Alexander, before he heard of the reconciliation at Freitville, had issued letters of suspension or excommunication against the bishops who had officiated at the late coronation; he had afterward renewed them against Roger of York (September 26th), Gilbert of London, and Joscelin of Salisbury, to whose misrepresentations was attributed the delay of the King to fulfil his engagements. For the sake of peace the Archbishop had wisely resolved to suppress these letters; but the three prelates, who knew that he brought them with him, had assembled at Canterbury, and sent to the coast Ranulf de Broc, with a party of soldiers, to search him on his landing, and take them from him. Information of the design reached him at Whitsand; and in a moment of irritation he despatched them before himself by a trusty messenger, by whom, or by whose means, they were publicly delivered to the bishops in the presence of their attendants. It was a precipitate and unfortunate measure, and probably the occasion of the catastrophe which followed. The prelates, caught in their own snare, burst into loud complaints against his love of power and thirst of revenge; they accused him to the young King of violating the royal privileges, and wishing to tear the crown from his head; and they hastened to Normandy to demand redress from the justice or the resentment of Henry.

Under the protection of his conductor the Primate reached Canterbury, December 3d, where he was joyfully received by the clergy and people. Thence he prepared to visit Woodstock, the residence of the young Henry, to pay his respects to the Prince and to justify his late conduct. But the courtiers, who dreaded his influence over the mind of his former pupil, procured a peremptory order, December 15th, for him to return, and confine himself to his own diocese. He obeyed, and spent the following days in prayer and the functions of his station. Yet they were days of distress and anxiety. The menaces of his enemies seemed to derive importance from each succeeding event. His provisions were hourly intercepted; his property was plundered; his servants were beaten and insulted.

On Christmas Day he ascended the pulpit. His sermon was distinguished by the earnestness and animation with which he spoke. At the conclusion he observed that those who thirsted for his blood would soon be satisfied, but that he would first avenge the wrongs of his Church by excommunicating Ranulf and Robert de Broc, who for seven years had not ceased to inflict every injury in their power on him, on his clergy, and on his monks. On the following Tuesday (December 28th) arrived secretly in the neighborhood four knights, Reginald Fitzurse, William Tracy, Hugh de Moreville, and Richard Brito. They had been present in Normandy when the King, irritated by the representations of the three bishops, had exclaimed, "Of the cowards who eat my bread, is there not one who will free me from this turbulent priest?" and mistaking this passionate expression for the royal license, had bound themselves by oath to return to England and either carry off or murder the Primate. They assembled at Saltwood, the residence of the Brocs, to arrange their operations.

The next day (December 29th), about two in the afternoon the knights abruptly entered the Archbishop's apartment, and, neglecting his salutation, seated themselves on the floor. It seems to have been their wish to begin by intimidation; but if they hoped to succeed, they knew little of the intrepid spirit of their opponent. Pretending to have received their commission from Henry, they ordered the Primate to absolve the excommunicated prelates. He replied with firmness, and occasionally with warmth, that if he had published the papal letters, it was with the royal permission; that the case of the Archbishop of York had been reserved to the Pontiff; but that he was willing to absolve the others on condition that they previously took the accustomed oath of submitting to the determination of the Church. It was singular that of the four knights, three had, in the days of his prosperity, spontaneously sworn fealty to him. Alluding to this circumstance he said, as they were quitting the room, "Knowing what formerly passed between us, I am surprised you should come to threaten me in my own house."

"We will do more than threaten," was their reply.

When they were gone, his attendants loudly expressed their alarm: he alone remained cool and collected, and neither in his tone nor gesture betrayed the slightest symptom of apprehension. In this moment of suspense the voices of the monks singing vespers in the choir struck their ears; and it occurred to someone that the church was a place of greater security than the palace. The Archbishop, though he hesitated, was borne along by the pious importunity of his friends; but when he heard the gates close behind him he instantly ordered them to be reopened, saying that the temple of God was not to be fortified like a castle.

He had passed through the north transept, and was ascending the steps of the choir, when the knights with twelve companions, all in complete armor, burst into the church. As it was almost dark, he might, if he had pleased, have concealed himself among the crypts or under the roof; but he turned to meet them, followed by Edward Grim, his cross-bearer, the only one of his attendants who had not fled. To the vociferations of Hugh of Horsea, a military subdeacon, "Where is the traitor?" no answer was returned; but when Fitzurse asked, "Where is the Archbishop?" he replied: "Here I am, the Archbishop, but no traitor. Reginald, I have granted thee many favors. What is thy object now? If you seek my life, I command you in the name of God not to touch one of my people." When he was told that he must instantly absolve the bishops he answered, "Till they offer satisfaction I will not!"

"Then die!" exclaimed the assassin, aiming a blow at his head.

Grim interposed his arm, which was broken, but the force of the stroke bore away the Primate'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." In this posture, turned toward his murderers, without a groan and without a motion, he awaited a second stroke, which threw him on his knees; the third laid him on the floor at the foot of St. Bennet's altar. The upper part of his skull was broken in pieces, and Hugh of Horsea, planting his foot on the Archbishop's neck, with the point of his sword drew out the brains and strewed them over the pavement![30]

Thus at the age of fifty-three perished this extraordinary man, a martyr to what he deemed to be his duty, the preservation of the immunities of the Church. The moment of his death was the triumph of his cause. His personal virtues and exalted station, the dignity and composure with which he met his fate, the sacredness of the place where the murder was perpetrated, all contributed to inspire men with horror for his enemies and veneration for his character. The advocates of the "customs" were silenced. Those who had been eager to condemn, were now the foremost to applaud, his conduct; and his bitterest foes sought to remove from themselves the odium of having been his persecutors. The cause of the Church again flourished: its liberties seemed to derive new life and additional vigor from the blood of their champion.



THE PEACE OF CONSTANCE SECURES THE LIBERTIES OF THE LOMBARD CITIES

A.D. 1183

ERNEST F. HENDERSON

Frederick, Duke of Swabia, and his brother Conrad, Duke of the Franks, grandsons of Henry IV, were the hereditary and dynastic successors to the throne of Germany, when with the death of Henry V in 1125 the male line of the Franconian dynasty ended. The brothers demanded the assertion of the elective right in the imperial office, and Lothair, Duke of Saxony, was elected emperor of Germany.

Lothair died in 1138. His son-in-law, the Wolf or Welf nobleman, Henry the Proud, Duke of Bavaria, whom Lothair had nominated as his successor, was opposed by the Swabian faction—also known as the Waiblingen faction—from the Franconian village in which the Swabian duke Frederick was born.

The Waiblingen faction elected as emperor of Germany Conrad the Crusader, in whom began the Hohenstaufen dynasty, so named from the Swabian family seat on the lofty Staufen hill rising from the Rems River.

From this event dates the strife of the Welfs and Waiblingens, who in Italy became known as Guelfs and Ghibellines. The chief opponents in the long strife that ensued were the Guelf dukes, Henry the Proud and Henry the Lion, and the Ghibelline emperor Frederick Barbarossa.

Frederick Barbarossa (Redbeard) succeeded his father Conrad in 1152, and began a reign which was disturbed by wars with his nobility and by expeditions into Italy to subdue the revolts of the city republics of Lombardy against imperial authority. During his first expedition to Italy, 1154-1155, Barbarossa soon crushed all opposition and was crowned Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, at Rome, by Pope Hadrian IV. During his second expedition, 1158-1162, he destroyed the city of Milan and dispersed the inhabitants, who sought refuge in cities with which they had formerly been at enmity. Barbarossa's violence antagonized the Italians, and they combined in the Lombard League to drive him out of Italy. He was excommunicated by Pope Alexander III, who succeeded Hadrian in 1159, and to inaugurate the league a town named Alessandria in honor of the Pope was founded on the Piedmont frontier. In the expedition of 1166-1168 Barbarossa, who had set up an antipope, captured Rome and enthroned Paschal III as pope. His triumph however, was shortened by a pestilence which decimated his troops, and thence began a series of reverses which ended in the ascendency of the Lombard League.

No sooner had Frederick passed through North Italy on the way to his triumph and ultimate humiliation in Rome than the formation was begun of that greater Lombard League which was to prove so terrible and invincible an enemy. Cremona was, according to the Emperor's own account, the prime mover in the matter. Mantua, Bergamo, and Brescia joined with that city, and bound themselves to mutual protection. The league, which was to last for fifty years, was not openly hostile to the Emperor; fidelity to him, indeed, was one of the articles of its constitution. But only such duties and services were to be performed as had been customary in the time of Conrad III; so the cities practically renounced the Roncaglian decrees and declared themselves in revolt.

From the beginning, too, the league took sides with Alexander. But its most daring act of insubordination was the leading back in triumph of the Milanese to the scene of their former glory. The outer walls of Milan had not been entirely levelled to the ground, and the city arose as if by magic from her ruins. Bergamo, Brescia, and Cremona lent her efficient aid in the work of restoration.

A sculpture executed in 1171 by order of the consuls, and showing the return, accompanied by their allies, of the exiles, is still to be seen in Milan, near the Porta Romana. How few of those who look on it to-day realize what that return meant to the long-suffering citizens, and what premonitions of evil to come must have gone with them.

The Lombard League spread rapidly. Lodi, after much demur and after being surrounded by an army, was forced to join it. Piacenza needed no constraint, and Parma yielded after some opposition. Including Milan there were soon eight cities in the confederation. The imperial officials were disavowed and the old consular rule reestablished, while everywhere Alexandrine bishops replaced those that had been invested by Victor and Paschal.

