Memoirs of Popular Delusions Vol. 2
by Charles Mackay
Hypertext Meanings and Commentaries
from the Encyclopedia of the Self
by Mark Zimmerman

MILLOT

VOL II.

CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME.

THE CRUSADES
THE WITCH MANIA
THE SLOW POISONERS
HAUNTED HOUSES

THE CRUSADES
....

They heard, and up they sprung upon the wing
Innumerable. As when the potent rod
Of Amram's son, in Egypt's evil day,
Waved round the coast, up call'd a pitchy cloud
Of locusts, warping on the eastern wind
That o'er the realm of impious Pharaoh hung
Like night, and darken'd all the realm of Nile,
So numberless were they.   *    *    *
*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *
All in a moment through the gloom were seen
Ten thousand banners rise into the air,
With orient colours waving. With them rose
A forest huge of spears; and thronging helms
Appear'd, and serried shields, in thick array,
Of depth immeasurable.

Paradise Lost.

Every age has its peculiar folly -- some scheme, project, or
phantasy into which it plunges, spurred on either by the love of gain,
the necessity of excitement, or the mere force of imitation. Failing
in these, it has some madness, to which it is goaded by political or
religious causes, or both combined. Every one of these causes
influenced the Crusades, and conspired to render them the most
extraordinary instance upon record of the extent to which popular
enthusiasm can be carried. History in her solemn page informs us, that
the crusaders were but ignorant and savage men, that their motives
were those of bigotry unmitigated, and that their pathway was one of
blood and tears. Romance, on the other hand, dilates upon their piety
and heroism and pourtrays in her most glowing and impassioned hues
their virtue and magnanimity, the imperishable honour they acquired
for themselves, and the great services they rendered to Christianity.
In the following pages we shall ransack the stores of both, to
discover the true spirit that animated the motley multitude who took
up arms in the service of the Cross, leaving history to vouch for
facts, but not disdaining the aid of contemporary poetry and romance
to throw light upon feelings, motives, and opinions.

In order to understand thoroughly the state of public feeling in
Europe at the time when Peter the Hermit preached the holy war, it
will be necessary to go back for many years anterior to that event. We
must make acquaintance with the pilgrims of the eighth, ninth, and
tenth centuries, and learn the tales they told of the dangers they had
passed, and the wonders they had seen. Pilgrimages to the Holy Land
seem at first to have been undertaken by converted Jews, and by
Christian devotees of lively imagination, pining with a natural
curiosity to visit the scenes which of all others were most
interesting in their eyes. The pious and the impious alike flocked to
Jerusalem, -- the one class to feast their sight on the scenes
hallowed by the life and sufferings of their Lord, and the other,
because it soon became a generally received opinion, that such a
pilgrimage was sufficient to rub off the long score of sins, however
atrocious. Another and very numerous class of pilgrims were the idle
and roving, who visited Palestine then as the moderns visit Italy or
Switzerland now, because it was the fashion, and because they might
please their vanity by retailing, on their return, the adventures they
had met with. But the really pious formed the great majority. Every
year their numbers increased, until at last they became so numerous as
to be called the "armies of the Lord." Full of enthusiasm, they set
the danger and difficulty of the way at defiance, and lingered with
holy rapture on every scene described in the Evangelists. To them it
was bliss indeed to drink the clear waters of the Jordan, or be
baptized in the same stream where John had baptized the Saviour. They
wandered with awe and pleasure in the purlieus of the Temple, on the
solemn Mount of Olives, or the awful Calvary, where a God had bled for
sinful men. To these pilgrims every object was precious. Relics were
eagerly sought after; flagons of water from Jordan, or paniers of
mould from the hill of the Crucifixion, were brought home, and sold at
extravagant prices to churches and monasteries. More apocryphical
relics, such as the wood of the true cross, the tears of the Virgin
Mary, the hems of her garments, the toe-nails and hair of the Apostles
-- even the tents that Paul had helped to manufacture -- were
exhibited for sale by the knavish in Palestine, and brought back to
Europe "with wondrous cost and care." A grove of a hundred oaks would
not have furnished all the wood sold in little morsels as remnants of
the true cross; and the tears of Mary, if collected together, would
have filled a cistern.

For upwards of two hundred years the pilgrims met with no
impediment in Palestine. The enlightened Haroun Al Reschid, and his
more immediate successors, encouraged the stream which brought so much
wealth into Syria, and treated the wayfarers with the utmost courtesy.
The race of Fatemite caliphs, -- who, although in other respects as
tolerant, were more distressed for money, or more unscrupulous in
obtaining it, than their predecessors of the house of Abbas, --
imposed a tax of a bezant for each pilgrim that entered Jerusalem.
This was a serious hardship upon the poorer sort, who had begged their
weary way across Europe, and arrived at the bourne of all their hopes
without a coin. A great outcry was immediately raised, but still the
tax was rigorously levied. The pilgrims unable to pay were compelled
to remain at the gate of the holy city until some rich devotee
arriving with his train, paid the tax and let them in. Robert of
Normandy, father of William the Conqueror, who, in common with many
other nobles of the highest rank, undertook the pilgrimage, found on
his arrival scores of pilgrims at the gate, anxiously expecting his
coming to pay the tax for them. Upon no occasion was such a boon
refused.

The sums drawn from this source were a mine of wealth to the
Moslem governors of Palestine, imposed as the tax had been at a time
when pilgrimages had become more numerous than ever. A strange idea
had taken possession of the popular mind at the close of the tenth and
commencement of the eleventh century. It was universally believed that
the end of the world was at hand; that the thousand years of the
Apocalypse were near completion, and that Jesus Christ would descend
upon Jerusalem to judge mankind. All Christendom was in commotion. A
panic terror seized upon the weak, the credulous, and the guilty, who
in those days formed more than nineteen twentieths of the population.
Forsaking their homes, kindred, and occupation, they crowded to
Jerusalem to await the coming of the Lord, lightened, as they
imagined, of a load of sin by their weary pilgrimage. To increase the
panic, the stars were observed to fall from heaven, earthquakes to
shake the land, and violent hurricanes to blow down the forests. All
these, and more especially the meteoric phenomena, were looked upon as
the forerunners of the approaching judgments. Not a meteor shot
athwart the horizon that did not fill a district with alarm, and send
away to Jerusalem a score of pilgrims, with staff in hand and wallet
on their back, praying as they went for the remission of their sins.
Men, women, and even children, trudged in droves to the holy city, in
expectation of the day when the heavens would open, and the Son of God
descend in his glory. This extraordinary delusion, while it augmented
the numbers, increased also the hardships of the pilgrims. Beggars
became so numerous on all the highways between the west of Europe and
Constantinople that the monks, the great alms-givers upon these
occasions, would have brought starvation within sight of their own
doors, if they had not economized their resources, and left the
devotees to shift for themselves as they could. Hundreds of them were
glad to subsist upon the berries that ripened by the road, who, before
this great flux, might have shared the bread and flesh of the
monasteries.

But this was not the greatest of their difficulties. On their
arrival in Jerusalem they found that a sterner race had obtained
possession of the Holy Land. The caliphs of Bagdad had been succeeded
by the harsh Turks of the race of Seljook, who looked upon the
pilgrims with contempt and aversion. The Turks of the eleventh century
were more ferocious and less scrupulous than the Saracens of the
tenth. They were annoyed at the immense number of pilgrims who overran
the country, and still more so because they showed no intention of
quitting it. The hourly expectation of the last judgment kept them
waiting; and the Turks, apprehensive of being at last driven from the
soil by the swarms that were still arriving, heaped up difficulties in
their way. Persecution of every kind awaited them. They were
plundered, and beaten with stripes, and kept in suspense for months at
the gates of Jerusalem, unable to pay the golden bezant that was to
facilitate their entrance.

When the first epidemic terror of the day of judgment began to
subside, a few pilgrims ventured to return to Europe, their hearts big
with indignation at the insults they had suffered. Everywhere as they
passed they related to a sympathizing auditory the wrongs of
Christendom. Strange to say, even these recitals increased the mania
for pilgrimage. The greater the dangers of the way, the more chance
that sins of deep dye would be atoned for. Difficulty and suffering
only heightened the merit, and fresh hordes issued from every town and
village, to win favour in the sight of Heaven by a visit to the holy
sepulchre. Thus did things continue during the whole of the eleventh
century.

The train that was to explode so fearfully was now laid, and there
wanted but the hand to apply the torch. At last the man appeared upon
the scene. Like all who have ever achieved so great an end, Peter the
hermit was exactly suited to the age; neither behind it, nor in
advance of it; but acute enough to penetrate its mystery ere it was
discovered by any other. Enthusiastic, chivalrous, bigoted, and, if
not insane, not far removed from insanity, he was the very prototype
of the time. True enthusiasm is always persevering and always
eloquent, and these two qualities were united in no common degree in
the person of this extraordinary preacher. He was a monk of Amiens,
and ere he assumed the hood had served as a soldier. He is represented
as having been ill favoured and low in stature, but with an eye of
surpassing brightness and intelligence. Having been seized with the
mania of the age, he visited Jerusalem, and remained there till his
blood boiled to see the cruel persecution heaped upon the devotees. On
his return home he shook the world by the eloquent story of their
wrongs.

Before entering into any further details of the astounding results
of his preaching, it will be advisable to cast a glance at the state
of the mind of Europe, that we may understand all the better the
causes of his success. First of all, there was the priesthood, which,
exercising as it did the most conspicuous influence upon the fortunes
of society, claims the largest share of attention. Religion was the
ruling idea of that day, and the only civiliser capable of taming such
wolves as then constituted the flock of the faithful. The clergy were
all in all; and though they kept the popular mind in the most slavish
subjection with regard to religious matters, they furnished it with
the means of defence against all other oppression except their own. In
the ecclesiastical ranks were concentrated all the true piety, all the
learning, all the wisdom of the time; and, as a natural consequence, a
great portion of power, which their very wisdom perpetually incited
them to extend. The people knew nothing of kings and nobles, except in
the way of injuries inflicted. The first ruled for, or more properly
speaking against, the barons, and the barons only existed to brave the
power of the kings, or to trample with their iron heels upon the neck
of prostrate democracy. The latter had no friend but the clergy, and
these, though they necessarily instilled the superstition from which
they themselves were not exempt, yet taught the cheering doctrine that
all men were equal in the sight of heaven. Thus, while Feudalism told
them they had no rights in this world, Religion told them they had
every right in the next. With this consolation they were for the time
content, for political ideas had as yet taken no root. When the
clergy, for other reasons, recommended the Crusade, the people joined
in it with enthusiasm. The subject of Palestine filled all minds; the
pilgrims' tales of two centuries warmed every imagination; and when
their friends, their guides, and their instructors preached a war so
much in accordance with their own prejudices and modes of thinking,
the enthusiasm rose into a frenzy.

But while religion inspired the masses, another agent was at work
upon the nobility. These were fierce and lawless; tainted with every
vice, endowed with no virtue, and redeemed by one good quality alone,
that of courage. The only religion they felt was the religion of fear.
That and their overboiling turbulence alike combined to guide them to
the Holy Land. Most of them had sins enough to answer for. They lived
with their hand against every man; and with no law but their own
passions. They set at defiance the secular power of the clergy, but
their hearts quailed at the awful denunciations of the pulpit with
regard to the life to come. War was the business and the delight of
their existence; and when they were promised remission of all their
sins upon the easy condition of following their favourite bent, is it
to be wondered at that they rushed with enthusiasm to the onslaught,
and became as zealous in the service of the Cross as the great
majority of the people, who were swayed by more purely religious
motives? Fanaticism and the love of battle alike impelled them to the
war, while the kings and princes of Europe had still another motive
for encouraging their zeal. Policy opened their eyes to the great
advantages which would accrue to themselves, by the absence of so many
restless, intriguing, and blood-thirsty men, whose insolence it
required more than the small power of royalty to restrain within due
bounds. Thus every motive was favourable to the Crusades. Every class
of society was alike incited to join or encourage the war; kings and
the clergy by policy, the nobles by turbulence and the love of
dominion, and the people by religious zeal and the concentrated
enthusiasm of two centuries, skilfully directed by their only
instructors.

It was in Palestine itself that Peter the Hermit first conceived
the grand idea of rousing the powers of Christendom to rescue the
Christians of the East from the thraldom of the Mussulmans, and the
sepulchre of Jesus from the rude hands of the infidel. The subject
engrossed his whole mind. Even in the visions of the night he was full
of it. One dream made such an impression upon him, that he devoutly
believed the Saviour of the world himself appeared before him, and
promised him aid and protection in his holy undertaking. If his zeal
had ever wavered before, this was sufficient to fix it for ever.

Peter, after he had performed all the penances and duties of his
pilgrimage, demanded an interview with Simeon, the Patriarch of the
Greek Church at Jerusalem. Though the latter was a heretic in Peter's
eyes, yet he was still a Christian, and felt as acutely as himself for
the persecutions heaped by the Turks upon the followers of Jesus. The
good prelate entered fully into his views, and, at his suggestion,
wrote letters to the Pope, and to the most influential monarchs of
Christendom, detailing the sorrows of the faithful, and urging them to
take up arms in their defence. Peter was not a laggard in the work.
Taking an affectionate farewell of the Patriarch, he returned in all
haste to Italy. Pope Urban II. occupied the apostolic chair. It was at
that time far from being an easy seat. His predecessor, Gregory, had
bequeathed him a host of disputes with the Emperor Henry IV. of
Germany, and he had made Philip I. of France his enemy by his
strenuous opposition to an adulterous connexion formed by that
monarch. So many dangers encompassed him about, that the Vatican was
no secure abode, and he had taken refuge in Apulia, under the
protection of the renowned Robert Guiscard. Thither Peter appears to
have followed him, though in what spot their meeting took place is not
stated with any precision by ancient chroniclers or modern historians.
Urban received him most kindly; read, with tears in his eyes, the
epistle from the Patriarch Simeon, and listened to the eloquent story
of the Hermit with an attention which showed how deeply he sympathised
with the woes of the Christian church. Enthusiasm is contagious, and
the Pope appears to have caught it instantly from one whose zeal was
so unbounded. Giving the Hermit full powers, he sent him abroad to
preach the holy war to all the nations and potentates of Christendom.
The Hermit preached, and countless thousands answered to his call.
France, Germany, and Italy started at his voice, and prepared for the
deliverance of Zion. One of the early historians of the Crusade, who
was himself an eye-witness of the rapture of Europe, [Guibert de
Nogent] describes the personal appearance of the Hermit at this time.
He says, that there appeared to be something of divine in every thing
which he said or did. The people so highly reverenced him, that they
plucked hairs from the mane of his mule, that they might keep them as
relics. While preaching, he wore in general a woollen tunic, with a
dark-coloured mantle, which fell down to his heels. His arms and feet
were bare, and he ate neither flesh nor bread, supporting himself
chiefly upon fish and wine. "He set out," says the chronicler, "from
whence I know not; but we saw him passing through the towns and
villages, preaching every where, and the people surrounding him in
crowds, loading him with offerings, and celebrating his sanctity with
such great praises that I never remember to have seen such honours
bestowed upon any one." Thus he went on, untired, inflexible, and full
of devotion, communicating his own madness to his hearers, until
Europe was stirred from its very depths.

While the Hermit was appealing with such signal success to the
people, the Pope appealed with as much success to those who were to
become the chiefs and leaders of the expedition. His first step was to
call a council at Placentia, in the autumn of the year 1095. Here, in
the assembly of the clergy, the Pope debated the grand scheme, and
gave audience to emissaries who had been sent from Constantinople by
the Emperor of the East to detail the progress made by the Turks in
their design of establishing themselves in Europe. The clergy were of
course unanimous in support of the Crusade, and the council separated,
each individual member of it being empowered to preach it to his
people.

