Queen of Jerusalem, Empress of Ger-
many, Heroine 0f the Sixth Crusade.

22

 

 

 

 

 

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CHAPTER I.

THE PARENTS OF EDWARD I.

OF all the royal suitors that ever stooped to woo the love
of woman, Henry III. son of J ohn Lackland and Isabella
of Angouléme, appears to have been the most luckiess and
unfortunate. He first fixed his affections upon the Princess
of Scotland, who was dissuaded from listening to his suit,
by her brother’s assurance that the king was a squint-eyed
fool, deceitful, perjured, more faint-hearted than a woman,
and utterly unfit for the company of any fair and noble
‘ady.

Disappointed in Scotland, the monarch next offered his
hand to the heiress of Brittany, but the rugged Bretons, too
well remembering the cruelty of his father, to their beloved
Prince Arthur, returned a haughty refusal.

He then proposed to confer the honor of his alliance upon
a daughter of Austria, but the fair descendant of Leopold
inherited all her grandfather’s enmity to the princely house
of Plantagenet, and rejected his addresses With disdain.

The Duke of Bohemia, to whom be next applied, civilly
answered that his child was already plighted to another,
and it was not until Henry reached the mature age of thirty
that he received a favorable response to his matrimonial
proposal ; and When at last the marriage contract was
signed between himself and Joanna, daughter of Alice of
France, the roving affections of this royal Coelebs were
beguiled from theii allegiance by the sweet strains of the
youthful poetess 0f PIOVBDCG.

Eleanor la Belle, second daughter of Count Bel',enger
perhaps the youngest female writer on lecord, attracted the

 

 

 

 

 

34:2 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

attention of the fickle King of England, by a poem which
she composed 0n the conquest of Ireland.

Dazzled by her genius and personal charms, Henry’s
vows to Joanna were forgotten, and his ambassadors re-
ceived orders to break ofi' the negotiations, While his oblig-
ing counsellors recommended a. union with the very lady
he so ardently admired.

His habitual covetousness intruded however into the
courtship, and had well-nigh subjected him to a sixth dis-
appointment. He intrusted his seneschal to demand twen-
ty thousand marks as the dower of Eleanor, but privately
empowering him to lessen the sum if necessary to fifteen,
ten, seven, five or three thousand. He quite disgusted the
haughty count her father, by his sordid bargaining, and
at last wrote in great terror, to conclude the marriage forth-
with, either with money or without, but at all events to se«
cure the lady for him and conduct her safely to England
without delay.

In the splendid festivities With Which Henry welcomed
his young bride to London, and in the preparation of her
coronation robes, he displayed a taste for lavish. expend-
iture altogether inconsistent with the state of his finances,
and in ridiculous contrast to his former penuriousness.

Like his father the greatest fop in Europe, but not like
him content with the adornment of his own person, he issued
the most liberal orders for appareiling the royai household
in satin,ve1vet, cloth of gold and ermine, expending in the
queen’s jewelry alone a sum not less than one hundred and
fifty thousand dollars.

, About the same time he bestowed his sister Isabella upon
the Imperial widower Frederic IL, and personally desig-
nated every article of her sumptuous wardrobe.

It was on this occasion that he first learned how imperas
tive a check a sturdy British Parliament may be on the
lawless extravagance of a king ; for When he petitioned the
Lords for a relief from his pecuniary difficulties, they told
him they had amply supplied funds both for his marriage
and that of the empress, and as he had wasted the money

ELEANORA. ' 343

he might defray the expenses of his wedding as best he
could.

It would be diflicult to say whether the king, the queen,
01' the royal relations, proved the greatest scourges t0 Brit-
ain during the long and impotent reign of Henry III.

One of Eleanor’s uncles became prime minister; to an-
other was given the rich Earldom 0f Warrenne, and a third
was made Archbishop of Canterbury, and numerous young
lady friends of the romantic queen were imported from
Provence and married to the king’s wealthy wards.

Henry’s mother, not content with sending over all her
younger children to be provided for by the impoverished
monarch, involved him in a war with Louis IX., which
ended disastrously for the English arms, in the loss of a
great part of the rich southern fiefs and the military chests
and costly ornaments of the king’s chapel.

Henry’s ambition for his children brought still greater
difficulties upon the realm. His eldest son, Edward, was -
appointed Viceroy 0f the disputed possessions in Aquitaine,
and being too young to discharge his important trusts With
discretion, so mismanaged affairs as greatly to increase the
discontent of his father’s French subjects.

His eldest daughter Margaret, married to her cousin
Alexander 111., the young King of Scotland, was taken
prisoner by Sir John Baliol, and subjected to the most rig-
orous confinement, thus making it necessary for Henry to
undertake a Northern campaign for the rescue of his child.

But his second son, Edmund, proved more expensive to
the British nation, and innocently did more to project the
civil war than any other member of the royal family; for-
the pope, having conferred the crown of Sicily upon the
young prince, the delighted father eagerly engaged in a,
prospective war, and promised to defray the whole expense
of substantiating the claim.

Again the barons resisted the onerous tax which this new
attempt at family aggrandizement would impose upon,
them, and the first subsidy was raised from the benefices
of the church only by the exercise of spiritual authority.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

344 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

When the ambitious king had exhausted all his resources,
the pontifi“ coolly transferred the coveted crown to Charles
d’Anjou, brother to the King of France, leaving poor Henry
to cancel his debt with the lords of exchequer as best he
might, getting to himself in the eyes of his subjects little
glory and great loss.

Such was the character, the political and the social posi-
tion of the parents of Edward 1., who commenced about
the middle of' the thirteenth century to take an active part
in the affairs ofEurope.

A splendid concourse were gathered in the spacious pal—
ace of the old temple at Paris, A.D. 1254. The royal fami-
lies of England and France were convened on terms 01"
cordiality and kindness, such as they had never enjoyed‘
since the day when N ormand‘y was wrested‘ from the de-
seendants 0f Charlemagne. The banquet was given in
honor of Edward, the heir-apparent of England, and his
sweet young brid‘e,E1ean0ra 0f C‘astile. In the place of”
honor sat the good St. Louis King of France, on his right,
Henry III. of England, and on his left, the King of Na-
varre, the royal descendant of Thibaut of Champagne, and
Blanche the sister of" Berengaria. At this magnificent en-
tertainment, Beatrice the C‘ountess of Provence enjoyed a
reunion with her beautiful daughters, their nohie husbands
and biooming offspring. The eldest, Margaret, was the
wife of Louis IX., Eleanor, of Henry III, Beatrice, of
Charles d’Anjou, and Saneha, of Richard 0f Cornwali',
King of the Romans.

But the queen of this Feast of kings, the fair young In-
fanta, around whom were gathered the nobility of a Conti-
nent, though but a child of scarce ten years, concentrated
in herself more romantic associations and excited higher
hopes than any of the crowned heads present. Her brother"
Alphonso X., the astronomer, was the most learned prince
in Europe, and neither priest or peer could boast that devo-
tion to the arts, or that success in scientific discoveries that
characterized the King of Castile, surnamed fl ‘S’abio, the
wise. Her mother J oanna, had’ been the affianced‘ bride. of
her royal fathe1'-in~law Henry 111., had been rejected for

ELEANORA. 345

the more poetic daughter of the Count of Provence; and

her grandmother,A1ice of France, had been refused by

the gallant King Richard, in favor of Berengaria of Na-

varre. Her brother Alphonso, and her husband’s uncle,

Richard of Cornwall, were candidates for the crown of the

German Empire, in opposition to the rights of Conrad, son;
of F rederic and Violante, and herhusband, a graceful youth

of fifteen, who had received the honors of knighthood at his

wedding tournament, was heir to the goodly realm of Eng-

land and the beautiful provinces of Southern France.

The tourney, the banquet, and the procession, had mark-
ed their progress from Barges, in Spain, to the Parisian
court. At Bordeaux, King Henry expended 300,000 marks
on their marriage feast, a sum, at that time so extravagant,
that when reproached for it, he exclaimed in a dolorous
tone, “ Oh! pour la. téte de Dieu, say no more of it, lest
men should stand amazed at the relation thereof.” At
Chartres, the palace once occupied by Count Stephen and
Adela, was ornamented with the most brilliant decorations
to honor their presence. St. Louis advanced to meet, and
escort them to Paris. The cavalcade consisted of one
thousand mounted knights in full armor, each with some
lady by his side, upon a steed whose broidered housings
rivalled the richness of the flowing habiliments of the fair
rider, while a splendid train of carriages, sumpter mules,
and grooms, and vassals completed the magnificent retinue.

The nuptial festival with its usual accompaniments of
hunting, hawking, and holiday sports, continued through
eight days, and a brilliant cortége attended the bridal
party to the coast of France, on their departure for Eng-
land. The passage was rough and gloomy, and the fleet
that conveyed Eleanora to her new home encountered a
storm upon the Channel, and approached the harbor under
the cover of a fog so dense, that the white clilfs of Dover
were entirely veiled from sight.

The child queen, terrified at the profound darkness,
strove to silence her own agonizing apprehensions, by re—
peating those words of sacred writ, which she supposed

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

346 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

exercised some mysterious influence upon the elements.
Suddenly a terrible crash made the ship groan through all
its timbers. Piercing shrieks from without told a tale of
horrors, and the echoing screams Within rendered it im~
possible to ascertain the nature or extent of the danger.
At length it was found, that the royal vessel had in the
darkness encountered and sunk a small bark, supposed to
be a. fishing smack, that had been driven out to sea by the
wind.

Prince Edward immediately ordered the small boat to be
lowered, and despite the entreaties of his parents and little
bride, sprang into it, in hope of rescuing the perishing
crew.

Alarmed for his safety, Eleanora added to the anxieties
of her parents, by hastening t0 the deck, where leaning
from the vessel’s side, she scanned with intensest gaze the
narrow circle of waters illuminated by the lights of the
ship. Abrave sailor, buffeting the waves with powerful
arm, escaped the eddies made by the sinking craft, and
grasping the rope which was flung to his assistance, sprang
up to the vessel’s side. Another object soon after appeared
rising and sinking upon the crest of the billow. NOW it
seemed but the sparkling foam, and now it lay white and.
motionless in the dark trough of the sea. At length it
floated beyond the line of light, and seemed 10st in the im—
penetrable gloom, but not till the prince had fixed his eye
upon it, and ordered his rowers to pull in the direction of
its disappearance. One moment of agonizing suspense,
and the heirof England again appeared nearing the vessel,
carefully folding a. motionless form in his arms ; the sailors
plied the Windlass, and the boat with its crew was safely
received on board.

Scarcely heeding the curious inquiries of those Whe
gathered around him, the prince made his way to the cabin
and deposited the precious burden upon a couch. The
dripping coverings were syedily removed, and delight,
admiration, and pity, were instantly excited in the hearts
of the spectators, at the sight of a lovely child, apparently

ELEANORA. 347

less than two years of age. Eleanora watched the resusci-
tation of the little stranger, with anxious tenderness. ‘ She
chafed its dimpled hands in her own, and strove to recall
animation by soft kisses and gentle caresses. As vital
warmth gradually returned, and the faint hue of life glow-
ed on the pallid cheek, the suffering one opened her blue
eyes, and whispering some indistinct words, among which
they could distinguish only “Eva,” sank again into uncen-
sciousness.

The clothing of the little foundling was such as indicated
rank and wealth, and a bracelet of Eastern manufacture,
elapsed upon her tiny arm, excited much wonder and euri‘
osity among the queens and their attendants. The prince
had found the infant lashed to an oar with a scarf of ex-
quisite embroidery. There seemed to be also an aerr—ial
design upon it, but the green shamrock, With a rose of
Sharon, was a device which none present could decipher.
The rescued sailor stated that the lost ship was a coasting
vessel, and that, in an Irish harbor, they had taken on
board a lady and child ; but, as he had only seen them at
the time of their embarkation, he could give no farther ac;
count of them.

The partiality which Eleano‘ra manifested t0 the orphan,
thus suddenly bereft of every friend, gained for it a home
in the bosom of the royal family, and at the castle of Guil-
ford, where her father-in-Iaw established her with much
state, she passed many pleasant hours in the care of her
tender charge. The little Eva added to her infantile charms
a disposition of invincible sweetness, relieved by a Sportive
wilfulness that elicited a. constant interest, not unmixed
with anxiety, lest a heart so warm might become a prey to
influences against which no caution 0r admonition could
shield her. She could give no account of her parentage or
home; but sometimes spoke of her mamma, and birds and
flowers, as though her childish memory retained associa-
tions that linked her thoughts with pleasant walks and ten—
der care. Her perceptions were exceedingly quick, but
her best resolutionswere often evanescent, and shellaeked,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

348 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

a steadiness of purpose in the pursuit of the studies to which
Eleanbra invited her attention; An appeal to her heaft
never failed to induce immediate repentance for any fault,
and she was altogether the most winning, but vexatious pu-
pil, that ever engaged the affections of a queen. But the
accomplishments of Eleanora herself were not complete,
and in 1256 she was again conveyed to Bordeaux, for the
purpose of receiving instructien from masters better quali-
fied to conduct her education. At her earnest request, Eva
was permitted to accompany her.

Her young husband was meanwhile engaged perfecting
himself in every knightly accomplishment, “ haunting
tournaments,” and carrying off the prizes from alllcom‘peti-
tors, with a skill and grace that gave him a renown, not in—
ferior to that of his great uncle Richard Coeur de Lion.
At Paris, he formed an intimacy with the Sire de Joinville,
companion of St. Louis in the seventh crusade, and he 118°
tened to the account of affairs in the East with an interest
that inflamed his young and ardent imagination. The
Lord de Joinvme, high seneschal of Champagne, was one
of the most erudite and afi'able nobles 0f the thirteenth
century, and it was an agreeable occupation for the expe-
rienced soldier, to enlighten the mind of the young prince
with an account of the customs and manners of the East,
and the state of the Latin kingdom in Jerusalem, which
had so much influenced the politics of Europe.

After the return of Frederic, Gregory IX. excommuni-
cated him for declining to combat the enemy of God ; but
so long had been the contest between the emperor and the
pontifi“, and s0 divided were the minds of men upon the
rights of the cause, that the clergy published the sentence
with many explanatory clauses, that greatly modified its
efi'ect. A curé at Paris, instead of reading the hull from
the pulpit in the usual form, said to his parishioners, “ You
know, my brethren, that I am ordered to fulminate an eX-
communication against Frederic. I know not the motive.
All that I know is, that there has been a quarrel between
that prince and the pope. God alone knows who is right.

 

ELEANORA.‘ 349

1 excommunicate him who has injured the other; and I
absolve the sufferer.” ‘ ’

Frederic, in revenge, employed his Saracen troops, of
which he commanded not a few, in southern Italy, to ravage
the dominions 0f the church, and convinced all his subjects
of the wisdom of his former refusals, by taxing them heavi-
ly for the expenses of the expedition on which he determin-
ed to embark. Finding that Frederic was thus placing
himself in a. posture to enlist the sympathies 0f Christen-
dom, the pope prohibited his undertaking the Holy War till
he should be relieved from ecclesiastical censure. The em-
peror notwithstanding sailed directly for Acre, and was
received with great joy by the Christians. The next ships
from Europe brought letters from the pontiff t0 the patri-
arch, repeating the sentence of excommunication, forbid—
ding the Templars and Hospitallers to fight under the ban-
ner of the son of perdition.

In this state of embarrassment, Frederic found his mili-
tary Operations limited to the suburbs of Acre ; and dwell-
ing in the palace, and gazing 011 the scenes which Violante
had so often and so eloquently portrayed, his mind revert-
ed, With a touch of remorseful tenderness, t0 the enthusi-
asm With which she had anticipated a return to her eastern
home. The rapture with which she had dwelt upon the
virtues of the Empress Elsiebede, and her noble son Meleeh
Camel, inspired him with the thought that he might avail
himself of the generous friendship entertained for his much
injured Wife, to further his own plans in Palestine. Acting
upon this selfish policy, he opened negotiations with the
Sultan of Egypt, now heir to all Saphadin’s dominions by
the death of Oohr-Eddin. The Saracen emperor lent a
gracious ear to the overtures 0f the successor of Jean de
Brienne, and a truce of ten years was concluded between
the belligerent powers.

Jerusalem, Joppa, Bethlehem and Nazareth, with their
appendages, were restored to the Latins. The Holy Sepul-
chre was also ceded, and both Christians and Mussulmans,
were guaranteed the right to worship in the sacred edifice,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

850 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

known to the former as the temple of Solomon, and to the
latter as the mosque of Omar. The Emperor repaired to
Jerusalem, but no hosannahs welcomed his approach. The
patriarch forbade the celebration of all religious ceremonies
during his stay, and no prelate could be induced to place
upon his brow accursed, the crown of Godfrey 0f Boulogne.
Frederic, notwithstanding, advanced to the church of the
Sepulchl‘e, took the crown from the altar, placed it upon
his own head, and then listened With great apparent satis-
faction, to a laudatory oration, pronounced by one of his
German followers. Thus the memory of the gentle and
loving Violante, more powerful than the heroic frenzy of
King Richard, or the misguided deVotion 0f the military
orders, established the kingdom of Palestine, once more
upon a firm basis, and gave the sceptre into the hands of
one able to defend its rights.

C H A P T E R I I.
DE JOINVILLE’S STORY OF THE SEVENTH CRUSADE.

THESE particulars de J oinville faithfully narrated. at
various times, to Prince Edward, who was an indefatigaole
listener to whatever pertained to feats of chivalry and
arms.—But he dwelt with far greater circumlocution and
precision upon the events of the Seventh Crusade, in which
he was personally engaged with Louis IX.

“ You must know, gracious prince,” said the good knight,
in the quaint language of the times, “ that though the
Christians in Asia had possession of the holy places, by the
treaty with Melech Camel, the mildew of discord continu-
ally blighted all their plans for the improvement of the
state, and as soon as the truce had expired, the Saracens
again fell upon them in their weakened condition, and
slaughtered great multitudes of pilgrims. For this cause

ELEANORA. ii , 851

it was, that Gregory IX. called again upon the devout
children of the church, to take arms against the Infidels.”

“I remember,” replied Edward, “the departure of my
uncle Richard of Cornwall, and the valiant Longsword,
.with their knights, and retainers for Palestine, and I have
heard that his very name was a terror to the Saracens, in-
asmuch as they mistook him for the great Richard Coeur
de Lion. God willing. Sire de Joinville, the name of Ed-
ward shall one day, frighten his enemies as well.”

To this De Joinville graVely replied, “ Thou wouldst do
well to remember that which the good King Louis said,
when, to secure the tranquillity of his subjects, he relin-
quished so great a portion of his territory to thy royal sire:
I would rather be like our Lerd, who giveth free] y to all,
than like the conquerors of the earth who have made to
themselves enemies in grasping the rights of others i”

“ In sooth,” replied Edward, “ the sentiment savoreth
more of the saint than of the king,” a little piqued that his
ambitious tendencies elicited no warmer approbation.

“ And yet,” returned de Joinville, “King Louis is the
greatest monarch in Europe, and often by his wise counsel
accommodates those differences Which involve other couna
tries in bloodshed} He has, thou knowest well, already
composed the dissensions between thy father and his
haughty brother-in—law, Earl Leicester.”

“ Aye, verily,” returned Edward, his eyes flashing with
the presentiment 0f vengeance, “ this good sword shall one
day teach the misproud earl better manners.—Had my
father iess of those meek virtues which thou prizest so
highly, he would never have ratified the statutes of Oxford,
and made England the prey of Simon de Montfort’s ra-
pacity.” ,

“The poor inhabitants of Albi and Carca8sonne, albeit
many of them, 1 fear me, were miserable heretics, teach
their children to curse the name even more bitterly,” an-
swered de J oinville, “than thou dost.”

“He who slaughters women and children,” answered
Edward, with proud disdain, “even though it he by the

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

352 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

commands of the church, stains his fair fame more deeply-
than his sword. To my poor Wit it seems good sire, that
this crusade against our own vassals in happy France, bears
a hue far different from the wars in Palestine.”

“ So thought my good lord,” returned de Joinville, “ for
though his soul loveth peace, his conseience was often un-
quiet with the thought of the sufferings of the Ohristiansfi
who, pressed by the Turks, cried out for aid, and yet he
knew not how he might leave his people for a foreign war.
At length his doubts were resolved on this wise.—Being
grievously ill at Paris, his soul as it were departed from his
body. He saw standing before him Count Raimond of
Toulouse, who, being in the torment 0f purgatory, cried
out, ‘ Oh! that I had employed my people in chasing the
children of Satan from the Holy Land, then would they
not have had leisure to have'devised those heresies by
which they have destroyed both their souls and bodies in
hell.’ When the soul of the king returned, he heard those
who had nursed him speaking together, and one would
have covered his face with a cloth, thinking that all was
over, but another (so God willed it) declared continually
' that he was alive. Then he opened his eyes and looked
upon them, and he desired one of them to bring him the
crucifix, and he swore upon it that if God should please
restore him to health, he would, in person, undertake the
Holy War. In like manner as the king put on the cross,
so did his three brothers, Robert, Count (1’ Artois, Alphonzo,
Count de Poitiers, and Charles, Count (1’ Anjou, the vene—
rable Hugh le Brun, Count le Marche and his sons, with
many others of rank and dignity, and many lords Whom
Simon de Montfort had deprived of their patrimony in
Languedoc, and many others who had fought against the
heretics. Thus did the pious king make the Holy War the
means of expiation and of universal reconeilement. But
so wise was he withal, and so careful of his people, that he
thought also to make the expedition the foundation of a
great colony in Egypt. Thus many of the transports were
laden with spades, pitch—forks, plows, and. other implements

 

ELEANORA. 353

for the tilling 0f the ground, together with seeds of various
kinds, for the better prospering 0f the new state. You
must know, before the king left the realm, he summoned
all the barons to Paris, and there made them renew their
homage and swear loyalty to his children, should any un-
fortunate event happen to himself during this expedition.

“ Magnificent dresses were on this occasion bestowed upon
all the courtiers, and the next day the cavaliers were sur—
prised to find, that to every cloak a splendid gold cross had
been aifixed by the art of the goldsrnith, thereby intimating
the king’s desire that they should join him in the Crusade.

“It was in the month of August that we embarked at
the rock Marseilles, and the priest and clerks standing
round the king, sang the beautiful hymn, ‘Veni Creator,’
from the beginning to the end. While they were singing,
the mariners set their sails in the name of God, and soon,
with a favorable Wind, the coast disappeared from our
view, and we saw nothing but the sea and sky. We landed
first at Cyprus, where we made a long stay, waiting for
Count Alphonzo, who headed the reserve. Here ambassa-
dors from all nations came to pay their court to the French
monarch. The great Chan 0f Tartary paid him many fine
compliments, and bade his servants say that their master
was ready to assist him in delivering Jerusalem from the
hands of the Saracens. The King of France sent likewise
to the Chan a tent, in the form of a chapel, of fine scarlet
cloth, embroidered on the inside with the mysteries of our
faith. Two black monks had charge of it, and were also
instructed to exhort the Tartars, and show them how they
ought to put their belief in God.”

“Are not the Tartars 0f the same race as the Turks ?”
inquired Edward, with great curiosity.

“I understand not well the genealogy of the people of the
East,” replied de Joinville, “but I considerTartary as a
general name for a vast country, whence have issued, at
various times, certain tribes called Scythians, Hungarians,
Turks, and Mongols, which have overrun the fertile prov-

inces that skirt the Mediterranean.”
23

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

354 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

The prince, feeling greatly enlightened at this compre-
hensive answer, listened respectfully while de Joinville
resumed. “ There came also ambassadors from the Chris-
tians of Constantinople, Armenia and Syria. Envoys like-
wise from the ‘ Old Man Of the Mountain,’ of whom there
runs so many strange stories. King Louis also formed a
league with the leader of the Mongols against the two
great popes 0f Islamism, the Sultans of Cairo and Bagdad.
From Cyprus we. sailed to Damietta, which King Louis at-
tacked sword in hand. The Infidels, by the favor of God,
were put to the worse, and the city fell into our hands. We
found great spoil in Damietta, and were comfortably lodged
there. But- the king’s ofiicers, instead of well-treating the
merchants, who would have supplied the army with pr0~
visions, hired out to them stalls and workmen, at so dear a
rate, that they departed from us, which was a great evil
and loss. Barons and knights began to give sumptuous
banquets, one to the other; the eommonalty also gave
themselves up to all kinds of dissipation, Which lasted until
the day we set forward toward Cairo, 0n the route formerl y
travelled by Jean de Brienne. We were stopped at Man-
sourah many days by a branch of the Nile, where it was
necessary to construct a dyke, and thére they assailed us
with the Greek fire, by which we were in great danger of
perishing. This fire was in appearance like a great tun,
and its tail was of the length of a long spear, and the noise
which it made was like thunder, and it seemed a great
dragon of fire flying through the air, giving such light by
its flame, that we saw in our camp as clearly as in broad
day; and when it fell upon a knight in armor, it penetrated
through the scales thereof, and burned to the very bone.
Thus our army sufl‘ered greatly, and were prevented from
making farther progress.

“ The king called his barons to council, and it was con-
cluded to return to Damietta. But so many of our army
had fallen sick, that it was necessary to make preparations
to embark upon the Nile. The king himself suffered great-
ly with the pestilence, and our march was stopped by the

ELEANORA. 355

Saracens, who lay in wait for us upon the banks of the
river7 and as the prince would not desert his people, we
were all made prisoners together. After we had suffered
many things, both in body and spirit, the Sultan, who had.
been recently elected by the Mamelukes, agreed to accept

‘ as ransom for the captives, the city of Damietta and the sum
of 500,000 livres. When the Sultan found that King Louis
complied with the first demand without striving to drive a.
bargain, ‘ G0 and tell him from me,’ he said, ‘that I retract
Oiie-fifth of the sum, because I have found him both gen-
erous and liberal.’

“After the affair was concluded, my royal master em-
powered me to accompany the envoys to Damietta, and to
receive from Queen Margaret the money for the ransom.
When I came to the palace where the queen was. lodged, I
found her apartment guarded by an aged knight, whom,
When she heard of her royal husband’s captivity, she had
caused to take oath that, should the Saracens enter the
town, he would himself put an end to her life before they
could seize her person. My royal mistress received me
graciously, and gave me the money which the king had com-
manded, and she also bade me look upon the son she had
borne to Louis during his absence, that I might assure him
of their health and comfort. The misfortunes that had at-
tended 0111' arms caused us to quit Egypt; and, sailing at
once for Acre, we were received with great joy by the
Christians of the East. We employed ourselves in restoring
the fortifications 0f the principal towns, but the monarch,
through dejection at the failure of his enterprise, returned
to France Without making a pilgrimage to the holy places.”

“By my faith,” replied the young prince, “it were a
matter of surprise that such well-appointed expeditions
should suffer such total loss. Methinks a good soldier
should never sheathe his sword till the hour of victory.”

De Joinville regarded the inexperienced youth with a
benevolent smile, remarking only, that caution and pru-
dence are virtues as essential to a, ruler, as courage and.
prowess.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

356 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

C H A P T E R I I I.
THE RELICS BROUGHT FROM CONSTANTINOPLE.

THE young bride Eleanora, in her residence at Berumux,
had formed the acquaintance of Guy de Lusignan, second
son of the eX-queen Isabella and Count Hugh 1e Marche,
and through his kindly attentions she had been apprized
0f the events that agitated England. She learned that her
royal parents had been under the necessity of taking lip
their residence in the Tower of London, almost in the con-
dition of state prisoners, and that her gallant husband had
exchanged the sports of a knight for “ the game of kings.”
Anxious for his safety, and desirous to assist in the release
of the royal family, or share their captivity, she besonght
Count Guy to conduct her thither. He represented the
danger of Such a, proceeding, and strove by every argu-
ment to induce her to remain in France, but in vain. The
traits of character, that subsequently made her the heroine,
already developed in unchanging affection, and invincible
firmness, overbore all opposition, and with a retinue scarce-
ly suitable for her rank, and insufiicient for her protection
in case of attack, she set off for England.

They reached the island without accident, and had ap-
proached in sight of London, When the great bell of St.
Paul’s startled them With its hurried pea], and they almost
instantly found themselves surrounded by an infuriated
mob. The simplicity of their attire shielded them from
observation, and they passed some time unmolested among
the crowd, but the vindictive shouts of the multitude, cry-
ing, “ Down With the J ews I down with the followers of the
Virago of Provence!” s0 alarmed the little Eva, that she
was unable to keep her seat upon the pillion 0f the knight
who had her in charge, and Sir Guy at length obtained
for them a shelter in an humble tenement upon the banks
of the Thames.

ELEANORA. 357

From the window of the cottage, they beheld the terri-
ble massacre that characterized the first popular outbreak
against the government of Henry III. The harmless Jews
were dragged from their houses and mercilessly slaughter-
ed, amidst protestations of innocence, and heart—rending
cries for pity, while the furniture of their dwellings, and
valuables of every kind, were hurled into the streets, and
distributed among the crowd. A venerable man, Ben
Abraham, 0f majestic demeanor, was pursued t0 the door
of the house in which the royal fugitives had taken refuge.

Count Guy in his agitation sprang to bar the entrance,
but the young queen with readier tact removed the bolt,
and throwing open an opposite door, motioned all the armed
retainers to retire. Scarcely had the helpless old man
crossed the threshold, when the mob with demoniac cries,
rushed in after him, and. the leader seizing him by his long
white beard, severed his head from his body, and held it
up a grim and ghastly spectacle for the plaudits of his
followers. The terrified Eva, clinging close to Eleanora,
shrunk behind the open door, and the queen controlling
her own agitation, placed her hand over the child’s mouth
to repress her screams, while the mui‘derers dragging the
bleeding corpse upon the pavement, began to search the
body for gold. Down the street rolled the tide of blood.
Mad yells 0f vengeance and frantic cries of terror mingled
0n the air, and swept away toward the river.

N ow the roar seemed advancing and now retreating,
when a barge loosing from the tower stairs, drew the con-
course in that direction. It was the Queen of Henry III.
with her children, seeking to escape to Windsor castle,
where Prince Edward was quartered with his troops.
Cries of “ Drown the Witch ! Dowu with the Witch! No
favor to foreigners ! Death to the Italians 1” rent the
air. The mob tore up the paving stones, stripped the tiles
from the houses, plundered butchers’ shambles, and huck—
sters’ shops, and a shower of deadly missiles rained upon
the river. The boat approached the bridge, at the west end
of Which thousands of fierce eyes glared for its appearance,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

358 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

and thousands of bloody hands were raised for its destruc
tion. At this moment the figure of an armed knight, of
lofty stature, appeared upon the bridge. Forcing his way
through the mob, he shouted t0 the sailors as the boat was
about to shoot the arch, “ Back! Bear back!! upon your
lives ! 1! Return to the tower! ! l l” The frightened boat-
men turned at the critical moment, and the knight, by the
prowess of his single arm, diverted the attack to himself,
till the queen was again sheltered by the walls of the for-
tress.

Roar upon roar again swelled through the streets. The
crowd hurried on in search of prey, swaying t0 and fro,
like trees in a tempest. Again the feeble walls that shel-
tered the fair Castilian, felt the terrible pfesence of demons
in human form. The sight of a. F rench attendant again
raised the cry of “Death to foreigners,” and madly they
rushed to the onslaught. But the strange knight was al-
ready at the door, and backed by Guy de Lusignan and
the retainers, for some hours kept the infuriated multitude
_ at bay, but at every moment the crowd became denser, the
cries more terrific, and Eleanora drawing the little Eva to
her bosom, and surrounded by her own maidens, and the
females of the household, was striving to recall the prayers
for the dying, when a distant shout of rescue swelled
upon the breeze. The shrill blast of a trumpet confirmed
the uncertain hope, and the defiant threats of the multi-
tude began to give place to the howlings 0f baffled rage.
On came the tramp of horsemen, the clangor of armor;
louder roared the din of the fight; not now the sounds of fall-
ing dwellings, flying missiles, and female shrieks, but the
ringing clash of Damascus steel, and the regular tramp 0f
mounted horsemen. The warlike shout 0f “ Edward t0
the rescue,” “ Give way to the prince,” drove on the mot-
ley mass like sands before the desert wind, and scattered
them through all the lanes and alleys of the vast metrop-
olis. At the sound of her husband’s name, Eleanora sprang ,
from her knees and rushed to the door-way, Where she be-
held, advancing at the head of the troops, taller than all

ELEANORA. 359

his compeers, more firmly seated upon his noble destriar,
and more gracefully managing tue rein and wielding the
sword, her long—absent lord. He raised his vizor, as he
paused to return the salutation of his uncle, De Lusignan,
and his fine, manly features, radiant with pleasure, and
flushed With triumph, his fair hair curling round his helmet,
made him appear to Eleanora, more brave and beautiful
than a hero of romance. But the eye that “ kindled in war,
now melted in love” at the unexpected apparition of his
bride, who With tearful eyes gazed upon him, uncertain
whetherher presence would more embarrass or pleasure him.
It was not, however, in the heart of a, chivah-ic prince to
frown upon any distressed damsel, much less upon the.
beautiful young being, whose fair face, the sensitive index
of every emotion, now paled with fear, now flushed with
joy, seemed each moment changing to a lovelier hue, while
she awaited his approach in doubt as to the greeting she
should receive from her 10rd. The generous prince hastily
dismounting, and clasping her in his arms, tenderly reas-
sured her with words of affectionate welcome, not however,
without a gentle upbraiding, that she had not tarried at
Dover till he had been able, with a retinue befitting her
rank, himself to escort her to Windsor. The little Eva,
meanwhile, had found a safe asylum in the arms of the
stranger knight, and, through the bars of his vizor, obtained
a glimpse of eyes, whose color and expression she never
forgot, and listened to words that made a lasting impression
upon her mind.

Prince Edward found it necessary to establish his Iriother
and queen, with the ladies and attendants, under a strong
guard, at Bristol castle, where they remained during a part
of that stormy period, consequent upon Leicester’s rebel-
lion. Restricted to the narrow enjoyments which the castle
walls afforded, and to the society of the few knights who
had them in charge, the royal ladies found their chief en-
tertainment in the volatile spirits, and restless gaiety of
the orphan Eva. N0 caution nor command could prevent
her mingling With the dependents, and listening to and

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

360 11111201an or THE CRUSADES.

relating to her mistress every flying report that reached
the castle. But so gentle was her temper, and so ready
her submission, that it was impossible to be seriously of—
fended With her, and her light footsteps and joyous laugh
were equally welcome in the royal apartments, and in the
servants’ kitchen. The maids of honor, who were the most
frequent victims of her pranks, surnamed her, “ Dame
Madcap,” while her cordial interest in inferiors caused the
retainers to dub her with the equally appropriate soubri.
quet 0f “ Little Sunbeam.”

One day, the Princess Eleanora, passing the hall of audi~
ence, was surprised by hearing shouts of irrepressible
laughter. Suspecting that her protegée was engaged in
some frolic, she cautiously opened the door and stood an
unobserved spectator. Every piece of furniture capable
of being moved, had been torn from its mooring, and
placed in some fantastic position. The arms had been
stripped from the walls, and hung in grotesque festoons at
the farther extremity of the room, above and around a.
throne, ornamented With every article of embroidered vel-
vet and silk brocade, that the royal wardrobe afi'orded, on
which was seated her Madcap majesty, bedecked and be-
dizened with all sorts of holiday finery, while every maid
and retainer, not on duty, was passing before her, and re-
peating the oath of fealty in giggling succession. The fair
queen, meanwhile, diversified her state duties by lecturing
her new subjects upon the iudecorum of such ill-timed
levity. The princess, in doubt What notice to take of the
affair, prudently withdrew, but not till Eva had caught sight
of her retreating figure, whereon, she assured her vassals,
that they had all been guilty of high treason, and that, no
doubt, the Don J on, 01' some other Spanish cavalier would
soon have them in close keeping.

When Eva. again appeared in the presence of the prin-
cess, she fell on her knees and begged pardon With an air
of mock humility that changed Eleanora’s frowns to smiles
in spite of herself, though she felt it necessary to remon-
strate with her upon the oft~reiterated subject of her undig~

ELEANORA. 361

nified familiarity with dependents. “I was but acting the
queen, your majesty, and would be glad of more exalted
subjects,” said she, archly, in extenuation of her fault.
“ Royalty is but a pageant, and I shall doubtless exercise
the prerogative of a sovereign, when it is proved that the
wicked little Eva de la. Mer is heiress of the gallant Strong-
bow.”

“ Thou, Queen of Ireland 1” exclaimed Eleanora. “ Who
has put this foolish conceit into thy young head? Thou
must beware, sweet one, of these odd fancies. Remember-
est thou not the words of the eonfessor, that the pomps and
vanities 0f the world lead the soul astray ?”