Returning almost in disgrace from Rome, Frederick took up the struggle against the revolted cities, sending an appeal for reinforcements to Germany. But an attack on Milan proved fruitless, as did also one on Piacenza, and the Emperor was soon forced to intrench himself in Pavia. His position became more and more desperate, the more so as the new archbishop of Milan, Galdinus, unfolded a great activity in favor of Alexander. The Pope named him apostolic legate for the whole of Lombardy, and it was doubtless due to his influence that at this time the Verona coalition formally joined the Lombard League.

Sixteen cities were now banded together against the Emperor, who remained helpless in their midst. Pavia soon ceased to be a safe refuge, and he retired to Novara and then to Vercelli; but both cities were even then planning to join the confederation.

In the end Frederick prepared to leave Italy as a fugitive, and with but a small train of followers. In Susa, where the road begins which leads over the Mount Cenis pass, he was told that he must give up the few remaining hostages he was leading with him. All exits were found to be closed against him, and it came to his ear that an attempt was to be made upon his life.

The Emperor fled from Susa disguised as a servant, while his chamberlain, Hartmann of Siebeneichen, who bore him a striking likeness, continued to play the part of captive monarch. A band of assassins actually made their way into the royal chamber, but seem to have spared the brave chamberlain on learning their mistake.

The real object of their attack was meanwhile hastening on toward Basel, which he finally reached in safety.

It was to be expected that a man of Frederick's iron will would soon return to avenge the humiliations he had suffered, and the League hastened to strengthen itself in all directions. Alexander was invited to take up his residence in their midst, and he, although obliged to refuse, continued to work for the rebel cities. The latter showed their gratitude by founding a new town, which was to be a common fortress for the whole league, and naming it Alessandria in honor of their ally. The citizens took an oath of fealty to the Pope and agreed to pay him a yearly tax. The new foundation, although laughed at at first by the imperialists and called Alessandria della Paglia, from its hastily constructed straw huts, soon held a population of fifteen thousand. It continues to-day to reflect credit on its sponsor.

Contrary to all expectations it was six years before Frederick returned to Italy, and the Lombard League was meanwhile left master of the field. This delay is undoubtedly ascribable to the fact that the Emperor found it impossible at once to raise another army. The recent blows of fate had been too severe, and no enthusiasm for a new Italian war could be called into being. When, later, Frederick did recross the Alps it was with the mere shadow of an army; the nobles had seized every possible excuse to remain at home.

No doubt but that the enforced rest was of benefit to Germany; there at least the Emperor's power was undiminished. Indeed, the lands of many of those who had been carried away by the pestilence had fallen to him by inheritance, or lapsed as fiefs of the crown. Frederick is the first of the emperors who really acquired great family possessions. These helped him to maintain his imperial power without having to rely too much on the often untrustworthy princes of the realm. The Salian estates, to which his father had fallen heir on the death of Henry V, formed a nucleus, while, by purchase and otherwise, he acquired castle after castle, and one stretch of territory after another, especially in Suabia and the Rhine Palatinate.

By the Emperor's influence feud after feud was settled, and the princes were induced to acknowledge his second son—why not his eldest has never been explained—as successor to the throne. The internal prosperity and concord were not without their influence on the neighboring powers, and Hungary, Bohemia, and Poland were forced to acknowledge and fulfil their feudal duties.

Meanwhile Tuscany and a part of the Romagna had remained true to the empire. Frederick's emissary, Christian of Mayence, who was sent to Italy in 1171, was able to play a leading role in the hostilities between Pisa and Genoa, and, in 1173, to again besiege Ancona, which was still a centre for Greek intrigues. Christian was able to assure the Emperor that some allies at least were left in Italy.

In one way time had worked a favorable change. So long as an immediate attack was to be feared the Lombard cities—between thirty and forty of which, including such towns as Venice, Bologna, and Pavia, had finally joined the League—were firmly united and ready to make any effort. But as the years went on and the danger became less pressing, internal discord crept in among them. Venice, for instance, helped Christian of Mayence in besieging Ancona; and Pavia, true to its old imperial policy, was only waiting for an opportunity for deserting its latest allies. The league feared, too, that Alexander might leave it to its fate and make an independent peace with the Emperor.

As a matter of fact, in 1170, strong efforts had been made to bring about such a consummation. But Frederick was bound by the Wuerzburg decrees, and his envoy could not offer the submission that Alexander required.

John of Salisbury tells us that the Emperor made a proposition to the effect that he himself, for his own person, should not be compelled to recognize any pope "save Peter and the others who are in heaven," but that his son Henry, the young King of the Romans, should recognize Alexander, and, in return, receive from him the imperial coronation. The bishops ordained by Frederick's popes were to remain in office. Alexander answered these proposals with a certain scorn, and the imperial ambassador, Eberhard of Bamberg, returned from Veroli, where the conference had taken place, with nothing to show for his pains.

Alexander's next move was to send an account of the interview to the heads of the Lombard League, and at the same time to consecrate, as it were, that organization. He declared that it had been formed for the purpose of defending the peace of the cities which composed it, and of the Church, against the "so-called Emperor, Frederick," whose yoke it had seen fit to cast off. The rectors of the confederation were taken under the wing of the papacy, and those who should disobey them threatened with the ban. The Pope recommended a strict embargo on articles of commerce from Tuscany should the cities of that province refuse to join the league.

At this same time Alexander showed his friendliness toward the Eastern Empire by performing in person the marriage ceremony over the niece of the Emperor Manuel and one of the Roman Frangipani.

Frederick's first act on entering Italy in 1174 was to wreak vengeance on Susa, where he had once been captive; no half measures were used, and the town was soon a heap of ashes. Asti, also, the first league town which lay in the path of the imperial army, was straightway made to capitulate. But, although the fall of these two cities induced many to abandon the cause of the league, the new fortress of Alessandria, situated as it was in the midst of a swampy plain and surrounded with massive earth walls, proved an effectual stumbling-block in the way of the avenger. Heavy rains and floods came to the aid of the besieged city and the imperial tents and huts were almost submersed, while hunger and other discomforts caused many of the allies of the Germans to desert. The siege was continued for six months, but Frederick at last abandoned it on learning that an army of the league was about to descend on his weakened forces. He burned his besieging implements, his catapults, battering rams, and movable towers, and retreated to Pavian territory.

The forces of the allied cities were sufficient to alarm Frederick, but they did not follow up their advantage. One is surprised to find negotiations for a peace begun at a time when a decisive battle seemed imminent. What preliminary steps were taken, or why the Lombards should have been the first to take them, is not clear; although some slight successes gained by Christian of Mayence at this juncture in the neighborhood of Bologna may have been not without effect.

A commission of six men was appointed to draw up the articles of treaty, three being chosen from the cities, three appointed by the Emperor. The consuls of Cremona were to decide on disputed points—points, namely, as to which it was impossible to arrive at a mutual agreement. A truce to all hostilities was meanwhile declared, and at Montebello both sides bound themselves to concur in whatever arrangement should be made by the commission and the consuls. The Lombards meanwhile went through the form of a submission, knelt at the Emperor's feet, and lowered their standards before him. Frederick thereupon received them into favor and dismissed the greater part of his army, the league doing likewise.

Naturally enough the disputed points were the most important ones, and had to be referred to the consuls of Cremona. But the rage and disappointment of the Lombards went beyond bounds when the different decisions, which, indeed, were remarkably fair, at last were made known. The Emperor was to exercise no prerogatives in Northern Italy that had not been exercised in the time of Henry V; he was also to sanction the continuance of the league. But no arrangement was made for a peace between the heads of Christendom, although the league had made this its first demand. Then, too, Alessandria, which Frederick considered to have been founded in scorn of himself, was to cease to exist, and its inhabitants were to return to their former homes.

The report of the consuls roused a storm of indignation; in many cases the document embodying it was torn in shreds by the mob. The Lombards altogether refused to be bound by the terms of the treaty, and reopened hostilities. Frederick hastily gathered what forces he could and sent a pressing call to Germany for aid.

It was now that the greatest vassal of the Crown, Henry the Lion, rewarded twenty years of trustfulness and favor by deserting Frederick in his hour of need. The only cause that is known, a strangely insufficient one, was a dispute concerning the town of Goslar, which the Emperor had withdrawn from Henry's jurisdiction. The details of the meeting, which took place according to one chronicle at Partenkirchen, to another at Chiavenna, are but vaguely known to us, but Frederick is said to have prostrated himself at the feet of his mighty subject and to have begged in vain for his support.

We have seen how Frederick, at the beginning of his reign, had caused Henry, who was already in possession of Saxony, to be acknowledged Duke of Bavaria in place of Henry Jasomirgott, who was conciliated by the gift of the new duchy of Austria. From that moment Henry the Lion's power had steadily grown. He increased his glory, and above all his territory, by constant wars against the Wends, developing a hitherto unheard-of activity in the matter of peopling Slavic lands with German colonists. The bishoprics of Lubeck, Ratzeburg and Schwerin owed to him their origin, while he it was who caused the marshy lands around Bremen to be reclaimed and cultivated.

When, on various occasions, conspiracies were formed against Henry by other Saxon nobles, the Emperor had boldly and successfully taken his part, helping in person to quell the insurgents; in 1162 he had prevented the Duke of Austria and the King of Bohemia from trying to bring about their rival's downfall.

A marriage with Matilda, daughter of the King of England, had increased the great Saxon's influence; and during the continued absences of the Emperor in Italy his rule was kingly in all but name. In 1171 he affianced his daughter to the son of King Waldemar of Denmark, and by this alliance secured his new colonies from Danish hostility.

In actual extent and productiveness his estates fairly surpassed those of his imperial cousin, and the defection of such a man signified the death knell of the latter's cause.

The battle of Legnano, fought on May 29, 1176, ended in disaster and defeat. Frederick himself, who was wounded and thrown from his horse, finally reached Pavia after days of adventurous flight, having meanwhile been mourned as dead by the remnant of his army.