But Italy could not be expected to furnish all the aid required;
and the Pope crossed the Alps to inspire the fierce and powerful
nobility and chivalrous population of Gaul. His boldness in entering
the territory, and placing himself in the power of his foe, King
Philip of France, is not the least surprising feature of his mission.
Some have imagined that cool policy alone actuated him, while others
assert, that it was mere zeal, as warm and as blind as that of Peter
the Hermit. The latter opinion seems to be the true one. Society did
not calculate the consequences of what it was doing. Every man seemed
to act from impulse only; and the Pope, in throwing himself into the
heart of France, acted as much from impulse as the thousands who
responded to his call. A council was eventually summoned to meet him
at Clermont, in Auvergne, to consider the state of the church, reform
abuses, and, above all, make preparations for the war. It was in the
midst of an extremely cold winter, and the ground was covered with
snow. During seven days the council sat with closed doors, while
immense crowds from all parts of France flocked into the town, in
expectation that the Pope himself would address the people. All the
towns and villages for miles around were filled with the multitude;
even the fields were encumbered with people, who, unable to procure
lodging, pitched their tents under the trees and by the way-side. All
the neighbourhood presented the appearance of a vast camp.

During the seven days' deliberation, a sentence of excommunication
was passed upon King Philip for adultery with Bertrade de Montfort,
Countess of Anjou, and for disobedience to the supreme authority of
the apostolic see. This bold step impressed the people with reverence
for so stern a church, which in the discharge of its duty showed
itself no respecter of persons. Their love and their fear were alike
increased, and they were prepared to listen with more intense devotion
to the preaching of so righteous and inflexible a pastor. The great
square before the cathedral church of Clermont became every instant
more densely crowded as the hour drew nigh when the Pope was to
address the populace. Issuing from the church in his frill canonicals,
surrounded by his cardinals and bishops in all the splendour of Romish
ecclesiastical costume, the Pope stood before the populace on a high
scaffolding erected for the occasion, and covered with scarlet cloth.
A brilliant array of bishops and cardinals surrounded him; and among
them, humbler in rank, but more important in the world's eye, the
Hermit Peter, dressed in his simple and austere habiliments.
Historians differ as to whether or not Peter addressed the crowd, but
as all agree that he was present, it seems reasonable to suppose that
he spoke. But it was the oration of the Pope that was most important.
As he lifted up his hands to ensure attention, every voice immediately
became still. He began by detailing the miseries endured by their
brethren in the Holy Land; how the plains of Palestine were desolated
by the outrageous heathen, who with the sword and the firebrand
carried wailing into the dwellings and flames into the possessions of
the faithful; how Christian wives and daughters were defiled by pagan
lust; how the altars of the true God were desecrated, and the relics
of the saints trodden under foot. "You," continued the eloquent
pontiff, (and Urban the Second was one of the most eloquent men of the
day,) "you, who hear me, and who have received the true faith, and
been endowed by God with power, and strength, and greatness of soul,
-- whose ancestors have been the prop of Christendom, and whose kings
have put a barrier against the progress of the infidel, -- I call upon
you to wipe off these impurities from the face of the earth, and lift
your oppressed fellow-christians from the depths into which they have
been trampled. The sepulchre of Christ is possessed by the heathen,
the sacred places dishonoured by their vileness. Oh, brave knights and
faithful people! offspring of invincible fathers! ye will not
degenerate from your ancient renown. Ye will not be restrained from
embarking in this great cause by the tender ties of wife or little
ones, but will remember the words of the Saviour of the world himself,
'Whosoever loves father and mother more than me is not worthy of me.
Whosoever shall abandon for my name's sake his house, or his brethren,
or his sisters, or his father, or his mother, or his wife, or his
children, or his lands, shall receive a hundredfold, and shall inherit
eternal life.'"

The warmth of the pontiff communicated itself to the crowd, and
the enthusiasm of the people broke out several times ere he concluded
his address. He went on to pourtray, not only the spiritual but the
temporal advantages, that should accrue to those who took up arms in
the service of the Cross. Palestine was, he said, a land flowing with
milk and honey, and precious in the sight of God, as the scene of the
grand events which had saved mankind. That land, he promised, should
be divided among them. Moreover, they should have full pardon for all
their offences, either against God or man. "Go, then," he added, "in
expiation of your sins; and go assured, that after this world shall
have passed away, imperishable glory shall be yours in the world which
is to come." The enthusiasm was no longer to be restrained, and loud
shouts interrupted the speaker; the people exclaiming as if with one
voice, "Dieu le veult! Dieu le veult!" With great presence of mind
Urban took advantage of the outburst, and as soon as silence was
obtained, continued: "Dear brethren, to-day is shown forth in you that
which the Lord has said by his evangelist, 'When two or three are
gathered together in my name, there will I be in the midst of them to
bless them.' If the Lord God had not been in your souls, you would not
all have pronounced the same words; or rather God himself pronounced
them by your lips, for it was He that put them in your hearts. Be
they, then, your war-cry in the combat, for those words came forth
from God. Let the army of the Lord when it rushes upon His enemies
shout but that one cry, 'Dieu le veult! Dieu le veult!'  Let whoever
is inclined to devote himself to this holy cause make it a solemn
engagement, and bear the cross of the Lord either on his breast or his
brow till he set out, and let him who is ready to begin his march
place the holy emblem on his shoulders, in memory of that precept of
our Saviour, 'He who does not take up his cross and follow me is not
worthy of me.'"

The news of this council spread to the remotest parts of Europe in
an incredibly short space of time. Long before the fleetest horseman
could have brought the intelligence it was known by the people in
distant provinces, a fact which was considered as nothing less than
supernatural. But the subject was in everybody's mouth, and the minds
of men were prepared for the result. The enthusiastic only asserted
what they wished, and the event tallied with their prediction. This
was, however, quite enough in those days for a miracle, and as a
miracle every one regarded it.

For several months after the council of Clermont, France and
Germany presented a singular spectacle. The pious, the fanatic, the
needy, the dissolute, the young and the old, even women and children,
and the halt and lame, enrolled themselves by hundreds. In every
village the clergy were busied in keeping up the excitement, promising
eternal rewards to those who assumed the red cross, and fulminating
the most awful denunciations against all the worldly-minded who
refused or even hesitated. Every debtor who joined the crusade was
freed by the papal edict from the claims of his creditors; outlaws of
every grade were made equal with the honest upon the same conditions.
The property of those who went was placed under the protection of the
church, and St. Paul and St. Peter themselves were believed to descend
from their high abode, to watch over the chattels of the absent
pilgrims. Signs and portents were seen in the air to increase the
fervour of the multitude. An aurora-borealis of unusual brilliancy
appeared, and thousands of the crusaders came out to gaze upon it,
prostrating themselves upon the earth in adoration. It was thought to
be a sure prognostic of the interposition of the Most High; and a
representation of his armies fighting with and overthrowing the
infidels. Reports of wonders were everywhere rife. A monk had seen two
gigantic warriors on horseback, the one representing a Christian and
the other a Turk, fighting in the sky with flaming swords, the
Christian of course overcoming the Paynim. Myriads of stars were said
to have fallen from heaven, each representing the fall of a Pagan foe.
It was believed at the same time that the Emperor Charlemagne would
rise from the grave, and lead on to victory the embattled armies of
the Lord. A singular feature of the popular madness was the enthusiasm
of the women. Everywhere they encouraged their lovers and husbands to
forsake all things for the holy war. Many of them burned the sign of
the cross upon their breasts and arms, and coloured the wound with a
red dye, as a lasting memorial of their zeal. Others, still more
zealous, impressed the mark by the same means upon the tender limbs of
young children and infants at the breast.

Guibert de Nogent tells of a monk who made a large incision upon
his forehead in the form of a cross, which he coloured with some
powerful ingredient, telling the people that an angel had done it when
he was asleep. This monk appears to have been more of a rogue than a
fool, for he contrived to fare more sumptuously than any of his
brother pilgrims, upon the strength of his sanctity. The crusaders
everywhere gave him presents of food and money, and he became quite
fat ere he arrived at Jerusalem, notwithstanding the fatigues of the
way. If he had acknowledged in the first place that he had made the
wound himself, he would not have been thought more holy than his
fellows; but the story of the angel was a clincher.

All those who had property of any description rushed to the mart
to change it into hard cash. Lands and houses could be had for a
quarter of their value, while arms and accoutrements of war rose in
the same proportion. Corn, which had been excessively dear in
anticipation of a year of scarcity, suddenly became plentiful; and
such was the diminution in the value of provisions, that seven sheep
were sold for five deniers.[Guibert de Nogent] The nobles mortgaged
their estates for mere trifles to Jews and unbelievers, or conferred
charters of immunity upon the towns and communes within their fiefs,
for sums which, a few years previously, they would have rejected with
disdain. The farmer endeavoured to sell his plough, and the artisan
his tools, to purchase a sword for the deliverance of Jerusalem. Women
disposed of their trinkets for the same purpose. During the spring and
summer of this year (1096) the roads teemed with crusaders, all
hastening to the towns and villages appointed as the rendezvous of the
district. Some were on horseback, some in carts, and some came down
the rivers in boats and rafts, bringing their wives and children, all
eager to go to Jerusalem. Very few knew where Jerusalem was. Some
thought it fifty thousand miles away, while others imagined that it
was but a month's journey, while at sight of every town or castle, the
children exclaimed, "Is that Jerusalem ? Is that the city ?"[Guibert
de Nogent]  Parties of knights and nobles might be seen travelling
eastward, and amusing themselves as they went with the knightly
diversion of hawking to lighten the fatigues of the way.

Guibert de Nogent, who did not write from hearsay, but from actual
observation, says, the enthusiasm was so contagious, that when any one
heard the orders of the Pontiff, he went instantly to solicit his
neighbours and friends to join with him in "the way of God," for so
they called the proposed expedition. The Counts Palatine were full of
the desire to undertake the journey, and all the inferior knights were
animated with the same zeal. Even the poor caught the flame so
ardently, that no one paused to think of the inadequacy of his means,
or to consider whether he ought to yield up his house and his vine and
his fields. Each one set about selling his property, at as low a price
as if he had been held in some horrible captivity, and sought to pay
his ransom without loss of time. Those who had not determined upon the
journey, joked and laughed at those who were thus disposing of their
goods at such ruinous prices, prophesying that the expedition would be
miserable and their return worse. But they held this language only for
a day. The next, they were suddenly seized with the same frenzy as the
rest. Those who had been loudest in their jeers gave up all their
property for a few crowns, and set out with those they had so laughed
at a few hours before. In most cases the laugh was turned against
them, for when it became known that a man was hesitating, his more
zealous neighbouts sent him a present of a knitting needle or a
distaff, to show their contempt of him. There was no resisting this,
so that the fear of ridicule contributed its fair contingent to the
armies of the Lord.

Another effect of the crusade was, the religious obedience with
which it inspired the people and the nobility for that singular
institution "The Truce of God."  At the commencement of the eleventh
century, the clergy of France, sympathizing for the woes of the
people, but unable to diminish them, by repressing the rapacity and
insolence of the feudal chiefs, endeavoured to promote universal
good-will by the promulgation of the famous "Peace of God." All who
conformed to it bound themselves by oath not to take revenge for any
injury, not to enjoy the fruits of property usurped from others, nor
to use deadly weapons; in reward of which they would receive remission
of all their sins. However benevolent the intention of this "Peace,"
it led to nothing but perjury, and violence reigned as uncontrolled as
before. In the year 1041 another attempt was made to soften the angry
passions of the semi-barbarous chiefs, and the "Truce of God" was
solemnly proclaimed. The truce lasted from the Wednesday evening to
the Monday morning of every week, in which interval it was strictly
forbidden to recur to violence on any pretext, or to seek revenge for
any injury. It was impossible to civilize men by these means; few even
promised to become peaceable for so unconscionable a period as five
days a week; or, if they did, they made ample amends on the two days
left open to them. The truce was afterwards shortened from the
Saturday evening to the Monday morning; but little or no diminution of
violence and bloodshed was the consequence. At the council of
Clermont, Urban II. again solemnly pro- claimed the truce. So strong
was the religious feeling, that every one hastened to obey. All minor
passions disappeared before the grand passion of crusading; the noble
ceased to oppress, the robber to plunder, and the people to complain;
but one idea was in all hearts, and there seemed to be no room for any
other.

The encampments of these heterogeneous multitudes offered a
singular aspect. Those vassals who ranged themselves under the banners
of their lord, erected tents around his castle; while those who
undertook the war on their own account, constructed booths and huts in
the neighbourhood of the towns or villages, preparatory to their
joining some popular leader of the expedition. The meadows of France
were covered with tents. As the belligerents were to have remission of
all their sins on their arrival in Palestine, hundreds of them gave
themselves up to the most unbounded licentiousness: the courtezan,
with the red cross upon her shoulders, plied her shameless trade with
sensual pilgrims, without scruple on either side: the lover of good
cheer gave loose rein to his appetite, and drunkenness and debauchery
flourished. Their zeal in the service of the Lord was to wipe out all
faults and follies, and they had the same surety of salvation as the
rigid anchorite. This reasoning had charms for the ignorant, and the
sounds of lewd revelry and the voice of prayer rose at the same
instant from the camp.

It is now time to speak of the leaders of the expedition. Great
multitudes ranged themselves under the command of Peter the Hermit,
whom, as the originator, they considered the most appropriate leader
of the war. Others joined the banner of a bold adventurer, whom
history has dignified with no other name than that of Gautier sans
Avoir, or Walter the Pennyless, but who is represented as having been
of noble family, and well skilled in the art of war. A third multitude
from Germany flocked around the standard of a monk, named Gottschalk,
of whom nothing is known, except that he was a fanatic of the deepest
dye. All these bands, which together are said to have amounted to
three hundred thousand men, women, and children, were composed of the
vilest rascality of Europe. Without discipline, principle, or true
courage, they rushed through the nations like a pestilence, spreading
terror and death wherever they went. The first multitude that set
forth was led by Walter the Pennyless early in the spring of 1096,
within a very few months after the Council of Clermont. Each man of
that irregular host aspired to be his own master: like their nominal
leader, each was poor to penury, and trusted for subsistence on his
journey to the chances of the road. Rolling through Germany like a
tide, they entered Hungary, where, at first, they were received with
some degree of kindness by the people. The latter had not yet caught
sufficient of the fire of enthusiasm to join the crusade themselves,
but were willing enough to forward the cause by aiding those embarked
in it. Unfortunately, this good understanding did not last long. The
swarm were not contented with food for their necessities, but craved
for luxuries also: they attacked and plundered the dwellings of the
country people, and thought nothing of murder where resistance was
offered. On their arrival before Semlin, the outraged Hungarians
collected in large numbers, and, attacking the rear of the crusading
host, slew a great many of the stragglers, and, taking away their arms
and crosses, affixed them as trophies to the walls of the city. Walter
appears to have been in no mood or condition to make reprisals; for
his army, destructive as a plague of locusts when plunder urged them
on, were useless against any regular attack from a determined enemy.
Their rear continued to be thus harassed by the wrathful Hungarians
until they were fairly out of their territory. On his entrance into
Bulgaria, Walter met with no better fate; the cities and towns refused
to let him pass; the villages denied him provisions; and the citizens
and country people uniting, slaughtered his followers by hundreds. The
progress of the army was more like a retreat than an advance; but as
it was impossible to stand still, Walter continued his course till he
arrived at Constantinople, with a force which famine and the sword had
diminished to one-third of its original number.

The greater multitude, led by the enthusiastic Hermit, followed
close upon his heels, with a bulky train of baggage, and women and
children, sufficient to form a host of themselves. If it were possible
to find a rabble more vile than the army of Walter the Pennyless it
was that led by Peter the Hermit. Being better provided with means,
they were not reduced to the necessity of pillage in their progress
through Hungary; and had they taken any other route than that which
led through Semlin, might perhaps have traversed the country without
molestation. On their arrival before that city, their fury was raised
at seeing the arms and red crosses of their predecessors hanging as
trophies over the gates. Their pent-up ferocity exploded at the sight.
The city was tumultuously attacked, and the besiegers entering, not by
dint of bravery, but of superior numbers, it was given up to all the
horrors which follow when Victory, Brutality, and Licentiousness are
linked together. Every evil passion was allowed to revel with
impunity, and revenge, lust, and avarice, -- each had its hundred
victims in unhappy Semlin. Any maniac can kindle a conflagration, but
it requires many wise men to put it out. Peter the Hermit had blown
the popular fury into a flame, but to cool it again was beyond his
power. His followers rioted unrestrained, until the fear of
retaliation warned them to desist. When the King of Hungary was
informed of the disasters of Semlin, he marched with a sufficient
force to chastise the Hermit, who at the news broke up his camp and
retreated towards the Morava, a broad and rapid stream that joins the
Danube a few miles to the eastward of Belgrade. Here a party of
indignant Bulgarians awaited him, and so harassed him as to make the
passage of the river a task both of difficulty and danger. Great
numbers of his infatuated followers perished in the waters, and many
fell under the swords of the Bulgarians. The ancient chronicles do not
mention the amount of the Hermit's loss at this passage, but represent
it in general terms as very great.