Tears filled the blue eyes of Eva, but instantly dashing
them away With spirit, she exclaimed, “ And Why not I a
queen! ’Tis sure I would be a better sovereign than most.
They should not say as they do of our liege, King Henry,
that I robbed my subjects to make presents to my favor-
ites.” ‘

“ Evaa Eva,” gravely rejoined the princess, “ the Scrip-
ture saith we should not speak evil of dignities.” But Eva.
was in the vein, and her volubility was not to be silenced.

“I would not be a queen,” exclaimed she, “for then I
should have none to love me or to tell me the truth.”

“N0ne"t0 love thee I” replied Eleanora. “Do not the
people love her gracious majesty, my royal mother Z”

“ Thou shouldst hear what all men say of her,” exclaim-
ed the child, almost frightened at her own audacity.

I “And What do men say?” inquired Eleanora, her curi-
osity getting the better of her judgment.

“They say,” continued Eva, “ that all the troubles in
England are owing to the queen and her relations. That
King. Henry took the marriage portion of his sister Isabella
to furnish the decorations for the coronation ; and thou
knoWwe/ll, my lady, that she hath nine garlands for her
hair, besides a great gold crown most glorious With gems.”

“ In sooth,” returned the princess, “ thou knowest more
than I of the queen’s wardrobe. But how learnedst thou
these things ?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

362 , HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

“ Her maidens, Who love her none too well, tell me every-
thing.”

“And dost thou encourage them in evil speaking of
their mistress, by listening to their idle tales ?’7

“ Nay, I told them they were sinners, and that the father
of evil would surely get them ; but they only laughed, and
said, in that case, I should certainly bear them company.”

Eleenom, looking gravely, said, “I fear my darling is
learning sad ways, and I must henceforth keep her always
by my side.” -

Eva threw her arms around the princess, and pillowing
her fair cheek upon her bosom, whispered, “Let not my
neble mistress omit this punishment, for in her presence ’tis
easy to be good.” There was a pause of some minutes,
When the child gently resumed, “ My lady Will one day
he a queen, shall Eva then speak only the words of adula-
tion, such as the false dames d’honneur employ in the pres-
ence of her majesty? I heard them whispering 10W con-
cerning the queen’s gold, and the extdrtions and exactions
she had brought upon the people, and when she inquired
What they Whispered, they turned it With some fine com-
pliment. I sought to tell her of the falsehood, but the
ladies would not give me entrance to her apartment. I
will tell thee, for thou art Wise and mayest perchance warn
her of her false friends. What first caught my ear was the
name of my lord, Prince Edward. They said that when
he was a lad of eight years, his royal fatherbrought him
forth With his brother Edmund and his sisters Margaret ant;g
Beatrice, and had them all weighed up like the calves at
the butchers, and then scattered their weight in coin among
the ragged beggar children that stood in the court below,
laughing at the screams of the royal babies.”

“ Eva ! Eva ! HOW couldst thou listen to such vain par-
lance ?” ~ “‘3

“ Oh ! my lady, this is not the half of the vile things they
told. They said that when the king had oppressed the
people till he could wring no more money from them, he
broke up his court, and then, to avoid the expense of keep~

~

..

ELEANQRA. 363

ing his family, he invited himself with his-retinue t0 the
castles 0f the nobles, and after being feasted right royally,
he begged gifts at his departure, telling them it was a great-
er charity to bestow alms upon him than upon any beggar
in the realm.” "

“Eva! darling ! .no more of this,” said Eleanora, in a de-
cided tone. “I will give thee for thy penance three pater-
nosters and a creed. Repair to my Oriel, and let me hear
thee prate 110 more.” ,

Eva received so much spiritual benefit from her devotions
in the oratory, that the next day she was permitted to go
where she pleased, and her first works of supererogation
Were distributed among those Who had participated in her
offence. Accordingly, the princess found her robed in the
chaplain’s gown, and receiving the confessions of those who
had assisted at her coronation the previous day, in which
capacity she exhibited a wonderful facility in prompting
treacherous memories and callous consciences». In the
midst of the scene, a sharp blast from the warder’s horn
startled the merry group. In times of public calamity,
every unexpected event seems fraught with a fearful in-
terest. Each vassal hurried to his post, and the females
hastened away, while Eva, dropping her sacred character,
ran with all speed t0.reconnoitre from the arrow~slit 0f the
turret. The portcullis was raised, the sound of hoofs was
heard upon the drawbridge, and the next moment a mes-
senger, toiL-worn and travel-stained, dashed into the court.
The tidings which he brought were of, the most important
character. King Henry, apparently 011 the most friendly
terms with Leicester, was, in reality, a prisoner in his castle,
and subject to the Will of the earl. Prince Edward was
rapidly preparing for war With the rebel barons, and, deem-
ing the royal ladies unsafe in England, had sent to bid them
haste with all speed to the court of the good King of France.
Straining her eyes to command a view beyond the castle
walls, Eva discerned a band of huntsmen lingering in the
skirts of an adjoining wood, but in the bustle of departure,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

364 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

she could not find opportunity to communicate the suspi-
cious circumstance to any in authority.

Apparelled in the utmost haste, the parties set forth, and
slacked not their riding till they reached the port. There
seemed to be a great crowd in the vicinity, of sailors, boat-
men, clowns, in cartmen’s frocks, and occasionally a man
in armor. Eva fancied that she discerned among them the
huntsmen 0f the wood, and her fears were confirmed when
a moment after the royal train were completely environed
by the band. But so adroitly was the manoeuvre effected,
that the fugitives had scarcely time to feel themselves pris-
oners, when a troop of Leicester’s men appeared in the dis-
tance, and they comprehended that, but for the timely in-
terposition of these unknown friends, their retreat would
have been cut ofi‘. As the vessel receded from shore,
swords were drawn, and a fierce contest ensued between
the huntsmen and the soldiers, and Eva recognized in the
leader of their defenders the figure of the tall knight who
had rescued them at London bridge.

At the court of Queen Margaret, the exiled princesses re-
ceived a cordial welcome, and the piety 0f Eleanora was
strengthened by intercourse with the good St. Louis : While
Eva’s vivacity soon made her a favorite with the ladies of
the French court. The unaffected piety of the saintly mon-
arch was scarcely a fit subject for the humor which Eva
exercised without discrimination, upon the grave and gay.
But many of the superstitious Observances 0f the church,
ridiculous in themselves, excited her native merriment;
nor could all the penances 0f the confessor restrict the
playful license of her tongue.

The Latin dynasty of Constantinople was now tottering
to its fall. The young Greek emperor Baldwin, deprived
of the counsels of his father—in—law, J ean de Brienne (who
had taken the habit of St. Francis, and died on a pilgrim-
age to Jerusalem), was exposed to the attacks of every dis-
affected noble that chose to rebel against him. He had
made every possible concession to avoid open warfare with
his enemies, and had suffered every conceivable inconve-

ELEANORA. » 365

nience from utter poverty. He had given his hiece in mar-
riage to a Turkish emir, ana ratified a treaty with a haughty
pagan by tasting his blood. He demolished vacant houses
in Constantinople for winter fuel, stripped the lead from
the churches for the daily expense of his family; mort-
gaged his father’s estates in France to increase the public
revenue ; and pawned the heir of the purple at Venice, as
security for a debt. One only treasure yet remained, the
Holy Crown of Thorns; but piety forbade him to make
merchandise of that which all Christendom regarded with
such superstitious veneration. It was therefore determined
to present the precious bauble t0 the most honorable prince
in Europe, and rely upon his pious gratitude to make suit-
able return. A wooden box conveyed the inestimable
relic to France. It was opened in the presence of the no-
bility, diséovering within a silver shrine in which was pre-
served the monument of the Passion, enclosed in a golden
vase. St. Louis, with all his court, made a pilgrimage to
Troyes, to receive the precious deposit. And the devout
monarch, barefoot, and without other clothing than a
simple tunic, carried it in triumph through the streets of
Paris, and placed it in La Sainte Chapelle, which he pre-
pared for the purpose. This solemn ceremony roused all
the mirthfulness of Eva, nor could the habitual reverence
of Eleanora so far prevail over her good sense, as to pre-
vent some slight misgivings concerning the authenticity of
the various and multiplied relics that then formed so lucra-
tive a branch of commerce.

“I warrant me,” said the madcap, Eva, t0 the maidens,
“ we shall all of us be compelled to kneel upon the cold
pavement before that prickly emblem, as a punishment for
our many transgressions.” Shocked at her impiety, yet in-
wardly amused, the merry party mingled their reproaches
with encouraging peals of laughter.

“ No doubt,” continued she, “it will cure all diseases, at
least it has humbled the holy king like St. Paul’s thorn in
the flesh. For me, though I strove to wear a devout face, I
could not help laughing at the sight of his royal shins.” The

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

366 ‘ HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

volatile French ladies, who had experienced very much the
same sensation, joined in the merriment. “I hear,” said
Eva, “ we are to have another procession of the same kind
ere long, and mayhaps they will require us to transport the
holy relic in the same flimsy guise. Thou, Felice, who art
sojealous of Sir Francis d’Essai’s attentions to me, shall
carry the cross. And the sharp-witted Beatrice shall bear
the lance. Thou, Caliste, who hearest all and sayest naught,
shall wear the sponge, and as for me, I shall take the rod
of Moses and smite your rocky hearts,ti11 the waters of
repentance flow forth.” “ Hush ! hush 1” exclaimed the
damsels, “ her majesty approaches.”

Scarcely were their countenances composed to the ap- v
proved pattern of court propriety, and their eyes fixed
upon their embroidery, when Queen Margaret entered,
and, in her serenely gracious manner, informed them that
his highness, the Emperor Baldwin, had presented another
invaluable gift to her royal husband, and she counselled
them, by fasting and prayer, to put themselves in readi
ness to join the court in a procession to deposit the sacred
relic in St. Chapelle. While each maiden dropped her
head with apparent assent, but in reality to conceal her
smiles brought up by the prospective realization of Eva’s
panorama, the facile girl devoutly crossed herself, and with
a demure 100k replied, “ We have heard of the noble Cour-
tenay’s munificence, and have endeavored, according to our
poor ability, to prepare our minds for the solemn duty.”
No sooner had the queen departed, than in a tone of mock
gravity, she exhorted them to be diligent in their worship,
for now she thought of it,she resolved to smile upon the
young Squire Courtenay, who had besought her to em-
broider a shamrock upon his pennon. Winning him, she
should doubtless one day share the imperial, purple, in
which case she should reclaim those sacred treasures, and
they would then be under the necessity of making a pil-
grimage to Constantinople, for as Baldwin’s last heir was
in pawn, the crown would doubtless descend to the younger
branches of his house.

ELEANORA. 367

CHAPTER IV.
THE ESCAPE

IN the court of France, the royal princesses received con-
stant intelligence of the progress of the struggle between
the English barons and the king, 01' rather, between Simon
de Montfort and Prince Edward, Who headed the opposite
factions. Their hopes were raised by accounts of the gel-
lant conduct of the young prince, and by the disafi‘ection
that arose between the confederate barons, but sudden
misery overwhelmed them, when, after several years of
torturing suspense, Wm. de ‘Valence arrived at Paris,
bringing news of the death of Guy de Lusignan, in the dis-
astrous action at Lewes, and the captivity of King Henry
and his gallant son.

Queen Eleanor immediatdy determined to proceed to
England, and her daughter-in-law Eleanora insisted upon
accompanying her. Young de Courtenay, Who had recently
received the honors 0f knighthood, from his royal master,
and Sir Francis, Who had enlisted as his rival for the smiles
of Eva, now a beautiful girl of fifteen, begged permission
to join the escort, With a band of armed retainers. They
landed at Plymouth, and lay concealed for some time in
the wilds of Devonshire, While the gallant knights, Sir Henry
and Sir Francis, scoured the country in all directions, for
information concerning the captive princes. They learned
that the royal army had retreated to Bristol castle, under
the command of seven knights, who had reared seven bau-
ners 0n the walls, and with determinefl valor held- out
against Leicester, and that the princes were confined in
Kenilworth castle. The difficulty of communicating with
the prisoners exercised the ingenuity of the little council
for many days, but every plan involved danger, both to
themselves and to the royal cause. :

Eleanora, whose clear sense and unwavering reliance on

 

 

 

 

 

 

368 HEROINES 'OF THE CRUSADES.

a higher power, led her to a practice} demonstration ofthe
sentiment, “Tohope the best is pious, brave, and Wise,”
was the life and soul of every arrangement, and the soother-
of those fainter spirits, Who were ready to yield, to despair
at every sign of failure. Their residence was in a little
hamlet of the better class of peasants, faithful to the in-
terests 0f the king. A deep forest extended on the west
to a great distance, and in those wilds, spite of all‘ caution,
Eva delighted to ramble. One day she had been so long
absent that even Eleanora, becoming alarmed, despatched
her attendant in quest of her, and herself joined the search.
As she passed along through the glades 0f the deep wood‘,‘
her attention was arrested by the sight of a pretty boy,
lying asleep beneath the shade of a spreading oak, whose
dress from his embroidered'shoes, t0 the ruby that fastenefi
the plume in his velvet cap, was of the most exquisite
beauty, and taste. The page was clad in a hunting suit of
“ Lincoln green,” slashed with 010th of gold, that gleameci
from the mossy bank upon which he rested, as though the
sunshine had fallen and lingered there. A crimson bale
dric curiously wrought With strange devices, lay across his
breast, a sword With burnished sheath, was suspended from
his belt. As Eleanora approached, and gazed upon the
sleeping boy, she thought she had never beheld so lovely
3, youth, and an instinctive desire rose up in her heart, t0=
enroll him in her service.

“ Wake, pretty one,” said she, softly touching his cheek,
“wake, and go with me.” The youth started and gazecf
upon her, and a flush of surprise and pleasure suffused his
countenance. “ Whose page art thou ?'” said E1ean0ra$
“ and how hast thou wandered into this wild ?”

“Noble lady,” returned the boy, casting down his eyes
With modest hesitation, “ my hawk hath gone astray, and‘
I sought him till’ aweary, I fell asleep.”

“ Thy friends have left thee in the greenwoofl,” returned
the princess, “ and thou. may’st not find them. Wilt go with
me, and I Will give thee gold and benison, and if thou art
loyal, an errand worthy thy knightly ambition.”

ELEANORA. 369

“ Nay, treason may be loyal, or loyalty treason, in these
troublous times,” said the boy. “ One says follow my 10rd
of Leicester, another, draw thy sword for the good Prince
Edward.”

“ And if I say, draw thy sword for the good Prince Ed-
ward, Wilt follow me Q” g

The youth replied evasively, “I love my lady, and 1
may not engage in other service, till I bring her proud bird
back to the perch.”

Something in his earnest tone arrested the attention of
the princess, and scanning the countenance of the youth
With more curious scrutiny, she marked the rosy hue in his
cheek, and the tear trembling in his blue eye, and exclaimed,

“Eva! Eva! ! HOW is this ?”

“ N ay, an thou knowest me, I Will e’en venture on thy
knightly errand,” said the blushing girl, falling on her
knees, and repeating the oath of fealty, rapidly as possible
to hide her emotions.

“ Rise,” said the princess, With all the sternness she could
command, “ and tell me whence this disguise.”

“ I know not, lady, more than thou, save this. Scarce a.
week since, I met in this woodthe tall knight Who hath s0
nobly defended us, and yesternight I'braved the fear of thy
frown, and came to this ti‘ysting-place. He hath concerted
a. plan for the liberation of my royal master, and brought
me this disguise, which must be sufficient, since it so long
baffled thy quick discernment. Accident has betrayed me,
else it had not rested With my lady, Whether Eva should,
trust the stranger, and aid in restoring the proud bird of
England to his royal perch.” Eleanora paused one moment,
while her mind, ever clearest and most active in emer-
gency, poised between the possibility of danger to her fa-
vorite, and rescue to her 10rd.

“The knight has twice preserved our lives, he must be
bold and true, and heaven hath raised him up for our de-
liverance, since God conceals us from our enemies, and re-
veals our lurking-place to him. It were treason to doubt

this divine Providence, since it would imply neither trust
24

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

370 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

in man, nor faith in God. Go, Eva,” said the princess, her
eyes filling with tears, as she pressed her to her bosom,
and imprinted a warm kiss upon her cheek. “ Heaven
Will protect and prosper thee, and my noble Edward know
how to reward thy devotion.” She stood gazing fondly on
her in silence, While Eva’s color went and came as though
she essayed,what yet she feared, to utter. At length she
stammered forth, “ My lady will send Sir Francis With his
band to guard the fords 0f the Exe till my return.”

“Sir Francis,” reiterated the queen, in a tone of sur-
prise ; “ methought Sir Henry were more agreeable escort.”

Eva tried to hide her crimson blushes beneath her deli-
cate fingers, as she whispered, “ If my mistress please, I
would that Sir Henry should be ignorant of this unmaid-
enly disguise.”

“ Thou lovest Sir Henry, then ?” said Eleanora.

“ Nay, lady, I know not that,” replied Eva; “ but there
is something in him that commands my regard despite my
will, and I would not needlessly forfeit his esteem.”

“I Will answer for thee, sweet,” replied the princess.
“ Sir Francis shall go according to thy Wish. But must I
leave thee here alone and unprotected ?”

“ The monarch of the forest spreads his broad arm for
my protection, and thou shalt envy my repose, in my sylvan
eyrie,” replied Eva, lightly springing into a fantastic seat,
formed by the twisted branches of a gnarled oak, and com-
pletely concealed by the foliage. Firmly ensconced in her
rustic lodge, she leaned forward and Whispered a gentle
farewell, as the princess, bearing in her mind a Vision of
a. bright face, peeping out from among the green leaves,
turned and rapidly retraced her steps to the hamlet.

That night Sir Francis set out With his train, and as two
maidens accompanied the hand, one wearing the dress of
Eva, her absence excited n0 suspicion.

Meanwhile the sprite remz‘tined in her place of conceal-
ment, till the gathering shadows of the trees stretched
stealthily across the glade the appointed signal for the
gathering of the outlawed bands. The tall knight soon ap-

ELEANORA. 371

pearedrand, lifting her gently from the tree,p1acedrher
on a beautif 111 Spanish jennet, and smilingly handing her
an ivory whistle, terminating in a silver cros'sg'bad‘e'her
summon her satyrs. She placed it to her lips, and blew a,
shrill call, and forthwith from the leafy bosom ‘of every
bush and shrub there issued a huntsman, clad inv’forest
green, and ca1rying only such weapons as were used in the
chase. The knight gave them hasty directions f01 the dif—
fe1ent points of rendezvous, at which they were to watch
the safety of the young squire, warned them against those
places where they would be most likely to encounter“ the
maleontents, and then mounting the noble steed that stood
pawing the turf in impatience by his side, and laying his
hand upon the min, recalled Eva. to herself, by saying, with
emphasis, “ Si1 Launfal, we must away, 01 mo111ing Will
dawn ere we moss the f01ds 0f Exe. ”

They 1ode at a blisk pace for some time' 111 silence, the
mind of each being too much occupied for words.

The knight at length spoke abruptly. “ Thou hast a turn
fo1 adventme, pletty page, and I’ll wanant me, ready
tongue, but how dost thou think to gain speech With Prinee
Edweud ?”

“ N ay, that I leave with thee,” returned Eva, “ since I
kLOW neither the place to Which I am bound, 1101' the duty
I am to perform.”

“And that I scarce know myself,” replied the knight.
“ The lady Maud Mortimer has the tswiftest courser in an
England, a coaI-black Arabian, brought by Richard of
Cornwall as a gift to her ladyship, on his return from the
Holy Land. My Lord Mortimer is a partisan of Leicester,
but is somewhat cooled in his devotion to the proud earl,
from an affront received since the battle of Lewes. The
lady, therefore, to be revenged, has volunteered her steed
for the escape of Edward. There riseth, however, another
difficulty. The prince is constantly surrounded With
guaids, so that 110 stlanger may accost him. My me1ry
men have beset the castle 1n evel y kind of disguise, but to
110 pu1pose. Of late, the p1ince lides f01th of a morning,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

372 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

closely attended, and I have brought thee, hoping that thy
woman’s wit may effect more than all our dull brains have
yet accomplished.”

As the captive prince7 sick with hope deferred, languidly
mounted his horse and rode forth upon his monotonous
round, he was surprised by the appearance of a saucy-look—
ing page, who mingled carelessly among the attendants,’
and challenged the younger squires to test the speed of
their horses. ’

“ And who art thou, pert boy 2” inquired the captain of
the guard.

“Who but the squire to my Lord de Mortimer? Thou
must be learned in heraldry an thou knowest not the de-
vice of the noble earl,” replied the page, with an air of
nonchalance that easily satisfied his interrogator, and eager
of sport the whole party joined in the race. They were
thus ledtfar beyond their usual limits. But the prince,
whose heart was sad, evinced little interest in the anima-
ted scene till the page,10ud1y entreating him to put his
steed t0 the mettle, found opportunity at intervals to whis-
per, “ To-morrow when the horses of the guards are blown,
seek the copse 'by the Hazel Glen.” As if disgusted with
the familiarity of the page, the prince slowly turned away,
but not till he had exchanged a glance of intelligence with
his new friend.

The following morning the gallant Sir Launfal stood in
the copse holding the reins of his own palfrey, and the
steed of Lady Mortimer, till he was faint and weary. The
expected hour for Edward’s arrival had long passed, and
notwithstanding his efi'ort to appear the brave squire he
personated, it must he confessed he felt very like a timid
girl, whose active imagihation peopled the wood With a
thousand unknown dangers. He turned the Whistle nerv-
ously in his fingers, and almost assayed to try its magic
powers in summoning around him the brave outlaws who
waited his bidding, when the welcome sound of advancing
hoofs reassured him, and a. moment after the prince dashed
into the thicket. a

 

   

ELEANORA. 373

“Keep t0 the highway till we meet at the cross-roads,”
said the page, resigning the rein into his hand.

The shouts of the pursuers were already on the air, as
the prince vaulted into the saddle and took the direction
indicated. Striking into a bridle path, Sir Launfal reached
the cross—roads just as the prince appeared, and together
they rode gaily on towards Bristol. The pursners soon
after gained the same point, where they encountered a
woodman, jogging 0n slowly after two loaded mules, of
Whom they inquired concerning the fugitive. '

“ He he’s gone yonder,” replied the beer, pointing in the
direction opposite to the one which the prince had taken,
where upon an eminence appeared an armed force. The
baffled guards, fearing that the conspiracy might have been
more extensive than they had anticipated, made the best
of their way back to Kenilworth. '

“ And who art thou, my pretty page ?” inquired Edward,
“ that hast s0 dexterously redeemed thy prince, and whither
dost thou conduct me ?”

“I wear the badge of Mortimer,” replied Sir Launfal.
“ The Lady Maude is the constant friend of thy royal
mother'.”

“Canst tell me aught of' the movements of the rebel
barons, 01' the fate of my brave knights ?”

“Nay, my giddy brain reeks little of politics or war,”
returned the boy, “ but there are can give thee tidings.”

A moment after they turned an angle in the road, and
the boy putting the whistle to his mouth sounded a. sharp
note, and a’party 0f hnntsmen, apparently in quest of
game, darted across the path,whi1e one shouted, as if to
his companions, “ T0 the right, the game lies by the Her—
mit’s Cross.” The page immediately turned his palt‘rey,
motioning to silence, and led off into the path through the
wood, and after several hours’ hard riding arrived at the
appointed place of rendezvous.

At the foot of a large wooden cross, weather—stained and
somewhat decayed, sat a monk, closely robed in gown and
cowl, who rose at their approach, saying in a 10W voice,

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

374 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

“ The benison of our Lady of \Valsingham rest upon you 5”
and with great strides conducted them deeper and deeper
into the wood, till they came to a hunter’s 10dge,which,
though much in ruins, gave signs of having been recently
repaired, with some view to the rank and comfort of those
who were to occupy it.

The prince made light of the trifling inconveniences to
which they were subjected, remarking, “ A soldier has little
choice of resting-place.” But poor Eva, wearied almost
to death from the unaccustomed fatigues 0f the day, now
that the stimulus of eX'eitement was over, had leisure to
think of her own situation; and scarcely able to restrain
her tears, crept silently to her couch 0f fern, and beneath
the russet covering, soon slept from very exhaustion. The
prince and the monk meanwhile conferred apart in low
tones, concerting measures for present and future security.

“ Gloucester is with us,” said the priest, “ and Sir Roger
de Mortimer has a party of picked men on the road to
Evesham. My band have charge of every ford and pass
between this and Hereford. The scouts report that Leices-
ter’s men are much wasted by their long residence on the
Welsh frontier, and my jolly fellows are this night engaged
in breaking down the bridges across the Severn. For we
churchmen have a fancy, that baptism is necessary to wash
away the sins of rebels.”

“I fear not all the rites of the Church can absolve the
black-hearted traitor,” returned Edward, With great asper~
ity. “ But proceed with thy news.”

“ The country is beset with Leicester’s spies,” continued.
the monk, “ else had I been less guarded in my communica-
tions with thee. Bands of men are daily mustering in
every direction, making the high-l‘oads unsafe for honest
travellers like myself.”

“ Thou wilt join our forces with the brethren of thy chap-
ter,” suggested the prince.

“Our chapter are somewhat too much tinctured With
heresy to hail the ascendency 0f the odious De Montforts,”
replied the monk; “ thou mayst, therefore, depend upon

ELEANORA. ~375

their most earnest intercessions in thy behalf. But for. me,
I must restore pretty one,” nodding his head significantly
towards the spot Where Eva lay asleep, “to his mistress.
It is a matter, not of selfish interest alone, that the loyal
page be restored unharmed.” L

“ Thou art right,” returned Edward “I would not that
the charming boy should lose one raven curl fur me, though
he hath risked his freedom and, perhaps, his life to save
me."

CHAPTER V.
THE DETERMINATION.

AFTER the battle of Evesham, in which Edward entirely
overthrew the party of the rebel barons, and reestablished
Henry’s throne, Eleanora resided alternately in the palace
of Savoy and at \Vindsor castle. The care of her three beau-
tiful children occupied much of her attention, and in their
nurture the streams of her afi'ection deepened and widen-
ed, until they embraced all who came within the sphere of
her influence. The now charming, but still,v01atile,Eva
occasioned her infinite anxiety. '

Since the day When Sir Francis had received her from
the tall knight, at the ford 0f the Exe, he had held her by
the tWO-vfold cord of obligation and the possession of a secret;
and from the first moment he discovered that she was
sensitive upon the subject, he had not ceased to use his
power to his own advantage. She was thus obliged to treat
him with a favor which he ill deserved; yet such was the
natural transparency of her character, that her real senti-
ments so often betrayed themselves, as to keep him in a
constant state of irritation.

Sir Henry de Courtenay, whose sincere and ardent na-
ture gave him little taste for mysteries, could not brook the
inconsistencies that constantly presented themselves in her
manner, and determining that his hand should never be

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

876 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

bestowed where there was not the basis of confidence, with-
drew himself from the sphere of her attractions. Eva
grieved at his departure, but it was in vain that the princess
represented, that the readiest escape from her difficulties
was a courageous and candid confession of the truth.

Eva “ did not care if he could be piqued by such trifles,
as her smiling upon Sir Francis, when she heartily wished
him among the Turks, he might e’en seek his fortune else-
where. And for the matter of that, who could tell that it
was desirable for the heiress of Strongbow to marry a
simple knight.” But these heroics usually ended in violent
fits of weeping, and profound regrets that she had ever
forfeited the confidence of De Courtenay.

Meanwhile, Edward began to feel the languor of inglori-
011s ease, and as his dreams of ambition returned upon him,
his thoughts reverted again and again to the unsolved prob-
lem that had exercised the political mathematicians 0f Eu—
rope for nearly two centuries. Could a permanent christian
kingdom be founded in Palestine? All the blood which
the French had shed, and all the wise counsel that Louis
lavished in the Seventh Crusade, had failed to erect the
necessary defence, 0r compose the disorders that oppressed
the Syrian Christians. Nor were the Mussulman lords of
Syria in much better condition. The noble dynasty 0f
Saphadin had fallen a prey to the ruthless Mamelukes, and
a bloodstained revolution in Egypt had placed the fierce
Almalek Bibers on the throne. An excuse was not wanting
for the invasion of Palestine, and the holy places were
again bathed in the blood of their gallant defenders. The
military orders were nearly annihilated, and the country
was ravaged with fire and swerd, almost to the very walls
of Acre.

About this time an event, no ways connected with the
East, turned Edward’s attention to the adoption of the cross.
He had challenged Sir Francis to a game of chess. In the
midst of the play, from an impulse unaccountable to him-
self, he rose and sauntered towards the embroidery frame,
to relate to Eva his adventure with the page whose Inge-

ELEANORA. 377

nuity had once saved his life. Sir Francis, curious to enjoy
her artful evasions, followed him ; and a moment after, the
centre stone of the groined ceiling fell with a terrible crash
on the very spot Where they had been sitting

This almost miraculous preservation induced the prince
to believe that he was destined to perform some great ser-
vice for God. It recalled to his mind the benizon of our
Lady at W'alsingham, and, accompanied by Eleanora and
a goodly train, he set off the following day to offer on her
shrine at Norfolk an altar-cloth of gold brocade, and t0
crave her protection upon the expedition that he now seri-
ously meditated.

“Eva,” said the princess, very gravely, when they sat
one day alone, “ thou knowest my lord contemplates a pil-
grimage.”

“The saints preserve us 1” said Eva. “Are there not
holy places enough in England, but my lord must risk his
life upon the sea, and encounter the black Infidels whose
very presence is a terror ?” >

“ ’Tis not alone to Visit the holy places,” replied Eleano-
ra, “ though that were a work well worthy knightly daring;
but to redeem our christian brethren from the power of
their foes, and 'to establish the kingdom of Christ, in the
land where He died for his people.” >

“ And have not the holiest men and the bravest warriors
in Europe, from Peter the Hermit t0 Fulk 0f Neuilly, and
from Godfrey 0f Boulogne t0 the good St. Louis, all at-
tempted it and failed ? My 10rd, I warrant me, has been
reading the tales of the romancers, or been deceived by
the cunning manifestos 0f the pope,” returned Eva.

. “ Eva, dear one, when shall I teach thee to treat with re-
spect those in authority.”

“I know that I am wrong,” said Eva, “ but why does
not his Holiness take the cross himself, if he considers it
such a pious work 2”

“ And if the Sovereign Pontifi' be one of those who say
and do not, the Scriptures still require us to obey those Who
sit in Moses’ seat,” replied the queen.

 

 

378 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

“ Thy goodness reproveth me beyond thy words. I would
that I could be always truthful and pure as thou,” said
Eva. -

“ Nay,” returned the queen, “ I do but repeat that Which
the eonfessor this morning told me.”

“Forgive my irreverent prating,” replied the maiden,
“ but it seemeth strange to me that one, Who lacks the
grace of christian charity himself, should dictate the devo-
tions of my lady who is love itself.” ..

“Ah! partial one,” returned the princess, “hadst thou
lived in Beziers, St. Dominick would have had thy head for
thy heresy. But seriously, my Eva, thy praises humble me,
for methinks had my life really exhibited those graces for
Which thy partial fondness gives me credit, I might ere this
have taught thy restless spirit the composure Which trust in
God always gives.”

Alarmed by the grave tone of her mistress, and anxious
to conceal the emotions that welled up in her heart, Eva re-
plied, with assumed gaiety, “ N ay, what canst thou expect
from a' sea-sprite? Surely I must rise and fall like my na-
tive element.”

“Ah! darling, this is that which hath so often forced
home upon me the thought I would not willingly apply to
thee, ‘ Unstable as water, thou shalt not excel.’ And
this it is makes me solicitous to gain thy candid ear while
I unfold my husband’s plans.” Tears rolled over the fair
girl’s cheeks, but she remained perfectly silent. “ Sir
VVarrenne Bassingbourn, Whose noble heart thou knovvest
well, hath demanded thee of Edward, being pleased to say
that thy fair hand would be sufficient guerdon for 'his gal-
lant conduct in the wars. My royal father Will give thee
fitting dowry, and I would see my sweet friend well be-
stowed with some worthy protector before I embark upon
that voyage from Which I may never return.”

“ Thou embark for Palestine 1” exclaimed Eva, forgetting
her own brilliant prospects in the contemplation of her
lady’s purpose. “ Bethink thee, my most honored mistress,
of all the perils that beset thy course.”

 

 

 

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ELEANORA. ' 379

“I have counted them over, one by one,” replied the
princess, calmly.

“ Thou hast thought of the dangers of the sea, perhaps,
but rememberest thou the dreadful pestilence ?—the hor—
rors that Queen Margaret t01d?--—how the leeches cut away
the gums and cheeks of the sufferers, that they might swal-
low a drop of water to ease their torments ?”

“ I remember all—I have considered well,” returned the
princess. “ And this also do I know, that nothing ought to
part those Whom God hath joined ; and the way to heaven
is as near, if 'not nearer, from Syria as from England, or my
native Spain.”

“ Then I go with thee,” said Eva, throwing herself at the
feet of Eleanora, and pressing her lips upon her hand,
“for if God hath not joined me to thee, he hath left me

. alone in the world. Thou hast been to me more than Nao-
mi, and I shall not fail to thee in the duty of Ruth. Where
thou goest I Will go, where thou diest I Will die, and there
Will I be buried. Thy people shall be my people, and thy
God my God. The poor, lone Eva, whose mother lieth in'
the deep, deep sea, and Whose father is perchance a. wan-
derer or an outlaw, shall no more strive to veil the sadness
of her orphan heart by the false smiles and assumed gaiety
that grieve her truest, only friend. Henceforth I Will learn
the lesson thou hast, with such gentle patience and sweet
eXample, ever strove to teach me.”

Eleanora mingled her tears With those of the impassioned
maiden, and, anxious to end the painful scene, said, “ Thou
shalt go with me, love, to danger, and perhaps to death,
since such is thine election ; but What answer shall Edward
return to Sir Warrenne Bassingbourn ?”

“ Let my lord assure Sir Warrenne,” said she, rising
proudly, “ that Eva de la Mer is not insensible 0f the honor
he intends, but that she Will never add the shamrock to a,
knight’s escutcheon, till she knows by What title she claims
the emblem.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

380 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

C H A P T E R V I .
THE OLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAIN.

THE benevolent Louis could not rest in the palace of Vin-
cennes while the Mameiukes were slaughtering the Chris-
tians, or destroying their souls by forcing them to renounce
their faith. In his protracted devotions in the Sainte Cha—
pelle, he fancied he heard the groans of the dying in Pal-
estine, and his soul was stirred for their relief. He convened
the barons in the great hall of the Louvre, and entered
bearing the holy crown of thorns. He took the cross in
their presence, and made his sons and brothers take it, and
after those no one dared refuse. Especially did he exert
himself to gain the concurrence of the English. Edward
joyfully assented to the proposal, and Eleanora, with her
female train, departed in the spring of 1270 for Bordeaux,
where she superintended the preparations for the crusade
campaign. Thither Edward followed her when his own
arrangements were complete. From Bordeaux they sailed
for Sicily, where they remained the winter, and where they
heard the melancholy‘intelligence of the death of King
Louis, who had advanced as far as Tunis on his way to
Egypt. With his last breath, the sainted king whispered
the name that was set as a seal upon his heart. “ Oh!
Jerusalem! Jerusalem!” His brother, Charles d’Anjou,
King of Sicily, attempted to dissuade Edward from prose-
cuting the expedition. But the noble prince, striking his
hand upon his breast, exclaimed, with energy, “ Sangue de
Dieu! if all should desert me, I would redeem Acre if
only attended by my groom.”

\Vhen Edward turned the prow of his vessel up the Med-
iterranean, Acre was in a state of closer siege than it had
formerly been, at the advent of Richard Coeur de Lion.
But now it was the Mussulmans who lay encamped around
its walls, and the Christians who feebly defended it from

ELEANORA. 381

their fierce attack. The fate of the principality of Antioch
was closely connected With that of the Latin kingdom of
Jerusalem.

The family of Bohemond, the first sovereign, who married
Constantia, daughter of Phillip 1., King of F rance, had
reigned there in unbroken succession nearly to the period
of the last Crusade—though the State was tributary to
Frederic II. and to his son Conrad. The last king was
made a knight by St. Louis. When the Egyptians com-
menced their conquests in Syria, Antioch surrendered with-
out even the formality of a siege, and thus the link between
the Greek Empire and Palestine was sundered, and all
prospect of aid from that quarter entirely cut off.

In Acre were-assembled the last remains of all the Chris-
tian principalities of the East; the descendants of the he-
roes who, under Godfrey of Boulogne, took up their resi—
dence there ; the remnants of the military friars who had
so long and s0 strenuously battled for the ascendency 0f
the “Hospital” and the “Temple” 110 less than for the
redemption of the Holy Sepulchre ; and all the proselytes
who, through years of missionary efforts, had been gathered
from the Pagan world. But the defenceless were more
numerous than the defenders, and the factions which di-
vided their councils would have ripened into treachery
and ended in ruin, had it not been for the presence of
Sir Henry Courtenay. From the day of his estrangement
from Eva, he had bestowed his devotion upon those objects
Which he thought best calculated to fill the void in his
heart. At the first news of the disasters in Palestine, he
had assembled all the partisans and vassals 0f the noble
house of Courtenay, and, furnishing them from his own
purse, rallied them around the standard 07' torteauw,
and led them to the rescue of their eastern Brethren. He
reached the city at the critical moment When, wearied
with the strife, the Templars had begun to negotiate with
Melech Bendocar upon the terms of a capitulation. His
courteous and noble bearing harmonized the jarring spir-
its, and his ardent valor inspired them with new hopes, and

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

38‘2 ' HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

enabled them to maintain the last stronghold in Palestine,
till the arrival of Edward.