All was not yet lost, indeed, for the league, not knowing what reinforcements were on the way from Germany—the small army of Christian of Mayence, too, was still harvesting victories in the March of Ancona—did not follow up its successes. Cremona, moreover, jealous of Milan, began to waver in her allegiance to the cause of which she had so long been the leader, and eventually signed a treaty with the Emperor.

But Frederick, although he at first made a pretence of continuing the war, was soon forced by the representations of his nobles to abandon the policy of twenty-four years, and to make peace on the best terms obtainable with Alexander III, and, through him, with the Lombard cities. The oath of Wuerzburg was broken, and the two treaties of Anagni and Venice put an end to the long war.

At Anagni the articles were drawn up on which the later long and wearisome negotiations were based. The Emperor, the Empress, and the young King of the Romans were to acknowledge Alexander as the Catholic and universal pope, and to show him all due respect. Frederick was to give up the prefecture of Rome and the estates of Matilda, and to make peace with the Lombards, with the King of Sicily, the Emperor of Constantinople, and all who had aided and supported the Roman Church. Provision was to be made for a number of German archbishops and bishops who had received their authority from the antipopes.

There is no need to dwell on the endless discussions that ensued with regard to these matters; more than once it seemed as though all attempts at agreement would have to be abandoned. But both parties were sincerely anxious for peace, and at last a remarkably skilful compromise was drawn up at Venice.

Frederick had objected strongly to renouncing the rights of the empire regarding the estates of Matilda; he was to be allowed to draw the revenues of those estates for fifteen years to come, and the question was eventually to be settled by commissioners. The form of the peace with the Lombards was a still more difficult matter, but the Pope made a wise suggestion which was adopted. A truce of six years was declared, at the end of which time it was hoped that a basis would have been found for a readjustment of the relations between the Emperor and the league. With Sicily, too, hostilities were to cease for a term of fifteen years.

It will be seen that all the great questions at issue, save the recognitions of Alexander as pope, were thus relegated to a future time; to a time when the persons concerned would no longer be swayed by passion, and when the din of war would be forgotten.

During the negotiations the Pope had remained for the most part in Venice, while Frederick had not been allowed to enter the city, but had remained in the neighborhood in order that the envoys might pass more quickly to and fro. The terms of the treaty were finally assented to by the Emperor at Chioggia, July 21, 1177. Alexander now prepared to carry out his cherished project of holding a mighty peace congress at Venice; and there, at the news of the approaching reconciliation, nobles and bishops and their retinues came together from all parts of Europe.

Now that the peace was to become an accomplished fact, Venice outdid herself in preparing to honor the Emperor. The latter, too, was determined to spare no expense that could add to the splendor of the occasion. He had negotiated for a loan with the rich Venetians, and he now imposed a tax of one thousand marks of silver on his nobles.

Frederick's coming was announced for Sunday, July 24th, and by that time the city had donned its most festive attire. Two tall masts had been erected on the present Piazzetta, and from them floated banners bearing the lion of St. Mark's. A platform had been constructed at the door of the church, and upon it was placed a raised throne for the Pope.

When the Emperor landed on the Lido he was met by cardinals whom Alexander had sent to absolve him from the ban. The Doge, the Patriarch of Grado, and a crowd of lesser dignitaries then appeared and furnished a brilliant escort with their gondolas and barks. Having reached the shore Frederick, in the presence of an immense crowd, approached the papal throne, and, throwing off his purple mantle, prostrated himself before the Pope and kissed the latter's feet. Three red slabs of marble mark the spot where he knelt. It was a moment of world-wide importance; the Empire and the papacy had measured themselves in mortal combat, and the Empire, in form at least, was now surrendering at discretion. No wonder that later ages have fabled much about this meeting. The Pope is said, with his foot on the neck of the prostrate King, to have exclaimed aloud, "The lion and the young dragon shalt thou trample under thy feet!"

As a matter of fact Alexander's letters of this time express anything but insolent triumph, and his relations with the Emperor after the peace had been sworn to assumed the friendliest character. On the day after his entry into Venice Frederick visited him in the palace of the Patriarch, and we are told that the conversation was not only amicable, but gay, and that the Emperor returned to the Doge's palace in the best of moods.

A year after the congress at Venice the antipope—Calixtus III had succeeded Paschal in 1168 without in any way altering the complexion of affairs—made a humble submission to Alexander at Tusculum. Therewith the schism ended, and a year later, in 1179, Alexander held a great council in the Lateran, where it was decreed that a two-thirds majority in the college of cardinals was necessary to make valid the choice of a pope. There was no mention of the clergy and people of Rome, none of the right of confirmation on the part of the Emperor.

It was not to be supposed that Frederick would ever forgive that act of Henry the Lion by which the whole aspect of the war in Italy had been changed. Yet it is probable that technically Henry had committed no offence against the Empire; for no charge of desertion or "herisliz," as refusal to do military service was called, or even of neglect of feudal duties, was ever brought against him. He probably possessed some privilege, like that bestowed on Henry Jasomirgott, rendering it optional with him to accompany the Emperor on expeditions out of Germany.

But the circumstances had been so exceptional, so much had hung in the balance at the time of Frederick's appeal for aid, that no one can blame the Emperor for now letting Henry feel the full weight of his displeasure. Nor was an occasion lacking by which his ruin might be accomplished. For years the Saxon nobles and bishops had writhed under Henry's oppressions, and the Emperor had hitherto taken sides with his powerful cousin; he now lent a willing ear to the charges of the latter's enemies.

The restitution to Udalrich of Halberstadt of his bishopric, a restitution that had been provided for in the treaty of Venice, gave the signal for the conflict. Henry the Lion refused to restore certain fiefs which, as Udalrich asserted, belonged to the Halberstadt Church. Archbishop Philip of Cologne and others came forward with similar claims.

Henry was repeatedly summoned to answer his accusers, but did not deign to appear. On the contrary he prepared to raise up for himself allies and to besiege the castles of those who would not join him. His own lands were thereupon laid waste by his private enemies, and that with the Emperor's consent. But Halberstadt, which took part in one of these plundering expeditions, suffered a terrible vengeance at the hand of the enraged Guelf. In one destructive blaze the city, churches and all, was reduced to ashes. In the war that he was now waging Henry did not hesitate to call in even the Wends to his aid, but Westphalia was soon lost to him, and only in East Saxony was he able to maintain himself.

At a diet held in Wuerzburg in January, 1180, the Emperor laid the question before the princes what was to be done to one who had refused, after having been three times summoned, to come before the imperial tribunal. The answer was that he was to be deprived of all honor, to be judged in the public ban, and to lose his duchy and all his benefices. Thus was final sentence passed on the chief man in Germany next to the Emperor himself.

An imperial army was now raised and several fortresses were besieged. No battle took place, but the fact that Frederick had a large force at his command was sufficient to cause defection in the ranks of Henry's allies. In 1181 the Emperor's army marched as far as Lubeck, which city, Henry's proudest foundation, was forced to submit. The whole region north of the Elbe followed Lubeck's example, and Henry was soon forced to confess that his cause was hopeless. He laid down his arms, and was summoned to a diet at Erfurt to learn his fate. Here he fell on his knees before Frederick, who, with tears in his eyes, raised him and kissed him in token of peace.

He was made to surrender all his possessions with the exception of Brunswick and Luneburg. He was to go into exile, and to bind himself by an oath not to return without the Emperor's permission. He soon afterward passed over to Normandy, where he stayed for two years with his father-in-law, Henry II. He then passed over with the latter to England.

The years immediately following the Congress of Venice were, strange to say, the most brilliant period of Frederick's reign. It was, after all, only his ideals that had suffered, and a time of prosperity now settled down upon the nation.

With Alexander the Emperor remained on friendly terms; but the Pope in 1181 died in exile, having been forced by the faithless Romans, as Gregory VII had been a century before, to flee the holy city.

The peace with the Lombard towns was signed at Constance within the six years agreed upon, on June 23, 1183. The communal freedom for which they had fought so long was now accorded them; the Emperor gave up all right to the regalia and recognized the Lombard League. His dream of becoming a second Justinian had not been realized.

The cities received the privilege of using the woods, meadows, bridges, and mills in their immediate vicinity, and of raising revenues from them; the jurisdiction in ordinary, civil, and criminal cases; the right of making fortifications. The Emperor was, to a certain extent, to be provided for when he chose to come to Italy; but he promised to make no long stay in any one town. The cities were to choose their own consuls, who were to be invested with their dignity by the Emperor or his representatives. The ceremony, however, was to be performed only once in five years. In important matters where more than a certain sum was at stake, appeals to the Emperor were to be allowed.

With the city of Alessandria, so long to him a thorn in the flesh, Frederick had already come to a separate agreement by consent of the league. The city was, technically, to be annihilated, and then to be refounded; it was no longer to bear the name of the Pope, but that of the Emperor. Alessandria was to become Caesarea; yet none of the Inhabitants was to suffer by the change.

The treaty is extant; it provided that the people should leave the city and remain without the walls until led back by an imperial envoy. All the male inhabitants of Caesarea were then to swear fealty to the Emperor and to his son Henry VI.

The Lombard cities, from this time forward, remained true to Frederick.