At Nissa the Duke of Bulgaria fortified himself, in fear of an
assault; but Peter, having learned a little wisdom from experience,
thought it best to avoid hostilities. He passed three nights in
quietness under the walls, and the duke, not wishing to exasperate
unnecessarily so fierce and rapacious a host, allowed the townspeople
to supply them with provisions. Peter took his departure peaceably on
the following morning, but some German vagabonds falling behind the
main body of the army, set fire to the mills and house of a Bulgarian,
with whom, it appears, they had had some dispute on the previous
evening. The citizens of Nissa, who had throughout mistrusted the
crusaders, and were prepared for the worst, sallied out immediately,
and took signal vengeance. The spoilers were cut to pieces, and the
townspeople pursuing the Hermit, captured all the women and children
who had lagged in the rear, and a great quantity of baggage. Peter
hereupon turned round and marched back to Nissa, to demand explanation
of the Duke of Bulgaria. The latter fairly stated the provocation
given, and the Hermit could urge nothing in palliation of so gross an
outrage. A negotiation was entered into which promised to be
successful, and the Bulgarians were about to deliver up the women and
children when a party of undisciplined crusaders, acting solely upon
their own suggestion, endeavoured to scale the walls and seize upon
the town. Peter in vain exerted his authority; the confusion became
general, and after a short but desperate battle, the crusaders threw
down their arms and fled in all directions. Their vast host was
completely routed, the slaughter being so great among them as to be
counted, not by hundreds, but by thousands.

It is said that the Hermit fled from this fatal field to a forest
a few miles from Nissa, abandoned by every human creature. It would be
curious to know whether, after so dire a reverse,

. . . . . . . . . . "His enpierced breast
Sharp sorrow did in thousand pieces rive,"

or whether his fiery zeal still rose superior to calamity, and
pictured the eventual triumph of his cause. He, so lately the leader
of a hundred thousand men, was now a solitary skulker in the forests,
liable at every instant to be discovered by some pursuing Bulgarian,
and cut off in mid career. Chance at last brought him within sight of
an eminence where two or three of his bravest knights had collected
five hundred of the stragglers. These gladly received the Hermit, and
a consultation having taken place, it was resolved to gather together
the scattered remnants of the army. Fires were lighted on the hill,
and scouts sent out in all directions for the fugitives. Horns were
sounded at intervals to make known that friends were near, and before
nightfall the Hermit saw himself at the head of seven thousand men.
During the succeeding day he was joined by twenty thousand more, and
with this miserable remnant of his force he pursued his route towards
Constantinople. The bones of the rest mouldered in the forests of
Bulgaria.

On his arrival at Constantinople, where he found Walter the
Pennyless awaiting him, he was hospitably received by the Emperor
Alexius. It might have been expected that the sad reverses they had
undergone would have taught his followers common prudence; but,
unhappily for them, their turbulence and love of plunder were not to
be restrained. Although they were surrounded by friends, by whom all
their wants were liberally supplied, they could not refrain from
rapine. In vain the Hermit exhorted them to tranquillity; he possessed
no more power over them, in subduing their passions, than the
obscurest soldier of the host, They set fire to several public
buildings in Constantinople, out of pure mischief, and stripped the
lead from the roofs of the churches, which, they afterwards sold for
old metal in the purlieus of the city. From this time may be dated the
aversion which the Emperor Alexius entertained for the crusaders, and
which was afterwards manifested in all his actions, even when he had
to deal with the chivalrous and more honourable armies which arrived
after the Hermit. He seems to have imagined that the Turks themselves
were enemies less formidable to his power than these outpourings of
the refuse of Europe: he soon found a pretext to hurry them into Asia
Minor. Peter crossed the Bosphorus with Walter, hut the excesses of
his followers were such, that, despairing of accomplishing any good
end by remaining at their head, he left them to themselves, and
returned to Constantinople, on the pretext of making arrangements with
the government of Alexius for a proper supply of provisions. The
crusaders, forgetting that they were in the enemy's country, and that
union, above all things, was desirable, gave themselves up to
dissensions. Violent disputes arose between the Lombards and Normans,
commanded by Walter the Pennyless, and the Franks and Germans, led out
by Peter. The latter separated themselves from the former, and,
choosing for their leader one Reinaldo, or Reinhold, marched forward,
and took possession of the fortress of Exorogorgon. The Sultan
Solimaun was on the alert, with a superior force. A party of
crusaders, which had been detached from the fort, and stationed at a
little distance as an ambuscade, were surprised and cut to pieces, and
Exorogorgon invested on all sides. The siege was protracted for eight
days, during which the Christians suffered the most acute agony from
the want of water. It is hard to say how long the hope of succour or
the energy of despair would have enabled them to hold out: their
treacherous leader cut the matter short by renouncing the Christian
faith, and delivering up the fort into the hands of the Sultan. He was
followed by two or three of his officers; all the rest, refusing to
become Mahometans, were ruthlessly put to the sword. Thus perished the
last wretched remnant of the vast multitude which had traversed Europe
with Peter the Hermit.

Walter the Pennyless and his multitude met as miserable a fate. On
the news of the disasters of Exorogorgon, they demanded to be led
instantly against the Turks. Walter, who only wanted good soldiers to
have made a good general, was cooler of head, and saw all the dangers
of such a step. His force was wholly insufficient to make any decisive
movement in a country where the enemy was so much superior, and where,
in case of defeat, he had no secure position to fall back upon; and he
therefore expressed his opinion against advancing until the arrival of
reinforcements. This prudent counsel found no favour: the army loudly
expressed their dissatisfaction at their chief, and prepared to march
forward without him. Upon this, the brave Walter put himself at their
head, and rushed to destruction. Proceeding towards Nice, the modern
Isnik, he was intercepted by the army of the Sultan: a fierce battle
ensued in which the Turks made fearful havoc; out of twenty-five
thousand Christians, twenty-two thousand were slain, and among them
Gautier himself, who fell pierced by seven mortal wounds. The
remaining three thousand retreated upon Civitot, where they intrenched
themselves.

Disgusted as was Peter the Hermit at the excesses of the
multitude, who, at his call, had forsaken Europe, his heart was moved
with grief and pity at their misfortunes. All his former zeal revived:
casting himself at the feet of the Emperor Alexius, he implored him,
with tears in his eyes, to send relief to the few survivors at
Civitot. The Emperor consented, and a force was sent, which arrived
just in time to save them from destruction. The Turks had beleaguered
the place, and the crusaders were reduced to the last extremity.
Negotiations were entered into, and the last three thousand were
conducted in safety to Constantinople. Alexius had suffered too much
by their former excesses to be very desirous of retaining them in his
capital: he therefore caused them all to be disarmed, and, furnishing
each with a sum of money, he sent them back to their own country.
While these events were taking place, fresh hordes were issuing from
the woods and wilds of Germany, all bent for the Holy Land. They were
commanded by a fanatical priest, named Gottschalk, who, like Gautier
and Peter the Hermit, took his way through Hungary. History is
extremely meagre in her details of the conduct and fate of this host,
which amounted to at least one hundred thousand men. Robbery and
murder seem to have journeyed with them, and the poor Hungarians were
rendered almost desperate by their numbers and rapacity. Karloman, the
king of the country, made a bold effort to get rid of them; for the
resentment of his people had arrived at such a height, that nothing
short of the total extermination of the crusaders would satisfy them.
Gottschalk had to pay the penalty, not only for the ravages of his own
bands, but for those of the swarms that had come before him. He and
his army were induced, by some means or other, to lay down their arms:
the savage Hungarians, seeing them thus defenceless, set upon them,
and slaughtered them in great numbers. How many escaped their arrows,
we are not informed; but not one of them reached Palestine.

Other swarms, under nameless leaders, issued from Germany and
France, more brutal and more frantic than any that had preceded them.
Their fanaticism surpassed by far the wildest freaks of the followers
of the Hermit. In bands, varying in numbers from one to five thousand,
they traversed the country in all directions, bent upon plunder and
massacre. They wore the symbol of the crusade upon their shoulders,
but inveighed against the folly of proceeding to the Holy Land to
destroy the Turks, while they left behind them so many Jews, the still
more inveterate enemies of Christ. They swore fierce vengeance against
this unhappy race, and murdered all the Hebrews they could lay their
hands on, first subjecting them to the most horrible mutilation.
According to the testimony of Albert Aquensis, they lived among each
other in the most shameless profligacy, and their vice was only
exceeded by their superstition. Whenever they were in search of Jews,
they were preceded by a goose and goat, which they believed to be
holy, and animated with divine power to discover the retreats of the
unbelievers. In Germany alone they slaughtered more than a thousand
Jews, notwithstanding all the efforts of the clergy to save them. So
dreadful was the cruelty of their tormentors, that great numbers of
Jews committed self-destruction to avoid falling into their hands.

Again it fell to the lot of the Hungarians to deliver Europe from
these pests. When there were no more Jews to murder, the bands
collected in one body, and took the old route to the Holy Land, a
route stained with the blood of three hundred thousand who had gone
before, and destined also to receive theirs. The number of these
swarms has never been stated; but so many of them perished in Hungary,
that contemporary writers, despairing of giving any adequate idea of
their multitudes, state that the fields were actually heaped with
their corpses, and that for miles in its course the waters of the
Danube were dyed with their blood. It was at Mersburg, on the Danube,
that the greatest slaughter took place, -- a slaughter so great as to
amount almost to extermination. The Hungarians for a while disputed
the passage of the river, but the crusaders forced their way across,
and attacking the city with the blind courage of madness, succeeded in
making a breach in the walls. At this moment of victory an
unaccountable fear came over them. Throwing down their arms they fled
panic-stricken, no one knew why, and no one knew whither. The
Hungarians followed, sword in hand, and cut them down without remorse,
and in such numbers, that the stream of the Danube is said to have
been choked up by their unburied bodies.

This was the worst paroxysm of the madness of Europe; and this
passed, her chivalry stepped upon the scene. Men of cool heads, mature
plans, and invincible courage stood forward to lead and direct the
grand movement of Europe upon Asia. It is upon these men that romance
has lavished her most admiring epithets, leaving to the condemnation
of history the vileness and brutality of those who went before. Of
these leaders the most distinguished were Godfrey of Bouillon Duke of
Lorraine, and Raymond Count of Toulouse. Four other chiefs of the
royal blood of Europe also assumed the Cross, and led each his army to
the Holy Land: Hugh, Count of Vermandois, brother of the King of
France; Robert, Duke of Normandy, the elder brother of William Rufus;
Robert Count of Flanders, and Boemund Prince of Tarentum, eldest son
of the celebrated Robert Guiscard. These men were all tinged with the
fanaticism of the age, but none of them acted entirely from religious
motives. They were neither utterly reckless like Gautier sans Avoir,
crazy like Peter the Hermit, nor brutal like Gottschalk the Monk, but
possessed each of these qualities in a milder form; their valour being
tempered by caution, their religious zeal by worldly views, and their
ferocity by the spirit of chivalry. They saw whither led the torrent
of the public will; and it being neither their wish nor their interest
to stem it, they allowed themselves to be carried with it, in the hope
that it would lead them at last to a haven of aggrandizement. Around
them congregated many minor chiefs, the flower of the nobility of
France and Italy, with some few from Germany, England, and Spain. It
was wisely conjectured that armies so numerous would find a difficulty
in procuring provisions if they all journeyed by the same road. They,
therefore, resolved to separate, Godfrey de Bouillon proceeding
through Hungary and Bulgaria, the Count of Toulouse through Lombardy
and Dalmatia, and the other leaders through Apulia to Constantinople,
where the several divisions were to reunite. The forces under these
leaders have been variously estimated. The Princess Anna Comnena talks
of them as having been as numerous as the sands on the sea-shore, or
the stars in the firmament. Fulcher of Chartres is more satisfactory,
and exaggerates less magnificently, when he states, that all the
divisions, when they had sat down before Nice in Bithynia, amounted to
one hundred thousand horsemen, and six hundred thousand men on foot,
exclusive of the priests, women and children. Gibbon is of opinion
that this amount is exaggerated; but thinks the actual numbers did not
fall very far short of the calculation. The Princess Anna afterwards
gives the number of those under Godfrey of Bouillon as eighty thousand
foot and horse; and supposing that each of the other chiefs led an
army as numerous, the total would be near half a million. This must be
over rather than under the mark, as the army of Godfrey of Bouillon
was confessedly the largest when it set out, and suffered less by the
way than any other.

The Count of Vermandois was the first who set foot on the Grecian
territory. On his arrival at Durazzo he was received with every mark
of respect and courtesy by the agents of the Emperor, and his
followers were abundantly supplied with provisions. Suddenly however,
and without cause assigned, the Count was arrested by order of the
Emperor Alexius, and conveyed a close prisoner to Constantinople.
Various motives have been assigned by different authors as having
induced the Emperor to this treacherous and imprudent proceeding. By
every writer he has been condemned for so flagrant a breach of
hospitality and justice. The most probable reason for his conduct
appears to be that suggested by Guibert of Nogent, who states that
Alexius, fearful of the designs of the crusaders upon his throne,
resorted to this extremity in order afterwards to force the Count to
take the oath of allegiance to him, as the price of his liberation.
The example of a prince so eminent as the brother of the King of
France, would, he thought, be readily followed by the other chiefs of
the Crusade. In the result he was wofully disappointed, as every man
deserves to be who commits positive evil that doubtful good may ensue.
But this line of policy accorded well enough with the narrowmindedness
of the Emperor, who, in the enervating atmosphere of his highly
civilized and luxurious court, dreaded the influx of the hardy and
ambitious warriors of the West, and strove to nibble away by unworthy
means, the power which he had not energy enough to confront. If danger
to himself had existed from the residence of the chiefs in his
dominions, he might easily have averted it, by the simple means of
placing himself at the head of the European movement, and directing
its energies to their avowed object, the conquest of the Holy Land.
But the Emperor, instead of being, as he might have been, the lord and
leader of the Crusades, which he had himself aided in no
inconsiderable degree to suscitate by his embassies to the Pope,
became the slave of men who hated and despised him. No doubt the
barbarous excesses of the followers of Gautier and Peter the Hermit
made him look upon the whole body of them with disgust, but it was the
disgust of a little mind, which is glad of any excuse to palliate or
justify its own irresolution and love of ease.

Godfrey of Bouillon traversed Hungary in the most quiet and
orderly manner. On his arrival at Mersburg he found the country
strewed with the mangled corpses of the Jew-killers, and demanded of
the King of Hungary for what reason his people had set upon them. The
latter detailed the atrocities they had committed, and made it so
evident to Godfrey that the Hungarians had only acted in self-defence,
that the high-minded leader declared himself satisfied and passed on,
without giving or receiving molestation. On his arrival at
Philippopoli, he was informed for the first time of the imprisonment
of the Count of Vermandois. He immediately sent messengers to the
Emperor, demanding the Count's release, and threatening, in case of
refusal, to lay waste the country with fire and sword. After waiting a
day at Philippopoli he marched on to Adrianople, where he was met by
his messengers returning with the Emperor's refusal. Godfrey, the
bravest and most determined of the leaders of the Crusade, was not a
man to swerve from his word, and the country was given up to pillage.
Alexius here committed another blunder. No sooner did he learn from
dire experience that the crusader was not an utterer of idle threats,
than he consented to the release of the prisoner. As he had been
unjust in the first instance, he became cowardly in the second, and
taught his enemies (for so the crusaders were forced to consider
themselves) a lesson which they took care to remember to his cost,
that they could hope nothing from his sense of justice, but every
thing from his fears. Godfrey remained encamped for several weeks in
the neighbourhood of Constantinople, to the great annoyance of
Alexius, who sought by every means to extort from him the homage he
had extorted from Vermandois. Sometimes he acted as if at open and
declared war with the crusaders, and sent his troops against them.
Sometimes he refused to supply them with food, and ordered the markets
to be shut against them, while at other times he was all for peace and
goodwill, and sent costly presents to Godfrey. The honest,
straightforward crusader was at last so wearied by his false kindness,
and so pestered by his attacks, that, allowing his indignation to get
the better of his judgment, he gave up the country around
Constantinople to be plundered by his soldiers. For six days the
flames of the farm-houses around struck terror into the heart of
Alexius, but as Godfrey anticipated they convinced him of his error.
Fearing that Constantinople itself would be the next object of attack,
he sent messengers to demand an interview with Godfrey, offering at
the same time to leave his son as a hostage for his good faith.
Godfrey agreed to meet him, and, whether to put an end to these
useless dissensions, or for some other unexplained reason, he rendered
homage to Alexius as his liege lord. He was thereupon loaded with
honours, and, according to a singular custom of that age, underwent
the ceremony of the "adoption of honour," as son to the Emperor.
Godfrey, and his brother Baudouin de Bouillon, conducted themselves
with proper courtesy on this occasion, but were not able to restrain
the insolence of their followers, who did not conceive themselves
bound to keep any terms with a man so insincere as he had shown
himself. One barbarous chieftain, Count Robert of Paris, carried his
insolence so far as to seat himself upon the throne, an insult which
Alexius merely resented with a sneer, but which did not induce him to
look with less mistrust upon the hordes that were still advancing.