The knowledge that a Plantagenet had come to lift the
dishonored banner of the cross from the dust, spread terror
and dismay among the ranks of the Moslem, the Sultan of
Egypt fled from the city of Acre, all the Latins in Pales-
tine crowded round the standard of the English prince,
and Edward found himself at the head of seven thousand
veteran soldiers. With this force he made an expedition
to Nazareth, Which he besieged with the most determined
valor. In the fight, Edward was unhorsed, and might
have perished in the melee, had not Henry Courtenay re-
linquished his own steed for his master’s use. The gallant
youth then took his station by the side of a tall knight,
whose falchion gleamed in the front of the battle like the
sword of Azrael. They were the first to mount the scaling-
]adders and drive the Moslem from the walls. Nazareth
was thus, by one decisive blow, added to the dominions 0f
Christendom.

But the wing Of Victory‘was paralyzed by the scorching
sun of Syria. Edward was pi‘ostrated by the acclimating
fever that wasted the energies of Richard Coeur de Lion,
and in the palace of Acre he longed, in vain, for the cool-
ing draughts of iced sherbet, that the courteous Saladin had ,
bestowed upon his royal predecessor. Sir Francis d’Essai
had followed the fortunes of Edward, 01' rather of Eva, to
Palestine, hoping to win'the favor of his lady’s smiles.
The sight of de Courtenay roused all his formerjealousy,
and the cordial manner of Eva towards his rival almost
drove him to desperation. Various circumstances had ex-
cited an apprehension in Edward’s mind, that the count
was seeking to make common cause With the Arabs, but as
no tangible proofof treasonable practices appeared, the sus-
picion passed away.

The illness of the monarch continuing,E1eanura deter-
mined to make a pilgrimage to the Jordan, to pray at the
shrine of St. John for her husband’s recovery, and; at his
own earnest solicitations, Sir Francis was permitted to con-

 

ELEANORA. 383

duct the party. Eleanora afterwards remembered that he
rode most of the way in close attendance upon Eva, and
seemed engaged in earnest conversation, though several
muttered oaths gave her the impression that the colloquy
was not so satisfactory as he could have Wished, They ac-
complished their pilgrimage safely, and commenced their
return, when, stopping to refresh themselves in a small
grove near Mount Tabor, a band of mounted Saracens fell
upon them. There was a fierce struggle, and, for a few
moments, the gleaming 0f swords and the flash of scimeters
seemed to menace instant destruction. Both the assailants
and defenders were scattered through the wood, and a few
of the frantic females attempted flight. The Moslems at
length retreated, but when the princess summoned her re-
tainers to set forward, neither Sir Francis nor Eva could be
found.

Alarmed for the safety of her lovely companion, Elea-
nora caused the Vicinity to be searched in every direction.
Her palfrey was discovered idly cropping the grass, but all
trace of its fair rider was lost. With a bursting heart
the princess gave orders to proceed with all haste to Acre,
that scouts in greater numbers might be sent in quest of
the 10st jewel.

The state of Edward’s health was such, that it was not
deemed advisable to acquaint him with the melancholy
result of their pious enterprise. But de Courtenay at once
comprehended the plot. Such a mélée, without bloodshed,
proved no hostile intention on the part of the Arabs, and
there could be no doubt that Sir Francis was the instigator
0f the attack, and the possession of Eva, its object. His
impatience to set off for her rescue did not prevent him
from taking every precaution, both for the safety of Acre,
and the success of his expedition. Eleanora, Whose charac-
teristic self—possession had left her at liberty to observe,
described With the most scrupulous exactness the circum-
stances 0f the fray, and each trifling peculiarity in the
appearance of the robbers.

Fortified With this intelligence, he set off at once, with a

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

384 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

select party, and a few hours after leaving Acre, was un~
expectedly joined by the tall knight, and a reinforcement
of converted Pullami. From him he learned that the
Arabs had taken the direction of Mt. Lebanon, and from
his knowledge of the Assassin band, his heart sunk within
him, at the thought of what might have been the fate of
his lovely Eva. In his anxiety for her rescue, all her faults
were forgotten, and he only remembered the gentle kind-
ness that characterized every action, and the nameless
charm, that made her friends as numerous as her acquaint-
ances. Prompted by these considerations, they spurred
forward, stopping only to refresh their wearied steeds, till
they began to wind among the rocky passes of Mt. Leba-
non. '

The tall knight seemed perfectly familiar with the local-
ity, and guided the pursuers directly to the tower, called
The Vulture’s Nest, which was the chief residence of the
Old Man of the Mountain. There seemed to be an intelli-
gence between the tall knight and all the marabouts who
guarded the entrance to this “ Castle Dangerous.” Leav-
ing their followers, the two leaders advanced, and the
knight presenting a piece of shrivelled parchment to an
Arab, who filled the office of porter, they were ushered into
a long ball, at the door of which stood a swarthy Turk,
partly leaning upon an immense battle-axe, the handle of
which was stuck full of daggers. The Sheik received them
with an obsequiousness scarcely to be expected from one
of his bloody trade, and in answer to the knight’s eager
inquiries, motioned his attendant, and instantly that which
had appeared a solid masonry, rolled silentl'y back, as if
by magic, revealing an apartment fitted up with every ap-
pliance of eastern magnificence. Before they recovered
from their surprise, voices were heard from the farther
extremity of the room, soft female pleading, and then the
loud menacing tones of passion.

“Eva, thou shalt be mine ! I swear it by all the fiends
of hell. Nay, anger me not by thy cold repulse. Thou
art now beyond the protection of the smooth-tongued de

ELEANORA. 385

Courtenay.” He seized her arm as he spoke, and a pier.
cing shriek rang through the hall.

“ Traitor! viper! release thy hold,” exclaimed d'e
Courtenay, springing forward and receiving the fainting
girl in his arms.

“ And who art thou, that darest to cross the purpose of
D’Essai? By what right dost thou interfere between me
and my bride?”

“ By the right of a father,” said a deep, stern voice at
his side, and the tall knight advancing, tenderly clasped
his unresisting daughter to his heart, and stood by like one
lost in a tide of long-repressed emotions, while the two
nobles fiercely drew their swords, and With deadly hatred,
each sought the life of his foe. But the Sheik interposed,
reminding them, that his castle walls were sacred, and that
if his tributaries chose te slay one another, they must seek
the open field for the pastime. Reluctantly, and With
eyes that glared with baffled vengeance, the lords sheathed
their swords, and the tall knight, laying his daughter gently
upon a couch, spake a few words apart to the Sheik.

The Old Man made a sign of assent, and instantly two
Arabs sprang forward, seized D’Essai, bound him With
thongs, and conveyed him from the apartment. Relieved
of her fears, and reassured by the presence of a father, for
whose affection she had always pined, and a lover, on Whom
she now contrived to smile in a way that completely satisfied
his heart, Eva declared herself impatient to set off imme-
diately for Acre. The Sheik pressed them to partake of
some refreshments, and while Eva enjoyed a. few moments’
delicious conversation with her sire, a troop of slaves pre-
pared and set before them an entertainment that. would
have done honor to the palace of a. king. As the cavalcade
set out, the tender heart of Eva was pained to see Sir
Francis placed upon the back of a mule, blindfolded, with
his face to the crapper, and his arms firmly pinioned t0
the body of the Arab Who had him in charge.

“ Thou seemest on excellent terms With the Sheik of the

mountain, noble Clare,” said de Courtenay, as they rode
25

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

386 HEROINES OF THE VCRUSADES.

along. “ Had I not a guarantee in thy kindred,” said he
glancing at Eva, “I should somewhat challenge the famih
iarity that has given such success to ourexpedition.”

“ Nay, and that thou well mightst,” returned the Clare,
“ for the history of mankind does not furnish the idea of
so daring and desperate a band as these assassins of Mt.
Lebanon.” ‘

“Heaven save us’.” exclaimed Eva, her lips White with
fear. “ From What terrible fate have I been delivered!
That vile Sir Francis declared that he had snatched me
from the hostile Arabs, and WO‘tfld bring me safe to Acre,
and that it was in pity for my fatigue he turned aside to a.
castle of christian natives. It makes me shudder, even
now, to think that I have been in the presence of the man
Whose very name hath made me tremble, When beyond the
sea, in merrie England.”

“ Nay,10ve,” said her father, tenderly, “ the Sheik OWed
thee no malice, and might have‘rescued thee, had not Sir
Francis been his tributary.”

“They exact, then, toll and custom ?” said Courtenay,
inquiringly.

“ Thou sayest well exact,” replied the knight. “Didst
not mark the batt1e~axe 0f the rude seneschal? ’Tis said
the Danish weapon once betonged t0 the founder of the
band, and each dagger stuck in the oaken helve, inscribed
with a sentence in a difi'erent dialect, is significantly pointed

against the prince 0r ruler Who shall dare withhold tribute

from their chief. One of my ancestors, I reek not Whom,

ronce resided 'in the vicinity of Croyland, and received from

the venerable abbot the parchment which thou sawest me
use With such marvellous effect. My ancestor fought in
the first crusade under the Athehng, and, unlike most of
his companions, returned in safety, whence a tradition
arose in the family that the scroll was a charm.

“ On my setting out for the holy wars, I placed the heir-
loom in my aumom'éwe, and had nearly forgotten its exist-
ence, When a startling circumstance recalled it to memory.
My plan for the redemption of Palestine (for I have not

ELEANORA. 'iS”8‘7

been without ambition) was the organization of troops c01-
Iected from the mixed races which are now an important
part of the population. I was warned at the outset that
tribute would he demanded by the chief of the assassins,
but I steadily resisted every tax-gatherer who presented his
claims, till I awoke one morning in my tent, surrounded
by my faithful guard, and found a dagger stuck in the
ground not two fingers’ breadth from my head. I examined
the inscription upon the weapon and found it the same
With that upon the scroll, and forthwith determined to form
the acquaintance of this rival chief. He respected my
passport and showed me the wonders of his habitation,
which heaven grant «I may never see again. So perfect is
the discipline Of‘his followers, s0 invincible their faith, that
every word of their chief is a law. He led me 'up a lofty
tgwer, at each battlement of which stood two Fedavis. At
a sign ‘from him, two of these devotees flung themselves
from the tower, breaking their bones, and scattering their
brains upon the rock below. ‘If you wish it,’ said‘the
chief, ‘ all these men shall do the same.” But I had seen
enough, and I resolved from that hour never to tempt the
enmity of the Old Man of the Mountain.

“ I have ransomed yon traitor, at heavy cost, for I would
that Edward should know and punish his baseness. You
are now beyond the reach of danger. I may not enter
Acre—the reasons shall be told ere long. Farewell, my
daughter, sweet image of thy sainted mother; guard my
secret safely till we meet again. Adieu.”

He dashed the rowels into his steed, and was soon lost
among the hills.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

388 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

CHAPTER VII.

MEANTIME the palace of Acre had been witness of a fear-
ful scene. Since the fall of Nazareth the Emir of Joppa
had opened negotiations With Edward, professing a desire
to become a christian convert. So eager was the king for
this happy consummation that he cherished the deceitful
hope, held out by the Infidel, and granted him every 0p-
pdrtunity for gaining information concerning the tenets and
practices of the church.

Letters and messages frequently passed between them,
and so accustomed had the English guards become to the
brown haick and green turban of the swarthy Mohamme-
dan, who carried the despatches, that they gave him free
ingress t0 the city and admitted him to the palace, and even
ushered him into the king’s ante-chamber almost without
question or suspicion.

The day had been unusually sultry, even for the Syrian
climate. The heat of the atmosphere somewhat aggravated
the symptoms of the disease from Which Edward was slowly
recovering, and Eleanora had passed many weary hours in
vain endeavors to soothe his restlessness and induce re-
pose.

As the sun declined a cooling breeze sprang up from the
sea, seeming to the patient wife to bear healing on its
Wings, and the invalid, stretched on his couch before the
casement, began at length to yield to the soothing influence
of slumber, when the Chamberlain entered to say that the
emissary from J oppa waited an audience.

“ Now have I no faith in the conversion of this Infidel,”
said E1ean0ra,with an impatience unusual to her gentle
spirit, “ since his messenger disturbs my lord’s repose.”

“ Verily thou lackest thine accustomed charity,” replied
Edward. “I had thought to hear thee declare the conver-
sion of this Saracen my crowning glory in Palestine. But
thou art weary, my love. Go to thy rest,thy10ng vigils by

ELEANORA. 389

my side have already gathered the carnation from thy
cheek.”

“ Yet, my 10rd—-—” interposed Eleanora.

“ Nay, nay,” said Edward, “ disturb not thy sweet soul;
perchance more than my life depends upon the interview.
I will straight dismiss the envoy, and then thou canst en-
trust my slumbers to the care of the faithful Eva.”

At the mention of Eva a new and not less painful train
of associations was awakened in thesmind of Eleanora, and
with a heavy sigh she withdrew as the messenger entered.

A moment after there were sounds as of a violent strug-
gle and 0f the fall of a. heavy body, and Eleanora, Who had
lingered in the ante-chamber, scarcely knowing why, rushed
back into the apartment, followed by the Chamberlain and
guards.

The assassin lay upon the floor in the agonies of death,
his head broken by the oaken tressel from which she had
just risen. Prostrate by his side lay the prince, in a state
of insensibility, the blood faintly oozing from a wound in
his arm. The princess comprehended at once the risk her
husband had incurred, and shuddered with apprehension
at the thought of the danger that yet might menace him;
and while the attendants lifted him from the floor, she
tenderly raised his arm to her lips, and began to draw the
venom from the wound. But no sooner did Edward revive
from his swoon, than, forcibly thrusting her aside, he ex-
claimed, “Eleanora. my life, knowest thounot the dagger
was poisoned 3”

“ Even so, my lord,” said she, With steadfast composure,
still firmly persisting in her purpose, notwithstanding his
constant remonstrance.

The fearful intelligence of their leader’s peril spread with
li'ghtuing speed through the city, and self-sent messengers
hurried in every direction, and summoned leeches and
priests to cure or shrive the dying monarch. The Grand
Master of the Temple, Who was somewhat practised in the
habits of the assassins, appeared in the midst of the exciting
scene, and commending the timely application of Eleanora’s

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

390 HEROINES OF- THE CRUSADES.

loving lips, bound up the wound With a soft emollient, and
prescribed for the princess an antidote of sovereign efficacy.

Scarcely had silence resumed her dominion in the palace,
when the porter was again aroused to admit de Courtenay
and his rescued Eva. The traitor D’Essai had been lodged
in the tower of Maledietum, to wait Edward’s pleasure con-
cerning him ; and Eva, her heart overflowing with rap-
ture in the assurance of Sir Henry’s restored confidence,
and the security of a father’s love, passed the livelong night
with, Eleanora, in that free communion of soul which gener-
ous natures experience when the gushings of a common
emotion overleap the barriers of conventionalism and. for-
mality.

Edward was himself again. The steady ray of reason
had subdued the fevered gleam of his eye, and the ruddy
hue of health replaced the pallor of wasting sickness upon
his cheek. His athletic frame had wrestled with disease,
and come off conqueror over weakness and pain; and as
he assumed his seat of judgment, clad in his warlike pan-
oply, the reyal Plantagenet “looked every inch 3; king.”
The great church of Acre was thrown open, and knights
in brilliant armor, and Templars and Hospitaliers in the
habiliments of their orders, bishops and priests in their
sacred robes, and vassals in their holiday array, crowded
up the long aisles, and. filled the spacious choir, as though
eager to witness some splendid ceremonial. But instead ~
of gorgeous decorations, wainscot and window draped with
black diffused a, funereal gloom, and the solemn reverbera-
tion of the tolling bell seemed to sound a. requiem over
the grave of Hope.

Sir Francis d’Essai had been tried in a council of his
peers, and found guilty of treason to religion and knightly
devoir; and this day, the anniversary of‘his admission to the
rank of knighthood, his companions in arms, the vassals
whom he despised, and all those actuated by curiosity or
enmity, were assembled to witness his degradation, Eva.
Shuddered at the terrible doom of her former lover, and de

1111114110124. 3931”

Courtenay, with instinctive delicacy, had obtained permis-
sion to absent himself from the scene on a visit to the Holy
Sepulchre. As king—ofiarms, and first in rank, it was the
duty of Edward to preside over this fearful ceremony,
which, by the true and loyal, was regarded as more terrible
than death itself.

At the first stroke of the great bell, the pursuivants, hav-
ing robed Sir Francis for the last time in his knightly ha-
biliments, conducted him from the Cursed Tower toward the
chu1ch. As they enteled the door, the doleful peal sank
in silence, and, after one awful moment, his fellow-knights,
with broken voices, began to chant the hmial sewice.

An elevated stage, hung with black, had been erected in
the centie 0f the nave, band upon this the pu1suivants,
whose business it was to divest him of eve1y outward 1n-
signia of 00111 sore and t111th, placed the cu1p1it, in full v1eW
of all the vast concoulse.

When the chanting ceased, Prince Edward spoke in a
voice that thrilled to every heart, “Sir Francis d’Essai!
thou Who didst receiVe the sword of knighthood from the
hand of the good St. L011is,dost stand before us this day
attaint of treason to thy God, thy truth, and the lady of thy
love. Wherefore thy peers have willed that the order of
knighthood, by the Which thou hast received all the honor
and worship upon thy body, be brought to nought, and thy
state be undone, and thou be driven forth outcast and dis-
honored according to thy base deserts.” Instantly the
brazen tongue f10111 the beifl y ratified the flat, and announ-
ced the hour. of doom. At the wo1d, the squire With
trembling hand removed the helmet, the defence of dis-
loyal eyes, revealing the pale and haggmd countenance 0f
the recreant knight, and the choir resumed the mournful
dirge. Then each pursuivant advanced in his order to the
performance of his unwelcome duty. One by one the
knightly trappings of D’Essai were torn from his body, and
as cuirass, greaves, brassarts, and gauntlets rang upon the
pavements, the heralds exclaimed, “ Behold the harness of.
a misereant I” I 7 L A

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

392 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

Trembling and bent beneath the weight of shame, the
Craven stood, While they smote the golden spurs from his
heels, and brake his dishonored sword above his head, ant?
the terrible requiem wailed over the perished emblems of
his former innocence.

The Grand Master of the Templars then entered upon the
stage, bearing a silver basin filled with tepia water, and
the herald, holding it up, exclaimed, “ By what name call

’ men the knight before us 2”

The pursuivants answered, “ The name Which was given
him in baptism,——the name by which his father was known,
——the name confirmed to him in chivalry is Sir Francis
d’Essai.”

The heralds again replied, “ Falsehood sits upon his
tongue and rules in his heart ;1 he is miscreant, traitor, and
Infidel.”

Immediately the Grand Master, in imitation of baptism,
dashed the water in his face, saying, “ Henceforth be thou
called by thy right name, Traitor l”

Then the heralds rang out a shrill note upon the trum-
pets, expressive of the demand, “ What shall be done with
the false—hearted knave 2” Prince Edward in his majesty
arose, and in a voice agitateéi With a sense of the awful
penalty, replied, “ Let him With dishonor and shame be
banished from the kingdom of Christ—Let his brethren
curse him, and Iet not the angels of God intercede for him.”

Immediately each knight drew his sword, and presenting
its gleaming point against the now d'efencel’ess D’Essai,
crowded him down the steps to the altar, Where the pur-
suivants seized him, and 'forced him into his cofiin, and
placed him 011 the bier, and the attendant priests completed
the buriaI-service over his polluted name and perjured’ soul.
At a sign from the king, the hearers took up the bier, and
all the vast congregation followed in sad procession, t0 the
city-gates, Where they thrust him out, a thing accursed,
While the great bell from the lofty tower of the cathedral
told the tale of his infamy in tones of terrible significance,
“ G0ne—gone—gone—virtue, faith}and truth ; 10st—1‘ostm

‘ELEANORA. 393

lost—honor, fame, and love?’ From iCarme’I’s hoaryheight
to Tabor’s sacred top, each hallowed hill and vale rever-
berated the awful knell, “ Gone and 10st—10st and gone”
' and the breeze that swept the ,plain of Eedrae‘lon
caught up the dismalzech0,ai1d seemed hurrying across the
rMediterl-anean to Whisper to the :ehivalry of Europe the;
dreadful story of his degradation.

Stung bythe weight of woe that had fallen upon him,'the
miserable D’Essairose and gazed'across the plain. An'arid
waste spread out beforehim like the :prospect of his own
dreary future, blackened and desolate by the reign of evil
passions.

Life, What had it been to him? A feverish dream, a
burning thirst, ‘a 'restleSS, unsatisfied desire ! Virtue—
honor-——truth—-idle words, their solemn mockery yet rang
in his :ears. He ran—he flew—anvywhereyanywhere :to flee
the haunting thoughts that trooped like fiends upon his
track.

He neared the banks of the river, its cooling waters r011-
ing on in their-eternal channel, promised to allay his fever
and bury his dishonoredname in oblivion. He plunged in—
that ancient river swept him away, the 'river Kishon, and
as he sank to rise no more, a deep voice exclaimed, “So
perish thine enemies, O Lord 1” It was the voice of Der-
mot de la Clare, Wh0,~passing southward at the head of his
troop, from the opposite bank ‘became an involuntary zwit-
ness of the franticsuicide.

The week following the ceremony last described, Evaen—
tered the apartment of Eleanora, each fair feature radiant
With pleasure, bearing in her hand a. carrier-pigeon, Whose
fluttering heart betokened the weary length of way that
had tried the strength of its glossy pinions.

“ Whence hast thou the dove, and what is his errand 3” ex-
claimed the princess, equally eager for any intelligence that
might affect the fate of the East.

“ A Pullani brought it to the palace,” she replied, and
hastily cutting the silken thread, she detached a letter from
beneath the Wing of the bird. It contained but these

 

 

394: HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

words: “ The Sultan of Egypt is hard pressed by the Mos-
lems. It is a favorable moment to commence negotia-
tions.”

The seal of the Shamrock was the only signature, but
Eva well understood that the Clare had been engaged in
devising an honorable scheme to release Edward from an
expedition which could not result in glory to the christian
arms.

The prince had now been fourteen months in the Holy
Land. His army, never suflicient to allow of his undertak-
ing any military enterprise of importance, was reduced by
sickness, want and desertion, and he therefore gladly ac-
cepted the hint of his unknown friend, and despatched de
Courtenay to Egypt with proposals of peace.

It was a glad errand to the knight, though the timid and
(she could not conceal it) loving Eva warned him most
strenuously against the artifices 0f the Sultan, A1 Malek al
Dhaker Rokneddin Abulfeth Bibers a1 Alai al Bendokdari
a1 Saheli, whose name, at least, she said, was legion.

“ And were he the prince of darkness himself, the love
of my guardian Eva would protect me against his wiles,”
gallantly returned the count.

“Alas!” said Eva, humbly, “thou little knowest the
broken reed on which thou leanest. My weak will mocks
my bravest resolutions, and makes me feel the need Of a
firmer spirit for my guide.”

“ Heaven grant that I may one day receive the grateful
office,” returned her lover. '

“Heaven help me become worthy of thy noble devo-
tion,” said Eva, remembering with regret the cruel test to
which she had subjected his generous afi'ection.

De Courtenay found little difiiculty in settling the terms
of a ten years’ truce with the formidable Mameluke; for
the Sultan had far greater reason to fear his Moslem than
his Christian foes.

There was no occasion for the farther sojourn of the
English in Palestine; and Edward, having accomplished
nothing more than his great-uncle, and leaving a reputa-

 

 

 

 

 

 

ELEANORA. 395

tion scarcely inferior to Coeur de Lion, departed with his
retinue for Europe.

Notwithstanding the peaceful termination of the expedi-
tion, this crusade, the last of the chivah‘ous ofi'spring of
Feudalism and Enthusiasm, like its elder brethren, found
a premature grave in darkness and gloom.

The son of St. Louis, Philip the Hardy, returning from
Tunis, deposited five coffins in the crypts of St. Denis.
They contained the remains of his sainted father, Louis
IX., of his brother Tristan, of his brother-in—law, Thibaut,
descendant of Adela, of his beloved queen and their infant
son. Weak and dying himself, he was almost the only
heir of his royal family. The ambitious Charles d’Anjou,
the rival and the murderer 0f Corradino, grandson of F red—
eric‘ and Violante, plunderedthe stranded vessels of the
returning crusaders, and thus enriched his kingdom of
Sicily, by the great shipwreck of the empire and the
church.

Death, too, had been busy in the palace of Windsor.
The two beautiful children of Edward and Eleanora had
been laid in the tomb, and their grandfather, Henry III.,
with their aunt Margaret, Queen of Scotland, soon followed
them to the great charnel-house of England, \Vestminster
Abbey. The melancholy tidings of these repeated bereaves
ments met the rOyal pair in Sicily, and cast a pail over the
land to which they had anticipated a triumphant return. V

The great problem of the conquest of Palestine was not
yet solved to the mind of Edward, but the progress of the
age trammelled his powers and limited his ambitious aspira~
tions. The orders of knighthood, exhausted by the repeated
drafts made upon their forces, by these eastern expeditions,
began to decline in the scale of power; and the lower ranks,
finding new avenues to wealth in productive labor and
commerce, began the great battle with military organiza~
tions and hereditary aristocracy, which has been going on
with increased advantage to the working classes from the
middle ages to the present glorious era.

Gregory X. made some feeble attempts to rouse Europe

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

396 HEROINES OF THE ORUSAD‘ES.

once more for the redemption of the Hdiy18epuich1'e, but
his earnest appeal received no response from'the sovereigns
of Christendom, and within three years the last Strain of
the great anthem “ Hieroso’lyma liberati” that began with
the swelling tones of mastering warriors and sounded; on
through two centuries in the soul-stirring harmonies 0f ju-
bilante peans, alternating With the mournful measures of
funeral dirges, ended in a last'sad “refrain over the dimin»
ished remnants of the military Ovrtiiers, Who, in a vain ($62
fence 0f Acre, dyed the sands of Syria With their blood.

From Sicily the royal crusaders proceeded to Rome,
Where they Were'cordiafly welcomed and splendidly enter-
tained by Pope Gregery Xi, who, having long filled the
office of confeS'sor in their household, ha& been recalled;
from the Holy Land, to occupy the chair of St. Peter;

In the train of the King of England was his cousin,
Henry, son of Richard of Cornwall, a gallant yOung noble:
Who had led the detachment that opposed the band of Lei—
cester, and, by his Warfikeiprowess,'greatiy'con-tributed t0
the successful issue of the sanguinary conflict at Evesham.
His zeal and loyalty during this doubtful period, commend-
ed him to the confidence of Edward, and he hat} still more
endeared himself to his r0ya1’patron-, byhis ardor in battling
against the Infidels, and his brilliant achievements at the
siege of Nazareth.

The young Henry was the affianeed husband of the
Princess Mary, in consequence of which, Eleanora had ad-
mitted him to an intimacy, and evinced for him an affection
almost equal to that enjoyed by the royal children themselves.

During the stay of the king at Rome, the devoted Henry
obtained permission to make a pilgrimage to a celebrated
shrine near N aples, for the consecration of sundry relies
Which he had‘colleeted; in Palestine. As he knelt at the
foot of the altar and closed his eyes in prayer, he was not
aware of the entrance of his mortal enemy, Guy de Mont-
fort, son of the Earl of Leicester. With stealthy tread the
assassin approached, bent over the suppiiant youth, and
exclaiming, “Die! murderer of my father!” thrust his

I ;r._a_7._.‘;_w.r:_._u..._; ,, ,1 ”W,“ ‘7. e. <h,,k, ,,

ELEANORA. 397

sword into the heart, beating warm with life and hope, and
sprinkled the holy relics with the blood of another martyr.
With a vengeful frown of satisfied hate, he wiped the
sword, returned it to its scabhard, and strode from the
church. One of his knights, fit follower of such a master,
inquired as he rejoined his troop,

“ What has my lord Guy de Montfort done 2”

“ Taken vengeance,” was the fiendish reply.

“ How so ?” rejoined the knight. “ Was not your father,
the great Leicester, dragged a public spectacle, by the hair
of the head through the streets of Evesham ?”

Without a word the demon turned to his yet more malig-
nant triumph, and seizing the victim, whose pale lips yet
moved with the instinct of prayer, dragged him from the
attendants, who were vainly striving to staunch the life-
blood welling from the wound, to the public place, and
left him a ghastly spectacle t0 the horror—stricken crowd.

It was now necessary for the murderers to think of self-
defence. The English retainers of Earl Henry had raised
the cry of revenge, and the Italian populace excited by the
fearful tragedy that had been enacted in’ the very presence
of the virgin and child, began to run together and join the
parties of attack 01' defence. The train of de Montfort im-
mediately raised the shout 0f, “ d’Anjou! Down with the
Ghibelines 1” and when the armed forces of the Duke
Charles rode into the midst of the throng to investigate
the cause of the tumult, Sir Guy joined their ranks, and
departed for Naples under their escort.

Tidings of this melancholy event were soon carried to
Rome, and Edward immediately appealed to the pope for
justice upon the murderer. Gregory, who feared to of.
fend Edward, and who was almost equally alarmed at the
prospect of a rupture with the tyrant of Sicily, had re-
course to various ingenious methods of delay. Finding
however that the King of England had determined to post-
pone the obsequies of his noble relative, until a Curse was
pronounced upon the assassin, he was forced to the exer-
cise of ecclesiastical measures.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

398 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

Clothed in his pontifical robes, Gregory X. entered the
church at Orvietto, and proceeding to the high altar, took
the bible in his hand, and, after setting before the awe-
struck assembly theguiit 0f the culprit, proceeded thus to
fulminate his anathema against the assassin.

“ For the murder of Henry of Germany, slain before the
shrine of St. Mary, in the face of day, we lay upon Guy
de Montfort the curse of our Holy Church. In virtue of
the authority bestowed upon us as the successor of St. Pe-
ter, we do pronounce him excommunicate, and alien to all
the privileges and consolations which our blessed religion
affords. We permit every one to seize him—We order the
gevernors 0f provinces to arrest him—we place under in-
terdict all who shall render him an asylumwwe prohibit
all Christians from lending him aid, and we dispense his
vassals from all oaths of fidelity they have made to him ;
may none of the blessings of this holy book descend upon
him, and may all the curses contained therein, cleave unto
him ;” and he dashed the bible t0 the ground.

Lifting the waxen taper, he continued, “ Let the light of
life be withdrawn from him, and let his soul sink in eternal
night.” “Tith the word he threw the candle upon the
pavement, and instantly every light in the church was ex:
tinguished, and amid the gloom, the trembling congrega-
tion heard the voice of the pontiff, ringing out full and clear,
“ I curse him by book, by candle, and by bell.” A solemn
toll proclaimed the malediction, and amid the darkness and
the silence, the multitude crept one by one from the church,
as though fearful of being implicated in the terrible de-
nunciation.

Edward, having thus placed his cousin under the ban of
the church, disdained t0 persecute him with farther ven~
geance, and taking an amicable leave of the pontiff con-
tinued his route to France. Learning that England was
quiet under the regency 0f the queen-mother, he improved
the opportunity to make the tour of his southern dominions,
and, in gallant sports and knightly adventures passed seve-
ral months upon the continent.

”a

ELEANORA. 399

Edward and Eleanora arrived in England, August 2d,
1273. The English welcomed their return With the great-
est exultation. Both houses of parliament assembled to do
h0n01 t0 thei1 enhance into L0nd0n,:1nd the stxeets we1e
hung with gallands 0t flewels and festoons of silk; while
the wealthy inhabitnfiits, showe1ed gold and s11ve1 0n the
loyal 1etinue as they passed.

Prepalatwns wele made f01 their coronation on a scale
of magnificence hitherto unrivalled. Fourteen days were
spent in erecting booths for the accommodation of the
populace, and temporary kitchens for the purpose of roast-
ing oxen, sheep, and fowls, and preparing cakes and pastry,
for the expected banquet. Hogsheads of Bordeaux wine,
and pipes of good stout English ale, were ranged at con-
venient intervals, and flagon-masters appointed to deal
them out to the thirsty crowds.

‘ The night before the expected ceremony, the presump-
tive» king and queen were indulging in reminiscences of
the early days of their married life, and comparing those
t1'0nb10us_times,with the splendid future that seemed to
stretch in bright perspective before them.

“Methinks, sweet life,” said Edward, tenderly taking
her hand, “those days when thou dwelt a fugitive in the
wilds of Devonshire, and I languished within the walls of
Kenilworth, gave little ‘promise of 0111‘ present peaceful
state.” _

“T111e, my 101d ,yet had I not dwelt in the humble ham<
let, I m1ght neve1 have known the p111e 10y alty of English
hea1ts.”

“By 0111 Lady, thou hast a hetter alchemy than thy
clelkly b10ther, the Castilian monarch, for his science
finds only gold in eve1yth1ng,while thy diviner 2111; finds
good in all, and loyalty in outlaws.”

“ I remember me,” replied Eleanora, with an arch smile,
“ there was a gallant outlaw, in whom my woman’s heart
discerned every noble and knightly quality. But small
credit can I claim for my science, since it was the alchemy
of love that revealed his virtues.” .

 

 

 

 

 

 

400 HEROINES ‘OF THE "CRUSADES.

“No other alchemy hath‘e’er found good in man, and,
sinner as I am, I might fear the judgment of thy purity,
did not the same sweet charity thatldiscovers undeveloped
virtues transmute even errors into promises of good. To-
morrow, God willing, it will be in Edward’s power to con-
stitute Eleanora the dispenser of bounty. Whom would
she first delight to honor ?”

“ Since the prince of outlaws puts it in my power,” said
Eleanora, with a look of grateful afi'ection, “I would e’en
reward those bold foresters Who delivered my Edward from
the enemies that sought his life.”

“ Thou sayest well, dearest,” replied Edward, “ and now
that thou remindest me of my escape from thraldom, I pray
our Lady of Walsingham aid me to discharge an obligation
that hath long laid heavy on my conscience. Yesternight,
methought I saw, among the yeomen busy in the prepara-
tions for the approaching pageant, the tall outlaw, who, in
his gown and cowl, one moment gave me priestly benizon,
and the next, advised me of Leicester’s movements, with
the sagacity of a practised warrior. Such length of limb
and strength of arm, once seen, does not escape my mem-
ory; and, if my eye deceive me not, ’twas he, With Courte-
nay, who led the assault at Nazareth; and furthermore, it
runneth in my mind, that I have seen him elsewhere and
in other guise.”

“ Mayhap it was the tall knight who defended Eleanora
at the Jews’ massacre, till thy arrival dispersed the rabble
mob,” returned the queen.

“By the soul of St. Bartholomew thou divinest well,”
said the king ; “ and, since thou knowest the monk, perhaps
thou canst give me tidings concerning the shrewd—witted
boy, Who managed to gain Speech with me, When all my
partisans had failed. So fair a squire must, ere this,
have earned the spurs of knighthood; and much would it
pleasure me, to lay the acolade upon his shoulder, in re-
turn for his dextrous plotting. That the lad pertained not
to the household of Mortimer, I knew right well ; but
whether he were a retainer of the bold outlaw who organ

ELEANORA. 401

ized the royal forces, or some young noble Whose love of
adventure set him upon the work, I could never yet de‘
cide.”

“ And if he Were retainer of the outlaw ?” said Eleanora,
inquiringly.

“ My gratitude should none the less reward the service
of one Who risked his life for mine,” replied the king.

A smile of satisfaction beamed on the countenance 0f
Eleanora, and opening her gypsire, and taking thence the
small ivory Whistle, she despatched an attendant With the
token to Eva.

Shortly after, the conversation was interrupted by the
entrance of an attendant, Who announced that a page from
Lady Mortimer craved an audience of his majesty.

“Let him be at once admitted,” said Edward, casting a
significant glance at Eleanora.

The door was thrown open, and the beautiful boy, Whose
image at that moment filled the mind of the king, entered
with trembling step, and proceeding straight to the monarch,
knelt at his feet, and With clasped hands began to plead
earnestly for the pardon of the banished Earl Dermot de
la Clare.

“HOW is this 32’ exclaimed Edward, gazing With aston-
ishment,fi1’stup0n the kneeling page, and then upon his
Wife. “HOW is this? by the Holy Rood, my heart mis-
gives me, thou art witch as well as alchemist. Here is
the identical page I have vainly sought for nine long
years, conj ured up by the magic of an ivory Whistle.”