SALADIN TAKES JERUSALEM FROM THE CHRISTIANS

A.D. 1187

SIR GEORGE W. COX

Eight days after their conquest of the Holy City, in 1099, the first crusaders proceeded to establish the Latin kingdom of Jerusalem, with Godfrey of Bouillon as its first king. On the death of Godfrey, in 1100, his brother Baldwin succeeded him, and in 1118 he was succeeded by Baldwin II, Count of Edessa. The fourth king was Fulc, Count of Anjou and son-in-law of Baldwin II (1131-1144), and after him reigned his son, Baldwin III (1144-1162). This King came to the throne at the age of thirteen. Early in his reign the Christian stronghold of Edessa, in Mesopotamia, was captured by the Turks, and its loss, which seemed to threaten the destruction of the kingdom of Jerusalem itself, was the occasion of an appeal to Europe which called out the Second Crusade. The great preacher of this crusade was St. Bernard of Clairvaux, a man who, in earnestness and eloquence, closely resembled Pope Urban and Peter the Hermit. Bernard's influence won to his cause not only the common people, but also nobles and kings, and the Second Crusade was led by Louis VII, King of France, and Conrad III, Emperor of Germany.

The time of the Second Crusade was 1147-1149. Louis and Conrad each commanded a great army, but they made the mistake of working separately. Conrad reached Constantinople first, and partly in consequence of the faithless conduct of Manuel, the Byzantine emperor—who, like his predecessor Alexius, in the time of the First Crusade, threw obstacles in the way of the western hosts—the whole German army was cut to pieces in Asia Minor, only the Emperor himself, with a few followers, escaping. Louis, soon arriving with his army, received the same treatment from Manuel, and after taking a few towns he saw his forces likewise destroyed by the Turks. Louis himself escaped and returned to France.

So ended in utter failure and shame the Second Crusade. The event seemed to give the lie to the glowing promises of St. Bernard, who was charged by anguished women with sending their fathers, husbands, and sons forth on a fruitless errand to disgrace and death. The Latin kingdom of Jerusalem profited nothing from this ignominious enterprise. The power of that kingdom was already waning, and, but for the knights of the military orders now in Jerusalem, the city must have yielded to the Turcoman hordes that continually menaced it. Baldwin III died in 1162, at the age of thirty-three, loved and lamented by his people and respected by his foes. He died childless, and his brother Almeric was elected to succeed him. What experience and what fate awaited the kingdom after this will be seen in the remarkable narration which follows.

Almost at the beginning of Almeric's reign the affairs of the Latin kingdom became complicated with those of Egypt; and the Christians are seen fighting by the side of one Mahometan race, tribe, or faction against another. The divisions of Islam may have turned less on points of theology, but they were scarcely less bitter than those of Christendom; and Noureddin, the sultan of Aleppo, eagerly embraced the opportunity which gave him a hold on the Fatimite Caliph of Egypt, when Shawer, the grand wazir of that Caliph, came into his presence as a fugitive. A soldier named Dargham had risen up and deposed him, and the deposition of the wazir was the deposition of the real ruler, for the Fatimite caliphs themselves were now merely the puppets which the Merovingian kings had been in the days of Charles Martel and Pepin.

Among the generals of Noureddin were Shiracouh and his nephew Saladin (Salah-ud-deen) of the shepherd tribe of the Kurds. These Noureddin despatched into Egypt to effect the restoration of Shawer. His enemy Dargham had sought by lavish offers to buy the aid of the Latins; but the terms were still unsettled when he was worsted in a battle by Shiracouh and slain. Shawer again sat in his old seat; but with success came the fear that his supporters might prove not less dangerous than his enemies. He refused to fulfil his compact with Noureddin and ordered his generals to quit the country. Shiracouh replied by the capture of Pelusium, and Shawer, more successful than Dargham in obtaining aid from Jerusalem, besieged Shiracouh in his newly conquered city with the help of the army of Almeric. The Latin King after a fruitless blockade of some months found himself called away to meet dangers nearer home; and the besieged general, not knowing the cause, accepted an offer of capitulation binding him to leave Egypt after the surrender of his prisoners. But the Latin armies were transferred from Egypt only to undergo a desperate defeat at the hands of Noureddin in the territory of Antioch, and thus to leave Antioch itself at the mercy of the enemy.

Noureddin may have hesitated to attack Antioch, from the fear that such an enterprise might bring upon him the arms of the Greek Emperor. He was more anxious to extinguish the Fatimite power in Egypt; in other words, to become lord of countries hemming in the Latin kingdom to the south as well as to the north; and it was precisely this danger which King Almeric knew that he had most reason to fear. To put the best color on his design, Noureddin obtained from Mostadhi, the caliph of Bagdad, the sanction which converted his enterprise into a war as holy as that which the Norman conqueror waged against Harold of England. The story of the war attests the valor of both sides, under the alternations of disaster and success. The Latin King had already entered Cairo, when a large part of the force of Shiracouh was overwhelmed by a terrific sandstorm. But the retreat of Shiracouh across the Nile failed to reassure the Egyptians. Almeric received two hundred thousand gold pieces for the continuance of his help, with the promise that two hundred thousand more should be paid to him on the complete destruction of their enemies; and the treaty was ratified in the presence of the powerless sovereign, whose consent was never asked for the alliances or treaties of the minister who was his master. The remaining events of the campaign were a battle, in which a part of the army of Almeric was defeated by Shiracouh and his nephew Saladin; the surrender of Alexandria on the summons of Shiracouh; and the blockade of that city by Almeric, who at length obtained from the Turk the pledge that after an exchange of prisoners he would lead his forces away from Egypt, on the condition that the road to Syria should be left open to him.

The banners of Almeric and the Fatimite Caliph waved together on the walls of Alexandria; but on either side the peace or truce was a mere makeshift for the purpose of gaining time. Neither the Latin King nor the Sultan of Aleppo had given up the thought of the conquest of Egypt; and Almeric found a ready cause of quarrel in the plea that since his own return to Palestine the Egyptians had entered into communication with their enemy and his. The King of Jerusalem had lately married the niece of the Greek Emperor, and the latter promised to aid the expedition with his fleet. The help of the Knights Hospitalers was easily obtained, while (some said, on this account) that of the Knights Templars was refused. At length with a large and powerful army Almeric left Jerusalem, pretending that his destination was the Syrian town of Hems; but after a while his march was suddenly turned. In ten days he reached Pelusium; and the storm and capture of that city were followed by a wanton carnage which served to increase, if anything could increase, the reputation of the Christians for merciless cruelty. The prayers of the wazir Shawer for help were now directed as earnestly to the Turkish Sultan as they had once been to the Latin King of Jerusalem; but his envoys were also sent to Almeric offering him a million pieces of gold, of which a tenth part was produced on the spot.

Almeric took the bribe; and when his army looked for nothing less than the immediate sack of Cairo, they were told that they must remain idle while the rest of the money was being collected. The wazir took care that the gathering should not be ended before the soldiers of Noureddin had reached the frontier, and Almeric found too late that he was caught in the trap which his own greed had laid for him. He could himself do nothing but retreat, and his retreat was as disastrous as it was ignominious. The Greek fleet had shown itself off the mouths of the Nile, and had sailed away again. The Greek Emperor could not be punished; but a scapegoat for the failure of the enterprise was found in the grand master of the Hospitalers, who was deprived of his dignity by his knights.

The triumph of Shiracouh brought with it the fall of the wazir Shawer, who was seized and put to death, while the man whose aid he had invoked was chosen to fill his place. But Shiracouh himself lived only two months; and then by way of choosing one whose love of pleasure and lack of influence seemed to promise a career of useful insignificance, the Fatimite Caliph made the young Saladin his minister. The Caliph was mistaken. Saladin brought back his Kurds, and so used the treasures which his office placed at his command that the new yoke became stronger than the old one.

To the Latins the exaltation of Saladin signified the formation of a really formidable power on their southern frontier. Their alarm prompted embassies to the court of the Eastern Emperor and the princes of Western Christendom. But the time was not yet come for a third crusade; and only from Manuel was any help obtained. His fleet aided the Latins in a fruitless siege of Damietta; and a terrible earthquake which laid Aleppo in ruins and shattered the walls of Antioch saved them from attack by the army of Noureddin which was approaching from the north. Still, in spite of conspiracies or revolutions of the old nobility, the power of Saladin was growing, and at length he dealt with the mock sovereignty of the Fatimites as Pepin dealt with that of the Merovingians. The last Fatimite Sultan, then prostrate in his last illness, never knew that the public prayer had been offered in the name of the Caliph of Bagdad; but Saladin had the glory of ending a schism which had lasted two hundred years, and from Mostadhi, the vicar of the Prophet, he received the gift of a linen robe and two swords.

But the healing of one schism led only to the opening of another. Saladin was the servant of the Sultan of Aleppo, and he had been recognized and confirmed in office by Mostadhi strictly on the score of this lieutenancy. But the new wazir of Egypt had no mind to obey any longer the summons of his old master, and to his threat of chastisement Saladin in his council of emirs retorted by a threat of war. His vehemence was cooled when his own father declared before the assembly that, were he so commissioned by Noureddin, he would strike his son's head off from his shoulders. In private, he let Saladin know that his mistake lay not in thinking of resistance, but in speaking of it; and a letter sent by his advice sufficed for the present to smooth matters over. But the time of quietness could not last long. The designs of Saladin became continually more manifest, and Noureddin was on his way to Egypt when he was struck down by illness and died at Damascus.

The widow of Noureddin held the fortress of Paneas; and her husband's death encouraged Almeric to undertake the siege. A bribe to abandon it was at first refused. A fortnight later it was accepted; but Almeric returned to Jerusalem only to die. His life had lasted only five years longer than that of his predecessor Baldwin; but it had been long enough to win for him a reputation for consummate avarice and meanness. His son and successor, Baldwin IV, was a leper, and his disease made such rapid strides as to make it necessary to delegate his authority to another. His first choice fell on Guy of Lusignan, the husband of his sister Sibylla, but either the weakness of Guy or the quarrels of the barons brought everything into confusion, and Baldwin, foiled in his wish to annul his marriage, devised his crown to Baldwin, the infant son of Sibylla by her first marriage, Raymond II, Count of Tripoli, being nominated regent and Joceline of Courtenay the guardian of the child. But within three years the leper King died, followed soon after by the infant Baldwin V, and in the renewed strife consequent on these events Guy of Lusignan managed to establish himself, by right of his wife, King of Jerusalem. He was still quite a young man, but he had earned for himself an evil name. The murderer of Patric, Earl of Salisbury, he had been banished by Henry II from his dominions in France; and the opinion of those who knew him found expression in the words of his brother Geoffrey, "Had they known me, the men who made my brother king would have made me a god."