It is impossible, notwithstanding his treachery, to avoid feeling
some compassion for the Emperor, whose life at this time was rendered
one long scene of misery by the presumption of the crusaders, and his
not altogether groundless fears of the evil they might inflict upon
him, should any untoward circumstance force the current of their
ambition to the conquest of his empire. His daughter, Anna Comnena,
feelingly deplores his state of life at this time, and a learned
German, [M. Wilken's Geschichte der Kreuzzuge.] in a recent work,
describes it, on the authority of the Princess, in the following
manner:--

"To avoid all occasion of offence to the Crusaders, Alexius
complied with all their whims, and their (on many occasions)
unreasonable demands, even at the expense of great bodily exertion, at
a time when he was suffering severely under the gout, which eventually
brought him to his grave. No crusader who desired an interview with
him was refused access: he listened with the utmost patience to the
long-winded harangues which their loquacity or zeal continually
wearied him with: he endured, without expressing any impatience, the
unbecoming and haughty language which they permitted themselves to
employ towards him, and severely reprimanded his officers when they
undertook to defend the dignity of the Imperial station from these
rude assaults; for he trembled with apprehension at the slightest
disputes, lest they might become the occasion of greater evil. Though
the Counts often appeared before him with trains altogether unsuitable
to their dignity and to his -- sometimes with an entire troop, which
completely filled the Royal apartment -- the Emperor held his peace.
He listened to them at all hours; he often seated himself on his
throne at day-break to attend to their wishes and requests, and the
evening twilight saw him still in the same place. Very frequently he
could not snatch time to refresh himself with meat and drink. During
many nights he could not obtain any repose, and was obliged to indulge
in an unrefreshing sleep upon his throne, with his head resting on his
hands. Even this slumber was continually disturbed by the appearance
and harangues of some newly-arrived rude knights. When all the
courtiers, wearied out by the efforts of the day and by
night-watching, could no longer keep themselves on their feet, and
sank down exhausted -- some upon benches and others on the floor --
Alexius still rallied his strength to listen with seeming attention to
the wearisome chatter of the Latins, that they might have no occasion
or pretext for discontent. In such a state of fear and anxiety, how
could Alexius comport himself with dignity and like an Emperor ?"

Alexius, however, had himself to blame, in a great measure, for
the indignities he suffered: owing to his insincerity, the crusaders
mistrusted him so much, that it became at last a common saying, that
the Turks and Saracens were not such inveterate foes to the Western or
Latin Christians as the Emperor Alexius and the Greeks.[Wilken] It
would be needless in this sketch, which does not profess to be so much
a history of the Crusades as of the madness of Europe, from which they
sprang, to detail the various acts of bribery and intimidation,
cajolery and hostility, by which Alexius contrived to make each of the
leaders in succession, as they arrived, take the oath of allegiance to
him as their Suzerain. One way or another he exacted from each the
barren homage on which he had set his heart, and they were then
allowed to proceed into Asia Minor. One only, Raymond de St. Gilles,
Count of Toulouse, obstinately refused the homage.

Their residence in Constantinople was productive of no good to the
armies of the Cross. Bickerings and contentions on the one hand, and
the influence of a depraved and luxurious court on the other,
destroyed the elasticity of their spirits, and cooled the first ardour
of their enthusiasm. At one time the army of the Count of Toulouse was
on the point of disbanding itself; and, had not their leader
energetically removed them across the Bosphorus, this would have been
the result. Once in Asia, their spirits in some degree revived, and
the presence of danger and difficulty nerved them to the work they had
undertaken. The first operation of the war was the siege of Nice, to
gain possession of which all their efforts were directed.

Godfrey of Bouillon and the Count of Vermandois were joined under
its walls by each host in succession, as it left Constantinople. Among
the celebrated crusaders who fought at this siege, we find, besides
the leaders already mentioned, the brave and generous Tancred, whose
name and fame have been immortalized in the Gerusalemme Liberata, the
valorous Bishop of Puy, Baldwin, afterwards King of Jerusalem, and
Peter the Hermit, now an almost solitary soldier, shorn of all the
power and influence he had formerly possessed. Kilij Aslaun, the
Sultan of Roum, and chief of the Seljukian Turks, whose deeds,
surrounded by the false halo of romance, are familiar to the readers
of Tasso, under the name of Soliman, marched to defend this city, but
was defeated after several obstinate engagements, in which the
Christians showed a degree of heroism that quite astonished him. The
Turkish chief had expected to find a wild undisciplined multitude,
like that under Peter the Hermit, without leaders capable of enforcing
obedience; instead of which he found the most experienced leaders of
the age at the head of armies that had just fanaticism enough to be
ferocious, but not enough to render them ungovernable. In these
engagements, many hundreds fell on both sides; and on both sides the
most revolting barbarity was practised: the crusaders cut off the
heads of the fallen Mussulmans, and sent them in paniers to
Constantinople, as trophies of their victory. After the temporary
defeat of Kilij Aslaun, the siege of Nice was carried on with
redoubled vigour. The Turks defended themselves with the greatest
obstinacy, and discharged showers of poisoned arrows upon the
crusaders. When any unfortunate wretch was killed under the walls,
they let down iron hooks from above, and drew the body up, which,
after stripping and mutilating, they threw back again at the
besiegers. The latter were well supplied with provisions, and for
six-and-thirty days the siege continued without any relaxation of the
efforts on either side. Many tales are told of the almost superhuman
heroism of the Christian leaders -- how one man put a thousand to
flight; and how the arrows of the faithful never missed their mark.
One anecdote of Godfrey of Bouillon, related by Albert of Aix, is
worth recording, not only as showing the high opinion entertained of
his valour, but as showing the contagious credulity of the armies -- a
credulity which as often led them to the very verge of defeat, as it
incited them to victory. One Turk, of gigantic stature, took his
station day by day on the battlements of Nice, and, bearing an
enormous bow, committed great havoc among the Christian host. Not a
shaft he sped, but bore death upon its point; and, although the
Crusaders aimed repeatedly at his breast, and he stood in the most
exposed position, their arrows fell harmless at his feet. He seemed to
be invulnerable to attack; and a report was soon spread abroad, that
he was no other than the Arch Fiend himself, and that mortal hand
could not prevail against him. Godfrey of Bouillon, who had no faith
in the supernatural character of the Mussulman, determined, if
possible, to put an end to the dismay which was rapidly paralyzing the
exertions of his best soldiers. Taking a huge cross-bow, he stood
forward in front of the army, to try the steadiness of his hand
against the much-dreaded archer: the shaft was aimed directly at his
heart, and took fatal effect. The Moslem fell amid the groans of the
besieged, and the shouts of Deus adjuva! Deus adjuva! the war-cry of
the besiegers.

At last the crusaders imagined that they had overcome all
obstacles, and were preparing to take possession of the city, when to
their great astonishment they saw the flag of the Emperor Alexius
flying from the battlements. An emissary of the Emperor, named
Faticius or Tatin, had contrived to gain admission with a body of
Greek troops at a point which the crusaders had left unprotected, and
had persuaded the Turks to surrender to him rather than to the
crusading forces. The greatest indignation prevailed in the army when
this stratagem was discovered, and the soldiers were, with the utmost
difficulty, prevented from renewing the attack and besieging the Greek
emissary.

The army, however, continued its march, and by some means or other
was broken into two divisions; some historians say accidentally,
[Fulcher of Chartres. -- Guibert de Nogent. -- Vital.]  while others
affirm by mutual consent, and for the convenience of obtaining
provisions on the way. [William of Tyre. -- Mills. -- Wilken, &c.] The
one division was composed of the forces under Bohemund, Tancred, and
the Duke of Normandy; while the other, which took a route at some
distance on the right, was commanded by Godfrey of Bouillon and the
other chiefs. The Sultan of Roum, who, after his losses at Nice, had
been silently making great efforts to crush the crusaders at one blow,
collected in a very short time all the multitudinous tribes that owed
him allegiance, and with an army which, according to a moderate
calculation, amounted to two hundred thousand men, chiefly cavalry, he
fell upon the first division of the Christian host in the valley of
Dorylaeum. It was early in the morning of the 1st of July 1097, when
the crusaders saw the first companies of the Turkish horsemen pouring
down upon them from the hills. Bohemund had hardly time to set himself
in order, and transport his sick and helpless to the rear, when the
overwhelming force of the Orientals was upon him. The Christian army,
composed principally of men on foot, gave way on all sides, and the
hoofs of the Turkish steeds, and the poisoned arrows of their bowmen,
mowed them down by hundreds. After having lost the flower of their
chivalry, the Christians retreated upon their baggage, when a dreadful
slaughter took place. Neither women nor children, nor the sick, were
spared. Just as they were reduced to the last extremity, Godfrey of
Bouillon and the Count of Toulouse made their appearance on the field,
and turned the tide of battle. After an obstinate engagement the Turks
fled, and their rich camp fell into the bands of the enemy. The loss
of the crusaders amounted to about four thousand men, with several
chiefs of renown, among whom were Count Robert of Paris and William
the brother of Tancred. The loss of the Turks, which did not exceed
this number, taught them to pursue a different mode of warfare. The
Sultan was far from being defeated. With his still gigantic army, he
laid waste all the country on either side of the crusaders. The
latter, who were unaware of the tactics of the enemy, found plenty of
provisions in the Turkish camp; but so far from economizing these
resources, they gave themselves up for several days to the most
unbounded extravagance. They soon paid dearly for their heedlessness.
In the ravaged country of Phrygia, through which they advanced towards
Antiochetta, they suffered dreadfully for want of food for themselves
and pasture for their cattle. Above them was a scorching sun, almost
sufficient of itself to dry up the freshness of the land, a task which
the firebrands of the Sultan had but too surely effected, and water
was not to be had after the first day of their march. The pilgrims
died at the rate of five hundred a-day. The horses of the knights
perished on the road, and the baggage which they had aided to
transport, was either placed upon dogs, sheep, and swine, or abandoned
altogether. In some of the calamities that afterwards befell them, the
Christians gave themselves up to the most reckless profligacy; but
upon this occasion, the dissensions which prosperity had engendered,
were all forgotten. Religion, often disregarded, arose in the stern
presence of misfortune, and cheered them as they died by the promises
of eternal felicity.

At length they reached Antiochetta, where they found water in
abundance, and pastures for their expiring cattle. Plenty once more
surrounded them, and here they pitched their tents. Untaught by the
bitter experience of famine, they again gave themselves up to luxury
and waste.

On the 18th of October they sat down before the strong city of
Antioch, the siege of which, and the events to which it gave rise, are
among the most extraordinary incidents of the Crusade. The city, which
is situated on an eminence, and washed by the river Orontes, is
naturally a very strong position, and the Turkish garrison were well
supplied with provisions to endure a long siege. In this respect the
Christians were also fortunate, but, unluckily for themselves, unwise.
Their force amounted to three hundred thousand fighting men; and we
are informed by Raymond d'Argilles, that they had so much provision,
that they threw away the greater part of every animal they killed,
being so dainty, that they would only eat particular parts of the
beast. So insane was their extravagance, that in less than ten days
famine began to stare them in the face. After making a fruitless
attempt to gain possession of the city by a coup de main, they,
starving themselves, sat down to starve out the enemy. But with want
came a cooling of enthusiasm. The chiefs began to grow weary of the
expedition. Baldwin had previously detached himself from the main body
of the army, and, proceeding to Edessa, had intrigued himself into the
supreme power in that little principality. The other leaders were
animated with less zeal than heretofore. Stephen of Chartres and Hugh
of Vermandois began to waver, unable to endure the privations which
their own folly and profusion had brought upon them. Even Peter the
Hermit became sick at heart ere all was over. When the famine had
become so urgent that they were reduced to eat human flesh in the
extremity of their hunger, Bohemund and Robert of Flanders set forth
on an expedition to procure a supply. They were in a slight degree
successful; but the relief they brought was not economized, and in two
days they were as destitute as before. Faticius, the Greek commander
and representative of Alexius, deserted with his division under
pretence of seeking for food, and his example was followed by various
bodies of crusaders.

Misery was rife among those who remained, and they strove to
alleviate it by a diligent attention to signs and omens. These, with
extraordinary visions seen by the enthusiastic, alternately cheered
and depressed them according as they foretold the triumph or pictured
the reverses of the Cross. At one time a violent hurricane arose,
levelling great trees with the ground, and blowing down the tents of
the Christian leaders. At another time an earthquake shook the camp,
and was thought to prognosticate some great impending evil to the
cause of Christendom. But a comet which appeared shortly afterwards,
raised them from the despondency into which they had fallen; their
lively imaginations making it assume the form of a flaming cross
leading them on to victory. Famine was not the least of the evils they
endured. Unwholesome food, and the impure air from the neighbouring
marshes, engendered pestilential diseases, which carried them off more
rapidly than the arrows of the enemy. A thousand of them died in a
day, and it became at last a matter of extreme difficulty to afford
them burial. To add to their misery, each man grew suspicious of his
neighbour; for the camp was infested by Turkish spies, who conveyed
daily to the besieged intelligence of the movements and distresses of
the enemy. With a ferocity, engendered by despair, Bohemund caused two
spies, whom he had detected, to be roasted alive in presence of the
army, and within sight of the battlements of Antioch. But even this
example failed to reduce their numbers, and the Turks continued to be
as well informed as the Christians themselves of all that was passing
in the camp.

The news of the arrival of a reinforcement of soldiers from
Europe, with an abundant stock of provisions, came to cheer them when
reduced to the last extremity. The welcome succour landed at St.
Simeon, the port of Antioch, and about six miles from that city.
Thitherwards the famishing crusaders proceeded in tumultuous bands,
followed by Bohemund and the Count of Toulouse, with strong
detachments of their retainers and vassals, to escort the supplies in
safety to the camp. The garrison of Antioch, forewarned of this
arrival, was on the alert, and a corps of Turkish archers was
despatched to lie in ambuscade among the mountains and intercept their
return. Bohemund, laden with provisions, was encountered in the rocky
passes by the Turkish host. Great numbers of his followers were slain,
and he himself had just time to escape to the camp with the news of
his defeat. Godfrey of Bouillon, the Duke of Normandy, and the other
leaders had heard the rumour of this battle, and were at that instant
preparing for the rescue. The army was immediately in motion, animated
both by zeal and by hunger, and marched so rapidly as to intercept the
victorious Turks before they had time to reach Antioch with their
spoil. A fierce battle ensued, which lasted from noon till the going
down of the sun. The Christians gained and maintained the advantage,
each man fighting as if upon himself alone had depended the fortune of
the day. Hundreds of Turks perished in the Orontes, and more than two
thousand were left dead upon the field of battle. All the provision
was recaptured and brought in safety to the camp, whither the
crusaders returned singing Allelulia! or shouting Deus adjuva! Deus
adjuva!

This relief lasted for some days, and, had it been duly
economized, would have lasted much longer; but the chiefs had no
authority, and were unable to exercise any control over its
distribution. Famine again approached with rapid strides, and Stephen
Count of Blois, not liking the prospect, withdrew from the camp, with
four thousand of his retainers, and established himself at
Alexandretta. The moral influence of this desertion was highly
prejudicial upon those who remained; and Bohemund, the most impatient
and ambitious of the chiefs, foresaw that, unless speedily checked, it
would lead to the utter failure of the expedition. It was necessary to
act decisively; the army murmured at the length of the siege, and the
Sultan was collecting his forces to crush them. Against the efforts of
the crusaders Antioch might have held out for months; but treason
within effected that, which courage without might have striven for in
vain.