“ Earl Dermot de la Clare 1” said he to Eva, lifting the
boy tenderly from his knees, “ Why has the banished out-
law sought thy fair lips to plead his cause? Let himself
present his claims to our clemency, and we will promise
justice for ourself, and perchance a better guerdon from
our loving spouse, Who would ever have mercy rejoice
above judgment.

“And thou, sweet dove,” said he, gazing admiringly
upon the doubting Eva, “ ‘ Who wearest the badge of Mor-
timer,’ and whose ‘ giddy brain reeks not of politics,’ (16»

26

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

402 HEROINES OF THE GRUSADES.

mandest manor and lordship for an outlawed man! Didst
crave it for thyself, not twice the boon could make me say
thee nay.”

“ ’Tis for myself I crave the b00n,1'oyal liege,” said Eva,
falling again upon her knees. “Dermot de la Clare is
the sire of thy poor orphan charge.”

“ Thy sire l” exclaimed the prince, greatly moved. “How
knowest thou this 3”

“First, by the story of the rescued sailor, Who was one
of the band with which my father thought to regain pos-
session of his fief“, when the act of attainder had branded
him an outlaw. He it was With the cartman’s frock, Who
waited our coming at the crossvroad 0n the memorable day
of my lord’s escape. Next,'by the shamrock, the ancient
cognizance of the house of Strongbow, and by the rose of
Sharon, Which my mother wrought upon the scarf in mem-
ory of her husband’s pilgrimage. But Eva. finds the strong-
est proof in the promptings of her heart ; for from the day
since she rested in his arms at London bridge, to the time
When he drew her from the anture’s Nest at Mount Leb-
anon, she hath trusted in his love, and obeyed his bidding,
with such confidence as none but a father could inspire.”

“ Thy eloquence hath proved thy cause,” said the king,
raising her and seating her by his side; “and were I a
needy knight= requiring royal favor, I’d bribe thy pleading
eyes to back my suit, and never fear denial.”

Eva essayed t0 stammer forth her thanks, but tears
choked her utterance, and Eleanora, pitying her confusion,
reassured her with playful allusions to her childish aspira—
tions for the sovereignty of Ireland.

“I fear me,” said Edward, gazing upon her varying
color With admiration, “ that to reward all my subjects and
vessels, according to their merit, will exhaust my ex-
chequer. The audacity of these benefactors exceeds all
belief! It was but this morning that one more bold than
his fellows demanded the fairest flower of our court as a
recompense for his knightly service in the eastern cam~
paign.”

ELEANORA. 403.

The conscious Eva looked imploringly at her mistress,
who graciously accorded her permission to depart, while
Edward continued his raillery.

“ I referred the gallant unto thee, love,” said he, “ for he
must be a brave man who dares transfer the possessions of
his wife.”

“T0 the marriage of de Courtenay with our beautiful
ward,” returned the queen, “ there riseth but one objection.
From the similarity of her name, she ever fancied herself
the heiress of the former King of Leinster, and hath culti-
vated a taste for decorations befitting royalty. I fear me
that Sir Henry, being but the younger branch of his house,
will scarce be able to maintain a state suited to her desires.”

“ God grant she have not the ambition of Earl Strigul,
else might we find it necessary to do battle for our fief of
Ireland,” said Edward.

“ N ay, from the ambition of Eva, thou hast nought to
fear; her heart would incline her rather to bestow benefi-
ces upon her friends, than to hoard treasures for herself.
Therefore it is that I desire for her worthy alliance and
princely dower,” returned the queen.

“ Thou hast it in thy power, best one, to obviate thine
own objections and to bless the loyal hamlet that protected
thy seclusion, by‘giving them so gracious a mistress.”

Tears of gratitude filled the eyes of the queen, as looking
affectionately upon her husband she replied, “HOW lost
were Eleanora to the love of God did she not daily thank
Him for making her the wife of one who finds his own hap-
piness in promoting the welfare of his subjects.”

“ Not all his subjects regard him with thy partial fond-
ness,” said the king. “ Our brother, Alexander of Scot-
land, has refused to renew the oath of homage, which his
ancestor made to Henry II. for his crown, and will attend
our coronation only as kingly guest ; while the bold Llewel-
lyn refuses to set foot in London.”

“ The troublous period through which the realm so lately
passed, pleads their best excuse for these unjust suspicions,”
suggested the queen. “ When the Wisdom and magnanim-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

404 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

ity of my Edward shall become known, they will learn to
trust their interest in his hands with the confidence of vas-
sale.”

“ Thou would’st fain persuade me,” said Edward, laugh-
ing, “ that I may love my enemies.”

“I would persuade thee,” said E1ean0ra,_with a smile
of confident affection, “ to make thine enemies thy friends.
Suspicion ever breeds hatred. There be many warm, true
hearts in England, at this hour, who, having followed the
fortunes of Leicester, for what they deemed the public good,
are withheld by fear, from uttering the shout of loyalty.”

“ And how would’st thou purpose that I should bind them
to their allegiance ?” said Edward, curiously.

“By the same rule that 0111‘ blessed Lord restored this
fallen world,” returned the queen, timidly. “ He declareth
his love toward us, even while we are sinners, and thus we
learn to confide in Him.” '

“Verily, there seems truth in what thou sayest,” said
the king, thoughtfully ; “ but it were a thing unheard of——
for a ruler to illustrate the principles of forgiveness, and
place his kingdom at the mercy of traitors.”

“ The good St. Louis,” urged Eleanora, almost fearful of
pressing the matter too far, “leaned ever to the side of
mercy ; and n0 king of France hath enjoyed a more peace-
ful 0r glorious reign.”

“It shall be as thou sayest,” said Edward, after a pause,
during which he gazed upon her pleading countenance,
whose every feature mirrored the intense interest of her heart
in the welfare of their subjects, and the honor of her 10rd.
“It shall be as thou gayest. Heaven cannot suffer me to
err in this matter, since it hath sent an angel for my coun-
sellor.”, Then resuming his accustomed tone of affectionate
pleasantly, he added, “ Thou think’st it well, dearest, for a.
warrior like myself to perform some work of supereroga—
tion, to cancel the sins into which my love of power may
yet lead me. But small merit mayI claim for my clemency,
since it were not in the nature of man to withstand the sweet
earnestness with Which thou dost enforce thy gentle counsels.”

ELEANORA. 405

CHAPTER VIII.
THE CORONATION.

NEARLY a century had elapsed since an occasion like the
present had called together the different ranks and orders
of the English population. Native Britons, Saxons, Danes
and Normans, hereditary enemies, had, by years of un—
avoidable intercourse, and by a community of interests,
been fused into one mass, and now vied with each other in
manifesting their loyalty to a king in whose veins mingled
the several streams of the great Scandinavian race. The
independent F ranklin, the stout yoeman from the country,
and the rich citizen and industrious artisan, the curious vas-
sal, the stately knight, and 10rdly baron, alike instinct with
love for feasting and holiday show, hastened to witness the
ceremony.

The coronation of John had been unpopular, both from
the well-known malevolence of his disposition and the rival
claims of his injured nephew. That of Henry III. took
place in a remote part of the kingdom, when a. portion of
the island was in the possession of the French, and the
minds of the people were distracted between a fear of
foreigners and a detestation 0f the reigning family. Not
a man in the realm, therefore, could remember so grand a.
spectacle as the coronation of Edward and the beautiful
Eleanora 0f Castile.

When the crown was placed upon their heads by the
Archbishop of Canterbury, a murmur of joy arose from the
assembled throngs; but when the herald stood forth and
proclaimed an indemnity to all those who had been en-
gaged in the civil commotions 0f the former reign, and the
repeal of the cruel statutes, that had made so many worthy
citizens outlaws and aliens in the sight of their English
homes, the enraptured multitude made the welkin ring
with shouts of—Long live King EdwardI—Long live our
gracious Queen Eleanora!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

406 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

Tears dimmed the beautiful eyes of the gratified queen,
for she read in the enthusiastic acclamations with which
the act of Indemnity was received, an incontrovertible tes-
timony t0 the wisdom of the course she had so warmly ad-
vocated, and an earnest of the peace which this display of
her husband’s magnanimity would secure to his realm.

Foremost among those who hailed his accession, Edward
discerned the commanding figure of the outlaw, who had
so long and s0 successfully eluded his search. No sooner
was he seated upon his throne, than he commissioned the
10rd—high seneschal to cause the mysterious personage to
approach. As he came forward, and knelt at the mon-
arch’s feet,E1eanora recognized the tall knight to whom
she owed her own life and her husband’s liberty, and heard
him with more pleasure than surprise announced as Dermot
de la Clare.

“Rise, noble Clare!” exclaimed Edward, “ to thee thy
monarch owes his life and the security of his realm, and
the honors and titles of thy house are henceforth restored,
to which we add the forfeited manors of Leicester, not more
a recompense for thy knightly service than a guerdon for
the sweet affection of thy lovely daughter.” Scarcely had
Earl Dermot retired among the nobles, who crowded around
him with words of congratulation, when the monarch sum-
moned Henry de Courtenay, and, in consideration of his
services in the holy wars, created him Earl of Devon—
whispel’ing aside to the conscious noble, “ Our gracious
queen, who excelleth in charity, will give thee pity and
dole of that which she hath in royal keeping, and for
which thou wilt doubtless be more grateful than for all the
lands of which we have this day made thee 10rd.”

Other faithful vassals 0f the crown were rewarded, and
then the joyous multitude adjourned to the feasting and
games, with which the day was closed ; and the marriage
of Eva and Sir Henry, Which took place the following day,
added another féte t0 the coronation festivities.

Among the various disorders to which the kingdom had
fallen a prey during the weak and uncertain rule of Henry

‘ELEANO‘RA. 407

III., none excited more universal dissatisfaction, than the
adulteratiOn 0f the coin. As the Jews were the principal
money-lenders in the kingdom all embarrassments of this
kind, were by common consent attributed to their charac-
teristic avarice.

Edward’s crusade to the Holy Land, had not softened
his prejudices towards this people, who, more than the In‘
fidels poured contempt upon the rites of Christianity. , In
his zeal for the public welfare he proscribed the Obnoxious
race and confiscated their estates to the crown, and ban—
ished no less than fifteeii thousand valuable inhabitants
from the kingdbm. N otwithstanding these rigorous meas-
ures he still retained in his employ certain of the hated
sect to assist in the correction of the currency.

The trivial circumstance of a change in the form of the
penny gave rise to some if the most important occurrences
that transpired during his eventful reign.

The \Veish, deriving their ancestry from the early Brit-
ons, placed the most implicit confidence in the prophecies
of Merlin, which in an oraeular manner set forth the desti-
ny 0f the nation. One of these half-t‘orgotten traditions,
asserted that when the English penny should become round,
a prince, born in Wales, should be the acknowledged
king of the Whole British island. N 0 sooner, therefore,
had the new coin begun to circulate west of the Menai,
than the bards commenced to ring their changes upon the
mysterious circumstance, and to inflate the minds ofitheir
countrymen with the hopes of conquest. The successes of
Llewellyn, their prince, in reconquering all the territory that
had been wrested from them by the N ormans, gave great
encouragement to their ambition.

Not availing himself of the act of indemnity the Welsh
prince still maintained his allegiance to the party of the
Montforts, and was plotting with the remaining adherents
' of that powerful faction for assistance from France. To in-
tercept these hostile communications, Edward ordered his
fleet into the channel under the command of Earl Dermot de
la Clare, both to testify at regard for the IriSh noble, and a

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

408 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

confidence in his abilities. De Courtenay was residing
with his bride at Exeter, When he received intelligence that
the Earl of Clare was on his way to pay them a visit, and
the following day Eva welcomed her father to her new
home. The earl was accompanied by a lady whom he in-
trusted to his daughter’s care, desiring that she might be
kept in safety till Edward’s pleasure concerning her should
be known. At first the fair captive was inconsolable, but
she at length found some alleviation of her grief in re-
counting her eventful history in the sympathizing ear of
Eva, now Marchioness of Devon. The Lady Eleanora was
the only daughter of Simon de Montfort, and inherited the
firm and relentless characteristics of her house, which the
sedulous instructions of her mother Eleanor Plantagenet
had somewhat softened and subdued. Her brother Guy,
having gained absolution from the terrible malediction 0f
the church, had sought to carry out his plans of vengeance
by making an alliance with the Welsh, and to cement the
treaty, he had consented to bestow his sister upon Llewel-
lyn, and the young lady was on her way to meet her bride-
groom when her vessel was intercepted, and herself made
prisoner by Earl Clare. Her position as the prospective
Queen of Wales more than the enmity of her brother, made
her fear the severity of her cousin, the King of England,
but Eva assured her that the sentiments of Edward were
characterized by the most generous chivalry, and that no
feelings of malice 0r revenge could actuate him to any un-
gallant procedure against her. Notwithstanding the con-
fidence with which Eva made this asseveration, the fair bride
of Llewellyn listened with a faint smile of increduhty, and
answered with a sigh, “ Ah! lady, the poor daughter of de
Montfort covets thine ignorance of the dark passions that
l‘ankle in the human breast !” “ Thy fair young face gives
little evidence of experience in worldly ills,”returned Eva,
with some surprise. “ Events, not years, confer experience,”
replied Elin, “ and young as I am, I have marked cherish-
ed resentment ripen into deadly enmity. The unjust asper—
sion of Henry III. wrought upon the mind of my father,

ELEANORA. 409

till it well nigh ruined the broad realm of England. Thou
canst never knew the bitter sorrow that weighed upon my
mother’s heart during all the cruel strife between her hus-
band and her brother. I well remember,” said the agitated
gill, proceeding impetuously With her sad reminiscences,
“ the fatal day of Eveshamwhow, chilled with fear at my
mother’s agony, I laid aside my childish sports and crept
cowering to a corner of her apartment in Kenilworth castle,
while she paced the floor beseeching heaven alternately to
spare her husband and save her brother. 01 it was terri-
ble,” added she, pressing her hands upon her eyes, While the
tears gushed between her fingers, “ When my brother Guy
rushed in With the tidings of our father’s defeat and death,
and took his awful oath of vengeance.” “ Speak not of it,”
exclaimed Eva, shuddering in her turn at the recollection of
the murder of young Henry, and the subsequent anathema
pronounced upon Sir Guy. “ It is little pleasure to recall
these dreadful scenes,” said Elin, gloemily, “ but thou
mayst learn from my brief history how little hope I have
in one Who aspires to power or has aught to revenge.” “But
her gracious majesty Queen Eleanora,” said Eva, “ Will
delight to soothe thy sorrows, and the sweet companionship
of her daughters will win thee to happier thoughts.” “ Nay,
sweet lady, think me not ungrateful that I cannot trust thy
kind presages. \Vhether it be a retribution, I know not,
but since my grandsire’s crusade against the Albigeois,
evil has been the lot of our house. Hope, that seems ever
to light the pathway of the young, hath never smiled on
me.” This despondency centinued to depress the mind of
the captive during all the period of her residence at Exeter,
nor could Eva’s ingenuity in devising schemes for her di-
version, nor hopeful predictions concerning her future hap-
piness With Llewellyn lure her to happier thoughts. But
the courteous manner of Edward, When he came to receive
his cousin and conduct her to Windsor, confirmed these
promises ; and the unaffected kindness of Eleanora, While
it soothed her afliictions, had the effect to awakensome de-
gree of confidence in the mind of the despairing maiden,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

‘41’0 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

The capture of his bride infuriated Llewellyn beyond
’all bounds, and led him to invade England with the fiercest
valor. His efforts were repuised by:the gallant conduct of
the troops under the command of the Earl of Devon, and
after four years of fruitless endeavor he consented to the re-
quired homage, and came to Worcester to claim his bride.

The cherishing sympathy 0f Eleanora had not been lost
upon the heart of her stricken ward, and these years of
tranquillity, the first the orphan Eiin had enjoyed, so en-
hanced to her mind the blessings of' peaceful security that
she steadfastly refused to fulfil her engagement with Llew—
ellyn, without his solemn pledge of continued amity to the
English nation. When the bridegroom finding all other ex-
pedients in vain consented to the required homage, the King
ofEngland gave away his fair kinswomau With his own hand,
and Eleanera supported the bride. at the altar and presided
at the nuptial feast with the afi’abiiity and grace s0 pecu-
liarly her own. The Prince and Princess of Wales then
accompanied their suzerains to London and performed the
stipulated ceremony, the Snowdon barons looking on fierce-
ly the while, with the air of warriors who were resigning
their ancient rights. This discontent gave rise to various
murmurings. They disdained the English bread, they were
disgusted with the milk of stall-fed kine, they detested the
acridity 0f the London porter, and they pined for the spark-
ling mead concocted from the honeyed sweets gathered
from their own breezy hills. They saw that their nationai
cestume and dialect conferred an uncomfortable notoriety
upon them, and they more than suspected that they were
the objects of jeering contempt. They therefore endured
with great impatience the protracted entertainments with

. which Edward honored his guests, and finally left their un-
comfortable quarters murmuring with stifled impreeations,
“ We wiil never more visit Islington except as conquerors.”
The unremitting influence of Elin, notwithstanding, coun-
teracted the complaints of the maleontents, and Llewellyn
religiously maintained friendly relations with England
during her brief life. This interval of uninterrupted peace

ELEANORA. 4’11

was employed by Eleanora in prompting her husband to
measures for the public good, and England long enjoyed
through the wise administration of her beneficent sov-
ereign a respite from those evils under Which the nation had
groaned since the Norman conquest. ,By a royal patent
Edward erected boroughs within the demesne lands and
conferred upon them liberty of trade, and profiting by the
example of Leicester, permitted them to send representa-
tives to parliament, which was the true epoch of the House
of Commons~the first dawn of popular government in Eng-
land. The lower or more industrious orders of the state
were thus encouraged and protected, and an interest in the
commonwealth diffused through all the ranks of society.

0 H A P T E R 1X.
CONQUEST OF WALES.

THE death of J oanna, mother of Eleanora, leaving the do-
mains 0f Ponthieu and Aumerle, made it necessary for the
king and queen to Visit France, to do homage to Philip the
Bold for their new possessions. They passed several
months on the continent ordering the afi'airs of their feudal-
tories, but their return was hastened by tidings of fresh
disturbances in Wales.

On her arrival at Windsor her daughter, Joanna. 0f Acre,
presented the queen with a letter which she said had been
brought to the castle by a strange—looking priest who re-
fused for some time to give it into any hand save that of
Eleanora, but Who was finally persuaded to intrust the pre-
cious document to herself on her promise to deliver in per—
son to her mother. The letter was from Elin the Princess
of “Tales. It read as follows :—“ To my gracious sovereign
Lady Eleanora of England the wife of Llewellyn sendeth
love and greeting.

“I had hoped once more to see the face of my noble

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

412 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

mistress, and to visit the scenes hallowed by the first hap-
py hours of my sad life. I had thought to crave thy bles-
sing on my lovely infant, for my lord had promised that
on the return of spring we should be conveyed to England,
and this hath cheered me through the weary hours of sick-
ness and languishing when my heart hath pined for the
sweet communion which I sometimes enjoyed in the castle
at Windsor. But the hills are already changing under the
softening airs of spring, and my step is more feeble and
my breath more faint, and I no longer indulge the antici-
pation 0f thanking thy goodness for the pleasant thoughts
with which thy holy counsels hath blessed my memory.
But I am resigned to die! and I know that before the
flowers come forth my sad heart will find rest in the grave.
One anxiety alone disturbs the serenity of my few remain-
ing days.

“ Already my little Guendoline returns her mother’s smile.
Who will cherish her infant years and guide her youthful
footsteps to those fountains of peace which the light of
thine example hath so lately revealed to my erring sight?

“ Struggling with weakness and pain, thy dying Elin
pens this last earnest prayer. Let the damsel abide with
thee. Let her be nurtured in the practice of those gentle
Virtues which her obdurate race have abjured.

“ Commend me to Edward, our sovereign, and those fair
daughters that cluster round thy board and gladden thy
life with their smiles.’ Again let me beg a place in thy
heart for my orphan child, and 0h! remember in th y prayer
the soul of the exile, who from thy lips first learned to
hope in the mercy of Heaven.”

The letter bore the date of March; and it was now early
J une, and t0 Eleanora’s anxious inquiries for further tidings
concerning the lady Elin and her child no answer could be
given. The king however had better sources of informa-
tion. Scarcely was he recovered from the fatigue of travel
when the lords were summoned in council to deliberate
upon the petition of David and Rodric, brothers of Lle-
wellyn, who had applied to the English court for assistance.

ELEANORA. 413

From these barons Edward learned that the Welsh
prince had violated the promise made to his princess on
her death-bed, of conveying their daughter to the care of
Eleanora, and that stimulated by the songs of the bards and
the long-smothered anger of the malcontent barons, he had
resolved to break his oath of allegiance to the King of
Erigland, and had dispossessed his brothers of their inherit-
ance as a punishment for their loyalty.

The council decided to assist David and Rovdric in the
recovery of their possessions, and Edward not displeased
with the occasion of making an absolute conquest of the
country, advanced with his army into Wales.

The English at first suffered some reverses, but in the
great battle of Builth, Llewellyn was slain, his forces put
to flight, and the gold coronet taken from his head was
offered by Prince Alphonso at the shrine of Edward the‘
Confessor. But the war was not yet ended. Prince David
now claiming the title of king, as the heir of his brother,
assumed the command of the Welsh, and it needed the con—
stant presence of Edward to keep down the rebellious spirit
of the people. The same steadfast affection which had sup-
ported Eleanora during the tedious hours of her anxious
sojourn in the wilds of Devon, and that had prompted her
to brave the varied dangers of the Syrian campaign, led her
now to follow her lord’s fortunes through the rugged de-
files and rocky fastnesses 0f the Welsh mountains.

For her security, Edward built and fortified the strong
castle of Caernarvon, which now, after the lapse of nearly
six centuries, presents the same external appearance as on
the day when Queen Eleanora first entered its stupendous
gateway in company with her royal 10rd.

The battlements With which the walls were defended,
stand unchanged in their hoary strength and grandeur, and
the statue of Edward I., carved t0 the life, still protects the
entrance of the castle, and with its drawn dagger, menaces
the intruder who would venture within its guarded pre-
cincts. The eagle tower yet nestles in the defences 0f the
rocks, though the royal fledglings have deserted the com-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

414 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

fortiess eyrie 0f Snowdon for the softer luxuries of Windsor
Castle and Hampton Court, and the oaken cradle of the
second Edward, suspended by ring and staples from carved
supporters, yet occupies its little nook in the secluded
chamber where his infant eyes first opened on the light.
Eleanora’s experience of the conquering power of love,
made her solicitous to employ a Welsh attendant for her
son, but such was the fear which her husband’s name had
inspired among the families of the fierce mountaineers that
she was forced to abandon the project till accident procured
for the amiable queen the domestic she needed not only,
but threw into her hands the fate of Wales.

F rem the irregular surface of their territory the Welsh
were necessaril y a pastoral people, and their simple manner
of life exposed them to certain defeat when the conquest of
their country was steadily and prudently pursued by the
well-trained warriors of England. But like the hardy sons
of all mountainous districts, the Welsh seemed to inhale
the spirit of liberty from the free breath of their native
hills, and hunted as they were from one retreat to another,
they still rallied around their ancient standard, and lis-
tened with rapture to predictions of their future greatness.
Edward followed them with untiring patience through rug-
ged defiles and rocky fastnesses till his heavy armed troops
were ready to sink With fatigue.

Everywhere they found evidences of the straits to which
the miserable inhabitants were reduced. Deserted ham—
lets, abandoned fields, and famishing animals, betokened
the last extremity of suffering. It was just at nightfall
when they came suddenly upon a strong body posted within
the narrow precincts of a valley.

The lowing 0f the herds that began to suffer from the
want of forage, was the first sound that attracted the atten-
tion of the English scouts, and by a circuitous path the
whole detachment were conducted to a position command-
ing a full view of the enemy. The bivouac consisted of
rude huts 0r booths, constructed for shelter rather than de-

ELEANORA. 415

fence, in and around which sat barbarians in various atti-
tudes of attention or repose.

The watch—fires gleamed luridly upon the Wild figures
that circled around them, With dark and frowning brows,
while from the centre of the encampment echoed the
sounds of hoarse voices, accompanied by the 'martial strains
of music. The barbarous language made the song of the
bards incomprehensible to the English, but they divined its
spirit from the eii'ect upon the rude auditors, Who, at every
pause in the agitating refrain, sprang to their feet, struck
their spears upon their shields, and mingled their shrill
voices irl a responsive chorus of muttered vengeance.

In the enthusiasm Which the patriotic songs awakened, '
Edward read the secret of the protracted resistance, and
saw that the destruction of these bards would insure his
conquest. The trumpets were immediately ordered to
sound, and his army, wearied as they were, summoned
their fainting energies and rushed to the conflict.

The Welsh, surprised in the midst of their fancied secu-
rity, stood to their arms, and fought With the courage of
desperation, the exhilarating strains of the bards rose to
a shrill wail of agony, then sank in the voiceless silence of
death.

This final strain of the national poetry, was the requiem
of Welsh liberty. King David made his escape through
the defile of a mountain followed by a few of his nobles,
and the Earl of Devon, in attempting to cut off his retreat,
surprised and captured a company of frightened females
Who had been lodged in the rocky fastness for greater se—
curity. With knightly courtesy he extended to his help-
less captives every delicate attention that would soften the
rigor of their fate. ,

His sympathies were especially excited by the distress
of a woman 'of an appearance somewhat superior to her
companions, who exhibited the greatest solicitude for the
safety of a. child that, all unconscious 0f the tumult, lay
quietly sleeping in its cradle of twisted reeds.

De Courtenay approached, anxious to relieve her fears,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

416 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

When the nurse, expecting to be torn from her tencier
charge, exclaimed, in barbarous English, “Take not the
princess from me ! I promised the Lady Elin never to re-
sign her save to the hands of the good Queen of England.”

“ Comfort thee, good woman,” said the ear], kindly. “ I
will myself convey thee, with the babe, t0 Caernarvon,
Where thou mayest discharge thy trust by bestowing the
little orphan With the royal friend of her mother.” Con—
signing the other captives t0 the care of his knights, he
gave the nurse in charge to his groom, and himself care-
fully lifting the Wicker cradle With its lovely occupant t0 the
horse before him, led the way towards the castle.

Eleanora received the daughter of Elin de Montfort With
tears of tender welcome, and lavished upon the child the
same affection that she bestowed upon her own infant Ed-
ward. The little cousins were nurtured together, and the
nurse soon became tenderly attached to. beth children, am}
conceived an almost reverentia} devotion to the pious
queen; and as Eleanora gave her frequent opportunities
for communion with the natives of the vicinity, she lost no
occasion of publishing the virtues of her mistress.

She represented that Eleanora and little Edward were
scarce inferior in beauty to the Madonna and child, and
that they were, as good as they were beautiful; and, she
added, on her own responsibility, that since the queen
treated Gruendotine with as much affection as though she
were her own daughter, there could be no doubt that she-
looked upon her as the future bride of the yeung prince.

Meantime, Edward had prospered in his military plans.
David could never collect an army sufficient to face the
English in the field, being chased from hill to hill, ané
hunted from one retreat to another, and was finally betray-
ed to his enemy and sent to England.

The Snowdon barons, deprived of their leader, and‘
aware that their princess Guendoline was in possession of
the English king, and somewhat mollified by the prognos-
tication of her future greatness, at length obeyed the sum-
mons of Edward- to a conference at Caernarvon. The barely

ELEANORA. 417

mountaineers agreed to tender their final submission to him
as 10rd paramount, if he would appoint them a native
Welshman for their prince, who could speak neither Saxon
nor French, for those barbarous languages they declared
they could never understand.

Edward graciously acceded to the request, and. the pre—(
liminaries being arranged he brought from the eagle tower
the little Edward, assuring them that he was a native of
Wales, could speak neither of the reprobated tongues, and,
under the tutelage of his lovely instructress Guendoline,
would doubtless soon become a proficient in Welsh. “The
fierce moufitaineers little expected such a ruler. They
had, however, no alternative but submission, and With as
good grace as they might, kissed the tiny hand which was
to sway their sceptre, and vowed fealty t0 the babe of the
faithful Eleanora.” 7

C H A P T E R X . ‘
THE ASTRONOMER AND THE JEW.

PEACE being thus happily established, King Edward
transferred the residence of his queen from the rugged
strength of Caernarvon to the magnificent refinements of
Conway castle ; Where, sufrounded by her ladies and chil.
dren, she enjoyed, for a brief period, a repose from anxiety
and care.

Here seated in a chamber of state, whose windows of
stained glass opened upon a terrace, commanding a beauti-
ful view of the varied landscape, Eleanora passed her
mornings, receiving those Who were honored by being pres—
ent at her levée, While her tire-women combed and braided
the long silken tresses Which shaded and adorned her serene
and lovely features.

This condescension of the queen, had a most gracious and

27

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

418 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

softening effect upon the rude customs of the Welsh, and
the first aspirations of this semi—barbarous nation for chris-
tian refinement,-date from the period in which they felt
the winning influence of her gentle manners. 7

But though Eleanora was thus happy in her domestic re-
lations, blessed in the love of her subjects, and thrice bles
sed in the consciousness of exercising her power for the
happiness of others, she did not forget the kindred ties that
bound her to her native Spain.

Indeed.there seems to be this peculiarity, observable in
the influence of the gospel on the character, a paradox in
philosophy, but a fact in christian experience, that while
it increases the intensity of the social affections, it expands
the heart to the remoter relations of life, awakening a cor-
dial response to the command, “ Thou shalt love thy neigh-
bor as thyself.”

For Eleanora to know that she could render assistance to
another, was sufficient motive to arouse her activity; and
constant habit made that an inspiring impulse, which had
commenced in a rigid adherence to the requisitions of
duty. When she learned, therefore, that her beloved
brother Alphonso X. had been deposed by his undutiful
son, Sancho, she besought her heroic husband to undertake
_ the diflicult task of his restoration. -

Edward; whose principles of government were of a very
different character from those of the royal philosopher, lis-
tened somewhat reluctantly to her anxious pleadings, but
at last consented to accompany her into Castile.

The royal progress was one of the utmost pomp and
splendor. Their cousin Philip received them in Paris with
the greatest distinction. They reposed some months among
the elegancies of Bordeaux, and thence journeyed across
the Pyrenees to Burgos.

The brave Sancho welcomed them to hi's palace with im-
afl'ected pleasure, and listened with easy good—humor to
the questions and remonstrauces 0f the queen.‘

“ My father,” said he, “ is happier in the retirement of
his prison, than he was ever in the administration of public

ELEANORA. _ 419

affairs. Iii truth, he has for these last years been so occu-
pied with the motionsvof Mars and Jupiter, that he has had
little leisure to attend to the movements of his shbjects,
and, but for what see‘meth my undutiful interposition, our
fair Castile would have been one scene of anarchy and con-
fusion.” .

“ But if my brother desired the repose of private life, he
had surely the right to appoint his successor,” suggested
Eieanora.

“ Nay, concerning that, men differ in opinion,” replied
sancho. “ Our ancestors, the Goths, confer the crown
upon the Second son, in preference to the heirs of the elder
b1 othel and by this 1ight I reign. ”

“ But by this right, thou takest from the p1ince all power, ”
1etu1 med the queen.

“ And Wheiefo1e,” said Sancho, “ should the word of a
prince prevail against the will of the people, Whose inteiest
no king has a right to sacrifice to his ambition 2”

“ Certes, there is great semblance of truth in What thou
sayest,” added Eleanora, thoughtfully; “ and. much I Won-
der me that, While some are born to such high estate, others
in heart possessed of noble feelings are doomed to perpetual
servitude. My poor brain has been 0fttimes sadly puzzled
in this matter; but When I bethink me of the miseries fair
England suffered during the rebellion of Leicester, I con-
tent myself to believe the holy writ, ‘The powers that be,
me Oidained of God. ”’

“ Thy sc11ptu1e well establishes my claim,” cried Sancho,
laughing healtily.

Eleanora sighed. “ForgetteStthou,b1ave Sancho, ” said
she, “ that the God Who gave to thee the estate and iule of
king, (since thou dost s0 wrest my words to prove thy usur-
pation, ) forgettest thou that He hath also ordained, ‘ Thou
shalt 1101101 thy father?’ ”

“Nay, nay, my most gracious aunt, now thou accusest
me beyond my desert. The Wise Alphonso is not‘restrain-
ed from his clerkly studies, hut—”

“ He is in prison,” interrupted Eleanora.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

420 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

“ It is my care,” continued Sancho, “ to giant him every
thing, hut freedom to disturb my kingdom. Jews aifl
Arabs, his chosen f1iends, doctors of Salemo a_nd Salaman-
ca, friars and priests, (though, sooth to say for them, he
careth little save as: they bring him mouldy manuscripts
from the m0nasteries,) jugglers and mummers, a. worthy
retinue, have free access to his presence. To-morrow thou
mayest see the philosopher, sm'rounéed' by his motley cour-
tiers, and methinks thou wilt then pijonounce him as do
others, either fool or madman.’

King Edward, Who from conversation With the nobles of
Oastile, no less than with Sancho, had arrived at the same
conclusion With his royal nephew, made no efforts to re—
lease Alphonso from his confinement, but gladly accepted; ’
an invitation to accompany the King of Oastiie on an expe-
dition against the Moors in southern Spain.

During their absence Eleanora remained in Burgos, am}
devoted herself to the care Of her brother, for whose sanity
she began to entertain serious fears. Aiphensds afl’ectiom
for his lovely sister so far prevailed over his excitable tem-
perament, that he pe1 mitted her to enter his apartments at
all homs without exhibiting any annoyance, and often
turned aside flom his abstluse studies to indulge in iemin-
iscences of their youthful sports, and to satisfy hei inqui-
ries concerning his present pursuits.

Eleanora possessed that genial spirit which discovers v
something of interest in every occupation, and that ex-
quisite tact which enabled her to insinuate a truth, even
While seeming not to contradict an error ; and it was
soon apparent that, though the philosopher still uttered his
absurdities with great complacency,—his temper became
more tranquil, and his manners far more afi‘able to 31} Who

V approached him. The queen listened patiently to his tedi-
ous explanations of the motions of the planets, and exerted
her utmost powers of perception to comprehend the dia-
grams which he contended were illustrative of the Whole theo-
ry of Nature, and the great end and purpose of her solemn-
mysteries inscribed on the scroll 0f the heavens, form-

ELEANORA. 421

ing an elder Scripture more authoritative than the divine
oracles themselves.

“ Thou seest, my sister,” said the enthusiast, “ that our
maturity like our childhood is amused by fables: hence
do the ignorant believe that this great array of worlds was
formed for the contemptible purpose of revolving around
Our insignificant planet, and all the glittering circle of the
stals made to serve no better end than to enliven a winter
night. ”

“ In t1 uth the doctrine sav01s much of the arrogance of
man,’ ’gently returned the queen, ‘ and reminds one of the
false systems of a monarch Who considers his subjects hut
tributaries to his pleasure.”

“ F alse systems,” returned the astronomer, apparently
unheeding the point of her remark, “ have disgraced the
world in every age. Pythagoras approached nearest the
true idea, and yet was lost in the wilderness of error.”

“ Heaven save us from a fate so evil,” solemnly ejacu-
lated the queen.

“ The philosopher, who rejecting the dogmas 0f the
church, listens to the voice of Nature speaking to the ear
of reason, is in no danger of error,” said Alphonso pom-
pously. “ Thy Mosaic Testament asserts that God created
the heavens and the earth in six days; but they bear no
marks of such creation. Their course is eternal. And as
for appointing the glorious sun with no higher mission
than to enlighten the earth, had the Almighty called me
to his connse1,I would have taught Him a wiser plan of
compassing day and night. ”

Shocked at his impiety, Eleanora calmly replied, “The
Holy Wo1d which thou despisest, directs us to‘ prove all
things.’ How canst thou sustain such assertions ?”

Alphonso, pleased with what he considered her docility,
lifted a small globe, and placing it at a convenient distance
from the lamp, caused ‘it to revolve upon its axis, making
her observe that the regular vicissitudes of light and dark-
ness were produced without any change in the position of
the luminary.

 

 

 

 

 

 

422 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

“ At what infinite expense,” said he, “ would the lamp
revolve around the globe to produce only the same effect,
and to furnish only one world with light; while any num-
ber of globes might gyrate about the lamp without loss,
save an occasional eclipse.”

Struck with the simplicity and evident truth of the illus-
tration, Eleanora gazed admiringly upon her brother, but
scarcely had she essayed to frame an answer, when the con—
versation was interrupted by the entrance of an individual
-—-the expression of whose countenance awoke a painful asso-
ciation in her mind, although in vain she tasked her memo-
ry to decide where or when she had before heheld him.
His figure, though concealed by a Spanish doublet, and
slightly bent with age, had evidently been once tall and.
commanding, and his swarthy countenance was illuminated
by keen black eyes, whose quick penetrating glance, seemed
at once to fathom the purposes, and divine the thoughts of
those about him ; and a. long flowing beard, somewhat
inclining t0 gray, imparted an air of dignity to his whole
appearance. With a profound, though silent salutation
t0 the royal pair, he crossed the apartment, and carefully
laying aside his cloak, quietly seated himself at a side table
covered with manuscripts, and commenced his labors ;
while Alphonso answered the inquiring gaze of Eleanora,
by remarking, “ ’Tis our excellent Procida, my trusty He-
brew scribe.”