Guy was king; but Raymond of Tripoli refused him his allegiance. Guy besieged him in Tiberias, and Raymond made a treaty with Saladin. But Saladin was now minded to seize a higher prey. He was master of Syria and Egypt: he was resolved that the Crescent should once more displace the Cross on the mosque of Omar. Pretexts for the war were almost superfluous; but he had an abundance of them in the ravages committed by barons of the Latin kingdom on the lands and the property of Moslems. Fifty thousand horsemen and a vast army on foot gathered under his standard, when he declared his intention of attacking Jerusalem; but their first assault was on the castle of Tiberias. On hearing these ominous tidings Raymond of Tripoli at once laid aside all thought of private quarrels. Hastening to Jerusalem he said that the safety of his own city was a very secondary matter, and earnestly besought Guy to confine himself to a strictly defensive war, which would soon reduce the invader to the extremity of distress. The advice was wise and good; but the grand master of the Templars fastened on the very nobleness of his self-sacrifice and the disinterestedness of his counsel as proof of some sinister design which they were intended to hide.

Had it been Baldwin III to whom he was speaking, the insinuation would have been thrust aside with scorn and disgust. To the mean mind of Guy it carried with it its own evidence; and it was resolved to meet the Saracen on ground of his own choosing. The troops of Saladin were already distressed by heat and thirst when they encountered the Latin army from Jerusalem. The issue of the first day's fighting was undecided; but the heat of a Syrian summer night was for the Christians rendered more terrible by the stifling smoke of woods set on fire by the orders of Saladin. Parched with thirst, and well knowing that on the event of that day depended the preservation of the Holy Sepulchre, the crusaders at sunrise rushed with their fierce war-cries on the enemy. Before them the golden glory of morning lit up the radiant shores of the tranquil sea where the Galilean fisherman had heard from the lips of Jesus of Nazareth the word of life.

But nearer still was a memorial yet more holy, a pledge of divine favor yet more assuring. On a hillock hard by was raised the relic of the true cross, and this hillock was many times a rallying point during this bloody day. There was little of generalship perhaps on either side; and where men are left to mere hard fighting, numbers must determine the issue. The hosts of Saladin far outnumbered those of the Latin chiefs; and for these retreat ended in massacre. The King and the grand master of the Templars were taken prisoners; the holy relic which had spurred them on to desperate exertion fell into the hands of the infidels.

The victory of Saladin was rich in its fruits. Tiberias was taken. Berytos, Acre, Caesarea, Jaffa opened their gates; Tyre alone was saved by the heroism of Conrad of Montferrat, brother of the first husband of Queen Sibylla. Not caring to undertake a regular siege, Saladin marched to Ascalon, and offered its defenders an honorable peace, which after some hesitation was accepted.

The rejection of Raymond's advice had left Jerusalem practically at the mercy of Saladin. It was crowded with people, but the garrison was scanty, and the armies which should have defended it were gone. Their presence would not, probably, have availed to give a different issue to the siege; but it must have added fearfully to its horrors. Saladin had made up his mind that the Latin kingdom must fall, and he would have fought on until either he or his enemies could fight no longer. Numbers, wealth, resources, military skill, instruments of war, all combined to give him advantages before which mere bravery must sooner or later go down; and protracted resistance meant nothing more than the infliction of useless misery.

Saladin may have been neither a saint nor a hero; but it cannot be denied that his temper was less fierce and his language more generous than that of the Christians who under Godfrey had deluged the city with blood. He had no wish, he said, so to defile a place hallowed by its associations for Moslems as well as Christians, and if the city were surrendered, he pledged himself not merely to furnish the inhabitants with the money which they might need, but even to provide them with new homes in Syria. But superstition and obstinacy are to all intents and purposes words of the same meaning. The offer, honorable to him who made and carrying no ignominy to those who might accept it, was rejected, and Saladin made a vow that entering the city as an armed conqueror he would offer up within it a sacrifice as awful as that by which the crusaders had celebrated their loathsome triumph. Most happily for others, most nobly for himself, he failed to keep this vow to the letter.

Fourteen days sufficed to bring the siege to an end. The Christians had done what they could to destroy the military engines of their enemies; the golden ornaments of the churches had been melted down and turned into money; but no solid advantage was gained by all their efforts. The conviction of the Christian that death brought salvation to the champions of the cross, the assurance of the Moslem that to those who fell fighting for the creed of Islam the gates of paradise were at once opened, only added to the desperation of the combatants and to the fearfulness of the carnage. At length the besieged discovered that the walls near the gate of St. Stephen had been undermined, and at once they abandoned all hope of safety except from miraculous intervention. Clergy and laity crowded into the churches, their fears quickened by the knowledge that the Greeks within the city were treating with the enemy.

The remembrance of Saladin's offer now came back with more persuasive power; but to the envoys whom they sent the stern answer was returned that he was under a vow to deal with the Christians as Godfrey and his fellows had dealt with the Saracens. Yet, conscious or unconscious of the inconsistency of his words with the oath which he professed to have sworn, he promised them his mercy if they would at once surrender the city. The besieged resolved to trust the word of the conqueror, as they could not resist his power. The agreement was made that the nobles and fighting men should be taken to Tyre, which still held out under Conrad; that the Latin inhabitants should be redeemed at the rate of ten crowns of gold for each man, five for each woman, one for each child; and that failing this ransom, they should remain slaves. On the sick and the helpless he waged no war; and although the Knights of the Hospital were among the most determined of his enemies, he would allow their brethren to remain for a year in their attendance on the sufferers who could not be moved away.

In the exasperation of a religious warfare now extended over nearly a century these terms were very merciful. It may be said that this mercy was the right of a people who submitted to the invader, and that in the days of Godfrey and Peter the Hermit the defenders had resisted to the last. It is enough to answer that the capitulation of the Latins was a superfluous ceremony and that Saladin knew it to be so, while, if the same submission had been offered to the first crusaders, it would have been sternly and fiercely refused.

Four days were allowed to the people to prepare for their departure. On the fifth they passed through the camp of the enemy, the women carrying or leading their children, the men bearing such of their household goods as they were able to move. On the approach of the Queen and her ladies in the garb and with the gestures of suppliants Saladin himself came forward, and with genuine courtesy addressed to them words of encouragement and consolation. Cheered by his generous language, they told him that for their lands, their houses, and their goods they cared nothing. Their prayer was that he would restore to them their fathers, their husbands, and their brothers. Saladin granted their request, added his alms for those who had been left orphans or destitute by the war, and remitted a portion of the ransom appointed for the poor. In this way the number of those who remained unredeemed was reduced to eleven or twelve thousand; and Saracenic slavery, although degrading, was seldom as cruel as the slavery which had but as yesterday been extinguished by the most fearful of recent wars.

The entry of Saladin into Jerusalem was accompanied by the usual signs of triumph. Amid the waving of banners and the clash of martial music he advanced to the Mosque of Omar, on the summit of which the Christian cross still flashed in the clear air. A wail of agony burst from the Christians who were present as this emblem was hurled down to the earth and dragged through the mire. For two days it underwent this indignity, while the mosque was purified from its defilements by streams of rosewater, and dedicated afresh to the worship of the one God adored by Islam. The crosses, the relics, the sacred vessels of the Christian sanctuaries, which had been carefully stowed away in four chests, had fallen into the hands of the conquerors, and it was the wish of Saladin to send them to the Caliph of the Prophet as the proudest trophies of his victory. Even this wish he generously consented to forego. The chests were left in the keeping of the patriarch, and the price put upon them, fifty-two thousand golden bezants, was paid by Richard of England.

Conrad still held out in Tyre, nor was he induced to surrender even when Saladin himself assailed its walls. The siege was raised; and the next personage to appear before its gates was Guy of Lusignan, who, having regained his freedom, insisted on being admitted as lord of the city. The grand master of the Templars seconded his demand. The reply was short and decisive. The people would own no other master than the gallant knight who had so nobly defended them. But the escape of Tyre had no effect on the general issue of the war. Town after town submitted to Saladin; and the long series of his triumphs closed when he entered the gates of Antioch.

Eighty-eight years had passed away since the crusaders of Godfrey and Tancred had stood triumphant on the walls of the Holy City; and during all those years the Latin kingdom had seldom rested from wars and forays, from feuds and dissensions of every kind. From the first it displayed no characteristics which could give it any stability; from the first it exhibited signs which foreboded its certain downfall.

It sanctified treachery, for it rested on the principle that no faith was to be kept with the unbeliever; and the sowing of wind by the constant breach of solemn compact made them reap the whirlwind. A right of pasturage round Paneas had been granted to the Mahometans by Baldwin III. When the ground was covered with their sheep the Christian troops burst in, murdered the shepherds, and drove away their flocks—not with the sanction, we may hope, of the most high-minded of the Latin kings of Jerusalem.

It recognized no title to property except in those who professed the faith of Christ, and the power to commit injustice with practical impunity tended still further to demoralize the people.

It gave full play to the passions of men in random wars and petty forays, while it did nothing to keep up or to promote either military science or the discipline without which that science becomes useless.