Baghasihan, the Turkish Prince or Emir of Antioch, had under his
command an Armenian of the name of Phirouz, whom he had intrusted with
the defence of a tower on that part of the city wall which overlooked
the passes of the mountains. Bohemund, by means of a spy who had
embraced the Christian religion, and to whom he had given his own name
at baptism, kept up a daily communication with this captain, and made
him the most magnificent promises of reward, if he would deliver up
his post to the Christian knights. Whether the proposal was first made
by Bohemund or by the Armenian is uncertain, but that a good
understanding soon existed between them, is undoubted; and a night was
fixed for the execution of the project. Bohemund communicated the
scheme to Godfrey and the Count of Toulouse, with the stipulation
that, if the city were won, he, as the soul of the enterprise, should
enjoy the dignity of Prince of Antioch. The other leaders hesitated:
ambition and jealousy prompted them to refuse their aid in furthering
the views of the intriguer. More mature consideration decided them to
acquiesce, and seven hundred of the bravest knights were chosen for
the expedition, the real object of which, for fear of spies, was kept
a profound secret from the rest of the army. When all was ready, a
report was promulgated, that the seven hundred were intended to form
an ambuscade for a division of the Sultan's army, which was stated to
be approaching.

Every thing favoured the treacherous project of the Armenian
captain, who, on his solitary watchtower, received due intimation of
the approach of the crusaders. The night was dark and stormy; not a
star was visible above, and the wind howled so furiously as to
overpower all other sounds: the rain fell in torrents, and the
watchers on the towers adjoining to that of Phirouz could not hear the
tramp of the armed knights for the wind, nor see them for the
obscurity of the night and the dismalness of the weather. When within
shot of the walls, Bohemund sent forward an interpreter to confer with
the Armenian. The latter urged them to make haste, and seize the
favourable interval, as armed men, with lighted torches, patrolled the
battlements every half hour, and at that instant they had just passed.
The chiefs were instantly at the foot of the wall: Phirouz let down a
rope; Bohemund attached it to the end of a ladder of hides, which was
then raised by the Armenian, and held while the knights mounted. A
momentary fear came over the spirits of the adventurers, and every one
hesitated. At last Bohemund, [Vide William of Tyre.] encouraged by
Phirouz from above, ascended a few steps on the ladder, and was
followed by Godfrey, Count Robert of Flanders, and a number of other
knights. As they advanced, others pressed forward, until their weight
became too great for the ladder, which, breaking, precipitated about a
dozen of them to the ground, where they fell one upon the other,
making a great clatter with their heavy coats of mail. For a moment
they thought that all was lost; but the wind made so loud a howling as
it swept in fierce gusts through the mountain gorges -- and the
Orontes, swollen by the rain, rushed so noisily along -- that the
guards heard nothing. The ladder was easily repaired, and the knights
ascended two at a time, and reached the platform in safety, When sixty
of them had thus ascended, the torch of the coming patrol was seen to
gleam at the angle of the wall. Hiding themselves behind a buttress,
they awaited his coming in breathless silence. As soon as he arrived
at arm's length, he was suddenly seized, and, before he could open his
lips to raise an alarm, the silence of death closed them up for ever.
They next descended rapidly the spiral staircase of the tower, and,
opening the portal, admitted the whole of their companions. Raymond of
Toulouse, who, cognizant of the whole plan, had been left behind with
the main body of the army, heard at this instant the signal horn,
which announced that an entry had been effected, and, leading on his
legions, the town was attacked from within and without.

Imagination cannot conceive a scene more dreadful than that
presented by the devoted city of Antioch on that night of horror. The
crusaders fought with a blind fury, which fanaticism and suffering
alike incited. Men, women, and children were indiscriminately
slaughtered till the streets ran in gore. Darkness increased the
destruction, for when morning dawned the crusaders found themselves
with their swords at the breasts of their fellow-soldiers, whom they
had mistaken for foes. The Turkish commander fled, first to the
citadel, and that becoming insecure, to the mountains, whither he was
pursued and slain, his grey head brought back to Antioch as a trophy.
At daylight the massacre ceased, and the crusaders gave themselves up
to plunder. They found gold, and jewels, and silks, and velvets in
abundance, but, of provisions, which were of more importance to them,
they found but little of any kind. Corn was excessively scarce, and
they discovered to their sorrow that in this respect the besieged had
been but little better off than the besiegers.

Before they had time to instal themselves in their new position,
and take the necessary measures for procuring a supply, the city was
invested by the Turks. The Sultan of Persia had raised an immense
army, which he intrusted to the command of Kerbogha, the Emir of
Mosul, with instructions to sweep the Christian locusts from the face
of the land. The Emir effected junction with Kilij Aslaun, and the two
armies surrounded the city. Discouragement took complete possession of
the Christian host, and numbers of them contrived to elude the
vigilance of the besiegers, and escape to Count Stephen of Blots at
Alexandretta, to whom they related the most exaggerated tales of the
misery they had endured, and the utter hopelessness of continuing the
war. Stephen forthwith broke up his camp and retreated towards
Constantinople. On his way he was met by the Emperor Alexius, at the
head of a considerable force, hastening to take possession of the
conquests made by the Christians in Asia. As soon as he heard of their
woeful plight, he turned back, and proceeded with the Count of Blots
to Constantinople, leaving the remnant of the crusaders to shift for
themselves.

The news of this defection increased the discouragement at
Antioch. All the useless horses of the army had been slain and eaten,
and dogs, cats, and rats were sold at enormous prices. Even vermin
were becoming scarce. With increasing famine came a pestilence, so
that in a short time but sixty thousand remained of the three hundred
thousand that had originally invested Antioch. But this bitter
extremity, while it annihilated the energy of the host, only served to
knit the leaders more firmly together; and Bohemund, Godfrey, and
Tancred swore never to desert the cause as long as life lasted. The
former strove in vain to reanimate the courage of his followers. They
were weary and sick at heart, and his menaces and promises were alike
thrown away. Some of them had shut themselves up in the houses, and
refused to come forth. Bohemund, to drive them to their duty, set fire
to the whole quarter, and many of them perished in the flames, while
the rest of the army looked on with the utmost indifference. Bohemund,
animated himself by a worldly spirit, did not know the true character
of the crusaders, nor understand the religious madness which had
brought them in such shoals from Europe. A priest, more clear-sighted,
devised a scheme which restored all their confidence, and inspired
them with a courage so wonderful as to make the poor sixty thousand
emaciated, sick, and starving zealots, put to flight the well-fed and
six times as numerous legions of the Sultan of Persia.

This priest, a native of Provence, was named Peter Barthelemy, and
whether he were a knave or an enthusiast, or both; a principal, or a
tool in the hands of others, will ever remain a matter of doubt.
Certain it is, however, that he was the means of raising the siege of
Antioch, and causing the eventual triumph of the armies of the Cross.
When the strength of the crusaders was completely broken by their
sufferings, and hope had fled from every bosom, Peter came to Count
Raymond of Toulouse, and demanded an interview on matters of serious
moment. He was immediately admitted. He said that, some weeks
previously, at the time the Christians were besieging Antioch, he was
reposing alone in his tent, when he was startled by the shock of the
earthquake, which had so alarmed the whole host. Through violent
terror of the shock he could only ejaculate, God help me! when turning
round he saw two men standing before him, whom he at once recognized
by the halo of glory around them as beings of another world. One of
them appeared to be an aged man, with reddish hair sprinkled with
grey, black eyes, and a long flowing grey beard. The other was
younger, larger, and handsomer, and had something more divine in his
aspect. The elderly man alone spoke, and informed him that he was the
Holy Apostle St. Andrew, and desired him to seek out the Count
Raymond, the Bishop of Puy, and Raymond of Altopulto, and ask them why
the Bishop did not exhort the people, and sign them with the cross
which he bore. The Apostle then took him, naked in his shirt as he
was, and transported him through the air into the heart of the city of
Antioch, where he led him into the church of St. Peter, at that time a
Saracen mosque. The Apostle made him stop by the pillar close to the
steps by which they ascend on the south side to the altar, where hung
two lamps, which gave out a light brighter than that of the noonday
sun; the younger man, whom he did not at that time know, standing afar
off, near the steps of the altar. The Apostle then descended into the
ground and brought up a lance, which he gave into his hand, telling
him that it was the very lance that had opened the side whence had
flowed the salvation of the world. With tears of joy he held the holy
lance, and implored the Apostle to allow him to take it away and
deliver it into the hands of Count Raymond. The Apostle refused, and
buried the lance again in the ground, commanding him, when the city
was won from the infidels, to go with twelve chosen men, and dig it up
again in the same place. The Apostle then transported him back to his
tent, and the two vanished from his sight. He had neglected, he said,
to deliver this message, afraid that his wonderful tale would not
obtain credence from men of such high rank. After some days he again
saw the holy vision, as he was gone out of the camp to look for food.
This time the divine eyes of the younger looked reproachfully upon
him. He implored the Apostle to choose some one else more fitted for
the mission, but the Apostle refused, and smote him with a disorder of
the eyes, as a punishment for his disobedience. With an obstinacy
unaccountable even to himself, he had still delayed. A third time the
Apostle and his companion had appeared to him, as he was in a tent
with his master William at St. Simeon. On that occasion St. Andrew
told him to bear his command to the Count of Toulouse not to bathe in
the waters of the Jordan when he came to it, but to cross over in a
boat, clad in a shirt and breeches of linen, which he should sprinkle
with the sacred waters of the river. These clothes he was afterwards
to preserve along with the holy lance. His master William, although he
could not see the saint, distinctly heard the voice giving orders to
that effect. Again he neglected to execute the commission, and again
the saints appeared to him, when he was at the port of Mamistra, about
to sail for Cyprus, and St. Andrew threatened him with eternal
perdition if he refused longer. Upon this he made up his mind to
divulge all that had been revealed to him.

The Count of Toulouse, who, in all probability, concocted this
precious tale with the priest, appeared struck with the recital, and
sent immediately for the Bishop of Puy and Raymond of Altapulto. The
Bishop at once expressed his disbelief of the whole story, and refused
to have anything to do in the matter. The Count of Toulouse, on the
contrary, saw abundant motives, if not for believing, for pretending
to believe; and, in the end, he so impressed upon the mind of the
Bishop the advantage that might be derived from it, in working up the
popular mind to its former excitement, that the latter reluctantly
agreed to make search in due form for the holy weapon. The day after
the morrow was fixed upon for the ceremony, and, in the mean time,
Peter was consigned to the care of Raymond, the Count's chaplain, in
order that no profane curiosity might have an opportunity of
cross-examining him, and putting him to a nonplus.

Twelve devout men were forthwith chosen for the undertaking, among
whom were the Count of Toulouse and his chaplain. They began digging
at sunrise, and continued unwearied till near sunset, without finding
the lance; -- they might have dug till this day with no better
success, had not Peter himself sprung into the pit, praying to God to
bring the lance to light, for the strengthening and victory of his
people. Those who hide know where to find; and so it was with Peter,
for both he and the lance found their way into the hole at the same
time. On a sudden, he and Raymond, the chaplain, beheld its point in
the earth, and Raymond, drawing it forth, kissed it with tears of joy,
in sight of the multitude which had assembled in the church. It was
immediately enveloped in a rich purple cloth, already prepared to
receive it, and exhibited in this state to the faithful, who made the
building resound with their shouts of gladness.

Peter had another vision the same night, and became from that day
forth "dreamer of dreams," in general, to the army. He stated on the
following day, that the Apostle Andrew and "the youth with the divine
aspect" appeared to him again, and directed that the Count of
Toulouse, as a reward for his persevering piety, should carry the Holy
Lance at the head of the army, and that the day on which it was found
should be observed as a solemn festival throughout Christendom. St.
Andrew showed him, at the same time, the holes in the feet and hands
of his benign companion; and he became convinced that he stood in the
awful presence of THE REDEEMER.

Peter gained so much credit by his visions that dreaming became
contagious. Other monks beside himself were visited by the saints, who
promised victory to the host if it would valiantly hold out to the
last, and crowns of eternal glory to those who fell in the fight. Two
deserters, wearied of the fatigues and privations of the war, who had
stealthily left the camp, suddenly returned, and seeking Bohemund,
told him that they had been met by two apparitions, who, with great
anger, had commanded them to return. The one of them said, that he
recognized his brother, who had been killed in battle some months
before, and that he had a halo of glory around his head. The other,
still more hardy, asserted that the apparition which had spoken to him
was the Saviour himself, who had promised eternal happiness as his
reward if he returned to his duty, but the pains of eternal fire if he
rejected the cross. No one thought of disbelieving these men. The
courage of the army immediately revived; despondency gave way to hope;
every arm grew strong again, and the pangs of hunger were for a time
disregarded. The enthusiasm which had led them from Europe burned forth
once more as brightly as ever, and they demanded, with loud cries, to
be led against the enemy. The leaders were not unwilling. In a battle
lay their only chance of salvation; and although Godfrey, Bohemund,
and Tancred received the story of the lance with much suspicion, they
were too wise to throw discredit upon an imposture which bade fair to
open the gates of victory.

Peter the Hermit was previously sent to the camp of Kerbogha to
propose that the quarrel between the two religions should be decided
by a chosen number of the bravest soldiers of each army. Kerbogha
turned from him with a look of contempt, and said he could agree to
no proposals from a set of such miserable beggars and robbers. With
this uncourteous answer Peter returned to Antioch. Preparations were
immediately commenced for an attack upon the enemy: the latter
continued to be perfectly well informed of all the proceedings of the
Christian camp. The citadel of Antioch, which remained in their
possession, overlooked the town, and the commander of the fortress
could distinctly see all that was passing within. On the morning of
the 28th of June 1098 a black flag, hoisted from its highest tower,
announced to the besieging army that the Christians were about to
sally forth.

The Moslem leaders knew the sad inroads that famine and disease
had made upon the numbers of the foe: they knew that not above two
hundred of the knights had horses to ride upon, and that the foot
soldiers were sick and emaciated; but they did not know the almost
incredible valour which superstition had infused into their hearts.
The story of the lance they treated with the most supreme contempt,
and, secure of an easy victory, they gave themselves no trouble in
preparing for the onslaught. It is related that Kerbogha was playing a
game at chess, when the black flag on the citadel gave warning of the
enemy's approach, and that, with true oriental coolness, he insisted
upon finishing the game ere he bestowed any of his attention upon a
foe so unworthy. The defeat of his advanced post of two thousand men
aroused him from his apathy.

The crusaders, after this first victory, advanced joyfully towards
the mountains, hoping to draw the Turks to a place where their cavalry
would be unable to manoeuvre. Their spirits were light and their
courage high, as led on by the Duke of Normandy, Count Robert of
Flanders, and Hugh of Vermandois, they came within sight of the
splendid camp of the enemy. Godfrey of Bouillon and Adhemar, Bishop of
Puy, followed immediately after these leaders, the latter clad in
complete armour, and bearing the Holy Lance within sight of the whole
army: Bohemund and Tancred brought up the rear.

Kerbogha, aware at last that his enemy was not so despicable, took
vigorous measures to remedy his mistake, and, preparing himself to
meet the Christians in front, he despatched the Sultan Soliman, of
Roum, to attack them in the rear. To conceal this movement, he set
fire to the dried weeds and grass with which the ground was covered,
and Soliman, taking a wide circuit with his cavalry, succeeded, under
cover of the smoke, in making good his position in the rear. The
battle raged furiously in front; the arrows of the Turks fell thick as
hail, and their well-trained squadrons trod the crusaders under their
hoofs like stubble. Still the affray was doubtful; for the Christians
had the advantage of the ground, and were rapidly gaining upon the
enemy, when the overwhelming forces of Soliman arrived in the rear.
Godfrey and Tancred flew to the rescue of Bohemund, spreading dismay
in the Turkish ranks by their fierce impetuosity. The Bishop of Puy
was left almost alone with the Provencals to oppose the legions
commanded by Kerbogha in person; but the presence of the Holy Lance
made a hero of the meanest soldier in his train. Still, however, the
numbers of the enemy seemed interminable. The Christians, attacked on
every side, began at last to give way, and the Turks made sure of
victory.