“Hebrew 0r Arab,” said Eleanora, in a 10W tone, “I
have seen that face before.”

At the sound of her voice the stranger looked up, while
Eleanora. placed her hands before her eyes, as if to shut
out some dreadful vision.

“It cannot, cannot be,” she exclaimed, “but so looked
the Jew, slain at my feet on that dreadful day when I first
entered London.”

“ My good Procida,” said Alphonso, misinterpreting her
emotion, “I fear me we must dispense With thy presence,
since my sister is too good a Christian to look upon a Jew,
save with feelings of abhorrence.”

ELEANORA. 423

The J eW arose. “ N ay, my good brother,” said the
queen, “ forgive this weakness. I would fain speak with thy
friend.”

Procida came forward and stood in respectful silence
waiting her commands.

“ Hast ever been in London 2” inquired she, earnestly re-
garding him.

“ My noble queen recalls not then the face of Raymond
Lullius, who coined mse nobles for her royal 10rd. She
may, perhaps, remember the curiosity of the young Prince
Alphonso, Whose little hand no doubt still bears the scar
of the melted metal he snatched from the crucible.”

At the mention Of her son, the mether‘s tears began to
flow. “ My sweet Alphonso sleeps in the tomb of his an~
cestors,”rep1ied she, When she had somewhat recovered
her composure; “ but I mind me of the accident,‘though
surely ’tis another scene that hath impressed thy features
on my memory.”

“Your majesty refers to the slaughter of the Jews,” re-
turned Procida, in a sorrowful tone, “ and the victim slain
at your feet was my aged father Ben—Abraham. Of all my
family I alone escaped, through the timely interposition of
the gallant Prince Edward.” ,

“ Ah ! now I comprehend thy haste to serve my brother,”
interrupted Alphonso. “ Thou must know, sweet sister
mine,” said he, turning to the queen, “ that the secrets of
our art are for the learned alone, but king as I am, I found
it impossible to prevent my worthy Procida from leaving
my court to aid the English sovereign in increasing his
revenue by transmuting mercury into gold.”

“ It is then true that metals can be thus transmuted,”
said Eleanora, With an incredulous smile.

The alchemists eXchanged glances of intelligence, but
Alphonso, rememberng her ready appreciation of his as-
tronomical theory, answered Procida’s hesitating look, with
“ Nay, ’tis but for once—our sister is an earnest seeker of
truth, and if she 'comprehend Will not betray our secret.”
Thus saying, Alphonso threw open a door and conducted

 

 

 

 

 

 

424 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

the queen, followed by Procida, into a small laboratory
filled with all the mysterious appurtenances of his art.
The learned doctor busied himself in clearing a space in
the centre of the apartment and arranging in a circle sun-
dry jars and a brazier, while the philosopher king, opening
a cabinet, took thence some dried and withered sea-weed, «
which he threw into the brazier and kindled into a flame.
The blazing kelp was soon reduced to ashes, Which Procida
carefully gathered into an old empty crucible, and set
before the queen. Alphonso advancing took up the cruci-
ble, saying, “ What seest thou, my sister '4”

“ A dull, gray powder,” she replied.

He then placed a tube from one of the jars within the ,
elucible, and bidding he1 rega1d lit attentively, submitted
it to a chemical p1oeess which she did not 1111de1stand,1e-
peating his question.

“I now see,” leplied Eleanora, with astonishment, “ the
dull powder tiansformed into little shining globules like
silver. ”

“Thou mayst take them in thine hand,” said the phi-
losopher, after a pause; “ they will not harm thee.”

With some timidity the wondering queen received the
metallic drops, almost fearing that her brother was a necro-
mancei as the priests affirmed.

“ Oanst judge if it be a metal. 9” said Alphonso, enjoying
he1 confusion.

“ My sight and touch assure me of the fact. Yet '
whence—” .

“ Is it not a miracle,” interrupted the philosopher, laugh-
ing, “ more real than thy fancied transubstantiation?”

A frown gathered on the serene brow of the lovely queen
-——but commiserating his impiety as sincerely as he pitied
her ignorance, With forced gayety she replied, “ N ay,
heaven.w0rks not miracles by the hands of such unbeliev—
ers as thou. I fear me lest evil spirits have aided thee, as
they did the Egyptians with their enchantments ;” and she
handed the globules t0 the philosopher.

ELEANORA. 425
“ Keep them. safely until the morrow,” said he, “ they
may form the basis of another experiment.”
As the Queen of England left the prison, Procida follow-
ed her and craved an audience.

CHAPTER XI.

THE J EWESS.

THE conference between the queen and Procida was not
limited to one audience. Day after day he sought her
presence, under various pretextswsome unimportant busi-
ness, some message from Alphonso—and each time he
lingered as if anxious to prolong the interview; till at
length his strange manner convinced Eleanora that some‘
thing more momentous than philosophical researches de-
tained him in Castile.

When the mind is agitated upon any particular subject,
fancy connects every mysterious appearance with the pre-
vailing thought; and the lovely queen became impressed
with the idea that some impending danger threatened her
royal brother.

She therefore strove to Win the confidence of Procida,
and encouraged him to confide his secret to her keeping.

“Is there aught,” said she, “01' interest to thyself or
others in Which I can aid thee ?” finding that his anxiety —
and hesitation seemed rather to increase than diminish.

“ Most gracious sovereign,” returned Procida, apologeti-
cally, “ the despised outcasts of Israel have little hope to
enlist the sympathies of Christians in their behalf.”

“Nay,” replied the queen, “thou forgettest that our
gospel saith, God hath made of one blood all the nations
of the earth.”

“And if I have forgotten it,” said Procida bitterly, “ it
is because the practice of the church agreeth not With the
precept.”

“It is true,” returned Eleanora, with a sigh, “ that our

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

426 HEROINES 01“ mm CRUSADES.

lives exhibit too little the holy influence of the faith we
profess : but tell me, how can the wife of Edward serve the
alchemist ?” ,

“Noble queen,” said Proeida, speaking earnestly and
With great agitation, “ thou knowest not the peril in Which
thy generosity may involve thee.”

“ Speak, and fear not,” reiterated she, “ Eieanora fears
no evil in the practice of kindness.”

Fixing his keen eyes upon her face, as if to detect every
emotion Which his words might awaken, the Jew replied
bitterly, “-Procida for his attachment to the noble house
of Swabia, is proscribed and hunted from Sicily, his daugh-
ter, a Jewess, can scarce claim the protection of law ; and
concealed as she is in the suburbs of Burgos, her beauty
has already attracted the curiosity of those from Whom her
father cannot defend her. Did I dare claim so great a.
boon I would beg a place for her among thy maidens.”

Eleanora paused. The prejudice against the J ews was
so intense as to affect even her upright mind; and the
scandal it might bring upon the royal household to enroll
an unbeliever among its inmates, startled her apprehen-
sions : but the father stood before her With the air of one
Who had intrusted his last treasure to her keeping, and she
could not find it in her heart to crush his confidence in her
generosity.

“Bring thy daughter hither,” added she,th0ughtfu11y,
“ with me she shall be safe.”

“ The blessing of him that is ready to perish, rest upon
thee,” said the scholar, fervently, as he left her presence.

When the Queen of England next Visited the apart-
ments of her brother, she was accompanied by a young
girl of such surpassing loveliness as to attract the attention
of the philosopher himself. Her features were of that per-
fect form generally described as Grecian, while her dark
hair and soft black eyes, suggested the idea of a brunette;
but the fairness of her complexion and the brilliant color
of her cheek, that varied with every emotion, gave a char-
acter of exquisite delicacy and sensibility to her countenance.

ELEANORA. 427

“Does thy realm of England abound in such comely
damsels 2” inquired Alphonso, While Agnes blushed at the
king’s encomium.

“ England may rival Spain in the beauty of her daugh-
ters,” answered Eleanora, evasively. “ My gentle Agnes
is curious like her mistress to learn the wonders of thy art:
hence do we crave thine indulgence to pass some weary
hours of my lord’s absence among thy folios.”

“ Thou art ever welcome,” returned Alphonso, benig-
nantly, “ and this young disciple shall receive the benefit
0fse1ving s0 good'a n1ist1ess.”

“ I have pondeied much, ” said the queen, Who had been
for some time attentiv ely regaiding the ca1e-w01n linea-
ments of his face, “upon thy themy 0f the planets. The
globe moved. around the lamp because thou didst bear it in
thine hand. By What power is our Earth carried around
the Sun ?”

“ There is some invisible influence Which retains it With
its sister-orbs in the eternal round, but the subtle essence
has thus far eluded my investigations,” replied Alphonso.

“Thou believest then, my brother,” said Eleanora, in
her gentlest tone, “ in a power whose existence thou canst .
not demonstrate by thy ‘Tables’ 01' diograms ?”

“ Verily, such a power is a matter of necessity,” returned
the monarch. . >

“And thy unlearned sister,” replied the queen, hesita-
ting, “ finds the same necessity to believe in a God, whose
existence she can demonstrate only by the contemplation
of his glorious works.”

“ It is well for the ignorant to repose in this idea,” re-
plied Alphonso, “ and it may pe1chauce r‘estiain the Wicked
f1om his misdeeds, to believe that an eve1-p1esent Intelli-
gence 1ega1ds his actions. ”

“ And it may comfort the sorrowing,” said Eleanora, “ to
feel that this Infinite Power .can satisfy the needs of the
human soul.”

“ Hast thou brought the metal I gave thee ?” said Al~
phonso, abruptly changing the conversation.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

428 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

“I have it in my gypsire,” said she, unclasping the bag
and unfolding the paper—“ L0 I my brether, What a trans-
formation is here,” exclaimed the queen, in amazement.
“ Thy silver has again become ashes.”

“ Grieve not,” said the alchemist, with an air of superior
wisdom, “ Science will achieve new wonders with these
dull atoms.”

He now placed the powder in the crucible as before, and
taking from a shelf what seemed a fragment of rock, pul-
verized it to a like powder, and mingled both in the cruci-
ble, which he placed upon the brazier and subjected it to a.
most intense heat.

“ What dost thou now observe ?” said the alchemist.

“A melted glowing mass of a ruby color,” said Eleano-
ra, with great interest.

Taking a small rod in his hand he lifted the adhering
particles, and drew them into thin, fine hair, like threads
of a shining whiteness, which he presented to Agnes, say-
ing, with a smile, “ I will bestow these frail crystals upon
thee, fair one; perchance thou mayst preserve them in

memory of the mad philosopher.” V

( Every day the Queen of England became more interested
in the society of her lovely ward, whose sprightliness was
tempered by a sweetness, and a delicate discrimination, that
never gave ofi'ence. It was gratifying to observe, in a fancy
cultivated by the poetic legends of the South, ahd stored
with the splendid fictions 0f Arabian romance, an ardent
love of truth, and a strict adherence to its dictates; and
Eleanora saw with pleasure that her most playful and en-
tertaining sallies, though sometimes pointed at the pecu-
liarities of those around her, never betrayed ill-humor, nor
degenerated into sarcasm. Her beauty and gayety forci-
bly recalled the image of Eve ; but the reliance which the
obedient Jewess inspired, was in strong; contrast to the
anxiety ever awakened by the lovely, but volatile daughter
of Clare.

The charming Agnes not only amused the queen with
her vivacity, but afforded her a sense of repose, by her

ELEANORA. 429

amiable observance of every admonition, and her evident
desire to regard the wishes no less than the positive com-
mands of her .royal benefactress, and especially did she
win the 10ve of the mother by her graceful attentions to the
infant Princess Beatrice.

While Agnes was actuated by the most dutiful afi'ection
to her father, she seemed by a happy trustfulness to escape
participation in that gloom and care which daily deepened
upon the clouded brow 0f the Sicilian.

Desirous to relieve what she deemed his apprehensions
for the future welfare of his daughter, the queen took occa—
sion, upon one of his visits, to assure him of her increasing
attachment to her lovely charge. ‘

“ Thy generous interest in the despised exile softens my
bitter fate,” said he, “ but could the unhappy Procida en-
list the influence of England’s gracious sovereign in the
great project that preys upon his being, he would feel that
he had not lived in vain.”

“ My 10rd the king is ever ready to assist the unfortu-
nate,” said Eleanora, encouragingly, “ and is free from those
prejudices which embarrass weaker minds. If thou deem-
est it proper to reveal thy secret, his queen Will herself en-
deavor to redress thy wrongs.”

“ Procida seeks not the redress of a personal affront, nor
restoration to his island home; my project is,” said the
Sicilian, drawing near the queen, and speaking in a 10W
tone of terrible emphasis, “mvenge!—death t0 the infa-
mous Charles d’Anjou I”

The startled Eleanora essayed no reply, but gazed in mute
terror at the dark and malignant face of the conspirator.

“ Yes,” continued be, his tall figure dilating with long
repressed and cherished passion, “ I will rouse all Europe
with the wrongs of the noble house of Suabia.”

“I know,” said the queen, the words faintly struggling
through her white lips, “ the woes inflicted upon our
cousins 0f Suabia by the relentless fury of the Guelphs, but
I dare not assume the office of their judge. It is written,
‘ Vengeance is mine, I will repay it, saith the Lord.’ ”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

430 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

“Aye, verily,” replied the Jew, fiercely, “ but how does
the Lord repay vengeance? Is it not by the hand of man
he brings retribution upon the guilty? Did he not commis-
sion the sword to cut off the Canaanites, the Midianites,
the Assyrians, and those who vexed his people in every
age? Who can say he hath not inspired the heart, and
nerved the arm of the proscribed and outcast Jew t0 exe-
cute his wrath upon the proud tyrant of Sicily '3”

“ Thou,” inquired the queen. “By what title claimest
thou allegiance to that fallen house 2”

“ I know,” said Procida, stung by her remark, “ full Well
I know, that your Holy Church denies t0 the son of Abra-
ham all the tender ties that bind the 10rd to his vassal, or
the vassal to his 10rd. He may have neither house nor
land, he may not dwell in Jerusalem the city of his fathers,
or be buried in consecrated ground. His possessions be-
come the spoil 0f the tyrant, his innocent offspring the
victims of brutal passion; arid yet your priests say,-—-Be
meek—Be patient—Obey the precepts of that gospel which
we trample under foot.”

He paused, struck by the compassionate gaze of Eleano-
ra, who, for the first time, comprehended the hopeless
misery of the hapless race.

“ Thy pardon, noble queen,” said Procida, softened by
her tender pity. “ \Vere there more like thee, ’twere
easier for the Jew toembrace the faith of the Nazarene.
Thou didst inquire by what tie I followed the changing
fortunes of Hohenstaufen.” In a gentlertone he continued—

“ The Jew loves 'gold. Loves he alight else? Yea, to
the death his friend. The Emperor Frederic was free from
the chains of superstition. Christian, Saracen, 01' Jew,
found equal favor in his eye, and learning and genius not
less than military prowess were rewarded with titles and
lands.

“ Know me, then, royal lady, miserable and destitute as
I appear, as favorite physician of the emperor, created by
him Count de Procida, 10rd of the fairest island in the Bay
of Naples,”

ELEANORA. 431

C H A P T E R XII .
THE FATE OF THE HOUSE OF SUABIA.

THE soft climate of the south, and the rich and varied
scenery upon the banks of the Arlanzon, invited Eleanora
to long walks in the suburbs of Burgos : and she found the
greatest delight in watching the changing foliage, which
announced the approach of the mellow autumn.

Her recent interviews with the philosopher had given a.
new direction to her thoughts. ' She experienced a pleasure
before unknown in studying the various aspects of nature,
and contemplating the subtle arrangement by Which all
these beautiful, phenomena were produced. New proofs
‘of an All—creative Intelligence were daily forced upon her
with peculiar distinetness', and her mind was thus fortified
against the cold, insinuating doubts, With which her brother
continually assailed her faith. Often she became so lost in
reflection as to be insensible to all external circumstances,
and her ladies, loosed from the restraints of court etiquette,
revelled in the unwonted freedom of these rural strolls.
Eleanora was often lured from her speculative abstraction
by the Sportive gayety of their amusements, and she saw
With benevolent pleasure the ready tact with which the
young Jewess avoided every inquiry that might lead to a
discovery of her nation 01' position, without in the least
compromising her truthfulness 01‘ transgressing the rules of
courtesy.

During one of these rambles, a mendicant of the order
of St. Francis approached the queen, and asked an alms.
The smoothly-shaven chin 0f the monk, closely clipped
hair, and unsandalled feet, at first completely imposed upon
her credulity, but his voice at once betrayed Procida.

With a troubled look she gave him a few denim“, as if.
desirous to escape all parley. But the monk lingered ; and
after a pause, hesitatingly remarked in a low tone, “I am

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

$32 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

about to leave Burgos, and I would fain confer with the
queen before my departure.”

“ But wherefore the monkish habit? Has the Jew re-
solved to do penance for his sins ?’7 inquired Eleanora.

“Nay,” replied Procida, evasively, “ if my gracious mis-
tress Will grant me an audience, I Will unfold to her the
purpose that hath moved me to this disguise.”

“I cannot tell,” replied the queen, with a tone of un-
WOhted reproach, “ if it be desirable to entrust thy plans
to my keeping, since I may not encourage deceit, and I
would not that thy Agnes, so innocent of guile, should
learn that her father, for some dark purpose, has assumed
the garb he abhors.”

Tears glistened in the eyes of Procida, as he replied,
“Thou sayest well and Wisely. The sweet child knoweth
not more of the secret schemes of her father, than do the
angels of the dark deeds of fiends. But—”

“ I hear the voice of my maidens,” exclaimed the queen
impatiently, “ expose not thyself to their observation.”

“ Benedécite,” murmured the counterfeit priest, turning
away to avoid the scrutiny of the approaching group.

But Procida was so determined to secure the approba-
tion of the queen, that the following day he craved an '
audience at the palace.

“My royal mistress,” said he, “must permit me once
more, to plead the rights of the illustrious house of Suabia,
before I depart on my pilgrimage, that if I never return,
she may justify my acts in the eyes of my daughter}?

“ Speak,” said Eleanora, moved by the sorrowful earnest-
ness of his manner.

“ My royal master Frederic,” began the Jew, “ had little
cause to love the church. Hated by the pope, for that
with a strong arm he claimed his hereditary possessions in
Italy, he was excommuriicated for refusing the pilgrimage,
and again cursed for fulfilling his vow; and had not the
honest pagan,Me1ech Camel, been more his friend than
the christian troops by whom he was surrounded, he would
have perished by treason in the Holy City itself.

ELEANORA. 433

V“ Freed from superstition,_vhe100ked upon all religions as
formed to impose upon the vulgar; and it was through his
instructions, that I learned the policy of conforming to the
prejudices of mankind, and now avail myself of the priv-
ileges of an order, who wander everywhere, and are every—
where well received.

“ The emperor, like thy brother Alphonso, Was a man of
science. He opened schools in Sicily, and maintained poor
scholars from his own purse, and by every means promoted
the Welfare of his subjects; but he could not escape the
toils spread around him by his great enemy the church.”

As he said these words the queen beheld in his eyes the
same vengeful fire that once had before so startled and
shocked her.

“ Thy pardon, sovereign lady,” said he, recollecting him-
self, “but the wrongs of the master have well-nigh mad-
dened the brain of the servant.

“ His Own son Henry, wrought upon by the malicious
representations of the pope, revolted, and his beautiful
boy FJnZio, pined away his young life in the prison of B0-
logna. The great Frederic died ; and his wretched Procida
vowed to avenge him upon his murderers.” He paused a
moment overcome by his emotions, and then continued,
“There yet remained Conrad and Manfred: the former,
only son of the Queen of Jerusalem, and the latter, ille-
gitimate offspring of a Saracen woman. Conrad passed
into Italy to claim his inheritance, only to be poisoned by
the pope; While Manfred, calling around him the friends
of his mother, battled for his father’s strongholds and
treasures. He was brave, generous and noble. He would
have made peace even With his enemy, but the tyrant
d’Anjou spurned his overtures, and insultingly replied to
the messenger, ‘Gro tell the Sultan of Nocera, that I de-
sire war only, and this very day I Will send him to hell, or
he shall send me to Paradise.’ He prepared for the con-
flict. As he fastened on his helmet it twice slipped from
his grasp. ‘It is the hand of God,’ was his exclamation,
and with a presentime'nt of his fall, he hurried to the fight.

28

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

434 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

I stood by his side in the bloody battle of Benevente, am}
we made a holocaust of our enemies; but a fatal spear
pierced his brain! The implacable d’Anjou would have
the poor excommunicated corpse remain unburied, but the
French soldiers, less barbarous than their master, brought
each a stone, and so reared him a tomb.”

“ Tell me no more horrors,” exclaimed the queen, With a
look of painful emotion.

“ Ah ! lady,” said the artful Procida, sacily, satisfied that
his recital had so moved his royal auditor, “ thou art
grieved at the very lbeam'ng of these atrocities, but bethink
thee of the misery of the poor daughter of Frederic, Wife
of the Duke of Saxony. ‘When the family fell, the duke
repented of his alliance With the house of Suabia. From
cold neglect and scorn, he proceeded to violence——he bru—
tall y struck her. She, unhappy woman, thinking he sought
her life, endeavored to escape. The castle rose upon a
rock overhanging the Elbe. A faithful servant kept a boat
upon the river, and by a rope, she could let herself down
the precipitous descent. Au agonizing thought stayed her
footsteps. Her only son lay asleep in the cradle. She
would once more fold him to her breast. She would im-
print her last kiss upon his cheek. 'With a maddening
pang she closed her teeth in the tender flesh, and fled, pur-
sued by the screams of her wounded child. The treach-
erous rope eluded her grasp, and the frantic mother fell,
another victim from the (loomed race of Hohenstaufen.

“ The little Corradino, Who should have been King of Je-
rusalem, had also a mother, tender and font}, who would
fain have detained him from funereal Italy, Where all his
family had found a sepulchre ; but ere he attained the age
of manhood the Ghibelline cities called to him for aid, and
no eutreaties could withhold the valiant youth. Accompa—
nied by his dearest friend, Frederic of Austria, and a. band
of knights, he passed the Alps to claim his inheritance.
There was a battlewthere was a defeat—there was a prison-
er—The Vicar of Christ, showed he mercy ? He wrote
to d’Anjou, ‘Corradino’s life is Charles’s death.’ J udges

ELEANORA. 435

were named, a strange and unheard—of proceeding ; but of
these some defended Corradino, and the rest remained
silent. One alone, found him guilty, and began to read
his sentence upon the scaffold. But outraged nature as-
serted her rights, d’Anjou’s own son—in-law leaped upon the
scaffold and slew the inhuman judge With one stroke of his
sword, exclaiining, ‘ ’Tis not for a wretch like thee ’to con-
demn to death so noble and gentle a 10rd.’ . But the execu-
tion proceeded. I stood among the spectators at shaven
priest, honoring 25/216 decrees qf the c/Lw-cfi/ I heard the
piteons exclamation 0f the hapless youth, ‘ Oh my mother,
what sad news will bring thee of thy son.’ His eye caught
mine, he slipped a ring from his finger, and threw it into
the crowd. I seized the precious jewel, and renewed my
vow of vengeance. The faithful Frederic of Austria stood
by his side, and was the first to receive the fatal stroke.
Corradino caught the bleeding head, as it fell, pressed his
own upon the quivering lips, and perished like his friend.
‘ Lovely and pleasant in their lives, in death they were not
divided.’ ” _ _

Tears for a. moment quenched the fire in the old man’s
eyes, and Eleanora wept in sympathy. “And Enzio—Z”
she said, mournfully.

“Enzio yet languished in prison, the delicate boy, the
idol of his imperial father. I found my way to Bologna,
gold bribed his guard. An empty wine—cask was at hand, I
enclosed him therein, and brought him safely to the gates.
A single lock of hair betrayed my secret. ‘ Ha I’ exclaimed
the sentinel, ‘ ’tis only King Enzio has such beautiful fair
hair.’ I escaped with difficulty, but the boy was slain.”

“ Lives there not one of all the princely house 2” inquired
the queen.

“ Frederic the Bitten lives, the deadly enemy of his
father, and the daughter of Manfred is the Wife of the
Prince of Arragon. To her I carry the ring. A Saracen
servant of the emperorascribes to it magic virtues. It
shall be the talisman to bind Europe in a league against
the infamous d’Afijon.”

 

 

 

 

 

436 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

“ My brother! knows he of thy purpose '9” inquired Ele-
anora, apprehensively.

“I entered Oastile to secure his assistance, and devoted
myself to the practice of alchemy, to gain his confidence;
but the philosopher is too intent upon the science of dull
atoms to mingle in political strife.”

“ Thank heaven! that his studies keep him innocent of
human blood,i’ ejaculated the queen. “ VVouldst ought
with me ?” inquired she, after a pause, observing that the
J eW remained silent with his eyes fixed upon her.

“Let my gracious queen pardon her servant, that he
hath so long detained her with his tale of horror. Some~
thing“ I would add concerning my sweet Agnes. Call her
not a J ewess. Her father hath long since abjured the
burdensome rites of J udaism, and her mother—Jtis enough
to say that she resembled the Queen of England. Though
I trust not in the pious fables 0f the priests, they seemed to
charm her gentle spirit into peace. Let Agnes, therefore,
I pray thee, be instructed in her mother’s faith.”

“ Thy wishes shall be strictly regarded,” replied Eleano-
ra, “ and may the same peace thou covetest for thy daugh-
ter, yet find its way to thy own unquiet breast.”

 

 

CHAPTER XIII.
TRAN SLATION OF THE BIBLE.

EACH time the queen visited the laboratory of Alphonso,
he made her acquainted with some new fact in philosophy,
01' some new device of alchemy, which awakened curiosity
and gave rise to inquiry. The Spanish king, having made
some discoveries in advance of the age, had fallen into the
popular error of philosophers, that of repudiating all pre-
established doctrines and maxims. Having laid down the
theory that matter was eternal, and all external appear-
ances the result of natural change, he was at infinite pains

ELEANOBA., 43:77

to account for all phenomena so as not to conflict with this
proposition. The unbiased mind of Eleanora often de-
tected in his assertions a. vagueness of expression which
passed for argument, but Which evidently imposed less
upon his auditors than upon himself.

“ Nature,” said he, “ arranges her work in circles: hence
is the sky a dome, the earth a, convex ball, and each minute
atom of a globular form. The seasons roll their perpetual
round, and as a ring hath neither beginning nor end, so
must the material universe be eternal. The acorn groweth
into the oak, and the oak again produceth the acorn; all
outward manifestations are but parts in the great universal
machine.”

Eleanora, who had been attentively regarding aninge-v
ni-ous invention of the king’s, interrupted this tirade, by re»
marking, “ A few months before I left England, I Visited
the cell of friar Bacon, in Oxford. But I saw nothing in
his laboratory so curious. and wonderful as this. work. of my
brother’s.”

The philosopher, flattered With the encomium, turned at
once to exhibit the design of the machine. She followed
his explanation with the greatest apparent, interest; and
When he had finished, replied, “In all these curious ar—
rangements, I trace the Wisdom of my brother; and it is
that Which gives me the greatest pleasure ; and When I see
the beneficent purposes for Which it is designed, I feel a
deeper veneration for the mind that could plan so skilfully.”

She took a bunch of flowers from the hand of Agnes and
approached the king. “I have been observing,” said she,
“. the curious arrangement of, these frail leaves, five green
supporters, five yellow petals, five slender threads, and one
central spire. I have gathered thousands of them in my
' rambles, and the same perfect number is found in every
one. It has led me to inquire if Nature be not like my
brother, a mathematician.”

The workings of Alphonso’s face showed how closely the
simple truth of this proposition had driven home. “Nae
ture,” said he, “ is an active principle, whose changes: 1131-:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

438 HEROINES‘ OF THE (CRUSADES.

ther add to, nor detract from, the original matter of the
universe. The metals,” continued he, seeing she was about
to respond, “ the metals, my philosophical sister, form the
basis of everything. I have detected iron in human blood,
and a lustrous substance like that thou sawest in common
ashes ; hence do the alchemists believe that gold, the most
precious of all, is scattered through nature, as the seeds of
Vegetation are scattered in earth, requiring only the proper
gases to develop it and make it abundant as the pebbles 0n
the shore.”

“ And have these gases been able to effect the desirable
changes ?” inquired the queen.

“There are innumerable obstacles in the way of these
momentous inquiries,” said the enthusiast. “Nature re-
sists intrusion into her arcana, and I grieve to say, that we
have not yet been able to bring about a definite result.
Science has achieved only the procuring 0f the gases, while
there remains still the nicer problem—-t0 mix them in their
right proportions, at their proper temperatures; for the
nascent metal is more delicate than the embryo plant, and
an excess of heat or cold destroys like frost 0r blight.”

“Ah, me!” said Eleanora, with a sigh; “before this
great end be accomplished I fear me my brother Will have
passed away, and then all this toil and research will be
lost.” .

“ My sister,” said Alphonso, abandoning his labors ané
seating himself, “ thou hast unconsciously touched the
thorn that rankles deepest in my breast. In nature
nothing seems made in vain; even decay produces nevs
life, and man alone, the crowning work of all, seems made
to no purpose.” '

“I have sometimes thought,” said Eleanora, as if an
swering her own reflections, rather than replying to hex
brother’s remarks, “ that man might perhaps be made fox
the pleasure of a higher order of intelligence, as the lower
orders of creation seem formed for our gratification, and
that all our miseries spring from an attempt to thwart this
plan.”

ELEANORA. 439

“ If thy thought be not the true solution of man’s destiny,
I know not What end he serves in the great scheme of eX-
istence,” returned Alphonso, sadly ; “I have passed
through various vicissitudes of life, from the greatness of
earthly state to the poverty of a. prison, and I have derived
more pleasure from the achievements of science than from
all my hereditary honors. And yet even these do not
satisfy the longings of my nature.” ~

“ The scripture teaches us, that the superior intelligences
find delight in benefitting mortals; and acting upon this
hint the good have taught us, that to be blest ourselves we
must seek to bless others,” said Eleanora.

, “ True,” replied the philosopher, breaking out once more
into his old enthusiasm, “ I have sometimes found allevia-
tion from the weariness of my thoughts in the reflection,
that the sciences in which I am engaged will one day exer-
cise awider and more perfect control over the destiny of
the human race, than all the military orders backed by the
sanction of ecclesiastical decrees. Science Will open the
door to Art; and her triumphant offspring, in a train of
skillful inventions, shall pass on through long ages, break-
ing down the stern barriers of kingdoms, and uniting man-
kind in a common interest ; war shall give place to useful
Labor, and Science abrogating labor in its turn, shall satis-
fy the wants of the human race, accomplishing by a touch
that which requires the might of thousands. Men shall
then have leisure to perform the rites that lift the veil of
Isis, and perhaps find means to question Nature even in
the innermost recesses of her temple.”

“ Oh ! life I life !” said the philosopher, in an accent of
despair, “ Why art thou s0 brief 3 Why must I die Without
discovering the sublime agencies ?”

Eleanora waited in compassionate silence till her brother
resumed in a calmer tone, “Think me not mad, my sister.
If the feeble attempts of an imprisoned king, and a Clois-
tered friar, can produce the wondrous results of which thou
hast been witness, What shall the end be, When men free to
pursue these investigations shall Win the rich guerdon 0f

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

44:0 HEROINES 01‘ 17mg QBUSADES.

fame and pectmiary reward ? Thou hastheard, perchanee,
of the magician Albertus Magnus, Who constructed a human
figure, which performed the office of a servant ; and 0f the
stupid priest Thomas Aquinas, who, alarmed by the appear-
ance of the automaton which opened the door and usherefi
him in with ceremonious obeisanee, destroyed with one
blow the work of years.”

“ I can forgive his terror,” said Eleanora, “for I well re-
member my own afi'right, when the brazen head contrived;
by Friar Bacon, rolled along on the table towards me, and
uttered ‘pom vobz’scum’ with startling distinctness.”

“Albertus Magnus performed a still more astonishing
work,” continued AIphonso. “ At a banquet which he gave
in the garden of his Cloister, in the depth of winter, trees,
appeared covered With leaves and flowers, which vanished
as if by enehantment, When the guests rose to depart.”

“ By What means were these wonderful works produced ?”
said Eleanora, with astonishment.

“ With the mode of this operation I amnot familiar,” re-
turned the philosopher. “ Doubtless by some of the pow-
erful agents alchemy reveals to its votaries.”

“And What dost thou consider the chief agent in the
universe?” said Eleanora, With the air of one inquiring
after truth.

“ Nature,” returned the philosopher, emphatically.

“And will it pain my brother, if his unlearned sister
call that great agent, who brings the flowers and leaves
upon the trees in their season, by the name of God 2""

“Certainly, the name can affect nothing,” replied A1—
phonso; “and if thy priest require it of thee, sin not against
him,'by a more liberal view.”

“ And if the ignorant mass, who cannot be enlighteneé
by thy theories, are restrained from vice by the thought
that an Omniscient Being takes note of their actions, would
it be well to free them from the necessary monitor?” ins
quired his sister.

“ It is doubtless Well for m‘ani to, hedeterred from e113

ELEANORA. . 441

by salutary fear, till he rises to more exalted capabilities,”
replied Alphonso.

“ And art Willing,” suggested EleanOra, cautiously, “to
administer to this Wholesome necessity until thy divine
philosophy become sufficiently perfected to renovate their
character.” . V

i“ What priestly Scheme hast thou in hand 2” said her
brother, regarding her With a look of mirthful curiosity.

“Thou knowest how dearly I love the ‘Castilian lan-
guage,” returned the queen, “ and I would that my brother
should perpetuate his fame by that which Will benefit his
subjects. The sight of thy J ewish scribes, suggested the
thought that it would be easy for thee to procure the trans-
lation of the Scriptures into our mother tongue.”

The philosopher remained silent for a. moment, and then
answered, “ knowest thou the efi’eet of the measures thou
proposest 3”

“I conceive,” replied Eleanora, “ that it Will make thy
people more virtuous and happy, and,” added she, mindful
of his foible, “ prepare them to receive all the additional
light to Which thy investigations may lead.”

“There Will be another efi'ect, Which, perhaps thou dost
not anticipate,” replied Alphonso. “ It Will overthrow the
povver 0f the priesthood; for as now each man inquires of
his confessor concerning his duty, he wi11,if enabled to
read the boasted oracles, claim the right to interpret for
himself. But thy experiment shall be tried, and now I he-
think me, those learned scribes Which om" benevolent son
Sancho hath permitted us to employ in transcribing the
laws of Spain into the language of Castile, shall be placed
under thy direction for this important work. .

Thus the Object for which Eleanora had so long and so
patiently prayed and planned, progressed under the aus-
pices of a man Who affected to despise the truths he yet
condescended to propagate ; and while the philosopher
gave critical attention to the correctness of the work, he
found leisure to complete his Astronomical tables, and to
commence the first general history of Spain.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

44:2 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

CHAPTER XIV.
AN ACCIDENT.

To THE monotony of a Winter which the absence of the
gallant cavaliers had rendered doubly tedious to the ladies
of the royal household, succeeded a. balmy spring. The
favorite haunt of Eleanora, by the side of a nuisy stream,
Which escaping from its icy chain among the hills, hurried
away through the ravine, leaping up to clasp the overhang-
ing rock in its wild embrace, and showering its silver spray
upon the weeping boughs that fringed its bank, was again
carpeted With mossy green, and draped With the bright gar-
niture of May.

The view from this romantic spot commanded upon the
right the city of Burgos, built upon the deciivity of a hill,
and on the left, a flowery path leading along the bank of
the stream, Which it crossed by a foot-bridge, wound 'up the
cliff till it entered upon extensive plains that stretched out
to the west, and afforded rich pasturage for numerous flocks
Which fed upon the luxuriant herbage.