It was marked by an almost total lack of statesmanship. In a country so circumstanced a wise ruler would strain every nerve to conciliate the conquered people, to strengthen himself by alliances which should be firmly maintained and by treaties which should be scrupulously kept, to weaken such states as he might fail to win over to his friendship by anticipating combinations which might bring with them fatal dangers for his power. That the history of the Latin kingdom of Jerusalem presents a mournful and even ludicrous contrast to this picture it must surely be unnecessary to say. In the case of Egypt alone did the Latin kings show some sense of the course which prudence called upon them to take; and even here this course was followed with miserable indecision, and at last disgracefully abandoned through mere lust of gold.

It had to deal with an immorality not of its own creating, but which in mere regard to its own safety it should have striven to keep well in check. No such efforts were made, and the words of William of Tyre—even if taken with a qualification—when he speaks of the Latin women, point to a state of things which must involve grave and imminent peril.

It was the misfortune of this kingdom that it was called into being by troops of adventurers banded together—it cannot be said confederated—for a religious rather than a political purpose; in other words, for personal rather than for public ends. It started therefore without any principle of cohesion. The warriors who engaged in the enterprise might abandon it when they thought that they had fulfilled the conditions of their vow, and although the continuance of their efforts was indispensably needed for the military and political success of the undertaking.

The private and personal character of these enterprises led to the perpetuation and multiplication of private and personal interests, and thus to the endless divisions and feuds between the barons of the kingdom, which were a constant scandal and menace and which led frequently to deliberate treachery. It encouraged, or permitted, or was compelled to tolerate the growth of societies which arrogated to themselves an independent jurisdiction, and thus rendered impossible a central authority of sufficient coercive power. The origin of the military orders may have been in the highest degree edifying. The Knights Templars might begin as the humble guardians of the holy places: the Knights Hospitalers may have been the poor brothers of St. John bound to the service of the sick and helpless among the pilgrims of the cross. But in the land where they might at any time encounter a merciless or at the least a detested enemy, they were justified in bearing arms; the necessity of bearing arms involved the need of discipline; and the discipline of an enthusiastic fraternity cut off from the world and centred upon itself cannot fail to become formidable.

The natural strength of these orders was increased by immunities and privileges granted partly by the Latin kings of Jerusalem, but in greater part by the popes. The Hospitalers, as bestowing their goods to feed the poor and to entertain pilgrims, were freed from the obligation of paying tithe, or of giving heed to interdicts even if these were laid upon the whole country, while it was expressly asserted that no patriarch or prelate should dare to pass any sentence of excommunication against them. In other words, a society was called into existence directly antagonistic to the clergy, and an irreconcilable conflict of claims was the inevitable consequence. Nor can we be surprised to find the clergy complaining that the knights, not content with the immunities secured to themselves, gave shelter to persons who, not belonging to their order but lying under sentence of excommunication, sought to place themselves under their protection.

But if the Knights of the Hospital had thus their feuds with the clergy, they had feuds still more bitter with the rival order of the Templars. With different interests and different aims, the one sought to promote enterprises against which the other protested, or stickled about points of precedence when common decency called for harmonious action, or withheld its aid when that aid was indispensable for the very safety of the State. Thus we have the triple discord of the King and his barons struggling against the claims of the clergy, and the military orders in conflict with the barons and the clergy alike. Of a state so circumstanced the words are emphatically true that a house divided against itself shall not stand.



THE THIRD CRUSADE

A.D. 1189-1194

HENRY VON SYBEL

Although after the failure of the Second Crusade the interest felt by the western nations in the kingdom of Jerusalem, established by the first crusaders in 1099, had greatly diminished, still the news of the loss of the Holy City—which was taken by Saladin, Sultan of Egypt and Syria, in 1187—fell like a thunderbolt on men's minds. Once more the flame which had kindled the mystic war of God blazed high. "What a disgrace, what an affliction," cried Pope Urban III, "that the jewel which the second Urban won for Christendom should be lost by the third!" He vehemently exhorted the Church and all her faithful to join the war, worked day and night, prayed, sighed, and so wore himself out with grief and anger that he sickened and died in a few weeks. His successor, Gregory VIII, and afterward Pope Clement III, were inspired by the same feeling and exerted themselves for the great cause with untiring energy.

In 1185 a number of English barons had put on the cross on hearing of Saladin's menacing progress; toward the end of 1187 the heir to the throne, Richard, followed their example; some months later King Henry II had a meeting with his former enemy, Philip Augustus of France, at Gisors, where they vowed to abandon their earthly quarrels and become warriors of the everlasting God. Nearly the whole nobility and a number of the lower class of people were carried away by their example. King William of Sicily fitted out his fleet, and was only prevented by death from joining it himself. From Denmark, Scandinavian pilgrims thronged to Syria both by land and water. In Germany, now as formerly, the zeal was not so great, until in March, 1188, the emperor Frederick Barbarossa, at the age of near seventy, put on the cross, and by his ever firm and powerful will collected together a mass of nearly one hundred thousand pilgrims. All the western nations rose to arms.

The news of this enormous movement reached the East, and the ferocious war-cry of Europe was answered by a voice of defiance. Saladin had organized his dominions almost according to the western system. Under an oath of allegiance and service in war he granted to each of his emirs a town of feudal tenure; its surrounding land they again divided among their followers; the Sultan thus attached those wandering hordes of horsemen to the soil and kept those restless spirits permanently together. He then invoked the religious zeal of all the Mahometans with such success that volunteers flocked to his standard from every quarter.

These masses dispersed at the beginning of every winter, but on the return of fair weather they again collected in ever-increasing numbers. Saladin well knew the mutual hatred which divided the Greek Byzantines and the Latin Franks, and kept so securely alive in the Eastern Emperor, Isaac Angelus, the fear of the insolence of the western soldiers that he concluded an offensive and defensive alliance with Saladin against those who shared his own faith.

The leaders of the Third Crusade—Richard I ("the Lion-hearted"), King of England; Frederick I, surnamed "Barbarossa," of Germany, Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire; and Philip Augustus, King of France—were the most powerful monarchs of Europe. A halo of false romance and glory, however, surrounds this crusade, mainly by reason of the associations connecting it with the self-seeker Richard. In the real conduct of the crusaders appears a sordid greed glutting itself with atrocities as savage as those perpetrated under Godfrey of Bouillon a century before. In Richard the world now sees a destroying "hero," one of the scourges of mankind. The son of Henry II, Richard became King of England in 1189. His chief ambition appears to have been the spread of his own renown, and this aim he sought to achieve in Palestine. He raised moneys by the sale of titles, lands, etc., and then started for the Holy Land. Modern history presents him, as well as his colleagues and followers, divested of the glamour which for centuries hung about the Third Crusade, of which the only heroic figure on the Christian side is the likewise pitiable Barbarossa.

The whole East, from the Danube to the Indus, from the Caspian Sea to the sources of the Nile, prepared with one intent to withstand the great invasion of Europe. Amid cares and preparations which had reference to three-quarters of the globe, Saladin neglected his nearest enemy, the feeble remnant of the Christian States in Syria, which, although unimportant in themselves, were of great consequence as landing-places for the invading western nations during the approaching war. The small principalities of Antioch and Tripoli still existed, and in the midst of the Turkish forces the marquis Conrad of Montferrat still displayed the banner of the cross upon the ramparts of Tyre.

It seems as if in this instance Saladin had abandoned himself too much to the superb and easy carelessness of his nature. Hitherto he had not shrunk from the most strenuous exertions; but he was so certain of his victory that he neglected to strike the final blow. Not until the autumn of 1187 did he begin the siege of Tyre; and for the first time in his life he found a dangerous adversary in Conrad of Montferrat, a man of cool courage and keen determination, whose soul was unmoved by religious enthusiasm, and equally free from weakness or indecision; so that under his command the inhabitants of the city repulsed every attack with increasing assurance and resolution.

Saladin hereupon determined to try starvation, which a strict blockade by sea and land was to cause in the town; but in June, 1188, the Sicilian fleet appeared, gave the superiority by sea to the Christians, and brought relief to Tyre. The Sultan retreated, and marched through the defenceless provinces of Antioch and Tripoli, but there too he left the capitals in peace upon the arrival of the Sicilian fleet in their waters. The following summer he spent in taking the Frankish fortresses in Arabia Petraea, the possession of which was important to him in order to secure freedom of communication between Egypt and Syria.

Meanwhile the reinforcements from the West were pouring into the Christian seaport towns. In the first place, the two military and religious orders, the Templars and the Knights of St. John, had collected munitions of war of every kind from all their European possessions, and increased the number of their mercenaries to fourteen thousand men. King Guy[31] also had ransomed himself from captivity and had gone to Tripoli, where by degrees the remnant of the Syrian barons, and pilgrims of all nations, gathered round him. They took the right resolution to remain no longer inactive, but with the gigantic preparations in Europe in prospect, to begin the attack at once.

On August 28, 1189, Guy commenced the siege of the strong maritime fortress of Ptolemais (St. Jean d'Acre). A fleet from Pisa had already joined the Sicilian one; in October there arrived twelve thousand Danes and Friesians, and in November a number of Flemings, under the Count of Avesnes, French knights under the Bishop of Beauvais, and Thuringians, under their landgrave, Louis. Saladin, roused from his inactivity by these events, hastened to the spot with his army, and in his turn surrounded the Christian camp, which lay in a wide semicircle round Ptolemais, and was defended by strong intrenchments within and without. It formed an iron ring round the besieged town, which Saladin, spite of all his efforts, could not break through. Each wing of the position rested upon the sea, and was thus certain of its supplies, and able to protect the landing of reinforcements, which continually arrived in constantly increasing numbers—Italians, French, English and Germans, Normans, and Swedes. "If on one day we killed ten," said the Arabs, "on the next, a hundred more arrived fresh from the West."