At this moment a cry was raised in the Christian host that the
saints were fighting on their side. The battle-field was clear of the
smoke from the burning weeds, which had curled away, and hung in white
clouds of fantastic shape on the brow of the distant mountains. Some
imaginative zealot, seeing this dimly through the dust of the battle,
called out to his fellows, to look at the army of saints, clothed in
white, and riding upon white horses, that were pouring over the hills
to the rescue. All eyes were immediately turned to the distant smoke;
faith was in every heart; and the old battle-cry, God wills it! God
wills it! resounded through the field, as every soldier, believing
that God was visibly sending His armies to his aid, fought with an
energy unfelt before. A panic seized the Persian and Turkish hosts,
and they gave way in all directions. In vain Kerbogha tried to rally
them. Fear is more contagious than enthusiasm, and they fled over the
mountains like deer pursued by the hounds. The two leaders, seeing the
uselessness of further efforts, fled with the rest; and that immense
army was scattered over Palestine, leaving nearly seventy thousand of
its dead upon the field of battle.

Their magnificent camp fell into the hands of the enemy, with its
rich stores of corn, and its droves of sheep and oxen. Jewels, gold,
and rich velvets in abundance were distributed among the army. Tancred
followed the fugitives over the hills, and reaped as much plunder as
those who had remained in the camp. The way, as they fled, was covered
with valuables, and horses of the finest breed of Arabia became so
plentiful, that every knight of the Christians was provided with a
steed. The crusaders, in this battle, acknowledge to have lost nearly
ten thousand men.

Their return to Antioch was one of joy indeed: the citadel was
surrendered at once, and many of the Turkish garrison embraced the
Christian faith, and the rest were suffered to depart. A solemn
thanksgiving was offered up by the Bishop of Puy, in which the whole
army joined, and the Holy Lance was visited by every soldier.

The enthusiasm lasted for some days, and the army loudly demanded
to be led forward to Jerusalem, the grand goal of all their wishes:
but none of their leaders was anxious to move; -- the more prudent
among them, such as Godfrey and Tancred, for reasons of expediency;
and the more ambitious, such as the Count of Toulouse and Bohemund,
for reasons of self-interest. Violent dissensions sprang up again
between all the chiefs. Raymond of Toulouse, who was left at Antioch
to guard the town, had summoned the citadel to surrender, as soon as
he saw that there was no fear of any attack upon the part of the
Persians; and the other chiefs found, upon their return, his banner
waving on its walls. This had given great offence to Bohemund, who had
stipulated the principality of Antioch as his reward for winning the
town in the first instance. Godfrey and Tancred supported his claim,
and, after a great deal of bickering, the flag of Raymond was lowered
from the tower, and that of Bohemund hoisted in its stead, who assumed
from that time the title of Prince of Antioch. Raymond, however,
persisted in retaining possession of one of the city gates and its
adjacent towers, which he held for several months, to the great
annoyance of Bohemund and the scandal of the army. The Count became in
consequence extremely unpopular, although his ambition was not a whit
more unreasonable than that of Bohemund himself, nor of Baldwin, who
had taken up his quarters at Edessa, where he exercised the functions
of a petty sovereign.

The fate of Peter Barthelemy deserves to be recorded. Honours and
consideration had come thick upon him after the affair of the lance,
and he consequently felt bound in conscience to continue the dreams
which had made him a personage of so much importance. The mischief of
it was, that like many other liars he had a very bad memory, and he
contrived to make his dreams contradict each other in the most
palpable manner. St. John one night appeared to him, and told one
tale, while, a week after, St. Paul told a totally different story,
and held out hopes quite incompatible with those of his apostolic
brother. The credulity of that age had a wide maw, and Peter's visions
must have been absurd and outrageous indeed, when the very men who had
believed in the lance refused to swallow any more of his wonders.
Bohemund at last, for the purpose of annoying the Count of Toulouse,
challenged poor Peter to prove the truth of his story of the lance by
the fiery ordeal. Peter could not refuse a trial so common in that
age, and being besides encouraged by the Count and his chaplain,
Raymond, an early day was appointed for the ceremony. The previous
night was spent in prayer and fasting, according to custom, and Peter
came forth in the morning bearing the lance in his hand, and walked
boldly up to the fire. The whole army gathered round, impatient for
the result, many thousands still believing that the lance was genuine
and Peter a holy man. Prayers having been said by Raymond d'Agilles,
Peter walked into the flames, and had got nearly through, when pain
caused him to lose his presence of mind: the heat too affected his
eyes, and, in his anguish, he turned round unwittingly, and passed
through the fire again, instead of stepping out of it, as he should
have done. The result was, that he was burned so severely, that he
never recovered, and, after lingering for some days, he expired in
great agony.

Most of the soldiers were suffering either from wounds, disease,
or weariness, and it was resolved by Godfrey, -- the tacitly
acknowledged chief of the enterprize, -- that the army should have
time to refresh itself ere they advanced upon Jerusalem. It was now
July, and he proposed that they should pass the hot months of August
and September within the walls of Antioch, and march forward in
October with renewed vigour, and numbers increased by fresh arrivals
from Europe. This advice was finally adopted, although the enthusiasts
of the army continued to murmur at the delay. In the mean time the
Count of Vermandois was sent upon an embassy to the Emperor Alexius at
Constantinople, to reproach him for his base desertion of the cause,
and urge him to send the reinforcements he had promised. The Count
faithfully executed his mission, (of which, by the way, Alexius took
no notice whatever,) and remained for some time at Constantinople,
till his zeal, never very violent, totally evaporated. He then
returned to France, sick of the Crusade, and determined to intermeddle
with it no more.

The chiefs, though they had determined to stay at Antioch for two
months, could not remain quiet for so long a time. They would, in all
probability, have fallen upon each other, had there been no Turks in
Palestine upon whom they might vent their impetuosity. Godfrey
proceeded to Edessa, to aid his brother Baldwin in expelling the
Saracens from his principality, and the other leaders carried on
separate hostilities against them as caprice or ambition dictated. At
length the impatience of the army to be led against Jerusalem became
so great that the chiefs could no longer delay, and Raymond, Tancred,
and Robert of Normandy marched forward with their divisions, and laid
siege to the small but strong town of Marah. With their usual
improvidence, they had not food enough to last a beleaguering army for
a week. They suffered great privations in consequence, till Bohemund
came to their aid and took the town by storm. In connexion with this
siege, the chronicler, Raymond d'Agilles, (the same Raymond, the
chaplain, who figured in the affair of the Holy Lance,) relates a
legend, in the truth of which he devoutly believed, and upon which
Tasso has founded one of the most beautiful passages of his poem. It
is worth preserving, as showing the spirit of the age and the source
of the extraordinary courage manifested by the crusaders on occasions
of extreme difficulty. "One day," says Raymond, "Anselme de Ribeaumont
beheld young Engelram, the son of the Count de St. Paul, who had been
killed at Marsh, enter his tent. 'How is it,' said Anselme to him,
'that you, whom I saw lying dead on the field of battle, are full of
life ?' -- 'You must know,' replied Engelram, 'that those who fight
for Jesus Christ never die.' -- ' But whence,' resumed Anselme, 'comes
that strange brightness that surrounds you ?' Upon this Engelram
pointed to the sky, where Anselme saw a palace of diamond and crystal.
'It is thence,' said he, 'that I derive the beauty which surprises
you. My dwelling is there; a still finer one is prepared for you, and
you shall soon come to inhabit it. Farewell! we shall meet again
to-morrow.' With these words Engelram returned to heaven. Anselme,
struck by the vision, sent the next morning for the priests, received
the sacrament; and although full of health, took a last farewell of
all his friends, telling them that he was about to leave this world. A
few hours afterwards, the enemy having made a sortie, Anselme went out
against them sword in hand, and was struck on the forehead by a stone
from a Turkish sling, which sent him to heaven, to the beautiful
palace that was prepared for him."

New disputes arose between the Prince of Antioch and the Count of
Toulouse with regard to the capture of this town, which were with the
utmost difficulty appeased by the other chiefs. Delays also took place
in the progress of the army, especially before Arches, and the
soldiery were so exasperated that they were on the point of choosing
new leaders to conduct them to Jerusalem. Godfrey, upon this, set fire
to his camp at Arches, and marched forward. He was immediately joined
by hundreds of the Provencals of the Count of Toulouse. The latter,
seeing the turn affairs were taking, hastened after them, and the
whole host proceeded towards the holy city, so long desired amid
sorrow, and suffering, and danger. At Emmaus they were met by a
deputation from the Christians of Bethlehem, praying for immediate aid
against the oppression of the infidels. The very name of Bethlehem,
the birthplace of the Saviour, was music to their ears, and many of
them wept with joy to think they were approaching a spot so hallowed.
Albert of Aix informs us that their hearts were so touched that sleep
was banished from the camp, and that, instead of waiting till the
morning's dawn to recommence their march, they set out shortly after
midnight, full of hope and enthusiasm. For upwards of four hours the
mail-clad legions tramped steadfastly forward in the dark, and when
the sun arose in unclouded splendour, the towers and pinnacles of
Jerusalem gleamed upon their sight. All the tender feelings of their
nature were touched; no longer brutal fanatics, but meek and humble
pilgrims, they knelt down upon the sod, and with tears in their eyes,
exclaimed to one another, "Jerusalem ! Jerusalem!" Some of them kissed
the holy ground, others stretched themselves at full length upon it,
in order that their bodies might come in contact with the greatest
possible extent of it, and others prayed aloud. The women and children
who had followed the camp from Europe, and shared in all its dangers,
fatigues, and privations, were more boisterous in their joy; the
former from long-nourished enthusiasm, and the latter from mere
imitation, [Guibert de Nogent relates a curious instance of the
imitativeness of these juvenile crusaders. He says that, during the
siege of Antioch, the Christian and Saracen boys used to issue forth
every evening from the town and camp in great numbers under the
command of captains chosen from among themselves. Armed with sticks
instead of swords, and stones instead of arrows, they ranged
themselves in battle order, and shouting each the war-cry of their
country, fought with the utmost desperation. Some of them lost their
eyes, and many became cripples for life from the injuries they
received on these occasions.] and prayed, and wept, and laughed till
they almost put the more sober to the blush.

The first ebullition of their gladness having subsided, the army
marched forward, and invested the city on all sides. The assault was
almost immediately begun; but after the Christians had lost some of
their bravest knights, that mode of attack was abandoned, and the army
commenced its preparations for a regular siege. Mangonels, moveable
towers, and battering rams, together with a machine called a sow, made
of wood, and covered with raw hides, inside of which miners worked to
undermine the walls, were forthwith constructed; and to restore the
courage and discipline of the army, which had suffered from the
unworthy dissensions of the chiefs, the latter held out the hand of
friendship to each other, and Tancred and the Count of Toulouse
embraced in sight of the whole camp. The clergy aided the cause with
their powerful voice, and preached union and goodwill to the highest
and the lowest. A solemn procession was also ordered round the city,
in which the entire army joined, prayers being offered up at every
spot which gospel records had taught them to consider as peculiarly
sacred.

The Saracens upon the ramparts beheld all these manifestations
without alarm. To incense the Christians, whom they despised, they
constructed rude crosses, and fixed them upon the walls, and spat upon
and pelted them with dirt and stones. This insult to the symbol of
their faith raised the wrath of the crusaders to that height that
bravery became ferocity and enthusiasm madness. When all the engines
of war were completed the attack was recommenced, and every soldier of
the Christian army fought with a vigour which the sense of private
wrong invariably inspires. Every man had been personally outraged, and
the knights worked at the battering-rams with as much readiness as the
meanest soldiers. The Saracen arrows and balls of fire fell thick and
fast among them, but the tremendous rams still heaved against the
walls, while the best marksmen of the host were busily employed in the
several floors of the moveable towers in dealing death among the Turks
upon the battlements. Godfrey, Raymond, Tancred, and Robert of
Normandy, each upon his tower, fought for hours with unwearied energy,
often repulsed, but ever ready to renew the struggle. The Turks, no
longer despising the enemy, defended themselves with the utmost skill
and bravery till darkness brought a cessation of hostilities. Short
was the sleep that night in the. Christian camp. The priests offered
up solemn prayers in the midst of the attentive soldiery for the
triumph of the Cross in this last great struggle, and as soon as
morning dawned every one was in readiness for the affray. The women
and children lent their aid, the latter running unconcerned to and fro
while the arrows fell fast around them, bearing water to the thirsty
combatants. The saints were believed to be aiding their efforts, and
the army, impressed with this idea, surmounted difficulties under
which a force thrice as numerous, but without their faith, would have
quailed and been defeated. Raymond of Toulouse at last forced his way
into the city by escalade, while at the very same moment Tancred and
Robert of Normandy succeeded in bursting open one of the gates. The
Turks flew to repair the mischief, and Godfrey of Bouillon, seeing the
battlements comparatively deserted, let down the drawbridge of his
moveable tower, and sprang forward, followed by all the knights of his
train. In an instant after, the banner of the Cross floated upon the
walls of Jerusalem. The crusaders, raising once more their redoubtable
war-cry, rushed on from every side, and the city was taken. The battle
raged in the streets for several hours, and the Christians,
remembering their insulted faith, gave no quarter to young or old,
male or female, sick or strong. Not one of the leaders thought himself
at liberty to issue orders for staying the carnage, and if he had, he
would not have been obeyed. The Saracens fled in great numbers to the
mosque of Soliman, but they had not time to fortify themselves within
it ere the Christians were upon them. Ten thousand persons are said to
have perished in that building alone.

Peter the Hermit, who had remained so long under the veil of
neglect, was repaid that day for all his zeal and all his sufferings.
As soon as the battle was over, the Christians of Jerusalem issued
forth from their hiding-places to welcome their deliverers. They
instantly recognized the Hermit as the pilgrim who, years before, had
spoken to them so eloquently of the wrongs and insults they had
endured, and promised to stir up the princes and people of Europe in
their behalf. They clung to the skirts of his garments in the fervour
of their gratitude, and vowed to remember him for ever in their
prayers. Many of them shed tears about his neck, and attributed the
deliverance of Jerusalem solely to his courage and perseverance. Peter
afterwards held some ecclesiastical office in the Holy City, but what
it was, or what was his ultimate fate, history has forgotten to inform
us. Some say that he returned to France and founded a monastery, but
the story does not rest upon sufficient authority.

The grand object for which the popular swarms of Europe had
forsaken their homes was now accomplished. The Moslem mosques of
Jerusalem were converted into churches for a purer faith, and the
mount of Calvary and the sepulchre of Christ were profaned no longer
by the presence or the power of the infidel. Popular frenzy had
fulfilled its mission, and, as a natural consequence, it began to
subside from that time forth. The news of the capture of Jerusalem
brought numbers of pilgrims from Europe, and, among others, Stephen
Count of Chartres and Hugh of Vermandois, to atone for their
desertion; but nothing like the former enthusiasm existed among the
nations.

Thus then ends the history of the first Crusade. For the better
understanding of the second, it will be necessary to describe the
interval between them, and to enter into a slight sketch of the
history of Jerusalem under its Latin kings, the long and fruitless
wars they continued to wage with the unvanquished Saracens, and the
poor and miserable results which sprang from so vast an expenditure of
zeal, and so deplorable a waste of human life.