One sunny afternoon, Eleanora, becoming deeply ab
sorbed in her brother’s history of the reign of their father,
Ferdinand the Holy, allowed the maidens, protected by the
squires and pages, to climb the prohibited cliff, which, ever
since it had begun to assume its summer garb, hadjbeen a
strong temptation to their footsteps. Occupied with her
manuscript, she was unconscious 0f the lapse of time, but
an occasional sound of merry voices, mingling harmonious-
ly with the pleasant reflections that filled her mind, inspired
her With a feeling of security and peace. It was nearly
sunset When she finished her task, and the chill dews ad—
monished her of the lateness 0f the hour; but When she
raised her eyes, not a human being was within call. The
sentinel page, presumin g upon his mistress’ abstraction, had
strolled across the bridge and ascended the hill after his
companions, and the queen began to be alarmed lest the

ELEANORA. 443

giddy party should defer their return till darkness had in-
creased the danger of the mountain path. She gazed in
every direction, and listened intently to every sound. The
breeze rustled the branches, and the river gurgled on its
way, but all else was still. Suddenly she perceived on the
extremity of the cliff, the rocks of which sank sheer down
to the water’s edge, her maidens hurrying t0 the rescue of
a 1amb,that, having strayed from the care of the shepherd,
startled the echoes with its piteous cries. Agnes was fore-
most, and as she tripped along unconscious 0f the abyss
which the pendant foliage concealed from her sight, and
clasped the snowy foundling to her lovely breast, her slight
figure bathed in the bright gold of the western sky seemed
the impersonation of the angel of mercy. With a glad
shout'of exultation she turned to exhibit her prize, when.
the treacherous earth gave way beneath her feet, and with
her fleecy burden she was precipitated into the stream,
nearly opposite the spot which the queen, breathless with
alarm, had just reached. Screams 0f helpless terror rent
the air. The squires ran each in a. different direction,
hoping to_ find some point from which they could descend
the cliff, while the poor girl floated rapidly down the stream,
rising and sinking with the swelling waves. Quick as
thought, Eleanora caught up a fallen branch that lay upon
the bank, and extended it for her rescue. The drowning
Agnes seized it with one hand, and the queen, with great
exertion, had drawn her almost to the shore, when the frail
support gave way, and the mad waters again enveloped her
form. As she sank, the animal struggled from her grasp and
gained the bank.

“ Save her! Oh God in mercy save her !” exclaimed Elea-
nora, clasping her hands in agony. At this moment a
solitary pedestrian turning an angle in the path, approached,
and attracted by the cry of distress quickened his pace.
“ There I there 1” exclaimed the queen, pointing With a
frantic gesture to the spot where Agnes had disappeared.
Without a word, the stranger threw his staff and cloak upon
the ground, and plunged into the stream. But the rapa-

 

 

 

 

 

444 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

cious tide had borne her beyond his reach. On he swam,
bufi'eting the waveswith a strong arm, now searching the
depths, and now scanning the ruffled surface, till finding
every effort unavailing, he paused amid the whirling eddies,
as if irresolute to seek the shore 0r contimie the fruitless
search. At this moment a small fair hand gleamed in the
water before him, vainly clasping the idle waves, as if
reaching for the broken i'eed that had so deceived its hope.
He grasped the tiny hand in his own, raised the sinking
form, and, renerved by the joy of success, and the shouts
of those who approached in tumultuous haste, by a few
strokes of his powerful arm gained the shore. Every hand
was extended for his assistance; but the stranger heeded
not the profi'ered aid, and kneeling upon the velvet turf he
pressed the senseless form in his arms, and regarded the
face that lay so fixed and still upon his breast, with a mute
anxiety that held his features almost as rigid as those on
which he gazed. While the balance thus trembles between
life and death, ’eiver'y voice ‘is dumb and every breath sup-
pressed. The queen hangs motionless ever her unconscious
favorite, and the attendants stand chilled and paralyzed
with doubt and dread, till a sudden gleam of satisfaction
irradiates the stranger’s face, and a faint sigh heaves the
bosom of Agnes. “ My God, I thank thee l” exelaims
Eleanora, fervently, while every frame dilates With a full
deep inspiration of returning hope. But the stranger, with
an authoritative wave of his hand, repels all attempts to
relieve him of his lovely charge. Gently he disengages
the long silken locks that cling dripping to his arm, ten-
clerly he raises her head to catch the breeze that fans her
pallid cheek, and ’tis not till returning life quivers in the
languid eyelids, that pressing his lipsupon her snowy hand,
he resigns her to her royal mistress. At once the maidens
crowded around, some weeping and Some laughing under
the excess of the same emotion, eager to assist in the re-
suscitation of their lovely friend ; and the squires and pages
busied themselves in constructing a litter of boughs, upon
which Agnes was ‘c‘o’nireyed t0 the palace.

ELEANORA. 445

Meanwhile, the innocent cause of the catastrophe crept
shivering t0 the feet of the queen, Who compassionately 0r-
dered one of the attendants to carry it forward; and thus
While the shades of evening stretched over the landscape,
the saddened party re-entered the streets of Burgos. In the
general confusion the strange deliverer had disappeared,
and no one knew the direction he had taken ; but the ladies
had not been so much occupied with their anxiety, that
they had failed to mark his noble figure and princely hear-
ing; and Eleanora remembered that his face was one of wpe-
culiar beauty, though marked by a scar, conspicuous upon
the right cheek.

C H A P T E R X V .
FREDERIC THE BITTEN.

THE slight illness that followed the accident Which had
so nearly proved fatal to the young J ewess, was attended
by no dangerous symptoms, and the maidens amused her
convalescence with conjectures concerning her mysterious
deliverer. Their pleasantl‘ies acquired new zest, When they
discovered that a rosy blush, no less than an evasive reply,
answered their reiterated prediction that the stranger would
one day return, no longer a simple knight, but a noble 10rd,
or powerful prince, and claim the fair hand on which he
imprinted his parting kiss. Thus the weeks were away, and
the affair at length ceased to be the engrossing topic of
conversation: the inhabitants of the palace resumed their
accustomed employments, and indulged in their usual ram-
bles.

Eleanora receiVed frequent despatches 0f the most satis-
factory character from her husband. The Christian arms
had been everywhere successful against the Moors, andthe
King of Arragon had added to his former conquests, Ma-
jorca and Valencia, together with numerous castles and

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

446 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

churches taken from the Infidels. Edward proposed to
return by sea to Bordeaux, Where he appointed his queen
to meet him Within the following month.

But the tidings she received from Procida, through an
ambassador that craved a private audience, created a more
agitating interest than eveh the afi‘airs of their own realm
could awaken. At sight of the stranger, she recognized
the saviour of Agnes, and her first impulse was to thank
hlm for his generous exertions in behalf of her fair ward.
But the grave formality of his manner checked the grace-
ful condescension. He seemed but the bearer of a letter,
and received her greeting merely as the messenger of Pro-
cida, and presuming upon his avowed character, she pro—
ceeded to peruse the despatch in his presence.

The‘eepistle from the Jew commenced abruptly Without
date. It acquainted the queen with the rank and title of
the bearer, “ Frederic the Bitten,” Duke of Saxony, grand-
son of the illustrious Emperor of Germany, and commend-
ed him to her courtesy as the suitor 0f the young Agnes.
Procida alluded darkly to negotiations and plots, Which he
trusted would accomplish the deliverance of his country,
but towards the close of the epistle, the fame?“ triumphed
over the conspirator, and the expressions of paternal love
subdued the tone of vengeance t0 the accents of tenderness
and apprehension.

“I was anxious my royal friend,” said he, “now that
rugged Winter has been smoothed by a, softer breath, I was
anxious to write and to address thee some grateful strain,
as the first-fruits 0f the spring. But the mournful news
presages to me new storms ; my songs sink into tears. In
vain do the heavens smile; in vain do the gardens and
groves inspire me With unseasonable joy, and the returning
concert of the birds tempt me to resume my own. I can-
not behold With dry eyes the approaching desolation of my
kind nurse Sicily. Which shall I choose for her, the yoke,
0r honor? I see that in the confusion of insurrection
numbers of her innocent children must perish. Shall I
then leave her under the power of the tyrant? Shall our

ELEANORA. 447

beautiful Palermo be defiled by strangers? Shall the pow-
erful and noble Messina rest in quiet with the foot of her
oppressor on her neck ; or shall I, While feigning peace, 01‘-
ganize a war, rousing Sicily and the world to revenge?
Revenge I at the word all thoughts of pity and tenderness
leave me. The concentrated rage of Etna seems warring
in my bosom ; it heaves at sight of the miseries of my un-
happy people. The island is full of preparations against
the Greeks : but, When the sword is drawn, shall it not be
buried in the breast of him Who drains the lifeblood from
his helpless subjects ?

“ But in that hour Procida may perish, and the King of
Arragon fail to restore the sister of Manfred to her ancient
rights. There will then remain of the house of Suabia only
‘Frederic the Bitten.’ If the daughter of Procida favor
his suit, detain him till the ‘Ides qf'Mam/L’ be passed, for
with Frederic, dies the last hope of the Hohenstaufen.”

Eleanora closed the letter and pondered a moment upon
its contents. In the plan of Procida to detain Frederic
from the approaching conflict in Sicily,she most readily
acquiesced, but the difficulty of managing s0 delieate
an afi‘air became instantly apparent to her ready percep-
tion. When, however, she adroitly endeavored to draw
from the young duke his knowledge of the purposes of Pro-
cida, her apprehension was relieved by discovering that the
affair had been planned in such a manner as to require
from her, neither entreaty nor subterfuge, since the Wily
Jew had exacted a promise from the young noble, that he
would spend a twelvemonth, at the court of his cousin Ed-
ward, before he demanded the hand of Agnes in marriage.
I’rocida had not indeed, left the duke ignorant of his ulti-
mate purpose, but he had led him to 100k for its accom~
plishment at a much more distant date than that designated
in the letter, and Frederic consequently feeling n0 anxiety
for an immediate return to Sicily, readily accepted the
queen’s invitation to form part of the royal escort t0 Bor-
deauX.

Eleanora in taking leave of her brother, was comforted With

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

448 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

the thought, that he was occupied with a more healthful and
profitable pursuit than were the abstruse researches into the
mysteries of nature, in Which she had found him engaged.
She had also the satisfaction of knowing that the deposed
monarch had laid aside all his ambitious projects for empire,
and now busied his thoughts in calculating the immense ad-'
vantage and glory that would accrue to mankind from the
Castilian literature he had in preparation. The affectionate
farewells were exchanged, and, accompanied by her two
beautiful children, Beatrice and Berengaria, her maidens
and the attendant squires, and a small band of Spanish
cavaliers, among whom rode the Duke of Saxony,-she set
off to meet her 10rd in Aquitaine. In the genial society of
the queen and her maidens, Whose spirits were exhilarated by
the exercise and incidents of the journey, Frederic seemed
to breathe an atmosphere to which he had been unaccus-
tomed, and Which served to enliven his habitual gravity,
and develop the gentler qualities of his naturally generous
character. The maidens amused themselves with constant
allusions to the happy accomplishment of their prediction,
and the wit of the fair Agnes was sorely tested, in meeting
and parrying their playful attacks. The courteous atten»
tions of the duke, were so impartially distributed among
the ladies, that not even jealousy itself could find cause for
complaint; yet it was only the voice of Agnes that had
power to rouse him from his frequent reveries, and when
he spoke, his eye instinctively turned to read in her counte-
nance approbation 0r dissent. Disciplined in the school
of adversity, he manifested a strength and severity of char-
acter, tempered by a pensive tenderness, which showed
that his mother’s wrongs had wrought in his heart a senti-
ment of sympathy for the suffering which made him hesi-
tate to involve his country in the exterminating wars, that
he foresaw would follow a renewal of the strife between
the Guelphs and Ghibellines; and though he felt an en—
thusiastic admiration for the ardor and zeal of Procida, yet
the unscrupulous J eW, who studied the character of all
he met with reference to their availability in the approach-

ELEANOBA. 44g.

ing crisis, too accurately estimated the probity and truth
of the young noble, to attempt to engage him in the dark
plot for the overthrow of d’Anjou. Still he loved the duke,
as the descendant of his great patron, and honored him
for those qualities, of which he felt himself destitute ; and
thus it was with a feeling of joyful security, rather than of
pride at the princely alliance, that he consented to bestow
his only treasure upon the man, who least of all sympa-
thised in the one purpose of his life.

The royal party arrived. at Bordeaux a few days in ad-
vance of the King of England, and during these hours of
leisure, Frederic unfolded t0 the queen the mystery of his
first appearance in Burgos.

Procida had entrusted him with despatches for the. King-
of Arragon ; and to execute his commission with the more
secresy, and at the same time to enjoy the freedom of the
mountain solitudes, he travelled without retinue 0r insignia.
of rank. Thus he was leisurely pursuing his way along the
bank of the stream, communing pleasantly with his own
thoughts,when the cries of Eleanora attracted him, just in time
to save Agnes from a watery grave. Time had so developed
her loveliness that at first he failed to recognize-in the fair
being before him, the beautiful child he had been accus—
tomed to admire in her father’s castle of Proehyta; but
When the first flush of returning life glowed upon her coun-
tenance, his admiration became 10st in a deeper emotion,
and from that hour he determined to lay the ducal coro-
net of Saxony at the feet of the beautiful daughter of Sicily.

The return of the royal family was an era in the annals,
of English prosperity, from the number of valuables i111:
ported from Spain. In the catalogue of the queen’s plate,
mention is made of a crystal fork, the parting gift of her
brother Alphonso, fromwhieh the first idea of these arti-
cles of table luxury was derived : but the lamb, which had,
so nearly cost the life of Agnes, proved a benefit to the:
nation, whose value can never be estimated ; and the Shep,
herd of Cotswold to this day, has reason to bless the queen,
who“ bestowed the cherished pet in ariEnglish fold,

29

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

450 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

During his southern campaign7 King Edward had con-
tracted an alliance between his eldest daughter Eleanora,
and Alphonso, the young Prince of Arragon. The next
sister, Joanna. 0f Acre, Who most of all resembled her
mother in beauty and strength of character, vas about the
same time, married to the first peer 0f the realm, Gilbert
the red Earl of Gloucester, and the third daughter wedded
to John, the Duke of Brabant. At these nuptials the queen
presented a golden cup of benison to each of the brides,
inscribed with appropriate passages of Holy Writ; and
though, in consequence of Frederic’s promise to her father,
the betrothment between himself and Agnes could not then
take place, Eleanora bestowed upon her lovely ward a.
similar gift, bearing these words, “Thou hast been unto
me as a daughter.”

‘CHAPTER XVI.

LETTER FROM PROCIDA TO DON PEDRO, KING OF ARRAGON.

* * * "“ * * * “ Thou didst tell me in Arragon,
that to restore Sicily t0 the house of Suabia, was the chi-
mera of a maddened brain; that the strong arm of the
church would be lifted to crush the Ghibellines in their
final struggle; that gold was wanting to bribe the soldier
to draw his sword in behalf of the doomed race, and that
the enemies of Charles 0f Anjou could not be brought to
act together against their common foe. Recall now the
cruel words that drove Procida from thy court, a Mendicant,
‘ Conquew t/Lese impossibilities, and the fleet of Awagon 2's
Teddy to substantiate the claim ef the daughtw qf Manfred
250 the t/wmze (3f Sieily.’ Goaded by the mocking promise,
the mendieant wanders in Sicily. NOW, companion of the
taX—gatherer, he wrings the last drachmé from the hard hand
of toil, and now With the agents of tyranny, he hides the
skins of stage or deer in the huts 0f the peasant, and then

ELEANORA. 451'

robs the goatherd as a penalty for the ofl'ence. Thus, he
listens and observes. Thus, he tugs at the chain that festers
in their shrinking flesh, to show his countrymen their thral—
dom. Anon, a shepherd or a fierdsman, he traverses the
valley, or scales the rock, joins the youthful throng that
stealthily sport beneath the mountain chesnut, 0r mingles
with the vexed vassals who wait their sovereigns’ Will, and
Whispers’in the ear of each repining soul, ‘ The avenger of
Manfred holds the vigils of Freedom in the cave of the f0r~
est of Palermo.’ At sunset, at traveller, he seeks the ren-
dezvous: the husbandman is returning to his cottage, his
reaping-hook hanging idly from his arm, the Frenchman
has gathered the grain from his fields. The herdsman
drives his lowing flocks across the lea—the kine and the
goat have been robbed of their young, and their fleecy
robes been stripped from the bleating tenants of the fold.
The peasant 0f Hibia returns mourning the swarm Which
the Wind bore beyond his reclaim, but still more the honied
stores Which during his absence the hand of the spoiler rav-
ished from his unprotected apiary. There comes no voice
from the vineyard—the vintagers have trodden the Wine»
press, but the ruby current flows in the goblets that enliven
the banquets of their foreign masters. Oh my people, Sicil-
ians ! Listen to him Who Whispers in the ear of each, ‘ Carry
thy wrongs t0 the cave of the forest of Palermo.’ They
come—barbarians, Arabs, J ewe, Normans and Germans
—th0se who rejoiced in the tolerant reign of the Suabians,
those Who have suffered from the tyrant French—Etna.
groans with the prescience of coming vengeance, and with
her thousand tongues of flame, summons the guilty 0p-
pressor to abide the ‘ judgment of God’ before the altar.

* * * * * * “ A vessel sails from Brundusium,
the mariners, hardy Calabrians, spread their sails and
bend to their oars With patient purpose; but there is one
among them Who never leaves his post, in calm or in storm—
one thought gives strength and vigor to his iron arm; and,

though a scorner 0f puerile beadsmen, he almost prays the
God of the Wind to speed him on his course. Should the

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

452 HEROINES OF THE CBUSADES.

Greek Emperor refuse his aid—fie will tell him that, which
will make him tremble for his throne and force the gold
from the reluctant coffers. The crafty Paleologus hesitates,
but he stands aghast, when Procida acquaints him that
Venice hath lent her ships to D’Anjou, and another Dandolo
is already embarked to repeat the Féfl/L Umsade .’ The
Greek exclaims in despair, ‘I know not what to do.’ ‘Give
me money,’ replies the marina", ‘ and I will find you a de-
fender, who has no money, but who has arms.’ Michael
Paleologus opens his treasures and satisfies even a Jew’s
thirst for gold. Most‘of a1], Paleologus desires a complete
reconciliation with the pope; most of all Prooida desires
an interview with the sovereign pontiff.

“More swiftly returns the galley ; and the ambassador
of the Greek stands upon the prow, wrapped in courtly
vestments; but not the less anxiously does he watch, the
winds and waves that return him to Rome. The feeble
Nicholas trembles at thought of the vast undertaking, but
Procida has fathomed the old man’s ambition for his house.
He reminds him of the reply of D’Anjou, when the pope
proposed a marriage between his neice and Charles’ son,
‘ Does Nicholas fancy because he wears red stockings
that the blood of Orsini can mingle with the blood of
France 2’ The stinging remembrance of the taunt deter—
mines the pontifi', and the treaty with Paleologus is deliv-
ered into the hands of the ambassador. Behold now, King
of Arragon, ‘ T/Le émpossibilz’ties are conquered,’ and, thou
art bound by the very vow of thine unbelief to ‘substan-
tiate t/Le claim of the daughte? of Manfred to flag t/Lmne of
Sicily? ”

Before the letter of Prooida reached Don Pedro, Pope
Nicholas died, and Charles had sufficient interest with the
college of cardinals to procure the election of one of his
own creatures to the Holy See.

These events darkened the horizon above the Sicilians :
but the dauntless spirit of Procida. rose superior to this
alarming turn of affairs. ThOflgh aware that Charles had.
been made acquainted with his designs, he remained upon

mmmm. V 453

the island, stealthily riveting the links of the Conspiracy,
and binding the discordant interests of the various ranks
in an indissoluble confederacy, for the overthrow of foreign
oppression. The cave of the forest of Palermo Was piled
With bundles of faggots, in which were concealed the weap-
ons that the inhabitants had forged in secresy and in dark-
ness, for by the prohibition of the French n0 Sicilian was
permitted to wear arms. The grand conspirator knew well
the Sicilian character, ardent, gay, v01uptuous,——he chose
his time with his wonted sagacity, when the beautiful island
rejoicing in the fullness of bloom, invites her children to
banquet upon her charms; when the long abstinence of
Lent being over, the senses, reanimated by flesh and Wine,
start from languor to revel in the enjoyment of luxury and
the exhilaration of passion. Easter—Monday, March 30th,
1282, dawns upon Sicily With fair promise for the festal
day. The citizens of Palermo 100k one upon another
with furtive glances 0f restrained impatience, and prepared
for the annual f‘éte with busy ala'crity, while the foreigners,
made apprehensive by the gathering multitudes, come
armed to assist in garlanding the very church of God.

At sunset a bride and bridegroom go forth, attended by
all the inhabitants of the city, both men and women,11p
the beautiful hill Monréale, to present their vows at the
altar of the blessed Virgin :—a traitor whispers the warn-
ing, “ The Sicilians have arms beneath their robes.” The
leader of the French hurries forward and seizes the weapon
of the bridegroom—he lays his licentious hand upon the
bride. Procida draws his sword, and with a cry of “ Death
to the French !” buries it in the heart of the brutal enemy.
At the moment the sound of the Vesper bell floats from the
temple of our lady, on the mount of Monréaie. It is the ap-
pointed signal for vengeance, and “ Death to the French 1”
echoes from lip to lip, through all the ranks of the Sicilians.
Everywhere the tyrants are cut down—the houses of the
foreigners hear each a fatal mark, and the Destroying Angel
spares not even women and children, and the night spreads
her‘solemn pail over the bodies of slaughtered thousands.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

454 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

Intelligence 0f the accomplishment of Procida’s purpose
soon reached Eleanora; but the horrors of the massacre
were suppressed, nor did Agnes ever know the cruel part
her father had played in the grand tragedy of the Sicilian
Vespews. She learned, indeed, that the Queen of Arragon
had rescued the only son of D’Anjou from his pursuers,
and conveyed him away in safety from the island; but
the insurrection had not reached its final triumph, when
she left the court of England as the Duchess of Saxony;
and it was from that time the care of her husband that her
gentle spirit should not be pained by a knowledge of the
sanguinary scenes that resulted in the death of D’Anjon,
and in the re-establishment of the house of Suabia upon
the throne of Sicily.

It would have been natural for Edward, in this struggle,
to throw the weight of his influence on the side of his uncle
D’Anjou; but the circumstance of his daughter’s betroth-
ment to Alphonso 0f Arragon, held him neutral. He,
however, negotiated a peace between the pope and A1-
phonso, by which D’Anjou’s son, Charles the Lame, was re-
leased from his captivity in Arragon, and permitted to as-
sume his authority in N aples.

Eleanora’s love for her husband, not less than her deli-
cate'appreciation of excellence, had led her to weigh with
wise discrimination the efi'ect of political events upon his
character; and the truth was reluctantly forced upon her,
that ambition, nurtured by the uniform success of his enter"
prises, was gradually absorbing the nobler qualities of
his nature, and steeling his heart against the claims ofjua
tice and humanity.

King Alexander III. of Scotland, the last direct heir in
the male line from Maude, died 1285, and this circum-
stance was the precursor of that period, fatal to Edward’s
honor, and t0 the long-estahlished amity between the two
kingdoms.

To avert the consequences which she foresaw would fol-
low Alexander’s demise, she had influenced Edward to
propose a matrimonial alliance between the Prince of

ELEANORA. 455

Wales and the Maid of Norway, heiress 0f the Scottish
crown. The states of Scotland readily assented t0 the
proposition of the English, and even consented that their
young sovereign should be educated at the court of her
royal father-in-law. But, while Eleanora was anticipating
the pleasant task of rearing the future Queen of England,
she was overwhelmed with sorrow by the intelligence, that
the tender frame of the priceless child, unable to sustain
the rigors of the voyage, had fallen 21. Victim to death at
the Orkneys, on her way to England. Her loss was the
greatest calamity that ever befell the Scottish nation, fully
justifying the touching couplet,

“ The N orth wind sobs Where Margaret sleeps,

And still in tears of blood her memory Scotland steeps.”

The succession of the Scottish crown became at once a.
matter of dispute, and all the evils which Eleanora. had
foreseen. began to darken the political horizon.

The line of Alexander being extinct, the crown devolveu-
on the issue of David, Earl of Huntington, Who figures as
Sir Kenneth,in the “Talisman”. The earl had three daugh-
ters, from one of whom descended John Baliol, from an-
other Robert Bruce; and the rival claims of these two
competitors having for some time agitated the kingdom, it
was agreed to submit the arbitration of the affair to Edward,
in the same manner as Henry III. had made Louis IX.
umpire of his‘ difficulties upon the continent. But the noble
virtues of the saintly monarch were poorly represented in
the English king. Edward at once claimed the crown for
himself as lord paramount 0f the country, appointed Baliol
as his deputy, and sent six regents to take possession of
Scotland. The brave men of the north resisted this aggres‘
sion with a spirit that fully proved their Scandinavian
origin, and Edward hastened t0 the Scottish border to en-
force his claims.

Queen Eleanora was absent in Ambresbury, to witness
the profession of her daughter Mary, who there, with the
Welsh Princess Guendoline,was veiled anun under the care

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

456 HEROINES OF THE ‘CRUSADES.

of her royal mother—in-law, Eleanora of Provence. But no
sooner was the ceremony concluded, than she complied
with her husband’s earnest request, that she should follow
him to Scotland.

Regardless of fatigue, she hurried forward, though sen
sible that an incipient fever preyed upon her strength
As the dangerous symptoms increased, she redoubled he:
speed, hoping at least to reach Alnwick castle, and die in
her husband’s arms. But at Grantham, in Lincolnshire, her
strength utterly failed, and. in the residence of a private
gentleman, who had belonged to their household in Pales-
tine, she awaited the coming of the King of Terrors. A
courier was immediately despatched to Edward, with news
of her alarming illness. At the gentle call of conjugal
love, all other considerations gave way in the heart of Ed-
ward. He turned southward instantly, and by forced
stages, hurried towards Grantham. The dying Eleanora
watched for his coming with an anxiety born of an intense
devotion to the welfare of her husband and his subjects.
She longed to repeat with her last breath the tender coun-
sels that had ever influenced him to clemency and mercy,
and which she had enforced by the strongest of all argu-
ments, the daily example of a holy life. But the last sad
duty to the cold remains of his beloved consort, was the
only consolation left to the bereaved monarch, when he
arrived at Lincolnshire. With a sorrow that found relief
in every outward testimonial of woe, he followed her corpse
in person during thirteen days in progress of the funeral
t0 \Vestminster. In every town where the royal bier rested
the ecclesiasties assembled, and in solemn procession con-
ducted it to the high altar of the principal church, and at
each resting—place, Edward set up a crucifix in memory of
“ la chem Mine,” as he passionately called his 10st Elea-
nora. Charing Cross, erected upon the site now occupied
by the statue of Charles 1., was the London monument of
this saintly queen.

An English writer, in a tribute to her memory, thus enu-
merates her virtues, “ To our nation she was a loving

, ELEANORA. 457

mother, the column and pillar of the whole realm; there-
fore, to her glory, the king her husband caused all those
famous trophies te be erected, Wherever her noble corpse
did rest ; for he loved her above all earthly creatures. She
was a godly, modest and merciful princess; the English
nation in her time was not harassed by foreigners, nor the
country people by the purveyors of the crown. The sorrow-
stricken she consoled, as became her dignity, and she made
them friends that were at discord.”

Her sorrowing 10rd endowed the Abbey of Winchester
With rich donations for the perpetual celebration of dirges
and. masses for her soul, and waxen tapers were burned
about her tomb, till the light of the Reformation outshone
the lights of superstition; but her imperishable virtues sur‘
Vive every monumental device, illume the annals of history,
and illustrate the true philosophy of female Heroism.

 

 

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NOTES.

 

NOTES.

NOTE A.—PAGE 19.

“The Lady Matilda.”——H1afdigé, or lady, means the
giver of bread. Few of the Queens of England can claim
a. more illustrious descent than this princess. Her father,
Baldwin V., was surnamed the gentle Earl of Flanders:
her mother Adelais, was daughter of Robert, King of
France, and sister to Henry, reigning sovereign of that
country, and she was nearly related to the Emperor of Ger—
. many, and most of the royal houses in Europe—Queens of
England, p. 24:.

NOTE B.—-PAGE 19.

“ Woolen and ler.”—Two of the most powerful deities
in northern mythology. The ancient Saxons honored W0-
den as the God of War, and the Germans represented Thor
as the God of Thunder.

NOTE C.-—-PAGE 20.

“ The Royal 0hild7‘en.”——The sons of Matilda and Wil- .

liam the Conqueror, were Robert, afterwards Duke of Nor-
mandy, Richard, who died young, William and Henry, af-
terwards kings of England, Cicely, Agatha, Adela, Con-
stance, Adeliza and Grundred. N 0 two writers agree as to
the order of their ages, except that Robert was the eldest

and Henry the youngest son, Cicely the eldest and Gun- ’

dred the youngest daughter.—Vide Queens 9]" England, p.
33—82. ‘

N OTE D.-—PAGE 20.

“ T/ze M0m.”———While the fleet destined to invade the ,

Island waited in the port for a favorable wind, William

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462 NOTES.

was agreeably surprised by the arrival of his duchess at
the port, in a splendid vessel of war called the Mora, which i
she had caused to be built, unknown to him, and adorned
in the most royal style of magnificence for his acceptance.
The effigy of their youngest son, \Villiam, in gilded bronze,
most writers say of gold, was placed at the prow of this
vessel, with his face turned towards England, holding a
trumpet to his lips with one hand, and bearing in the other
a bow with the arrow aimed towards England.—-Queens
qf England, p. 40.

N OTE E.—PAGE 21.

“ William tfie Conqueror” was of low origin on the
mother’s side. He was not ashamed of his birth, and drew
around him his mother’s other sons. At first he had much
diflicult’y in bringing his barons, who despised him, to their
allegiance. He was a large, bald-headed man, very brave,
very greedy, and very sage, according to the notions of the
times, that is very treacherous—Michelet’s Mstory 0f
FM/nce, p. 193.

NOTE F.—PAGE 21.

“ Edgam Atheling.”——Edward, the son of Edmund Iron—
side, being sent to Hungary to escape the cruelty of Canute,
was there married to Agatha, daughter of the Emperor
Henry II. She bore him Edgar Atheling, Margaret, after-
wards Queen of Scotland, and Christina, who afterwards
retired to a, convent.——Hume, p. 115.

NOTE Gr.———PAGE 22.

“ The one keeping strict Zentmfasi.”—By a mixture of
vigor and lenity, he had so soothed the mind of the
English, that he thought he might safely revisit his native
country, and enjoy the triumph and congratulation of his
ancient subjects. He left the administration in the hands
of his uterine brother, Odo, Bishop of Bayeux, and of Wil-
liam Fitz Osberne. That their authority might be exposed
torless danger, he carried over With him all the most con—

NorEs.‘ 463

siderabie nobilityof England, who, while they served to
grace his court by their presence and magnificent retinues,
were in reality hostages for the fidelity of the nation.
Among these, were Edgar Atheling, Stigand the primate,
the Earls Edwin and Morear, Waltheof the son of the brave
Earl Siward, with others eminent for the greatness of their
fortunes and families, or for their ecclesiastical and civil dig-
nities. He was visited at the Abbey of Feseamp, where he
resided during some time, by Rodulph, uncle to the King of
of France, and by many powerful princes and nobles, who
having contributed to his enterprise, were desirous of partici-
pating in the joy and advantages of its success. His English
courtiers, willing to ingratiate themselves with their new sov-
ereign, outvied each other in equipages and entertainments;
and made a display of riches which struck the foreigners
with astonishment. William of Poictiers, a N orman histo-
rian, who was present, speaks with admiration of the beauty
of their persons, the size and workmanship of their silver
plate, the costliness of their embroideries, an art in which
the English then excelled, and he expresses himself in such
terms as tend much to exalt our idea. of the opulence and
cultivation of the people. But though everything bore
the face of joy and festivity, and William himself treated
his new courtiers with great appearance of kindness, it was
impossible altogether to prevent the insolence of the Nor-
mans; and the English nobles derived little satisfaction
from those entertainments, where they considered them-
selves as 106. in triumph by their ostentatious conqueror.—
Hume, v01. 1, p. 184:.

NOTE H.—PAGE 22.

The celebrated Bayeaux tapestry, distinguished by the
name of the Duke of Normandy’s toilette, is a piece of
canvass about nineteen inches in breadth, but upwards of
sixty-seven yards in length, on which is embroidered the
history of the conquest of England by William of Nor-
mandy, commencing with the visit of Harold to the Norman
court, and ending with his death at the battle of Hastings,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

464 NOTES.

1066. The leading transactions of these eventful years, the
death of Edward the Confessor, and the coronation of Har-
old. in the chamber of the royal dead, are represented in
the clearest and most regular order in this pieee of needle-
work, Which contains many hundred figures of men, horses,
birds, beasts, trees, houses, castles, and churches, all exe-
cuted their proper colors, With names and inscriptions over
them to elucidate the story. It appears to have been de-
signed by Turold, a dwarf artist, Who illuminated the can-
vas With the proper outlines and colors.—Queens 9}" Eng-
land, v01. 1, p. 54..
N OTE' I.—PA.GE 23.

“ Cicely, tfie betmt/wd of Harold’L—Wflliam aiso com-
plained 0f the afl'ront that had been ofi'ei'ed to his daughter
by the faithless Saxon, who, regardless of his contract to
the little N orman princess, just before King Edward’s
death, strengthened his interest with the English nobles by
marrying Algitha, sister to the powerful Earls Morcar and
Edwin, and Widow to Griffith, Prince of Wales. This cir-
cumstance 'is mentioned With great bitterness in all Wil-
liam’s proclamations and- reproachful messages to Harold,
and appears to have been considere<i by the incensed duke
t0 the full as great a Villany as the assumption of the crown
of England.——- Queens of England, v01. 1, p. 35.

NOTE J.—PAGE 24».

“ Condemned leer fomner lovem’L—Brithric, the son of
Algar, a Saxon Thane, is stated in Domesday, to have hehfi
this manor in the reign of Edward the Confessor ; but hav—
ing given offence to Maud, the daughter'of Baldwin, Count
Of Flanders, previous to her marriage With William, Duke
of N ormandy, by refusing to marry her himself, his prop-
erty was seized by that monarch 0n the conquest, and be-
stowed seemingly in revenge upon the queen.—-Ell<£s.’8 flie—
607'3/ Q)" Thornbury Castle.

N OTE K.-—PAGE 25.
‘The tewm'ble Vikings.”~—Sea kings among the Danes

NOTES. 465

or Normans; leaders of piratical squadrons who passed
their lives in roving the seas in search of Spoil and adven—
tures. The younger sons of the Scandinavian kings and
jarls, having no inheritance but the ocean, naturally col-
lected around their standards the youth of inferior order,
who were equally destitute with themselves. These were{
the same who, in England and Scotland, under the name
of Danes, and on the continent under the name of Nor-
mans, at first desolated the maritime coasts, and afterwards
penetrated into the interior of countries, and formed per-
manent settlements in their conquests.—See Encyclopedia.

N OTE L.——PAGE 27.

“ T/te Dames confided much in the Fylga 07' Guardiam
Spirit.”—They have certain Priestesses named Morthwyr-
that, or worshippers of the dead.

NOTE M.—PAGE 29.

Edgar Atheling, dreading the insidious caresses of Wil-
liam, escaped into Scotland, and carried thither his two sis-
ters, Margaret and Christina. They were well received by-
Malcolm, Who soon after espoused Margaret, the e1der.-——-
Hume’s Mstorg/ qf England, V01. 1.

- N OTE N.——PAGE 29.

“ The laying waste of Hampshire’L—There was one
pleasure to which William, as well as all the Normans and
ancient Saxons, were extremely addicted, and that was
hunting; but this pleasure he indulged more at the eX-
pense of his unhappy subjects, whose interests he always
disregarded, than to the loss or diminution of his own reve-
nue. Not content with those large forests which former
kings possessed in all parts of England, he resolved to make
a new forest near Winchester, the usual place of his resi-
dence; and for that purpose he laid waste the country in
Hampshire for an extent of thirty miles, expelled the in-

habitants from their houses, seized their property even, de—
30

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466 NOTES»

molished churches and convents, and made the sufferers no
compensation for the injury. At the same time he enacted
new laws, by which he prohibited all his subjects from
hunting in any of his forests, and rendered the penalties
more severe than ever had been inflicted for such offences.
The killing of a deer or bear, or even a hare, was punished
with the loss of a delinquent’s eyes; and that, at a time,
when the killing of a man could be atoned for by paying a
a. moderate fine.—mstory (3)” England, vol. 1, p. 214.

NOTE O.-—PAGE 29.

“ Odious Damegelt, and still more odious 0010074172314.”—
William, to prevent the people of the land from confeder-
ating together in nocturnal assemblies, for the purpose
of discussing their grievances, and stimulating each other
to revolt, compelled them to couvrefeu, 0r extinguish the
lights and fires in their dwellings at eight o’clock every
evening, at the tolling of a bell, called from that circum-
stance, the curfew 0r couvrefeu.—Queens of England, v01.
1, p. 57.

NOTE P.—PAGE 80.

“ Zanfmna will absolve theefmm thy 0at7z.”——Lanfrane
exchanged his priory for the Abbey of St. Stephen, at Caen,
in Normandy, and when William, the sovereign of that
duchy, acquired the English throne by conquest, the inter-
est of that prince procured his election, in 1070, to the
Archbishopric of Canterbury, then become vacant by the
deposition of Stigand.—See Encyclopedia.

NOTE Q.—PAGE 41.