The fighting was incessant by land and by sea, against the town and against the Sultan's camp. Sometimes the Egyptian fleet drove the Christian ships far out to sea; and Saladin could then succor the garrison with provisions and fresh troops, till new Frankish squadrons again surrounded the harbor, and only a few intrepid divers could steal through between the hostile ships. On land, too, now one side and now the other was in danger. One day the Sultan scaled the Christian intrenchments, and advanced close to the walls of the city, before the Franks rallied sufficiently to drive him back by a desperate attack; but they soon took their revenge in a night sortie, when they attacked the Sultan in his very tent, and he narrowly escaped by rapid flight. Against the town their progress was very slow, as the garrison, under an able and energetic commander, Bohaeddin, showed itself resolute and indefatigable. One week passed after another, and the condition of the Franks became painfully complicated. They could go neither backward nor forward, they could make no impression on the walls; nor could they re-embark in the face of an active enemy. There was no choice but to conquer or die; so preparations were made for a long sojourn; wooden barracks, and for the princes even stone houses were built, and a new hostile town arose all around Ptolemais. In spite of this the winter brought innumerable hardships. In that small space more than a hundred thousand men were crowded together, with insufficient shelter, and uncertain supplies of wretched food; pestilential diseases soon broke out, which swept away thousands, and were intensified by the exhalations from the heaps of dead. Saladin retreated from their deadly vicinity to more airy quarters on the adjacent hills; his troops also suffered from the severe weather, but were far better supplied than the Christians with water, provisions, and other comforts, as the caravans from Cairo and Bagdad met in their camp, and numbers of merchants displayed in glittering booths all kinds of eastern wares.

It was an unexampled assemblage of the forces of two quarters of the world round one spot, unimportant in itself, and chosen almost by accident. Our own times have seen a counterpart to it in the siege of Sebastopol, which, though in a totally different form, was a new act in the same great struggle between the East and the West. Happily the western nations did not derive their warlike stimulus from religious sources, and they displayed, if not their military, at any rate, their moral superiority, in the most brilliant manner.

Although, in the fight around Ptolemais, the superiority was doubtless on Saladin's side, there was a moment in which Europe threatened to oppose to the mighty Sultan an antagonist as great as himself. In May, 1189, the emperor Frederick IX marched out of Ratisbon with his army for Syria. He had already ruled thirty-seven years over Germany and Italy, and his life had been one of war and labor, of small results, but growing fame. He was born a ruler in the highest sense of the word; he possessed all the attributes of power; bold yet cautious, courageous and enduring, energetic and methodical, he towered proudly above all who surrounded him, and had the highest conception of his princely calling. But his ideas were beyond his time, and while he tried to open the way for a distant future, he was made to feel the penalty of running counter to the inclination of the present generation. It seemed to him unbearable that the Emperor, who was extolled by all the world as the defender of the right and the fountain-head of law, should be forced to bow before unruly vassals or unlimited ecclesiastical power. He had, chiefly from the study of the Roman law, conceived the idea of a state complete within itself, and strong in the name of the common weal, a complete contrast to the existing condition of Europe, where all the monarchies were breaking up, and the crowned priest reigned supreme over a crowd of petty princes.

Under these circumstances he appeared foreshadowing modern thoughts deep in the Middle Ages, like a fresh mountain breeze, dispersing the incense-laden atmosphere of the time. This discrepancy caused the greatness and the misfortune of the mighty Emperor. The current of his time set full against him. When, as the representative of the State, he enforced obedience to the law, he appeared to some an impious offender against the Holy Church; to others, a tyrant trampling on the general freedom; and while conquering in a hundred fights, he was driven from one position after another by the force of opinion. But so commanding was the energy, so powerful the earnestness, and so inexhaustible the resources of his nature that he was as terrible to his foes on the last day as on the first, passionless and pitiless, never distorted by cruelty, and never melted by pity, an iron defender of his imperial rights.

We can only guess at the reasons which may have induced a sovereign of this stamp to leave a sphere of domestic activity for the fantastic wars of the crusades. Once, in the midst of his Italian feud, when the deeds of Alexander the Great were read aloud to him, he exclaimed: "Happy Alexander, who didst never see Italy! happy I had I never been in Asia!" Whether piety or love of fame ultimately decided him, he felt within himself the energy to take a great decision, and at once proceeded to action. The aged Emperor once more displayed in this last effort the fulness of his powerful and ever-youthful nature. For the first time during these wars, since the armed pilgrimages had begun, Europe beheld a spirit conscious of their true object, and capable of carrying it out. The army was smaller than any of the former ones, consisting of twenty thousand knights and fifty thousand squires and foot soldiers; but it was guided by one inflexible, indomitable will. With strict discipline, the imperial leader drove all disorderly and useless persons out of his camp; he was always the first to face every obstacle or danger, and showed himself equal to all the political or military difficulties of the expedition. The Greek empire had to be traversed first, whose Emperor, Isaac, had allied himself with Saladin; but at the sight of these formidable masses he shrank in terror from any hostile attempt, and hastened to transport the German army across into Asia Minor.

There they hoped for a friendly reception from the Emir of Iconium, who was reported to have a leaning toward Christianity; but in the mean time the old ruler had been dethroned by his sons, who opposed the Germans with a strong force. They were destined to feel the weight of the German arm. After their mounted bowmen had harassed the Christian troops for a time with a shower of arrows, the Emperor broke their line of battle, and scattered them by a sudden attack of cavalry in all directions, while at the same moment Frederick's son unexpectedly scaled the walls of their city. The crusaders then marched in triumph to Cilicia; the Armenians already yielded submissively to a cessation of hostilities; and far and wide throughout Turkish Syria went the dread of Frederick's irresistible arms. Even Saladin himself, who had boldly defied the disorderly attacks of the hundreds of thousands before Ptolemais, now lost all hope, and announced to his emirs his intention of quitting Syria on Frederick's arrival, and retreating across the Euphrates.

On this every highway in the country became alive, the emirs quitted their towns, and began to fly with their families, their goods, and chattels, and hope rose high in the Christian camp. This honor was reserved for the Emperor; that which no other Frankish sword could achieve he had done by the mere shadow of his approach; he had forced from Saladin a confession of inferiority. But he was not destined to see the realization of his endeavors here, any more than in Europe. His army had entered Cilicia, and was preparing to cross the rapid mountain stream of the Seleph. On June 10, 1190, they marched slowly across the narrow bridge, and the Emperor, impatient to get to the front, urged his horse into the stream, intending to swim to the opposite shore. The raging waters suddenly seized him, and hurried him away before the eyes of the people. When he was drawn out, far down the river, he was a corpse.

Boundless lamentations resounded throughout the army; the most brilliant ornament and sole hope of Christendom was gone; the troops arrived at Antioch in a state of the deepest dejection. From thence a number of the pilgrims returned home, scattered and discouraged, and a pestilence broke out among the rest, which was fatal to the greater number of them. It seemed, says a chronicler, "as though the members would not outlive their head." The Emperor's son, Duke Frederick of Swabia, reached the camp before Ptolemais with five thousand men, instituted there the Order of the Teutonic Knights—who were destined hereafter to found a splendid dominion on the distant shores of the German Ocean—and soon afterward followed his father to the grave.

The highest hopes were soon destroyed by this lamentable downfall. It seemed as if a stern fate had resolved to give the Christian world a distant view of the possibility of victory; the great Emperor might have secured it, but the generation which had not understood him was doomed to misery and defeat. A second winter, with the same fearful additions of hunger and sickness, came upon the camp before Ptolemais, and the measure of misfortune was filled by renewed and bitter quarrels among the Frankish princes. King Guy was as incompetent as ever, and so utterly mismanaged the Christian cause that the marquis Conrad of Montferrat indignantly opposed him. Queen Sibylla, by marriage with whom Guy had gained possession of the crown, died just at this juncture. Conrad instantly declared that Sibylla's sister Eliza was the only rightful heir, and, as he held every step toward advancement to be laudable, did not for a moment scruple to elope with her from her husband, to marry her himself, and to lay claim to the crown.

Amid all this confusion and disaster the eyes of the crusaders turned with increasing anxiety toward the horizon, to catch a glimpse of the sails which were to bring to them two fresh leaders, the kings of France and of England. Their preparations had not been very rapid. Henry II of England had, even since his oath, got into a new quarrel with Philip Augustus of France, which only ended with his death, in 1189. His son and successor, Richard, whose zeal had led him to put up the cross earlier than the rest, instantly began to arrange the expedition with Philip. In his impetuous manner he exulted in the prospect of unheard-of triumphs; the government of England was hastily and insufficiently provided for during the absence of the King; above all, money was needed in great quantities, and raised by every expedient, good or bad. When someone remonstrated with the King concerning these extortions, he exclaimed, "I would sell London itself, if I could but find a purchaser." He legislated with the same inconsiderate vehemence as to the discipline and order of his army: murderers were to be buried alive on land, and at sea to be tied to the corpses of their victims and thrown into the water; thieves were to be tarred and feathered; and whoever gambled for money, be he king or baron, was to be dipped three times in the sea, or flogged naked before the whole army.

Richard led his army through France, and went on board his splendid fleet at Marseilles, while Philip sailed from Genoa in hired vessels. Half way to Sicily, however, Richard got tired of the sea voyage, landed near Rome, and journeyed with a small retinue through the Abruzzi and Calabria, already on the lookout for adventures, and often engaged in bloody quarrels with the peasants of the mountain villages. When he at last arrived in Sicily his unstable mind suddenly underwent a total change; a quarrel with the Sicilian King, Tancred, drove the Holy Sepulchre entirely out of his head. Now fighting, now negotiating, he stayed nine months at Messina—hated and feared by the inhabitants, who called him the Lion, the Savage Lion—deaf to the entreaties of his followers, who were eager to get to Syria, and heedless and defiant to all Philip Augustus' representations and demands.