The necessity of having some recognized chief was soon felt by the
crusaders, and Godfrey de Bouillon, less ambitious than Bohemund, or
Raymond of Toulouse, gave his cold consent to wield a sceptre which
the latter chiefs would have clutched with eagerness. He was hardly
invested with the royal mantle before the Saracens menaced his
capital. With much vigour and judgment he exerted himself to follow up
the advantages he had gained, and marching out to meet the enemy
before they had time to besiege him in Jerusalem, he gave them battle
at Ascalon, and defeated them with great loss. He did not, however,
live long to enjoy his new dignity, being seized with a fatal illness
when he had only reigned nine months. To him succeeded his brother,
Baldwin of Edessa. The latter monarch did much to improve the
condition of Jerusalem and to extend its territory, but was not able
to make a firm footing for his successors. For fifty years, in which
the history of Jerusalem is full of interest to the historical
student, the crusaders were exposed to fierce and constant
hostilities, often gaining battles and territory, and as often losing
them, but becoming every day weaker and more divided, while the
Saracens became stronger and more united to harass and root them out.
The battles of this period were of the most chivalrous character, and
deeds of heroism were done by the handful of brave knights that
remained in Syria, which have hardly their parallel in the annals of
war. In the course of time, however, the Christians could not avoid
feeling some respect for the courage, and admiration for the polished
manners and advanced civilization of the Saracens, so much superior to
the rudeness and semi-barbarism of Europe at that day. Difference of
faith did not prevent them from forming alliances with the dark-eyed
maidens of the East. One of the first to set the example of taking a
Paynim spouse was King Baldwin himself, and these connexions in time
became, not only frequent, but almost universal, among such of the
knights as had resolved to spend their lives in Palestine. These
Eastern ladies were obliged, however, to submit to the ceremony of
baptism before they could be received to the arms of a Christian lord.
These, and their offspring, naturally looked upon the Saracens with
less hatred than did the zealots who conquered Jerusalem, and who
thought it a sin deserving the wrath of God to spare an unbeliever. We
find, in consequence, that the most obstinate battles waged during the
reigns of the later Kings of Jerusalem were fought by the new and raw
levies who from time to time arrived from Europe, lured by the hope of
glory, or spurred by fanaticism. The latter broke without scruple the
truces established between the original settlers and the Saracens, and
drew down severe retaliation upon many thousands of their brethren in
the faith, whose prudence was stronger than their zeal, and whose
chief desire was to live in peace.

Things remained in this unsatisfactory state till the close of the
year 1145, when Edessa, the strong frontier town of the Christian
kingdom, fell into the bauds of the Saracens. The latter were
commanded by Zenghi, a powerful and enterprising monarch, and, after
his death, by his son Nourheddin, as powerful and enterprising as his
father. An unsuccessful attempt was made by the Count of Edessa to
regain the fortress, but Nourheddin, with a large army, came to the
rescue, and after defeating the Count with great slaughter, marched
into Edessa and caused its fortifications to be rased to the ground,
that the town might never more be a bulwark of defence for the kingdom
of Jerusalem. The road to the capital was now open, and consternation
seized the hearts of the Christians. Nourheddin, it was known, was
only waiting for a favourable opportunity to advance upon Jerusalem,
and the armies of the Cross, weakened and divided, were not in a
condition to make any available resistance. The clergy were filled
with grief and alarm, and wrote repeated letters to the Pope and the
sovereigns of Europe, urging the expediency of a new Crusade for the
relief of Jerusalem. By far the greater number of the priests of
Palestine were natives of France, and these naturally looked first to
their own country. The solicitations they sent to Louis the Seventh
were urgent and oft repeated, and the chivalry of France began to talk
once more of arming in the defence of the birthplace of Jesus. The
kings of Europe, whose interest it had not been to take any part in
the first Crusade, began to bestir themselves in this; and a man
appeared, eloquent as Peter the Hermit, to arouse the people as he had
done.

We find, however, that the enthusiasm of the second did not equal
that of the first Crusade: in fact, the mania had reached its climax
in the time of Peter the Hermit, and decreased regularly from that
period. The third Crusade was less general than the second, and the
fourth than the third, and so on, until the public enthusiasm was
quite extinct, and Jerusalem returned at last to the dominion of its
old masters without a convulsion in Christendom. Various reasons have
been assigned for this; and one very generally put forward is, that
Europe was wearied with continued struggles, and had become sick of
"precipitating itself upon Asia." M. Guizot, in his admirable lectures
upon European civilization, successfully combats this opinion, and
offers one of his own, which is far more satisfactory. He says, in his
eighth lecture, "It has been often repeated, that Europe was tired of
continually invading Asia. This expression appears to me exceedingly
incorrect. It is not possible that human beings can be wearied with
what they have not done -- that the labours of their forefathers can
fatigue them. Weariness is a personal, not an inherited feeling. The
men of the thirteenth century were not fatigued by the Crusades of the
twelfth. They were influenced by another cause. A great change had
taken place in ideas, sentiments, and social conditions. The same
desires and the same wants were no longer felt. The same things were
no longer believed. The people refused to believe what their ancestors
were persuaded of."

This is, in fact, the secret of the change; and its truth becomes
more apparent as we advance in the history of the Crusades, and
compare the state of the public mind at the different periods when
Godfrey of Bouillon, Louis VII. and Richard I. were chiefs and leaders
of the movement. The Crusades themselves were the means of operating a
great change in national ideas, and advancing the civilization of
Europe. In the time of Godfrey, the nobles were all-powerful and
all-oppressive, and equally obnoxious to kings and people. During
their absence along with that portion of the community the deepest
sunk in ignorance and superstition, both kings and people fortified
themselves against the renewal of aristocratic tyranny, and in
proportion as they became free, became civliized. It was during this
period that in France, the grand centre of the crusading madness, the
communes began to acquire strength, and the monarch to possess a
tangible and not a merely theoretic authority. Order and comfort began
to take root, and, when the second Crusade was preached, men were in
consequence much less willing to abandon their homes than they had
been during the first. Such pilgrims as had returned from the Holy
Land came back with minds more liberal and expanded than when they set
out. They had come in contact with a people more civilized than
themselves; they had seen something more of the world, and had lost
some portion, however small, of the prejudice and bigotry of
ignorance. The institution of chivalry had also exercised its
humanizing influence, and coming bright and fresh through the ordeal
of the Crusades, had softened the character and improved the hearts of
the aristocratic order. The Trouveres and Troubadours, singing of love
and war in strains pleasing to every class of society, helped to root
out the gloomy superstitions which, at the first Crusade, filled the
minds of all those who were able to think. Men became in consequence
less exclusively under the mental thraldom of the priesthood, and lost
much of the credulity which formerly distinguished them.

The Crusades appear never to have excited so much attention in
England as on the continent of Europe; not because the people were
less fanatical than their neighbours, but because they were occupied
in matters of graver interest. The English were suffering too severely
from the recent successful invasion of their soil, to have much
sympathy to bestow upon the distresses of people so far away as the
Christians of Palestine; and we find that they took no part in the
first Crusade, and very little in the second. Even then those who
engaged in it were chiefly Norman knights and their vassals, and not
the Saxon franklins and population, who no doubt thought, in their
sorrow, as many wise men have thought since, that charity should begin
at home.

Germany was productive of more zeal in the cause, and her raw,
uncivilized hordes continued to issue forth under the banners of the
Cross in numbers apparently undiminished, when the enthusiasm had long
been on the wane in other countries. They were sunk at that time in a
deeper slough of barbarism than the livelier nations around them, and
took, in consequence, a longer period to free themselves from their
prejudices. In fact, the second Crusade drew its chief supplies of men
from that quarter, where alone the expedition can be said to have
retained any portion of popularity.

Such was the state of the mind of Europe when Pope Eugenius, moved
by the reiterated entreaties of the Christians of Syria, commissioned
St. Bernard to preach a new crusade. St. Bernard was a man eminently
qualified for the mission. He was endowed with an eloquence of the
highest order, could move an auditory to tears, or laughter, or fury,
as it pleased him, and had led a life of such rigid and self-denying
virtue, that not even calumny could lift her finger and point it at
him. He had renounced high prospects in the church, and contented
himself with the simple abbacy of Clairvaux, in order that he might
have the leisure he desired, to raise his powerful voice against
abuses wherever he found them. Vice met in him an austere and
uncompromising reprover; no man was too high for his reproach, and
none too low for his sympathy. He was just as well suited for his age
as Peter the Hermit had been for the age preceding. He appealed more
to the reason, his predecessor to the passions; Peter the Hermit
collected a mob, while St. Bernard collected an army. Both were
endowed with equal zeal and perseverance, springing, in the one, from
impulse, and in the other from conviction, and a desire to increase
the influence of the church, that great body of which he was a pillar
and an ornament.

One of the first converts he made was in himself a host. Louis
VII. was both superstitious and tyrannical, and, in a fit of remorse
for the infamous slaughter he had authorised at the sacking of Vitry,
he made a vow to undertake the journey to the Holy Land. [The sacking
of Vitry reflects indelible disgrace upon Louis VII. His predecessors
had been long engaged in resistance to the outrageous powers assumed
by the Popes, and Louis continued the same policy. The ecclesiastical
chapter of Bourges, having elected an Archbishop without his consent,
he proclaimed the election to be invalid, and took severe and prompt
measures against the refractory clergy. Thibault, Count de Champagne,
took up arms in defence of the Papal authority, and intrenched himself
in the town of Vitry. Louis was immediately in the field to chastise
the rebel, and he besieged the town with so much vigour, that the
Count was forced to surrender. Upwards of thirteen hundred of the
inhabitants, fully one half of whom were women and children, took
refuge in the church; and, when the gates of the city were opened, and
all resistance had ceased, Louis inhumanly gave orders to set fire to
the church, and a thousand persons perished in the flames.] He was in
this disposition when St. Bernard began to preach, and wanted but
little persuasion to embark in the cause. His example had great
influence upon the nobility, who, impoverished as many of them were by
the sacrifices made by their fathers in the holy wars, were anxious to
repair their ruined fortunes by conquests on a foreign shore. These
took the field with such vassals as they could command, and, in a very
short time, an army was raised amounting to two hundred thousand men.
At Vezelai the monarch received the cross from the hands of St.
Bernard, on a platform elevated in sight of all the people. Several
nobles, three bishops, and his Queen, Eleanor of Aquitaine, were
present at this ceremony, and enrolled themselves under the banners of
the Cross, St. Bernard cutting up his red sacerdotal vestments, and
making crosses of them, to be sewn on the shoulders of the people. An
exhortation from the Pope was read to the multitude, granting
remission of their sins to all who should join the Crusade, and
directing that no man on that holy pilgrimage should encumber himself
with heavy baggage and vain superfluities, and that the nobles should
not travel with dogs or falcons, to lead them from the direct road, as
had happened to so many during the first Crusade.

The command of the army was offered to St. Bernard; but he wisely
refused to accept a station for which his habits had unqualified him.
After consecrating Louis with great solemnity, at St. Denis, as chief
of the expedition, he continued his course through the country,
stirring up the people wherever he went. So high an opinion was
entertained of his sanctity, that he was thought to be animated by the
spirit of prophecy, and to be gifted with the power of working
miracles. Many women, excited by his eloquence, and encouraged by his
predictions, forsook their husbands and children, and, clothing
themselves in male attire, hastened to the war. St. Bernard himself
wrote a letter to the Pope, detailing his success, and stating, that
in several towns there did not remain a single male inhabitant capable
of bearing arms, and that everywhere castles and towns were to be seen
filled with women weeping for their absent husbands. But in spite of
this apparent enthusiasm, the numbers who really took up arms were
inconsiderable, and not to be compared to the swarms of the first
Crusade. A levy of no more than two hundred thousand men, which was
the utmost the number amounted to, could hardly have depopulated a
country like France to the extent mentioned by St. Bernard. His
description of the state of the country appears, therefore, to have
been much more poetical than true.

Suger, the able minister of Louis, endeavoured to dissuade him
from undertaking so long a journey at a time when his own dominions so
much needed his presence. But the king was pricked in his conscience
by the cruelties of Vitry, and was anxious to make the only reparation
which the religion of that day considered sufficient. He was desirous
moreover of testifying to the world, that though he could brave the
temporal power of the church when it encroached upon his prerogatives,
he could render all due obedience to its spiritual decrees whenever it
suited his interest or tallied with his prejudices to so do. Suger,
therefore, implored in vain, and Louis received the pilgrim's staff at
St. Denis, and made all preparations for his pilgrimage.

In the mean time St. Bernard passed into Germany, where similar
success attended his preaching. The renown of his sanctity had gone
before him, and he found everywhere an admiring audience. Thousands of
people, who could not understand a word he said, flocked around him to
catch a glimpse of so holy a man; and the knights enrolled themselves
in great numbers in the service of the Cross, each receiving from his
hands the symbol of the cause. But the people were not led away as in
the days of Gottschalk. We do not find that they rose in such
tremendous masses of two and three hundred thousand men, swarming over
the country like a plague of locusts. Still the enthusiasm was very
great. The extraordinary tales that were told and believed of the
miracles worked by the preacher brought the country people from far
and near. Devils were said to vanish at his sight, and diseases of the
most malignant nature to be cured by his touch. [Philip, Archdeacon of
the cathedral of Liege, wrote a detailed account of all the miracles
performed by St. Bernard during thirty-four days of his mission. They
averaged about ten per day. The disciples of St. Bernard complained
bitterly that the people flocked around their master in such numbers,
that they could not see half the miracles he performed. But they
willingly trusted the eyes of others, as far as faith in the miracles
went, and seemed to vie with each other whose credulity should be
greatest.] The Emperor Conrad caught at last the contagion from his
subjects, and declared his intention to follow the Cross.

The preparations were carried on so vigorously under the orders of
Conrad, that in less than three months he found himself at the head of
an army containing at least one hundred and fifty thousand effective
men, besides a great number of women who followed their husbands and
lovers to the war. One troop of them rode in the attitude and armour
of men: their chief wore gilt spurs and buskins, and thence acquired
the epithet of the golden-footed lady. Conrad was ready to set out
long before the French Monarch, and in the month of June 1147, he
arrived before Constantinople, having passed through Hungary and
Bulgaria without offence to the inhabitants.

Manuel Comnenus, the Greek Emperor, successor not only to the
throne, but to the policy of Alexius, looked with alarm upon the new
levies who had come to eat up his capital and imperil its
tranquillity. Too weak to refuse them a passage through his dominions,
too distrustful of them to make them welcome when they came, and too
little assured of the advantages likely to result to himself from the
war, to feign a friendship which he did not feel, the Greek Emperor
gave offence at the very outset. His subjects, in the pride of
superior civilization, called the Germans barbarians, while the
latter, who, if semi-barbarous, were at least honest and
straight-forward, retorted upon the Greeks by calling them
double-faced knaves and traitors. Disputes continually arose between
them, and Conrad, who had preserved so much good order among his
followers during their passage, was unable to restrain their
indignation when they arrived at Constantinople. For some offence or
other which the Greeks had given them, but which is rather hinted at
than stated by the scanty historians of the day, the Germans broke
into the magnificent pleasure garden of the Emperor, where he had a
valuable collection of tame animals, for which the grounds had been
laid out in woods, caverns, groves, and streams, that each might
follow in captivity his natural habits. The enraged Germans, meriting
the name of barbarians that had been bestowed upon them, laid waste
this pleasant retreat, and killed or let loose the valuable animals it
contained. Manuel, who is said to have beheld the devastation from his
palace windows without power or courage to prevent it, was completely
disgusted with his guests, and resolved, like his predecessor Alexius,
to get rid of them on the first opportunity. He sent a message to
Conrad respectfully desiring an interview, but the German refused to
trust himself within the walls of Constantinople. The Greek Emperor,
on his part, thought it compatible neither with his dignity nor his
safety to seek the German, and several days were spent in insincere
negotiations. Manuel at length agreed to furnish the crusading army
with guides to conduct it through Asia Minor; and Conrad passed over
the Hellespont with his forces, the advanced guard being commanded by
himself, and the rear by the warlike Bishop of Freysinghen.

Historians are almost unanimous in their belief that the wily
Greek gave instructions to his guides to lead the army of the German
Emperor into dangers and difficulties. It is certain, that instead of
guiding them through such districts of Asia Minor as afforded water
and provisions, they led them into the wilds of Cappadocia, where
neither was to be procured, and where they were suddenly attacked by
the Sultaun of the Seljukian Turks, at the head of an immense force.
The guides, whose treachery is apparent from this fact alone, fled at
the first sight of the Turkish army, and the Christians were left to
wage unequal warfare with their enemy, entangled and bewildered in
desert wilds. Toiling in their heavy mail, the Germans could make but
little effective resistance to the attacks of the Turkish light horse,
who were down upon them one instant, and out of sight the next. Now in
the front and now in the rear, the agile foe showered his arrows upon
them, enticing them into swamps and hollows, from which they could
only extricate themselves after long struggles and great losses. The
Germans, confounded by this mode of warfare, lost all conception of
the direction they were pursuing, and went back instead of forward.
Suffering at the same time for want of provisions, they fell an easy
prey to their pursuers. Count Bernhard, one of the bravest leaders of
the German expedition, was surrounded, with his whole division, not
one of whom escaped the Turkish arrows. The Emperor himself had nearly
fallen a victim, and was twice severely wounded. So persevering was
the enemy, and so little able were the Germans to make even a show of
resistance, that when Conrad at last reached the city of Nice, he
found that, instead of being at the head of an imposing force of one
hundred thousand foot and seventy thousand horse, he had but fifty or
sixty thousand men, and these in the most worn and wearied condition.