“ Adela stood again in tile old Abbey (f Escamp.”—~In
the year 1075, William and Matilda, with their family,
kept the festival of Easter with great pomp at Fescamp,
and attended in person the profession of their eldest daugh-
ter Cicely, Who was there veiled a nun, by the Archbishop
J 0hn.—Quems of England, V01. 1, p. 63.

NOTES. 467

N OTE R.—PAGE 36.

“A maiden’s needle wounds less deeply than a warm’or’s
sw0¢d.”——It was on the field of Archembraye, where Robert,
unconscious who the doughty champion was,'against whom
he tilted, ran his father through the arm with his lance, and
unhorsed him.-—-Queens of England; v01. 1, p. 71.

NOTE S.—PAGE 37.

“Accolade.”—The more distinguished the rank of the
aspirant, the more distinguished were those who put them-
selves forward to arm him. The romances often state that
the shield was giVen to a knight by the King of Spain, the
sword by a King of England, the helmet from a French
sovereign. The word dub is of pure Saxon origin. . The
French word adouber is similar to. the Latin adoptare, for
knights were not made by adapting the habiliments 0f
chivalry to them, but by receiving them, or being adopted
into the Order. Many writers have imagined that the ac-
colade was the last blow which the soldier might receive
with impunity—Mll’s Estory of Ultiwltny, p. 28.

NOTE T.——-PAGE 48.

“ T he Samara Secretary Inguljofius.”——In the year 1051,
William, Duke of Normandy, then a visitor at the court of
Edward the Confessor, made Ingulphus, then of the age of
twenty-one, his secretary. He accompanied the duke t0
Normandy—went on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, and
upon his return was created abbot of the rich monastery
of Croyland——-See Encyclopedia.

NOTE U.——PAGE 47.

“ I craved a powtt'on qf the Holy dust.”—Even the dust:
of Palestine was adored : it was carefully conveyed to Eu-
rope, and the fortunate possessor, whether by original ac-
quisition or by purchase, was considered to be safe from
the malevolence of demons. As a proof that miracles had
not ceased in his time, St. Augustine relates a story of the

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468 7 NOTES.

cure of a young man who had some of the dilst of the Hoiy
City suspended in a bag over his bed.—Mill’s Umswdes,
p. 14.

NOTE V.—PAGE 47.

“ Pilgrim and Palmer.”—On his return, he placed the
branch of the sacred palm tree, which he had brought from
J erusalem, over the altar of his church, in proof of the ac-
complishment of his vow; religious thanksgivings were
offered up; rustic festivity saluted and honored him, and
he was revered for his piety and successful 1abors.——Mill’s
Crusades, p. 14.

N OTE W.—PAeE 48.

“Joined tke AmloMshop.”—The clergy of Germany had
proclaimed their intention of Visiting J erusalem; and In-
gulphus, a. native and historian of England, was one of‘ a
Norman troop which joined them at Mayence. The total
number of pilgrims was seven thousand, and among the
leaders are the names respectable for rank of the Arch-
bishop of Mayence and the Bishops of Bamberg, Ratisbon,
and Utrecht. Their march down Europe, and through the
Greek Empire, was peaceable and unmolested; but when
they entered the territory of the infidels, they fell into the
hands of the Arab robbers, and it was not without great
losses of money and lives that the band reached Jerusa-
lem.—.Hést0ry qf Omsades, p. 17.

’ N OTE‘ X.—PAGE 49.

“ Tim G09 and Magog of sacred writ.”~—Magyar is the
national and oriental denomination of the Hungarians;
but, among the tribes of Scythia, they are distinguished by
the Greeks under the proper and peculiar name of Turks,
as the descendants of that mighty people who had con-
quered and reigned from China to the Volga—Gz'bbcm’s
Rome, V01. 5, p. 411.

N OTE Y.——PAGE 50.
“Battle Abbey.”—-William laid the foundation of the

NOTES. ’ 469

Abbey of St. Martin, now called Battle Abbey, where per-
petual prayers were'directed to be offered up for the re-
pose of the souls of all who had fallen in that sanguinary
conflict. The high altar of this magnificent monument of
the Norman victory was set upon the very spot where Har-
old’s body was found, or, according to others,whe1'e he first
pitched his- gonfanon.——Queens of England, v01. 1, p. 50.

NOTE Z.—PAGE 51.

“ Did not t/Latfor his own sins.”—It is a maxim of the
civil law, that whosoever cannot pay with his purse must
pay with his body; and the practice of flagellation was /
adopted by the monks, a cheap, though painful equivalent.
By a fantastic arithmetic, a year of penance was taxed. at
three thousand lashes, and such was the skill and patience
of a famous hermit, St. Dominic, 0f the iron cuirass, that
in six days he could discharge an entire century by a whip-
ping of three hundred thousand stripes. His example was
followed by many penitents of both sexes; and as a Vicari-
ous sacrifice was accepted, a sturdy disciplinarian might
expiate on his own back the sins of his benefactors.-—-Gib-
6070’s Rome, v01. 5, p. 58.

N OTE AA.—PAGE 53.

The story of the noble Magyar is taken from early trav-
els in Palestine.

NOTE BB.—PAGE 60.

“ The assassin band of Mount Lebanon.”—-Hassan, with
his seven successors, is known in the East, under the name
of the Old Man of the Mountain, because his residence
was in the mountain fastness in Syria. These Ismaelians,
therefore, acquired in the West the name of Assassins,
which thence became in the western languages of Europe
a common name for murderer.—-See Encyclopedia.

N OTE CQ—PAGE 68.
“ Thou s/wuldst have been Ifing.”—-His eldest son, Rob-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

470 NOTES.

ert, was absent in Germany, at the time of his death.
William was on his voyage to England ; Henry, who had
taken charge of his obsequies, suddenly departed on some
self—interested business, and all the great officers of the
court having dispersed themselves,—s0me to offer their
homage to Robert, and others to William, the inferior
servants of the household plundered the house, stripped
the person of the royal dead, and left his body naked upon
the floor.——Queens of England, v01. 1, p. 85.

NOTE DD.—PAGE 69.

“ Our uncle Odo hates Zanfmnc.”—The Duke William
was brave, open, sincere, generous; even his predominate
fault, his extreme indolence and facility, were not dis-
agreeable to those haughty barons, who afi'ected independ-
ence, and submitted with reluctance to a vigorous admin-
istration in their sovereign. Odo, Bishop of Bayeux, and
Robert, Earl of Montaigne, maternal brothers of the con-
queror, envying the great credit of Lanfranc, which was
increased by his late services, enforced all these motives
with these partisans, and engaged them in a formal con-
spiracy to dethrone William Rufus—Ifume’s 1768mm; 0f
Ezgland, v01. 1, p. 221.

NOTE EE.—PAGE 71.

“Siege 9}" St. Mclmel’s M0unt.”——Prince Henry, dis-
gusted that so little care had been taken of his interests in
this accommodation, retired to St. Michael’s Mount, a strong
fortress 0n the coast of N ormandy, and infested the neigh-
borhood with his incursions. Robert and William, with
their joint forces, besieged him in this place, and had
nearly reduced him by the scarcity of water, when the
eldest, hearing of his distress, granted him permission to
supply himself, and also sent him some pipes of wine for
his own table. Being reproved by William for his ill-timed
generosity, he replied, “ What, shall I sufi'er my brother
to die of thirst—where shall we find another when he is
g0ne?”———I[ume’s England, v01. 1.

NOTES. 471

NOTE FF.—PAGE 7 3.

“ Crowds followed the steps (3f the m0nk.”——The lower
Mder of people attached themselves to one Peter the Her-
mit, a monk of the city of Amiens. He had at first led a
solitary life under the habit of a monk; but afterwards,
men saw him traversing the streets, and preaching every-
where. The people surrounded him in erowds,—-—0ver—
Whelmed him with presents, and proclaimed his sanctity
with such great praises, that I do not remember like honors
having been rendered to any one. In whatever he did or
said, there seemed to be something divine in him, so that
they would even pluck the hairs out of his mule, to keep
them as relics; which I relate here, not as laudable, but
for the vulgar, who love all extraordinary things. He
were only a woollen tunic, and above ‘it a cloak of coarse
dark cloth, which hung to his heels. His arms and feet
were naked ; he ate little or no bread ; and supported him-
self on Wine and fish.———]l[750/Lelet, p. 209.

NOTE GG.—-PAGE 78.

“Dew? Vult.”—Urban was about to continue, when he
waS' interrupted by a general uproar; the assistants shed
tears, struck their breasts, raised their eyes and hands to
heaven, all exclaiming together, “Let us march, God wills
it! God Wills it I”——Iflst0ry qf t/Le Popes, p. 384.

NOTE IIH.—PAGE 79.

“Stitch the mad 070088.”—-A11m0unted the red cross on
thein shoulders. Red stuffs and vestments of every kind
were torn in pieces; yet were insufficient for the purpose,
There were those who imprinted the cross upon themselves
with a red—hot iron.—-.Mic/wlet, p. 210.

NOTE II.—PAGE 82.

“ Walter the Penniless.”~—Sixty thousand were conducted
by the Hermit. Walter the Penniless led fifteen thousand
footmen, followed bya fanatic named Godeschal, whose ser-

 

 

 

 

 

47 2 NOTES.

mons had swept away twenty thousand peasants from the
villages of Germany. Their rear was again pressed by a.
herd of two hundred thousand, the most stupid and savage
refuse of the people, who mingled with their devotion a
brutal license of rapine, prostitution, and drunkenness.
Some counts and gentlemen, at the head of three thousand
horse, attended the motions of the multitude to partake in I
the spoil; but their genuine leaders (may we credit such
folly) were a goose and a goat, who were carried in the
front, and to whom these worthy Christians ascribed an in-
fusion of the divine spirit—Gibbon’s Rome, v01. 5, p. 553.

NOTE JJ.—-PAGE 84.

“Inquire '9)” that be Jerusalem.”—In some instances the
poor rustic shod his oxen like horses, and placed his whole
family in a cart, where it was amusing to hear the children,
on the approach to any large town or castle, inquiring if
the object before them were J erusalem.—Mill’s Crusades,
p. 31.

NOTE KK.——PAGE 87.

“Adele’s Letter fwom Stqaken.”—Alexius expressed a
Wish that one of the sons of Stephen might be educated at
the Byzantine court, and said a thousand other fine things,
which Stephen reported to his wife as holy truths—Mll’s
Omsades, p. 49.

NOTE LL.-—PAGE 105.

“Of English laws and an English Queen.”—Mati1da is
the only princess of Scotland who ever shared the throne of
a king of England. It is, however, from her maternal an-
cestry that she derives her great interest as connected with
the annals of this country. Her mother, Margaret Athe-
ling, was the grandaughter of Edmund Ironside, and the
daughter of Edward Atheling, surnamed the Outlaw, by
Agatha, daughter of the Emperor Henry II. of Germany.—
Queens of England, p. 91.

NOTES. 473

N OTE MM.—-PAGE 110.

“ Wefouglot in the Plains 0f Ramulw.”——The small pha-
lanx was overwhelmed by the Egyptians! Stephen, Earl
of Chartres, was taken prisoner and murdered by his enemy ;
he was the hero who ran away in the Crusade. ' His wife
was Adela, a daughter of King William I. of England, and
this spirited lady vowed she would give her husband no
rest till he lecovered his fame in Palestine. He went
thither, and died in the manner above related. —_Zl[z'll’8
Crusades, p. 95.

NOTE N N.—-PAGE 111.

“Tim daughter (37" Earl Waltheqfi Matilda,” was the
wife of David, afterwards King of Scotland, and the mother
of the first Earl of Huntingdon—Dr. Lingwrd.

N OTE OO.-—-PAGE 113.

“Zucg/ lies in the sea.”——Besides the heir of England,
Prince William, there were lost in the White ship, Richard,
Earl of Chester, with his bride, the young Lady Lucy, 0f
Blois, daughter of Henry’s sister Adela, and the flower of
the juvenile nobility, who ale mentioned by the Saxon
chronicle as a multitude of “ incomparable f01k.”—Queens
0]" England, 1). 131.

NOTE PP.——PAGE 120.

“ Courts of love.”———Eleanora was by hereditary right,
chief reviewer and critic of the poets of Provence. At
certain festivals held by her after the custom of her ances-
tors, called Courts of Love, all new sirventes and chansons
were sung or recited before her by the troubadours. She
then, assisted by a conclave of her ladies, sat in judgment
and pronounced sentence on their literary merits—Queens
of England, p. 188.

NOTE QQ.—PAGE 121.

“Romance Walloon.”-——The appellation of Walloon was
derived from the word Waalchland, the name by Which the

 

 

 

 

 

474 NOTES.

Germans to this day designate Italy. William the Con:
queror was so much attached to the Romance Walloon, that
he encouraged its literature among his subjects, and forced
it on the English by means of rigorous enactments, in
place of the ancient Saxon, which closely resembled the
N orse of his own ancestors.

Throughout the whole tract of country from N avarre t0
the dominions 0f the Dauphin 0f Auvergne, and from sea
to sea, the Provengal language was spoken—a language
which combined the best points of French and Italian, and
presented peculiar facilities for poetical composition. It
was called the langue d’oc, the tongue of “ yes” and “ n0 ;”
because, instead of “0m?” and “mm” of the rest of France,
the aifirmative and negative were “ 00” and “ no.’ The an-
cestors 0f Eleanora were called pm" emcellence—the Lords
of “00” and “n0.”—Queens qf England, pp. 60-186.

NOTE RR.——PAGE 122.

“In a‘Prom'nce fair.”——This ballad is from the early
English Metrical Romances.

NOTE SS.f-PAGE 127.

“ The Lady Petrom'llw.”——The sister of the queen, the
young Petronilla, whose beauty equalled that of her sister,
and whose levity far surpassed it, could find no single man
in all France to bewitch with the spell of her fascinations,
but chose to seduce Rodolph, Count of Vermandois, from
his wife.—Queens 0f fihgland, p. 189.

NOTE TT.——PAGE 130.

“ Abelard.”——Abelard, Peter, originally Abailard, a
monk 0f the order of St. Benedict, equally famous for his
learning and for his unfortunate love for Heloise, was born
in 1079, near Nantes, in the little Village of Palais, which
Was the property of his father, Berengelz—Encyclqpedéa.

NOTE UU.—PAGE 132.

“St. Be7mawd.”—St. Bernard, born at F ontaines, in But

NOTES. 475

gundy, 1091, was of noble family, and one of the most in-
fluential ecclesiastics 0f the middle ages. He was named
the honeyed teacher, and his writings were styled a stream
fwom Pamdise.

He principally promoted the crusade in 1146, and quieted
the fermentation caused at that time by a party of monks,
against the Jews in Germany.——Encyclopedia.

N OTE VV.—PAGE 135.

“ Valley of Zaodécea.”—The freaks of Queen Eleanora
and her female warriors were the cause of all the misfor-
tunes that befel King Louis and his army, especially in the
defeat at Laodicea. The king had sent forward the queen
and her ladies, escerted by his choicest troops, under the
guard of Count Maurienne. He charged them to choose
for their camp the arid, but commanding ground which
gave them a view over the defiles 0f the valley of Laodicea.
Queen Eleanora insisted upon halting in a lovely romantic
valley, full of verdant grass and gushing f0untains.— Queens
of England, p. 190.

NOTE WW.—PAGE 140.

“ Series 9]" Coquewies.”—Some say that she was smitten
with Raymond, of Antioch ; others with a handsome Sara-
cen slave ; and it was, moreover, rumored that she received
presents from the Sultan.——Mchelet. p. 233.

NOTE XX.—PAGE 141.

“ Twenty days.”-—-The “ Queens of France” record that
he learned the Provengal tongue in twenty days.

NOTE YY.—-PAGE 143.

“Knights (3)" the Temple.”—A celebrated order of knights,
which, like the order of St. John and. the Teutonic order,
had its origin in the crusades. It was established in 1119,
for the protection of the pilgrims on the roads in Palestine.
Subsequently, its object became the defence of the Chris-
tian faith, and of the Holy Sepulchre against the Saracens.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

47 6 NOTES.

Uniting the privileges of a religious order with great
military power, and always prepared for service by sea
and land, it could use its possessions to more advantage
than other corporations, and also make conquests 011 its
own account; in addition to which it received rich dona-
tions and bequests from the superstition of the age.

The principal part of the possessions of the order were in
France: most of the knights were also French, and the
grand-master was usually of that nation. In 1244, the 01’-
der possessed nine thousand considerable bailiwicks, com—
manderies, priories and preceptories, independent of the
jurisdiction of the countries in which they were situated.

The order was destroyed in France by Philip the Fair,
about the beginning of the fourteenth century.——Enoy0l0—
pediw.

N OTE ZZ.——PAGE 144.

“Hospitallem.”—The Knights of St. J ohn, 0r Hospitallers
of St. J ohn, afterwards called Knights of Rhodes, and final— ‘
1y Knights of Malta, were a celebrated order of military
religious, established at the commencement of the crusades
to the Holy Land. It was the duty of the monks, who
were called brothers of St. J ohm or hospitallers, to take care
of the poor and sick, and in general, to assist pilgrims.
This order obtained important possessions, and maintained
itself against the arms of the Turks and Saracens by union
and courage.

In 1309 the knights established themselves on the island
of Rhodes, where they remained upwards of two hundred
years. In 1530, Charles Fifth granted them the island of
Malta, on conditions of perpetual war against the infidels
and pirates. From this period, they were commonly called
Knigfits of Malta.——Encyclopedéa.

NOTE AAA.—PAGE 146.

“ On fm- way Smotkwmacl.”——Eleanora stayed some time
at Blois, the countof Which province was Thibaut, elder
brother to King Stephen, one of the handsomest and bravest

NOTES. 47 7

men of his time. Thibaut offered his hand to his fair guest.
He met with a refusal, which by no means turned him
from his purpose, as he resolved to detain the lady prisoner
in his fortress till she complied with his proposal. Eleanora
suspected his design, and departed by night for Tours.
Young Geofl'rey Plantagenet, the next brother to the man
she intended to marry, had likewise a great inclination to
be sovereign of the south. He placed himself in ambush
at a. part of the Loire called the Port of Piles, with the in-
tention 0f seizing the duchess and carrying her of and
marrying her. But she, pre-warned by her good angel,
turned down a branch of the stream toward her own
country.——Queen8 (3)” England, p. 114.

NOTE BBB.—PAGE 151.

“Becket.”—-Thomas Becket, the most celebrated Roman
Catholic prelate in the English annals, was born in London,
1119. He was the son of Gilbert, a London merchant. His
mother was a Saracen lady, to whose father Gilbert was
prisoner, being taken in the first crusade. The lady fell in
love With the prisoner, and guided by the only English
words she knew—"Grilbert—L0ndon”-—f0110wed him to Lon-
don, where he married her.

He was recommended by Archbishop Theobald, to King
Henry II., and in' 1158 he was appointed high chancellor
and preceptor to Prince Henry, and at this time was a com—
plete courtier, conforming in every respect to the humor
of the king._

He died in the fifty-second year of his age, and was can-
onized two years after. Of the popularity of the pilgrim-
ages to his tomb, the “ Canterbury Tales” of Chaucer will
prove an enduring testimony.—Encyclopedia.

NOTE CCO.—PAGE 155.

“ Regular Dmma.”—Besides the mysteries and miracles
played by the parish clerks and students'of divinity, the
classic taste of the accomplished Eleanor patronized repre-
sentations nearly allied to the- regular drama, since we find

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

478 NOTES.

that Peter of Blois, in his epistles, congratulates his brother
William, on his tragedy of Flaura and Marcus, played be-
fore the queen.——Queens 9}” England, p. 199.

N OTE DDD.——PAGE 165.

“ Adm‘cm IV.”—Adrian IV., an Englishman, originally
named Nickolas Breakspear, rose, by his great talents, from
the situation of a poor monk,t0 the rank of cardinal, and
legate in the north. He was elected pope in 1154, and
waged an unsuccessful war against William, King of Sicily.

The permission which he gave to Henry II., King of Eng-
land, to invade Ireland, on the condition that every family
of that island should pay annually a penny to the papal
chair, because all islands belong to the pope, ’is worthy of
remark. On this grant the subsequent popes founded their
claims on Ireland.——Encyclopedia.

N OTE EEE.—PAGE 184.

“ The wastedform of Rosamond.”—It is not a very easy
task to reduce to anything like perspicuity the various tra-
ditions which float through the chronicles, regarding Queen
Eleanor’s unfortunate rival, the celebrated 'Rosamond
Clifford. N 0 one who studies history ought to despise tra~
dition, for we shall find that tradition is generally founded
on fact, even when defective or regardless of chronology.
It appears that the acquaintance between Rosamond and
Henry commenced in early youth, about the time of his
knighthood by his uncle, the King of Scotland; that it was
renewed at the time of his successful invasion of England,
when he promised marriage to the unsuspecting girl. As
Rosamond was retained by him as a prisoner, though not
an unwilling one, it was easy to conceal from her the facts
that he had wedded a queen and brought her to England;
but his chief difficulty was to conceal Rosamond’s existence
from Eleanor, and yet indulge himself with frequent'visits
to the real object of his love.

Brompton says, “ That one day, Queen Eleanor saw the
king walking in the pleasance of Woodstock, with the end

NOTES. . 479

of a ball of floss silk attached to his spur, and that, coming
near him unperceived, she took up the ball, and the king
walked on, the silk unwound, and thus the queen traced
him to a thicket in the labyrinth 0r maze of the park, where
he disappeared. She kept the matter secret, often revolv-
ing in her own mind in what company he could meet with
balls of silk.

“ Soon after, the king left Woodstock for a distant jour-
ney; then Queen Eleanor, hearing this discovery in mind,
searched the thicket in the park, and found a 10w door
cunningly concealed ; this door she had forced, and found
it was the entrance to a winding subterranean path, which
led out at a. distance to a sylvan lodge, in the most retired
part of the adjacent forest.” Here the queen found in a
bower a young lady of incomparable beauty, busily engaged
in embroidery. ' Queen Eleanor then easily guessed how
balls of silk attached themselves to King Henry’s spurs.

Whatever was the result of the interview between Elea-
nor and Rosamond, it is certain that the queen neither de-
stroyed her rival by sword nor poison, though in her rage
it is possible that she might threaten both.

The body of Rosamond was buried at Godstow, near Ox-
ford, a little nunnery among the rich meadows of Evenlod.
King J ohn thought proper to raise a tomb t0 the memory
of Rosamond ; it was embossed. with fair brass, having an
inscription about its edges, in Latin, to this efl'ect,

“ This tomb doth here enclose
The world’s most beauteous rose
Rose passing sweet ereWhile,
Now nought but odor vile.”

Queens qf England.
NOTE FFF.—PAGE 185.

“ ImpMsonment of Queen Elea/nor.”-—Queen Eleanor,
whose own frailties had not made her indulgent to those of
others, offended by the repeated infidelities 0f the king,
stirred up her sons, Richard and Geofi'rey, to make demands
similar to that of their brother, and persuaded them, when

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

480 NOTES.

denied, to fly also to the court of France. Eleanor herself
absconded; but she fell soon after into the hands of her
husband, by Whom she was kept confined for the remain-
der of his reign.—Péctorial Hstory of England.

NOTE GGG.—PAGE 187.

“ Turning proudly to the Mbel lowds.”—-Hoveden, and
some other English writers, have recorded a story, that the
Count of Tripoli and. his friends proffered their allegiance
to the queen, upon the reasonable condition that she should
be divorced from Lusignan, and should choose such aper-
son for the partner of her throne as would be able to de-
fend the kingdom. She complied, and after she had been
crowned, she put the diadem 0n the head of Lusignan.—
Mlls’ Ownsades, p. 137.

NOTE HHH.-—PAGE 190.

“ Thy brother William and his beautiful bride.”——The
Earl of Salisbury was the son of King Henry II., by fair
Rosamond. His christian name was William, and his wear~
ing a longer sword than was usual gave him his surname.
His half brother, King Richard I., gave him in marriage
Ela, eldest daughter and coheiress of William de Eureux,
Earl of Salisbury and Rosemer; and also raised him to the
title of ear]. Ela was granddaughter of Patric Earl of
Salisbury, murdered by Guy de Lusignan.—-Mlls’ 0m-
males, p. 198.

NOTE III.-—PAGE 195.

“ T be well Zemzcm.”—-—Zemzem is believed by the follow-
ers of Mohammed, to be the identical spring which gushed
forth in the wilderness for the relief of Hagar and Ishmael;
and marvellous eflicacy is ascribed to its waters, in giving
health to the sick, imparting strength of memory, and. puri-
fying from the effects of sin.—-En0ycl0pedéw.

NOTE J J J .-—PAGE 200.
“ Pampeluna”—a city of Spain, and capital of N avarre,

NOTES. 481

situated. on the Arga, in a. plain near the Pyrenees, found-
ed by Pompey—Encyclopedéa.

N OTE KKK.—PAGE 220.

“Blood oozed.”——When Richard entered the abbey he
shuddered, and prayed some moments before the altar,
when the nose and mouth of his father began to bleed so
profusely, that the monk in attendance kept incessantly
wiping the blood from his face—mes qf’ England—
Eleanom cf Aguitaine, p. 220.

1 NOTE LLL—PAGE 227

“ Driven from the ka7~b0r.”——Queen Joanna’s galley
sheltered in the harbor 0f Limoussa, when Isaac, the Lord
of Cyprus, sent two boats, and demanded if the queen
would land. She declined the offer, saying, “ all she want-
ed was to know Whether the King of England had passed.”
They replied: “ they did not know.” At that juncture
Isaac approached with great power, upon which the cava-
liers who guarded the royal ladies, got the galley in order
to be rowed out of the harbor at the first indication of hos-
tilities.—Bemzmwl le Tmsoriei".

NOTE MMM.—-PAGE 242.

“Battle qf Téberias.”—In the plain near Tiberias the
two armies met in conflict. For a whole day the engage—
ment was in suspense, and at night the Latins retired to
some rocks, whose desolation and want of water had com-
. pelled them to try the fortune of a battle. The heat of a
Syrian summer’s night was rendered doubly horrid, because
the Saracens set fire to some woods which surrounded the
Christian camp. In the morning, the have armies were for
awhile stationary, in seeming consciousness that the fate
‘ofthe Moslem and the Christian worlds was in their hands.

But when the sun erase, the Latins uttered their shout of
war, the Turks answered. by the clangor of their trumpets
and atabals, and the kanguinary conflict began. The piece
of the true creep wag pIaCed' on a. hillock, and the broken

31

,, -H ”w...” miner.” rvwv—w "AWN" “' ‘7- ‘

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

482 NOTES.

squadrons continually rallied round it. But the cresceat
had more numerous supporters than the cross, and for that
reason triumphed.—MZZ8’ History (3)” 25/16 Urusades, p. 139.

NOTE NNN.—PAGE 250.

“ Comtesies 0f nge.”—Through the whole of the war Sa.
ladin and Richard emulated each other as much in the re-
ciprocation of courtesy, as in military exploits. If ever the
King of England chanced to be ill, Saladin sent him pres‘
ents of Damascene pears, peaches, and other fruits. The
same liberal hand gave the luxury of snow, in the hot sea-
son.—-fI0'vech, p. 693. -

NOTE OOO.—~PAGE 254:.

“ Um'on between his MotherfL—Pohtical disturbances in
England demanded the presence of Richard, and he was
compelled to yield to his necessities, and solicit his gener-
ous foe to terminate the war. He proposed a consolidation
of the Christian and Mohammedan interests, the establish-
ment of a government at J erusalem, partiy European and
partly Asiatic; and these schemes of policy were to be
carried into effect by the marriage of Saphadin with the
widow of William, King of Sicily. The Mussulman princes
would have acceded to these terms: but the marriage was
thought to be so scandalous to religion, that the imams
and the priests raised a storm of clamor, and Richard am}.
Saladin, powerful as they were, submitted to popular opin-
ion.—Mlls’ Crusades.

NOTE PPR—PAGE 258.

“ This way si¢e.”———A friend led him to a hill which com-
manded a view of Jerusalem : but,_covering his face With
a shield, he declared he was not worthy to behold a cit

which he could not conquel .«Mdlls’ Iflstory qf- tfie 07m-
saoles, 13.164.33

NOTE QQQ. —;EME#266
“ Count Raimond. ”—The youflg couat‘so well acquitted

NOTES. I ‘483

himself of his charge, that he won the affection of the fair

widow, Queen Joanna, 0n the journey. The attachment of '

these lovers healed the enmity that had long subsisted be-
tween the houses of Aquitaine and that of the Counts of
Toulouse, on account of the superior claims of Queen Elea-
nora on that great fief. When Eleanora found the love that
subsisted between he1 youngest child and the heir of Tou-
louse, she conciliated his fathei byb iving up her 1ights t0
he1 daughtei, and Bel engaiia had the satisfaction of seeing
her two friendshnited after she arrived at P0it0u.—Beren-
gam’a 9f Nava/I-M, p. 16.

NOTE RRR.—PAGE 267.

The song of Richard and Blondell is found in Burneyfs
.Hz'stwy ofjllusic, vol. 2, p. 236.

NOTE SSS.—PAGE 271.

“ The black banner.”—Finding his end approaching, Sa-
ladin commanded the black standard, which had so often
led the way to victory, to be taken down, and replaced by
the shroud which was to wrap his body in the grave. This
was then home through the streets, while the cries called
all men to behold what Saladin, the mighty conqueror, car-
ried away with him of all his vast dominion. Saladinidied,
a monarch in whose character, though the good was not

' unmixed With evil, the great qualities so far preponderated,
that they overbalanced the efi’ects of a barbarous epoch and
a barbarous religion, and left in him a splendid exception
to most of the vices of his age, his country and his creed.—
mees’ Mstowy 0f Okivalafiy, p. 264.

NOTE TTT. -——PAGE 273.

. #‘T/Le Fowtk Crusade. ”—-Saphadin marched against

them, and the Germaqs did not decline the combat. Vic-
tory was on the sidegf the Christians; but it was bought
by the death of 4% ve warriors, particulaily of the
Duke of Saxownd o the son of the Duke of Austria.

E

E
E
E
'
E

 

 

 

 

 

 

484 ~ NOTES.

But the Germans did not profit by this success, for news ar-
rived from Europe, that the great support of the crusade,
Henry VI., was dead. The Archbishop of Mayen‘ce, and
all those princes who had an interest in the election of a
German sovereign, deserted the Holy Land.—]}[dlls’ Esto-
Iry 0f tlw Crusades, p. 172.

NOTE UUU.—-PAGE 277.

“Blanch; (3f 0astile.”—This queen, s0 justly celebrated
for her talents in the administration of government,- as
well as her lofty character and the excellent education her
son received under her direction, was granddaughter of
Eleonor 0f Guyenne. She was born at Burgos, in Spain,
in 1185, and was the daughter of Alphonso IX., King of
Castile, and of Eleonor, daughter of Henry II. of England.
——Queens of England, 1). 164.

NOTE VVV.—PAGE 284.

“Suabia.”——In 1030,Frede1'ic 0f Staufen, Lord of Ho-
henstaufen, displayed so much courage in battle, that the
Emperor, Henry IV., bestowed upon him the Duchy of
Suabia, and his daughter Agnes in marriage. Thus was
laid the foundation of the future greatness of a house,
whose elevation and fall are among the most important
epochs in the history of the German empire. The inex-
tinguishable hatred of the Guelphs, against the house 6f
Hohenstaufen(Ghibelines)resu1ted in a contest which in-
volved Germany and Italy in accumulated sufferings for
more than three hundred years.———See Encyclopedia.

NOTE WWW.—PAGE 288.

“ Submission 9]" the easteqfln Empi/re t0 the Pope.”—If the
French would place Alexius on the throne2 religious schism
should be healed ; the eastern church should be brought
into subjection t0 the church of Rome ; and Greece should
pour forth her population and her treasures for the recovery
of the Holy Land.—See Encyclopedia.

‘ “ NOTES- 485
N on: XXX.~—PAGE 291.

“ St. Dominic.”——The Dominicans originated in 1215, at
Toulouse. The principal objects of their institution was to *
preach against heretics. This passion for heresy—hunting
established the order of the Inquisition. The Dominicans
were called J acobins in France, because their first convent
at Paris, was in the me St. Jaques. Their order is now
flourishing only in Spain, Portugal, Sicily and America.—
See Emglopeolia.

NOTE YYY.—PAGE 296.

“Magma; 0/uwtw.”—The Great Charter of Liberties, ex-
torted‘ from King J ohn, in 1215. The barons who com-
posed the army of God and the Holy Church, were the
whole nobility of England; their followers comprehended
all the yeomanry and free peasantry with the citizens and
burgesses of‘ London. John had been obliged to yield to
this general union, and, J une 15th, both encamped on the
plain called Runneymede, on the banks of the Thames, and
conferences were opened, which were concluded on the 19th.
The thirty-ninth article contains the writ of habeas corpus,
and the trial by jury, the most effectual securities against
oppression which the wisdom of man has ever devised.—

See Encyclopedia.

NOTE ZZZ.-f-PAGE 307.

“ Filled the Qfi‘ice of Regent 0f J‘erusaleme—In the 13th
century we find woman seated, at least as mother and red
gent, on many of the western thrones. Blanche, of Castile,
governed in the name of her infant son, as did the Count.-
ess of Champagne for the young Thibaut, and the Countess
of Flanders for her captive husband. Isabella, 0f Manche,
also exercised the greatest influence over her son, Henry
111., King of England. Jane, of Flanders, did not content
herself with the power, but desired manly honors and en-
signs, and claimed at the consecration of St. Louis, the right
of her husband to bear the naked sword, the sword of
France. By‘a singular coincidence, a woman, in the year

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

486 NOTES.

1250, succeeded, for the first time, a sultan. Before this, a
woman’s name had never been seen on the coin, or men-
tioned in the public prayers. The Caliph 0f Bagdad pro~
tested. against the scandal of this innovation—Mic/Lelet’s
137682507? of Emma.

NOTE AAAA.—PAGE 308.

“St. Dunstan.”——Dunstan, Abbot 0f Glastonbury, in the
year 948, possessed complete ascendancy over King Edred
and the councils of state. He lived for some time in a
cell so small that he Could neither stand nor sit in it, and
was honored with remarkable dreams, visions, and tempta-
tions. He it was who introduced the order of Benedictine
monks into Englandr—Pmnley’s Iflstwy.

N OTE BBBB.~—PAGE 309.

“ Content of L’Ehpanfl—Queen Berengaria fixed her
residence at Mans, in the Orleannois, where she held a
great part Of her foreign dower. Here she founded the no-
ble Abbey of L’Espanr—Queens 0f Bzglomd.

NOTE OCCO.—PAGE 314:.

“Sultan of Egypt.”—Saphadin’s son, Ooradinus, the
Prince of Syria and. Palestine, did not proclaim the death
of his father till he had secured himself in the possession-
of the royal cofi'ers. Discord and rebellion were universal
throughout Egypt when the news arrived 0f the death of
Saphadin, and his son Camel, 10rd of that country, was
compelled to fly into Arabia for protection from his mutin-
ou - people—Mz'lls’ 0rusades..

NOTE DDDD.—PAGE 320.

“Mongols.”———Genghis Khan, the chief of a mongrel
horde, in 1260, conceived the bold plan of conquering the
Whole earth. After the death of Genghis Khan, in 1227,
his sons pursued his conquests, subjugated all China, sub<
verted the Caliphate 0f Bagdad, and made the Seljook
”Mans 0f Iconium tributary.

NOTES. 487

N OTE EEEE.—PAGE 323.

“ Wainscoted with gold.”—This description of the Sul—
tan’s palace is taken from William of Tyre’s glowing ac-
count of the “ House of Wisdom,” found in a. note of Make-
Zet’s France, V01. 1, p. 206.

NOTE FFFF.—PAGE 327.

“ Modem R08my.”——A rosary 0f ninety-nine beads,
called Tusbah, or implement of praise; In dropping the
heads through the fingers, they repeat the attributes of God,
as, 0 Creator, 0 merciful, &c., &c. This act of devotion is
called Taleel. The name Allah is always joined to the
epithet, as "‘ Ya Allah Kalick, Ya Allah Kerreem,” found
in note to the Bahar Danush.

N OTE GGGG.—PAGE 328.

“ Congregation mpeated ‘sz'ée be to God.’ ”—-—See Gwy-
fitk’s descm'ption qf Mahomeclanfuneml.

NOTE HHHH.——PAGE 830.

Kibla, or Oabhala, signifies oral tradition. The term is
used by the Jews and Mahomedans to denote the traditions
of their ancestors, or, most commonly, their mystical phi-
losophy.——En0yclopedia.

NOTE IIII.—PAGE 333.

“ Tones Q)" the Ambia.”—-Frederic II., the grandson of
Barbarossa, was successively the pupil, the enemy, and.
the victim of the church. At the age of twentyvone years,
in obedience to his guardian, Innocent III., he assumed the
cross 3 the same promise was repeated at his royal and im-
perial coronations, and his marriage With the heiress 0f Je-
rusalem forever bound him to defend the kingdom of his
son Conrad. For suspending his VOW, Frederic was excom-
municated by Gregory IX. ; for presuming the next year,
to accomplish his vow, he was again excommunicated by
the same p0pe.