At last the French King, losing patience, sailed without him, and arrived at Ptolemais in April, 1191. He was received with eager joy, but did not succeed in at all advancing the siege operations; for so many of the French pilgrims had preceded him that the army he brought was but small, and, though an adroit and cunning diplomatist, a tried and unscrupulous statesman, he lacked the rough soldierly vigor and bravery on which everything at that moment depended. At length Richard was again on his road, and again he allowed himself to be turned aside from his purpose. One of his ships, which bore his betrothed bride, had stranded on the Cyprian coast, and, in consequence of the hostility of the king of that island, had been very inhospitably received. Richard was instantly up in arms, declared war against the Comnene,[32] and conquered the whole island in a fortnight—an impromptu conquest, which was of the highest importance to the Christian party in the East for centuries after.

Still occupied in establishing a military colony of his knights, he was surprised by a visit from King Guy, of Jerusalem, who wished to secure the support of the dreaded monarch in his party contests at home. Guy complained to King Richard of the matrimonial offences of his rival, informed him that Philip Augustus had declared in favor of Conrad's claims, and on the spot secured the jealous adherence of the English monarch. He landed on June 8th at Ptolemais; the Christians celebrated his arrival by an illumination of the camp: and without a moment's delay, by his warlike ardor, he roused the whole army out of the state of apathy into which it had lately fallen. Day after day the walls of the city were energetically assailed on every side. On July 8th Saladin made his last attempt to raise the siege, by an attack on the Christian intrenchments; he was driven back with great loss, whereupon he permitted the besieged to capitulate. The town surrendered, with all its stores, after a siege of nearly three years' duration; the heroic defenders still remaining, about three thousand in number, were to be exchanged within the space of forty days, for two thousand captive Christians, and a ransom of two hundred thousand pieces of gold. The war, according to all reports, had by this time cost the crusaders above thirty thousand men.

Those among the pilgrims who were enthusiastic and devout now hoped their way would lead straight to the Holy Sepulchre. But it soon became manifest that the feeling which had prompted the crusades was dead forever. The news of the fall of Jerusalem had awakened a momentary excitement in the western nations, but had failed to stir up the old enthusiasm. On Syrian ground, the ideal faith rapidly gave way before substantial worldly considerations. Richard, Guy, and the Pisans, on the one hand; Philip, Conrad, and the Genoese, on the other, were already in open discord, which was so embittered by Richard's blustering fury that Philip Augustus embarked at the end of July for France, declaring upon his oath that he had no evil intentions toward England, but determined in his heart to let Richard feel his resentment on the first opportunity.

Meanwhile negotiations had begun between Saladin and Richard, which at first seemed to promise favorable results for the Christians, but unfortunately the day fixed for the exchange of the prisoners arrived before Saladin was able to procure the whole of the promised ransom. Richard, with the most brutal cruelty, slaughtered two thousand seven hundred prisoners in one day. Saladin magnanimously refused the demands of his exasperated followers for reprisals, but of course there could be no further question of a treaty, and the war recommenced with renewed fury. Richard led the army on an expedition against Ascalon, defeated Saladin on his march thither at Arsuf, and advanced amid incessant skirmishes and single combats, into which he recklessly plunged as though he had been a simple knight-errant. Accordingly his progress was so slow that Saladin had destroyed the town before his arrival and rendered its capture worthless to the Christians. Again negotiations were begun, but in January, 1192, Richard suddenly advanced upon Jerusalem, and by forced marches quickly reached Baitnuba, a village only a few miles distant from the Holy City. But there the Sultan had thrown up strong and extensive fortifications, and after long and anxious deliberations, the Franks returned toward Ascalon.

Meanwhile Conrad of Montferrat had placed himself in communication with Saladin, proposed to him point-blank an alliance against Richard, and by his prudent and consistent conduct daily grew in favor with the Sultan. The Christian camp, on the other hand, was filled with ever-increasing discord; and the difference between Richard and Conrad reached such a height that the Marquis went back to Ptolemais, and regularly besieged the Pisans, who were friendly to the English. Into such a miserable state of confusion had the great European enterprise fallen for want of a good leader and an adequate object.

In April news came from England that the King's brother, John, was in open rebellion against him and in alliance with France; whereupon Richard, greatly alarmed, informed the barons that he must prepare for his departure, and that they must definitively choose between Guy and Conrad as their future ruler. To his great disappointment, the actual necessities of the case triumphed over all party divisions, and all voted for Conrad, as the only able and fitting ruler in the country. Nothing remained for Richard but to accede to their wishes, and as a last act of favor toward Guy, to bestow upon him the crown of Cyprus. Conrad did not delay one moment signing the treaty with Saladin, and the Sultan left the new King in possession of the whole line of coast taken by the crusaders, and also ceded to him Jerusalem, where, however, he was to allow a Turkish mosque to exist; the other towns of the interior were then to be divided between the two sovereigns.

What a conclusion to a war in which the whole world had been engaged, and had made such incalculable efforts! After the only competent leader had been snatched from the Christians by an angry fate, the weakness and desultoriness of the others had destroyed the fruits of conquest. The host of devout pilgrims had beheld Jerusalem from Baitnuba, and had then been obliged to turn their backs upon the holy spot in impotent grief. Suddenly a nameless, bold, and cunning prince made his appearance in this great war between the two religions in the world, a man indifferent to religion or morality, who knew no other motive than selfishness, but who followed that with vigor and consistency, and had already stretched forth his hand to grasp the crown of the Holy Sepulchre.

But on the 28th of April Conrad was murdered by two Saracen assassins; many said, at King Richard's instigation, but more affirmed it was by the order of the Old Man of the Mountain, the head of a fanatical sect in Lebanon. Everything was again unsettled by this event. The Syrian barons instantly elected Count Henry of Champagne as their king; five days after Conrad's death he married his widow Eliza, and was perfectly ready to succeed to Conrad's alliance with Saladin, as well as to his wife. But King Richard, with his usual thoughtlessness, allowed the scandalous marriage, but prevented the reasonable diplomatic arrangement. As he had a certain liking for Henry, who was his nephew, he wished to conquer a few more provinces for him in a hurry, and to win some fresh laurels for himself at the same time; and accordingly began the war anew against Saladin. A Turkish fortress was taken, when more evil tidings arrived from England, and Richard announced that he could not remain a moment longer. The barons broke out in a general cry of indignation that he who had plunged them into danger should forsake them in the midst of it, and once more the vacillating King allowed himself to be diverted from his purpose. Again the Christians remained long inactive at Baitnuba, not daring to attack the city.

The ultimate reason for this delay was illustrative of the state of things. The leaders knew that the great mass of pilgrims would disperse as soon as their vows were fulfilled by the deliverance of the Holy Sepulchre; this would seal the destruction of the Frankish rule in Syria, should it happen before the treaty of peace with Saladin was concluded. Thus the ostensible object of the crusade could not be achieved without ruining Christianity in the East. It is impossible to give a stronger illustration of the hopelessness and internal conflict of all their views and endeavors at that time. They at last turned back disheartened to Ramla, where they were startled by the news that Saladin had unexpectedly assumed the offensive, attacked the important seaport town of Jaffa, and was probably already in possession of it.

Richard's warlike impetuosity once more burst forth. With a handful of followers he put to sea and hastened to Jaffa. When he came in sight of the harbor, the Turks were already inside the town, plundering in every direction, and assailing the last remains of the garrison. After a short reconnoitre Richard drove his vessel on shore, rushed with an echoing war-cry into the midst of the enemy's superior force, and by his mighty blows actually drove the Turks in terror and confusion out of the place. On the following day he encamped with contemptuous insolence outside the gates with a few hundred horsemen, when he was suddenly attacked by as many thousands. In one instant he was armed, drove back the foremost assailants, clove a Turk's head down to his shoulders, and then rode along the wavering front of the enemy, from one wing to the other. "Now," cried he, "who will dare a fight for the honor of God?" Henceforth his fame was such that, years after, Turkish mothers threatened their children with "King Richard is coming!" and Turkish riders asked their shying horses if "they saw the Lion-hearted King."

But these knightly deeds did not advance the war at all. It was fortunate for the Franks that Saladin's emirs were weary of the long strife, and the Sultan himself wished for the termination of hostilities in consequence of his failing health. The favorable terms of the former treaty, more especially the possession of Jerusalem, were of course no longer to be obtained. The Christians were obliged to be content, on August 30, 1192, with a three-years' armistice, according to which the sea-coast from Antioch to Joppa was to remain in the possession of the Christians, and the Franks obtained permission to go to Jerusalem as unarmed pilgrims, to pray at the Holy Sepulchre. Richard embarked directly, without even taking measures for ransoming the prisoners.

As may easily be imagined, the Christians were deeply exasperated by such a peace; the Turks rejoiced, and only Saladin looked forward with anxiety to the future, and feared dangerous consequences from the duration of even the smallest Christian dominion in the East. The most active and friendly intercourse, rarely disturbed by suspicion, soon began between the two nations. On the very scene of the struggle mutual hatred had subsided, commercial relations were formed, and political negotiations soon followed. In the place of the mystic trophy which was the object of the religious war, Europe had gained an immense extension of worldly knowledge and of wealth from the struggle of a hundred years.



THE TEUTONIC KNIGHTS

THEIR ORGANIZATION AND HISTORY

A.D. 1190-1809

F.C. WOODHOUSE

Scarcely less renowned than the Knights Templars, the Teutonic Knights carried the spirit and traditions of the great military religious orders of the Middle Ages far into the modern period. No earlier date for the foundation of the order than 1190 is given on recognized authority, its actual beginning, like that of the other orders of its kind, being humble and obscure.