* "A 11.7.»: "”mwrtfim‘b‘nszvr «yaw: HA

is

 

 

 

 

488 , NOTES.

He was well formed, of a fair aad fine complexion, ami
a gentle and kind expression of the eye and mouth. He
was brave, bold, and generous, and possessed great taients,
highly cultivated. He understood all the languages of his
subjectseGrreek, Latin, Italian, German, French and Am»-
Mc. He was severe and passionate, mild or liberal, as
circumstances required; gay, cheerful, and lively, as his
feelings dictated. He was a noted Freethinker, and re,-
garded men of all religions With equal favor-

N OTE J J J J .—-PAGE 346‘.

“ Opened Negom'atéons with the Sultan of Egypt.”—
Frederic signed a treaty with Camel, which more effectual-
ly promoted the object of the Holy Wars than the efforts
of any formez: sovereign. For ten years the Christians amt
Mussulmans- were to live upon terms of brotherhood}. Jeru—
salem, Jafi'a, Bethlehem, N azareth, and their appendages,
and the Holy Sepulehre, were restored to the Christians.

NOTE KKKK.—PAGE 348.

“Simon d6 M0nfi0rt.”‘——The family of Montforts seems
to have been fiercely ambitious. They trace their origin to
“ Charlemagne.”

Simon de Montfort, the true leader: of the war against
the Albigeois was a veteran of the crusades, hardened in
the unsparing battles of the Templars and the Assassins.
On his return from: the Holy Land he engaged in this
bloody crusade, in the South of France.

His second son seeking in England the fortune Which he
had missed in France? fought en the side of the English
commons, and threw open t0= them the doors of Parliament.
After having had both king and kingdom in his power, he
was overcome and slain. His son (grandson of the cele-
brated Montfort, Who was the chief in the crusade against,
the Albigeois) avenged him by murdering in Italy, at the
foot of the altar, the nephew of the king of England, who
was returning from the Holy Land. This (feed mined the

NOTES. 489

Montforts. Ever after they were looked upon with kowor
amd detestation.——Mcltelet.

NOTE LLLL.——PAGE 351.

“ Ric/mwd of Cornwall,” in the spring of the year 1240,
embarked for the crusade. The Christian name of the Earlé
of Cornwall alarmed the Saracens. The very word Rich—
ard was dreaded in Syria; so great was the terror which
Coeur de Lion had spread.

NOTE MMMM.—PAGE 351.

“ Greek HMRL—This was. invented in the 7th century.
When the Arabs besieged Constantinople, a Greek architect
deserted from the Caliph to the Greeks, and took with him .
a composition, which by its wonderful effects, struck terror
into the enemy, and forced them to take flight. Sometimes
it was wrapped in flax attached to arrows and javelins, and
so thrown into the fortifications and other buildings of the
enemy to set them on fire.

At other times it- was used in throwing stone balls from
iron or metallic tubes against the enemy. The use of this
fire continued at least until the end of the 13th century, but
no contemporary writer has handed down to us any ac-
curate account of its composition. .

NOTE NNNN.——PAGE 351.

“ Iflng L0uis.”——The superstition of a. French king, and
the successes of. the savage Korasmians, gave birth to the
seventh crusade. One night during the Christmas festival
(A.D. 1245), Louis caused magnificent crosses, fabricated by
goldsmiths, to be sewn on the new dresses, which, as usual
upon such occasions, had been bestowed upon the courtiers.
The next day the cavaliers were surprised at the religious
ornaments which had been afiixed to their cloaks; but piety
and loyalty combined to prevent them from renouncing the
honors which had been thrust upon them.

NOTE OOOO.——PAGE 351.
“Statutes of Oagford.”——The English barons assembled at

 

 

 

 

 

490 NOTES.

Oxford, 011 the 11th of June, 1258, and obliged the king
and his eldest son, then eighteen years of age, to agree to
a treaty by which twenty-four of their own body, at the
head of whom was De Montfort, had authority given them
to reform all abuses—mstory qf England.

NOTE PPPP.—PAGE 355.

“Mamelukes.”—Slaves from the Caucasian countries,
who, from menial oflices, were advanced to the dignities of
state. They did not, however, form a separate body; but
when Genghis Khan made himself master of the greatest
part of Asia, in the thirteenth century, and: carried vast
numbers of the inhabitants into slavery, the Sultan of Egypt
bought twelve thousand of them, and had them instructed
in military exercises, and formed a regular corps of them.
They soon exhibited a spirit of insubordination and rebel-
lion, and in 1254: appointed one of their own number Sultan
of Egypt. Their dominion continued two hundred and
sixty—three years.——Encyclopedéa.

NOTE QQQQ.—PAGE 355.

“ Damascus Steel.”—Damascus was celebrated in the
middle ages for the manufacture of sabres, of such peculiar
quality as to be perfectly elastic and very hard.

NOTE RRRR.—PAGE 358.

“ Eva Stwongbow.”—Dermot, King of Leinster, formed a.
treaty With Pritchard, surnamed Strongbow, earl of Strigul.
This nobleman who was of the illustrious house of Clare,
had impaired his fortune by expensive pleasures, and being
ready for any desperate undertaking, he promised assis-
tance t0 Dermot on condition that he should espouse Eva,
daughter of that prince, and be declared heir to all his
d0minions.—Hume’s Iflstoay of England.

NOTE SSSS.—PAGE 362.

“ Queen Gold.”—One great cause of the queen’s unpopu-
larity in London originated from the unprincipled manner

NOTES. 491

m which she exercised her influence to compel all vessels
freighted with corn, wool, or any peculiarly valuable cargo,
to unlade at her hithe, or quay, called Queen~hithe, because
at that port the dues which formed a part of the revenues
of the queens—consort of England, and the tolls, were paid
according to the value of the lading. In order to annoy
the citizens of London, Henry, during the disputes regard-
ing' the queen’s gold, revived the 01d Saxon custom of con-
vening folkmotes which was in reality the founding the
House of Commons—Queem of England.

NOTE TTTT.—PAGE 865.

“Ifoly cmwn qf' Titorns.”—This inestimable relic was
borne in triumph through Paris by Louis himself—barefoot
and in his shirt, and a free gift of ten thousand marks re-
conciled the emperor, Baldwin de Courtenay, to his loss.
The success of this transaction tempted him to send to the
king 2, large and authentic portion of the true cross, the
baby linen 0f the Son of God, the lance, the sponge, and
the chain of his Passion.——Gibbon, v01. vi. p. 122.

N OTE UUUU.—PAGE 367.

“Lay concealed.”——During the captivity of her husband
and son, it is asserted that Eleanor, of Provence, made
more than one private visit to England, but she ostensibly
resided in France with her younger children, under the
kind protection of her sister, Queen Marguerite. Robert,
of Gloucester said that she was espy in the land for the
purpose of liberating her brave son.——Queens 0f Englmd.

NOTE VVVV.—PAGE 37 3.

“ Shouts (37" pursuem.”~—Lady Maud. Mortimer having
sent her instructions to Prince Edward, he made his escape
by riding races with his attendants till he had. tired their
horses, when he rode 11p to a thicket where dame Maud had
ambushed a swift steed. Mounting his gallant coarser,
Edward turned to his guard, and bade them “ commend

 

 

 

 

 

 

492 NOTES.

him to his sire the king, and tell him he would soon he at
liberty,” and then galloped off ; while an armed party ap-
peared on the opposite hill, 3. mile distant, and displayed
the banner of M0rtime13—Q‘ueens 9;” England.

NOTE WWWW.—PASE 386.

When the Old Man roéle forth, he was preceded by a
crier who bore a Danish axe with a long handle, all cov-
ered With silver, and stuck full of daggers, Who proclaimed,
“Turn from before him Who bears the death of kings in
his hands.”—-J0inm'lle, p. 97.

N OTE XXXX.——PAGE 387.

“Z7'edavés.”——Henri, Count of Champagne, Visiting the
grand~prior 0f the Assassins, the latter led him up a lofty
tower, at each battlement of Which steed two fedavis (de-
votees). On a sign from him, two of these sentinels flung
themselves from the top of the tower. “If you wish it,”
he said to the count, “ all these men shall do the s-ame.”—-—
Moltelet.

N O’I‘E YYYY.—PAGE 390.

“loving Z1'408.”—-“ It is storied,” says Fuller, ‘4 how Elea-
nor, his lady, sucked all the poison out of his wounds With-
out doing any harm to herself. So sovereign a remedy is a
woman’s tongue, anointed With the virtue of a loving affec-
tion. Pity it is that so pretty 2. story should not be true
(With all the miracles in love’s legends); and sure he shall
get himself no credit, Who undertaketh t0 eonfute a passage
s0 sounding t0 the honor of the sex.”

NOTE ZZZZ.—PAGE 406.

“ Eaafll qf Dewm.”——The Courten ays derive their ancestry
from “ Louis the Fat.” Beside the branch that was estab-
lished upon the throne of Constantinople, a part of the
family settled in England, and twelve Earls of Devonshire
of the name of Courtenay Were ranked among; the chief

NOTES. 493

barons of the realm, for a. period of more than two hundred
years. ' .

By sea and land they fought under the standard of the
Edwards and Henrys. Their names are conspicuous in
battles, in tournaments, and in the original list of the Order
of the Garter ; three brothers shared the Spanish victory of
the Black Prince. One, the favorite of Henry the Eighth, in
the Camp of the Cloth of Gold broke a lance against the
F rench monarch. Another lived a prisoner in the Tower,
and the secret love of Queen Mary, Whom he slighted per—
haps for the princess E1izabeth,and his exile at Padua, has
shed a romantic interest on the annals of the race.— Gibbon’s
Rome.

NOTE AAAAA.—-PAGE 407.

“ Merlin.”———l‘¢lerlin Ambrose, a British writer Who
flourished about the latter end of the fifth century. The
accounts we have of him are so mixed up With fiction, that
to disentangle his real life from the mass would be impos-
sible. He was the greatest sage and mathematician of his
time, the counsellor and friend of five English kings, V01-
tigern, Ambrosius, Uther, Pendragon, and Arthur. He
uttered many prophecies respecting the future state of Eng-
land.—En0yclopedia.

NOTE BBBBB.—PAGE 4:08.

“ va'ust Aspersim.”—VVhen Leicester brought his newly-
wedded Wife, the king’s sister, to pay his devoir t0 Eleanor
of Provence, he was received with a burst of fury by Hen-
ry, who called him the seducer of his sister, and an excom~
municated man, and ordered his/attendants to turn him out
of the palace. Leicester endeavored to remonstrate, but
Henry would not hear him, and he was expelled, weeping
with rage, and vowing vengeance against the young queen,
to whose influence he attributed this reverse—Queens qf
England.

NOTE CCCCC.——PAGE 416.

“ Daughtw of Elm d6 MmzfortW—The first mischance

 

 

 

 

494 NOTES.

that befell the Welsh was the capture of the bride of
Llewellyn, coming from France.

The young damsel, though the daughter of Simon de
Montfort, Edward’s mortal foe whom he had slain in battle,
was at the same time, the child of his aunt, Eleanor Plan-
tagenet. He received her with the courtesy of a kinsman,
and consigned her to the gentle keeping of his queen, with
whom she resided at Windsor Castle.

The fair bride of Llewellyn died after bringing him a
living daughter. This daughter whose name was Guendo-
lin, was brought to Edward a captive in her cradle; she
was reared and professed a mm in the convent with her
cousin Glades, only daughter of Prince David.—Queens of
England.

NOTE DDDDD.—PAGE 421.

“ I would lame taught Mm.”——Alphonso, tenth King of
Castile who flourished in the 18th century. When contem—
plating the doctrine of the epicycles, exclaimec , “ Were the
universe thus constructed, if the deity had called me to his
councils at the creation of the world, I would have given
him good advice.” He did not however mean any impiety
or irreverence, except what was directed against the system
of Ptolemy.

NOTE EEEEE.—PAGE 425.

“Motley courtiers.”—Alphons0 was not in good repute
with his people, either as a Spaniard or a Christian. A
great clerk, devoted to the evil sciences of Alchemy and
Astrology, he was ever closeted with his Jews, to make
spurious money or spurious laws—adulterating the Gothic
laws by a mixture of the Roman.——Méchelet’s E‘amce.

NOTE FFFFF.—PAGE 4:23.

“Raymond Lulldus.”—A story is told of this famous
alchemist, that during his stay in London, he changed for
King Edward 1., a mass of 50,000 pounds of quicksilver
into gold, of which the first mse nobles were coined.

NOTES. 495

NOTE GGGGG.—PAGE 433.

“Everywhere well received.”~—The Mendicants strayed
everywhere~begged, lived on little, and were everywhere
Well received. Subtle, eloquent, and able men, they dis—
charged a multiplicity of worldly commissions with discre-
tion. Europe was filled With their activity. Messengers,
preachers, and at times diplomatists, they were then What
the post and press now are.——]IEO/wlet’8 Emma.

NOTE HHHHH.——PAGE 435.

“ Slipped a Mng.”—Procida offered the ambitious Peter
of Arragon, the crown of Sicily, which that monarch might
justly claim by his marriage with the daughter of Main-
froy, and by the dying voice of Conradin, who from the
scaffold had cast a ring to his heir and avenge1*.—-Gibbon.

NOTE IIIII.—PAGE 437.

“Fania? Bacon.”—Though an extraordinary man, could
not entirely free himself from the prejudices of his times.
He believed in the philosopher’s stone, and in astrology.
There are to be found in his writings new and ingenious
views on optics, 0n the refraction of light on the apparent
magnitudes of objects, on the magnified appearance of the
sun and moon when in the horizon. He also states that
thunder and lightning could be imitated by means of salt-
petre, sulphur, and charcoal. Hence he had already an
idea of gunpowder.

NOTE JJJJJ.——PAGE 440.

“Albertus Magnus.”—During the year 1280, died the
celebrated Albert the Great, 0f the Order of Preaching
Friars, less known as a monk than a magician. The pro-
digious diversity of his learning, and the taste which he had
for experiments in alchemy, which he himself called magi-
cal operations, caused a superhuman power to be attributed
to him. Besides the automaton Which St. Thomas de
Aquinas, his disciple, broke With a club, it is afiirmed that
Albert entertained William, Count of Holland, at a miracu—

 

 

 

 

496 NOTES.

lous banquet in the garden of his Cloister and that though
it was in the depth qf winter, the trees appeared as in
spring, covered With flowers and leaves, Which vanished as
if by enchantment, after the repast.—]flst0ry qft/Le Popes.

N OTE KKKKK.——PAGE 446. g

“ I was amacious.”——This passage is quoted from Falcando, V
an Italian historian of the twelfth century. 5

i
N OTE LLLLL.——PAGE 449.

“ 856107»er 0f Ootoswold.”——To Eleanora, is due the credit
of introducing the Spanish breed of sheep into England.

NOTE MMMMM.~—PAGE 452.

“Red stockings.”——According t0 Michelet, Procida in-
fluenced the pope to sign the treaty With the Greek Empe-
ror, by repeating the insulting allusion of Charles t0 the
purple buskins worn by the pontiff.

NOTE N N N NN .——PAGE 453.

“ Easter-Monday, 1282.”—The intelligent readers of his-
tory will observe an anachrenism in placing the Sicilian
vespers after the Welsh war. They will also discover a.
mistake in representing Alphonse as the rival of Conrad,
rather than of Rodolph, of Hapsburg, for the crown of the
German empire.

NOTE OOOOO.———PAGE 454.

“ Resoued.”—Constance of Arragon, fortunately arrived
in time to prevent the Sicilians, from putting Charles
the Lame to death. She carried him off from Messina in
in the night and sent him to Spain. When Charles of Arra-
gon was informed of the defeat of his troops, and the cap-
tivity of his son, he fell as though struck down by a thun—
derbolt, and succeeding attacks of epilepsy carried him to
the tomb in a few months. Through the mediation of Ed-
ward, Charles the Lame, surrendered to Alphonse of Arra-
gon, all claims to the crown of Sicily, and thus gained his
liberty. He reigned over Provence in right of his mother,
and was the progenitor of Margaret of Anjou.

Popular Work ! Twflhj‘housand Now Ready!
LEWIE, OR THE BENDED TWIG.

BY COUSIN CICELY,
Author of “ Silver Lake Stories,” etc., etc.
One Volume 12mm, - - - - - Price $1.00

ALDEN & BEARDSLEY, Auburn and Rochester ,N. Y
Publishers.

“ Mother! thy gentle hand hath mighty power,
For thou alone may’st train, and guide, and mould
Plants that shall blossom, with an odor sweet,

Or, like the cursed fig-tree, wither, and become
Vile cumberers of the ground.”

Brief Extracts from Notices of the Press.

* "' " A tale which deserves to rank with “TheWide,WideWorld."
It is written with graphic power, and full of interest—Hartford Repub.

* * * Her writings areequal to the best. She is a second Fanny
Fem—Pahnyra Democrat.

* * " It is recommended by its excellent moral tone and its whole‘
some practical inculcations.—N. Y. Tribune.

* " " Full of grace and charm, its style and vivacity make it a most
amusing work. Fm- the intellectual and thinking, it has a deeper lesson,
and while it thrills the heart, bids parents beware of that weakness which
prepares in infancy the misery of man. “ Lewie ” is one of the most pop-
ular'books now before the public, and needs no puffing, as it is selling by
thousands.-—N. Y. Day Book.

* " * The moral of the book is inestimable. The writer cannot
fail to be good, as she so faithfully portrays the evils which owe their ori-
gin to the criminal neglect of proper parental discipline.—Hunt’s Mer-
chants’ Magazine. ‘

* * * The plot is full of dramatic interest, yet entirely free from
extravagance 3 the incidents grow out of the main plot easily and natural-
ly, while the sentiment is healthy and unaffected. Commend us to more
writers like Cousin Cicely—books which we can see in the hands of our
young people without uneasiness. Books which interest by picturing life
as it is, instead of giving us galvanized socxety.—-Natianal Democrat. ‘

* * * A touching and impressive storyi unaffected in.style and ef-

v

fective in plot.—N. Y . Evangelist.

* * “ The story of the Governess, contained in this volume, is one
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9' * * The stor is a charming one—the most affecting we ever
read.—Jersey Shore apublictm.

‘3 5’ 9' “Cousin Cicely” is just the person to portray family scenes.
" * * This story will be profitable reading.——Daily Capital City Fact
Columbus, Ohio.

* * * The contents of the work are of the first order. and unexcep-
tionable.——Hazrtfard Daily Times.»

 

 

 

 

 

" * * Let evexy youth peruse 1., and we promise them they Will
find their hearts and lives improved by it.—Advocate, Balam'a.

Truth is the basis of the work before us. In it the accomplished au-
thoress has done an honor to her sex, and we doubt not scoured blessmgs
upon many households by the publication of this finished and elegant lit-
tle volume. Her former labors have endeared her to children. The
present one should secure for her the affection and gratitude ofparents.—-
Gen ova Courier.

* * * It is lively without triviality, and replete With interest from
the first to the last.—New York Day Book.

9‘ * * Believing this work adapted to lead mothers to rightly train
the little shoots springing up around the parent tree, and to restrain their
wandering inclinations, we commend it to their perusal.—-Student.

Cousin Cicely is gifted with rare powers. It is of home incidents she
writes, and in a manner highly attractive. * * * Traces with graphic
force the loved and petted child. The vniume is full of instruction to
parents, and should have a place in evea-y family library —P1‘0vidence
Daily Post.

* * * Cousin Cicely is well known and a work from'her pen will
meet with ready welcome.—Providence «'uily Times.

* * * Her works are of decided merit, and should he possessed by
all.—Rochester Daily American.

* * ’1‘ She has got the hearts of parents and children through the
Silver Lake Stories and Lewie.—Rochester Daily Democrat.

* * * The moral of the story is good, and the plot is so touching,
that we cannot wonder at the book’s success.—-N. Y. Commercial Adv.

* * * Agnes,the sister of spoiled Lewie, '1! treated with uumotherly
injustice; grows up a character of uncommon oveliness; and, though
“only a Governess,” marries splendidly.—N. Y. Church Journal.

* * 9‘ Downright interesting story. It is crowded with domestic
pictures, true to nature. * * * The short and melancholy career of
poor Lewie, shows the importance of properly managing children.— VVos-
tern Literary Messenger.

* * '* The description of an American home is true to the life. Ma-
ny of the incidents are truly affecting. * * * Passages of remarkable
beauty of expression and sentiment. We give the following as a speci-
men of the thought and style whieh characterizes the work: “It is strange
how much a human heart may suffer and beat on and regain tranquility,
and even cheerfulness at last. It is a most merciful provision of Provi-
dence, that our griefs do not always fall as heavily as they do at first, else
how could the burden of' this life of change and sorrow be borne. But
the loved ones are not forgotten when the tent is dried, and the smile re-
turns to the cheek; they are remembered, but with less of sadness and

loom in the remembrance ;. and at length, if we can think 0'." them as
appy, it is onlv a pleasure to recall them to mind.”—Patriot, Jankson
Michigan.

Every one is Enraptured With the Book—Every one will
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SIX THOUSAND PUBLISHED IN THIRTY DAYS!

UPS AND DOWNS,

Or Silver Lake Sketches.
BY COUSIN ClCELY, Author of Lewie or the Bended Twig.
One Elegant 127m). Val., with Ten {llustratians by Cofin, and engraved
by the best artists. Cloth, gilt, $135.

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The Critics give it Unqualified Commendation.

Cousin Cicely’s “Lewie, or the Bended Twig," published and wideig,
mad not long ago, was a volume to sharpen the reader’s appetite for
“more Of the sanfe sort.” * "' ’6 * " “Ups and Downs” is a cluster
of sketches and incidents in real life, narrated with a grace of thought
and flow ofexprcssion rarely to be met. The sketches well entitle the
volume to its name, for they are pictures of many sides of life—some
grave, some gay, some cheering and some sad, pervaded by a genial
spirit, and developing ,rzood morals. -

Either of the. fifteen sketches will amply repay the purchaser of the
volume, and unless our judgment is false, after a eareful reading, “Ups
and Downs" will make an impression beyond “the pleasant effect to
while away afew unoccupied moments.” The Publishers have given
Cousin Cicely’s gems a setting worthy of their brilliancyv The ten il-
lustrations are capital in design and execution, and it strikes us as re-
markable how such a volume can be profitably got up at the price for
which it is sold. The secret must lie in large circulati0n-whvlch “Ups
and Downs” is certain to secure.—N. Y Evening Mirror.

I’Vho is Cousin Cicely ?———We begin to think Cousin Cicely is somebody,
and feel disposed to ask, who is she 'Z We several months ago noticed
her “Lewie” in this journal. It is a story with a fine moral, beautiful
and touching in its development. It has already quietly made its .way
to a circulation of' twelve thousand, “without beating a drum or crying
oysters,” Pretty good evidence that there is something in it. Our read-
ers have already had a taste of “ Ups and Downs,” for we find among its
contents :1 story entitled “Jiliss Todd, M. D,, or a Disease thhe Heart,”
which was published in this journal at "aw months ago. We venture to
say that no one who read has forgotten it, and those Who remember it
will be glad to know where they can find plenty more of‘ the "same
sort.”-—U. S. Journal.

* * " Sketches oflit'e as it is, and of‘some things as they should be;
all drawn with a. light pencil. and abounding with touches ofreal genius.
Cousin Cicelv has improved her former good reputation in our opinion, by
this efl‘ortn—The Wesleyan.

‘%

 

 

 

 

,THE MOST CHARMING BOOK OF THE SEASON.

0f “Lewie,” by “Cousin Cicely,” we have recently spoken
in terms of unqualified praise. “Cousin Cicely” may take her
rank with the several remarkably successful female authors of
the day, Who, Within the last two or three years, have created a
public mania for female literature.——.N‘. Y. Mirror.

* * * The stories are pleasingly written. There are many pathetic
descriptions, and many others concealing a good deal of covert and Well-
merited satire. We make the following extract from a sketch entitled
“Miss Tod, M. D., or a Disease of the Heart ;” from the portfolio of a
young lawyer. The extract will give a sample of the author’s style.

“In the course of the afternoon, as I lay upon the sofa, With my hand pressed
upon my head, to still its irregular pulsations, there was a soft tap at the door.
‘Come in,’ I called out, and to my surprise in stepped the neatest, brightest,
most cheerful looking little woman it had ever been my lot to meet.

“ ‘You sent for me, I believe sir.” she said in a brisk, pleasant way.

“ ‘1? N0, Madam—you are laboring under a mistake.’

“ ‘Ah! I beg pardon,’ said the little woman ; I found on my slate the name
of Mr. Hubbs, No. 14, Mrs. Grays’ boarding—house, with a request that I would
call and see him.’

“ ‘Your slate, madam! I exclaimed, my astonishment increasing every mo—
ment—‘you are surely not 21—4
“ ‘Physician! yes, sir,’ she interrupted quickly; ‘I’m a physician; Dr.
Tod,’

“ ‘Extmordinary !’ was all that I could say; for, though I had heard at adie—
tance, of such a being, this was my first introduction to a female practitioner

of the Esculapeah art.’ ”
[N. Y. Despatch.

Cousin Cicely has studied human nature, and expresses her views
easily and gracefully. Well written sketches, and are calculated to re-
prove the follies and vices of'lif'e. They will be read, and what is better,
they will leave a good impression.——Genesee Evangelist.

These sketches are pictures of many sided life. The grave and gay,
the lively and severe, the sad and glad, the fortune of prosperity, and th e
misfortunes of reverse, are all depicted with a felicity of'expression that
is rare in this day 0f“writing for effect.” There is no straining or “high-
falutin,” no construction of mere words for the sake of their own jingle,
no appeal to bad passions, and no mere elfurt zit humor. If we mistake
not, this book is destined to have a large sale.—Roch. American

* * * There is a freshness and naturalness about the sketches
Which make them popular with almost all classest—N. Y. Day Book.

“7e (10 not know of a writer whose works evince a purer or more
wholesome taste. This book of sketches under the above title, is like
her former productions, of a Very superior tone. The “Vermont Cousin,”
and the “Adopted Daughter,” are rich in quiet humor, and the latter pe-
culiarly so, in depth offeeling and fine sentiment; while the “Lesson of
Contentment” is one which every person ought to read, in these hard
times.——Orleans Republican.

Cousin Cicely has acquired an enviable reputation asawriterof pleas-
ing stories The sketches in this Work are highly interesting, and at the
same time of' a high moral character. The book will have a great sale.—
Newark W’hig.

THE MOST CHARMING BOOK OF THE SEASON.

”,fi‘ We have been deeply interested in reading some of the sheets.
The vivacity 0f the narrative and dialogue is admirable. The characters
are well exhibited, and the talk of the country people is given with sin-
gular correctness, and with a peculiar charm. Virtue finds its reward,
and a good moral ton-e marks the story. We predict that the “Ups and
Downs" will be a favorite with the public. It is not adesperate effort
for popularity. A11 is easy and amiable, and the reader not only honors,
but loves the kind, genial, heart-movin‘g, and’ heart-purifying influence of
the story which is making his time fly so rapidly.—N. Y. Evening .Mirror.

Cousin Cicely has made herself well known the World over by her
beautiful sketches. Her stories are‘ made up' of song, sentiment, sermonj
fancy, essay, and philosophy, amusingly mingled in a manner greatly to
interest. The present volume assumes more the form of' connected tuies,
the object of which shall be to “point a moral." The authoress, with
ease and elegance, has sent out her books to instruct and improve the
reader. They abound in rich moral tone and beautiful d'escription.—-De
trait Daily Advertiser.

* * * A glance at its pages convince us that its style is beautiful
and its psges full of interest. It takes us back to our Old homes, or it
transports us to other climes, portraying as its title indicates, “Ups and
Downs.”—Niles Enquirer, Illicit

Cousin Cicely. whoever she may be, is a highly valued relative of the
human family. She possesses a fund of good feeling and good sense, and
has so much unquestionable strength, that she can afford to be natural.
In presenting her interesting reminiscences she proceeds in a straight-
forward manner, (Hid tells her story in unaffected, and often in beautiful
and impressive language. Her former productions have procured a place
for her in many hearts, and the present sketches fully sustain her position.
They are lively, vigorous. and always to the purpose, fl‘equently illustra-
ting an important moral truth by a powerful narrative.-—N. Y. Tribune.

The volume before us is from the pen of one whose writings we have
always admired—aud the cause of our admiration may be found in their

natural-nessfeeling andigmce. We find here no less than fifteen sketches

—cach one skillfully and successfully wrought, and all containing thoughts
for which their author will be cordially thanked. “Cousin'Cicely” knbws
all about '

 

“the stuff that life is made of,”

and uses that knowledge to excellent advantage. It is sure of a cordial"

welcome—Bufialo Express.

The first story in the collection is a good natured satire on female doc-
tors. A young lawyer fancies himself afflicted by an organic disease of
the heart. A physicians is summoned, and comes in the shape of an in
telligent young lady, Miss ’i'od, M. D. The result of the acquaintance
thus formed is a reciprocal attachment; for once, “the course oftrue love
does run smooth.” and Miss Tod consents to become aresident physician
—N. Y. Commercial Advertiser.

* " * Social scenes in every-day life, genially sketched 3 designed
to entertain a quiet hour ofrelaxation, and inculcates high moral-lessons‘;
-IIome Journal.

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Six Thousand in Sixty Days! Dickens’ New Beck!

@@@W&@@§%@We
©Lh©fl©® %G@ma@§9
Comprising selections from that admirable publication, “Dick-
ens’ Household Words.”

FIRST SERIEs.-——1 vol. 12mo., (uniform With Lewie,) price $1.00

ALDEN. BEARDSLEY s: 00., Auburn, N. Y., z . .
WANZER, BEARDSLEY & (10., Rochester, N. Y., Pubhmm

This volume is the first in asertes gathered from the same pub
lication. It is enriched With an admirable likeness of DICKENS,
engraved for this work. The Publishers commend the volume as
pure m sentiment, wholesome in morals, and abounding in such
incident and interest as cannot fail to secure a friendly reception
and a Wide circulation With American readers. (Second series
will be published J uly lst, 1854.)

So say the Press-«Short Extracts from Lengthy Notices.

It is not a story of pearl diving in the Indian seas, but a choice collec-
tion of pearls fished from Dickens’ Household Words, and strung together
as an ornament for the library and the parlor. * * * " Such a. selec-
tion of Dickens’ own gems is quite a favor to his admirers in the United
States. * * * 9‘ The story of Lizzie Leigh is alone worth the price
of the v01ume.—N. Y. Independent.

1: was a. good thought of the publishers to collect the best stories of the
Household Words into acceptable volumes, printed in large new type, on
good paper, to please fastidious readers like ourselves. and to entice even
aged people to the perusal. 9‘ * 9‘ This series should command a
large circulation, if good taste in the choice of fictitious literature has
15?: died out with the success of Hot Com and similar atrocities.—N. Y,

tmes.

* * * The book contains a charming selection of the best stories
from “ Dickens’ Household Words.” * * * Most valuable and inter~
esting publication, handsomely printed in the large type, open page, which
are happily superseding the absurd, crowded, and illegible pages which
the cheap publication system has imposed upon the American public.-—- -
New York Day Book.

These stories, selected from Dickens’ Household Words, make a hand
some volume, with a fine likeness of their author. ”It is a capital thought
to gather up such of those interesting apers as wul be of most interest
to the American reader.—Providence aily Post.

" “ * In gathering these choice stories the selection has been made
ofsuch as furnish the most brilliancy and value. * * * Replete with
incident and absorbing interest, from beginning to end. And what 13
more and better, the lessons they teach are of the purest morality. *

* The stories have point and force, and will be read by all, old and
voting, with delight and profit.—Aubum Ilaily Advertiser.

 

This is a. ceilectior. of‘ beautiful stories from Dickens’ Household
\Vords. This book will deserve a great sale.——Hanford Daily Courant.

* * * It embraces some of Dickens’ best contributions to that ad-
mirable publication, “Dickens’ Household Words.”—Tr0y Daily Times.

The admirers of Charles Dickens will have an opportunity to supply
themselves with some of' his choice productionu ——_Detroit Daily Adver-
tiser.

* * * Of their merits the world-wide fame of the author obviates
’the necessity of' our speaking. Each of them is a. “ Pearl ’7 of sterling
value, and they only need to be read to be admired, by all capable of ap
preciating high and noble sentiments—Detroit Daily Tribune.

* 9* * The contentsof the volume before us are far above the com-
mon run of “polite literature” of the day. Mr. Dickens’ writings al-
ways leave the impress of a quick perception, and a mind alive to the
things around him.—Ontari0 Messenger.

* * * Destined to fill libraries with a. kind of literatureuc once
tasteful and choice. * * * No person who prizes the writings of
Charles Dickens, Will fail to welcome this new candidate for the public
favor. The idea of‘ bringing them out in this form is a. happy one, and
must succeed.-Syracuse Journal.

* 9‘ 9‘ This is a most excellent collection. A more entertaining
back it would be difficult to find, containing, as it does, some of Dickens’
most admired sketches. * ’5 * The Household Words have a repu-
tation which is a. sufficient guarantee that its best gems cannot fail to be-
come popular.—Ph’£ladelphia ZVems.

9‘ 9“ " Literary pearls. They are the best of' Dickens’ writings. The
work is beautifully printed and excellently bound.—Lima Visitor.

* * * The work is edited with tact—the pathetic and humerous hap-
Yy alternating, compelling the render to first weep, and then roar with
aughter.——O. 0. Trade List.

7" * 9‘ It is a ("not that the waters of “ Household Words ” are prom-
lsing for “pearls.” * 9‘ *4 Lizzie Leigh is beautiful, most beautiful—
one ofDickens’ best stories. It alone is worth at least halfthe price of
the volume.—-— Western Literary Messenger.

* * 9‘ Tales of permanent interest and value, which are well worth
gathering like scattered pearls and arranging in this tasteful and enduring
form.—Lockpart Advertiser.

* * * "I‘he merits of this little work are so prominent we cannot
forbear a. few words in its favor. Lizzie Leigh embodies much sympathy
with deep interest,giving lasting impressions upon the reader. Father
and Son: The Miner’s Daughter; Loaded Diceg—are all excellent com-
positions, and will well pay the reader’s attention.—Brockport Weekly
Journal.

5:
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Four Thousand' in Thirty Days!
TWO ERAS OF FRANCE

(DIR, WIRUIE SWWMES FIRCEDJM HHSWPWRY !
" BY ween DE N©RMANIa ' '
One volume 12mm, (unifiorm with Lewie and Pearl Fishing)

368 pages.

*3“ In the Stories of the Revolution, the author has detailed
the mournf‘ul history of the “ Dauphin,” and presented a summa-
ry of the evidence so far discovered, In regard to that most inter-
esting historical question—the identity Qf the Rev. Eleazer Wil-
liams with Louis X VII.

Muslin, Gilt, $1, Gilt Edgfls, $135, Fllll Gilt Edges 8L Sides, $1.76.

ALDEN.BEARDSLEY 5:. 00. Auburn N. Y. .
WANZER, BEARDSLEY & (50., Rochester, N’. Y., 3 P “51‘8“”

NOTICES OF THE. PRESS.

"‘ * * We have read this volume With a good degree of satisfaction
and interest. * * * The soul-stirring events of the incarceration of the
Dauphin, Prince Louis XVII. his probable escape through the aid of the
friends of the reigning King,and the evidence pro and con, relating to
the claims of Rev. Eleazer Williams, now a missionary in this country,
to be the identical person—the rightful heir to the throne of F rance, in
place of the present incumbent.—0ntario Messenger.

" * * A most interesting volume. We need but mention the fab:
that the author has selected for his stories two of the most important
periods in the annals of F rance. T0 the general reader, as well as to
the scholar, this portion of French history is confessedly remarkable for
its intense interest.—-Syracuse Journal.

* * * The author treats of the Williams Dauphin question, and has
stated the arguments, and pronounced it “ at least highly probable” that
Mr. W. is the Dauphin. This volume will be found a very attractive one
to youn readers, and should have a. plaee in all the libraries for young
men.--- vming Mirror, New Y ork.

* * * These stories traverse one of the most deeply interesting pe-
riods of F tench History. * * A fine steel engraving of the reverend
gentleman prefaces the volume.—-- The Medma Whig.

* * * Thrilling events. The revolution of 1789 stands distinguished
for deep and world-wide interest. * * The fate of the helpless infant

. Dauphin has excited the deepest emotions of the civilized world? What-

evertelates to these events is read with interest. * * * It is, there-
fore, with peculiar pleasure that we have perused the late issue. Full
of startling incident, and withal bearing the stamp of truth on all its
pages, it cannot fail to entertain and instruct him who sits down to it-
perusal.“ Lima Visitor.

 

 

 

 

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