Totally ignorant of the treachery of the Greek Emperor, although
he had been warned to beware of it, Louis VII. proceeded, at the head
of his army, through Worms and Ratisbon, towards Constantinople. At
Ratisbon he was met by a deputation from Manuel, bearing letters so
full of hyperbole and flattery, that Louis is reported to have blushed
when they were read to him by the Bishop of Langres. The object of the
deputation was to obtain from the French King a promise to pass
through the Grecian territories in a peaceable and friendly manner,
and to yield to the Greek Emperor any conquest he might make in Asia
Minor. The first part of the proposition was immediately acceded to,
but no notice was taken of the second and more unreasonable. Louis
marched on, and, passing through Hungary, pitched his tents in the
outskirts of Constantinople.

On his arrival, Manuel sent him a friendly invitation to enter the
city, at the head of a small train. Louis at once accepted it, and was
met by the Emperor at the porch of his palace. The fairest promises
were made; every art that flattery could suggest was resorted to, and
every argument employed, to induce him to yield his future conquests
to the Greek. Louis obstinately refused to pledge himself, and
returned to his army, convinced that the Emperor was a man not to be
trusted. Negotiations were, however, continued for several days, to
the great dissatisfaction of the French army. The news that arrived of
a treaty entered into between Manuel and the Turkish Sultan changed
their dissatisfaction into fury, and the leaders demanded to be led
against Constantinople, swearing that they would raze the treacherous
city to the ground. Louis did not feel inclined to accede to this
proposal, and, breaking up his camp, he crossed over into Asia.

Here he heard, for the first time, of the mishaps of the German
Emperor, whom he found in a woeful plight under the walls of Nice. The
two monarchs united their forces, and marched together along the
sea-coast to Ephesus; but Conrad, jealous, it would appear, of the
superior numbers of the French, and not liking to sink into a vassal,
for the time being, of his rival, withdrew abruptly with the remnant
of his legions, and returned to Constantinople. Manuel was all smiles
and courtesy. He condoled with the German so feelingly upon his
losses, and cursed the stupidity or treachery of the guides with such
apparent heartiness, that Conrad was half inclined to believe in his
sincerity.

Louis, marching onward in the direction of Jerusalem, came up with
the enemy on the banks of the Meander. The Turks contested the passage
of the river, but the French bribed a peasant to point out a ford
lower down: crossing the river without difficulty, they attacked the
Turks with much vigour, and put them to flight. Whether the Turks were
really defeated, or merely pretended to be so, is doubtful; but the
latter supposition seems to be the true one. It is probable that it
was part of a concerted plan to draw the invaders onwards to more
unfavourable ground, where their destruction might be more certain. If
such were the scheme, it succeeded to the heart's wish of its
projectors. The crusaders, on the third day after their victory,
arrived at a steep mountain-pass, on the summit of which the Turkish
host lay concealed so artfully, that not the slightest vestige of
their presence could be perceived. "With labouring steps and slow,"
they toiled up the steep ascent, when suddenly a tremendous fragment
of rock came bounding down the precipices with an awful crash, bearing
dismay and death before it. At the same instant the Turkish archers
started from their hiding-places, and discharged a shower of arrows
upon the foot soldiers, who fell by hundreds at a time. The arrows
rebounded harmlessly against the iron mail of the knights, which the
Turks observing, took aim at their steeds, and horse and rider fell
down the steep into the rapid torrent which rushed below. Louis, who
commanded the rear-guard, received the first intimation of the
onslaught from the sight of his wounded and flying soldiers, and, not
knowing the numbers of the enemy, he pushed vigorously forward to
stay, by his presence, the panic which had taken possession of his
army. All his efforts were in vain. Immense stones continued to be
hurled upon them as they advanced, bearing men and horse before them;
and those who succeeded in forcing their way to the top, were met
hand-to-hand by the Turks, and cast down headlong upon their
companions. Louis himself fought with the energy of desperation, but
had great difficulty to avoid falling into the enemy's hands. He
escaped at last under cover of the night, with the remnant of his
forces, and took up his position before Attalia. Here he restored the
discipline and the courage of his disorganized and disheartened
followers, and debated with his captains the plan that was to be
pursued. After suffering severely both from disease and famine, it was
resolved that they should march to Antioch, which still remained an
independent principality under the successors of Bohemund of Tarentum.
At this time the sovereignty was vested in the person of Raymond, the
uncle of Eleanor of Aquitaine. This Prince, presuming upon his
relationship to the French Queen, endeavoured to withdraw Louis from
the grand object of the Crusade -- the defence of the kingdom of
Jerusalem, and secure his co-operation in extending the limits and the
power of his principality of Antioch. The Prince of Tripoli formed a
similar design, but Louis rejected the offers of both, and marched
after a short delay to Jerusalem. The Emperor Conrad was there before
him, having left Constantinople with promises of assistance from
Manuel Comnenus; assistance which never arrived, and was never
intended.

A great council of the Christian princes of Palestine and the
leaders of the Crusade was then summoned, to discuss the future
operations of the war. It was ultimately determined that it would
further the cause of the Cross in a greater degree if the united
armies, instead of proceeding to Edessa, laid siege to the city of
Damascus, and drove the Saracens from that strong position. This was a
bold scheme, and, had it been boldly followed out, would have insured,
in all probability, the success of the war. But the Christian leaders
never learned from experience the necessity of union, that very soul
of great enterprises. Though they all agreed upon the policy of the
plan, yet every one had his own notions as to the means of executing
it. The Princes of Antioch and Tripoli were jealous of each other, and
of the King of Jerusalem. The Emperor Conrad was jealous of the King
of France, and the King of France was disgusted with them all. But he
had come out to Palestine in accordance with a solemn vow; his
religion, though it may be called bigotry, was sincere; and he
determined to remain to the very last moment that a chance was left,
of effecting any good for the cause he had set his heart on.

The siege of Damascus was accordingly commenced, and with so much
ability and vigour that the Christians gained a considerable advantage
at the very outset. For weeks the siege was pressed, till the
shattered fortifications and diminishing resistance of the besieged
gave evidence that the city could not hold out much longer. At that
moment the insane jealousy of the leaders led to dissensions that soon
caused the utter failure, not only of the siege, but of the Crusade. A
modern cookery-book, in giving a recipe for cooking a hare, says,
"first catch your hare, and then kill it;" a maxim of indisputable
wisdom. The Christian chiefs on this occasion had not so much
sagacity, for they began a violent dispute among themselves for the
possession of a city which was still unconquered. There being already
a Prince of Antioch and a Prince of Tripoli, twenty claimants started
for the principality of Damascus, and a grand council of the leaders
was held to determine the individual on whom the honour should
devolve. Many valuable days were wasted in this discussion, the enemy
in the mean while gaining strength from their inactivity. It was at
length, after a stormy deliberation, agreed that Count Robert of
Flanders, who had twice visited the Holy Land, should be invested with
the dignity. The other claimants refused to recognise him, or to
co-operate in the siege, until a more equitable arrangement had been
made. Suspicion filled the camp; the most sinister rumours of
intrigues and treachery were set afloat; and the discontented
candidates withdrew at last to the other side of the city, and
commenced operations on their own account, without a probability of
success. They were soon joined by the rest of the army. The
consequence was that the weakest side of the city, and that on which
they had already made considerable progress in the work of demolition,
was left uncovered. The enemy was prompt to profit by the mistake, and
received an abundant supply of provisions, and refortified the walls,
before the crusaders came to their senses again. When this desirable
event happened, it was too late. Saph Eddin, the powerful Emir of
Mousoul, was in the neighbourhood, at the head of a large army,
advancing by forced marches to the relief of the city. The siege was
abruptly abandoned, and the foolish crusaders returned to Jerusalem,
having done nothing to weaken the enemy, but every thing to weaken
themselves.

The freshness of enthusiasm had now completely subsided; -- even
the meanest soldiers were sick at heart. Conrad, from whose fierce
zeal at the outset so much might have been expected, was wearied with
reverses, and returned to Europe with the poor remnant of his host.
Louis lingered a short time longer, for very shame, but the pressing
solicitations of his minister Suger induced him to return to France.
Thus ended the second Crusade. Its history is but a chronicle of
defeats. It left the kingdom of Jerusalem in a worse state than when
it quitted Europe, and gained nothing but disgrace for its leaders and
discouragement for all concerned.

St. Bernard, who had prophesied a result so different, fell after
this into some disrepute, and experienced, like many other prophets,
the fate of being without honour in his own country. What made the
matter worse, he could not obtain it in any other. Still, however,
there were not wanting zealous advocates to stand forward in his
behalf, and stem the tide of incredulity, which, unopposed, would have
carried away his reputation. The Bishop of Freysinghen declared that
prophets were not always able to prophesy, and that the vices of the
crusaders drew down the wrath of Heaven upon them. But the most
ingenious excuse ever made for St. Bernard is to be found in his life
by Geoffroi de Clairvaux, where he pertinaciously insists that the
Crusade was not unfortunate. St. Bernard, he says, had prophesied a
happy result, and that result could not be considered other than happy
which had peopled heaven with so glorious an army of martyrs. Geoffroi
was a cunning pleader, and, no doubt, convinced a few of the zealous;
but plain people, who were not wanting even in those days, retained
their own opinion, or, what amounts to the same thing, "were convinced
against their will."

We now come to the consideration of the third Crusade, and of the
causes which rendered it necessary. The epidemic frenzy, which had
been cooling ever since the issue of the first expedition, was now
extinct, or very nearly so, and the nations of Europe looked with cold
indifference upon the armaments of their princes. But chivalry had
flourished in its natural element of war, and was now in all its
glory. It continued to supply armies for the Holy Land when the
popular ranks refused to deliver up their able-bodied swarms. Poetry,
which, more than religion, inspired the third Crusade, was then but
"caviare to the million," who had other matters, of sterner import, to
claim all their attention. But the knights and their retainers
listened with delight to the martial and amatory strains of the
minstrels, minnesangers, trouveres, and troubadours, and burned to win
favour in ladies' eyes by showing prowess in Holy Land. The third was
truly the romantic era of the Crusades. Men fought then, not so much
for the sepulchre of Jesus, and the maintenance of a Christian kingdom
in the East, as to gain glory for themselves in the best, and almost
only field, where glory could be obtained. They fought, not as
zealots, but as soldiers; not for religion, but for honour; not for
the crown of martyrdom, but for the favour of the lovely.

It is not necessary to enter into a detail of the events by which
Saladin attained the sovereignty of the East, or how, after a
succession of engagements, he planted the Moslem banner once more upon
the battlements of Jerusalem. The Christian knights and population,
including the grand orders of St. John, the Hospitallers, and the
Templars, were sunk in an abyss of vice, and torn by unworthy
jealousies and dissensions, were unable to resist the well-trained
armies which the wise and mighty Saladin brought forward to crush
them. But the news of their fall created a painful sensation among the
chivalry of Europe, whose noblest members were linked to the dwellers
in Palestine by many ties, both of blood and friendship. The news of
the great battle of Tiberias, in which Saladin defeated the Christian
host with terrible slaughter, arrived first in Europe, and was
followed in quick succession by that of the capture of Jerusalem,
Antioch, Tripoli, and other cities. Dismay seized upon the clergy. The
Pope (Urban III.) was so affected by the news that he pined away for
grief, and was scarcely seen to smile again, until he sank into the
sleep of death. [James of Vitry -- William de Nangis.] His successor,
Gregory VIII. felt the loss as acutely, but had better strength to
bear it, and instructed all the clergy of the Christian world to stir
up the people to arms for the recovery of the Holy Sepulchre. William,
Archbishop of Tyre, a humble follower in the path of Peter the Hermit,
left Palestine to preach to the Kings of Europe the miseries he had
witnessed, and to incite them to the rescue. The renowned Frederick
Barbarossa, the Emperor of Germany, speedily collected an army, and
passing over into Syria with less delay than had ever before awaited a
crusading force, defeated the Saracens, and took possession of the
city of Iconium. He was unfortunately cut off in the middle of his
successful career, by imprudently bathing in the Cydnus [The desire of
comparing two great men has tempted many writers to drown Frederick in
the river Cydnus, in which Alexander so imprudently bathed (Q. Curt.
lib. iii. c. 4, 5.): but, from the march of the Emperor, I rather
judge that his Saleph is the Calycadnus, a stream of less fame, but of
a longer course. -- Gibbon] while he was overheated, and the Duke of
Suabia took the command of the expedition. The latter did not prove so
able a general, and met with nothing but reverses, although he was
enabled to maintain a footing at Antioch until assistance arrived from
Europe.

Henry II. of England and Philip Augustus of France, at the head of
their chivalry, supported the Crusade with all their influence, until
wars and dissensions nearer home estranged them from it for a time.
The two kings met at Gisors in Normandy in the month of January 1188,
accompanied by a brilliant train of knights and warriors. William of
Tyre was present, and expounded the cause of the Cross with
considerable eloquence, and the whole assembly bound themselves by
oath to proceed to Jerusalem. It was agreed at the same time that a
tax, called Saladin's tithe, and consisting of the tenth part of all
possessions, whether landed or personal, should be enforced over
Christendom, upon every one who was either unable or unwilling to
assume the Cross. The lord of every feof, whether lay or
ecclesiastical, was charged to raise the tithe within his own
jurisdiction; and any one who refused to pay his quota, became by that
act the bondsman and absolute property of his lord. At the same time
the greatest indulgence was shown to those who assumed the Cross; no
man was at liberty to stay them by process of any kind, whether for
debt, or robbery, or murder. The King of France, at the breaking up of
the conference, summoned a parliament at Paris, where these
resolutions were solemnly confirmed, while Henry II. did the same for
his Norman possessions at Rouen, and for England at Geddington, in
Northamptonshire. To use the words of an ancient chronicler, [Stowe.]
"he held a parliament about the voyage into the Holy Land, and
troubled the whole land with the paying of tithes towards it."

But it was not England only that was "troubled" by the tax. The
people of France also looked upon it with no pleasant feelings, and
appear from that time forth to have changed their indifference for the
Crusade into aversion. Even the clergy, who were exceedingly willing
that other people should contribute half, or even all their goods in
furtherance of their favourite scheme, were not at all anxious to
contribute a single sous themselves. Millot ["Elemens de l'Histoire de
France."] relates that several of them cried out against the impost.
Among the rest the clergy of Rheims were called upon to pay their
quota, but sent a deputation to the King, begging him to be contented
with the aid of their prayers, as they were too poor to contribute in
any other shape. Philip Augustus knew better, and by way of giving
them a lesson, employed three nobles of the vicinity to lay waste the
church lands. The clergy, informed of the outrage, applied to the King
for redress. "I will aid you with my prayers," said the Monarch
condescendingly," and will intreat those gentlemen to let the church
alone." He did as he had promised, but in such a manner, that the
nobles, who appreciated the joke, continued their devastations as
before. Again the clergy applied to the King. "What would you have of
me?" he replied, in answer to their remonstrances: "You gave me your
prayers in my necessity, and I have given you mine in yours." The
clergy understood the argument, and thought it the wiser course to pay
their quota of Saladin's tithe without further parley.

This anecdote shows the unpopularity of the Crusade. If the clergy
disliked to contribute, it is no wonder that the people felt still
greater antipathy. But the chivalry of Europe was eager for the
affray: the tithe was rigorously collected, and armies from England,
France, Burgundy, Italy, Flanders, and Germany, were soon in the
field; The two kings who were to have led it, were, however, drawn
into broils by an aggression of Richard; Duke of Guienne, better
known as Richard Coeur de Lion, upon the territory of the Count of
Toulouse, and the proposed journey to Palestine was delayed. War
continued to rage between France and England, and with so little
probability of a speedy termination, that many of the nobles, bound to
the Crusade, left the two Monarchs to settle their differences at
their leisure, and proceeded to Palestine without them.

Death at last stepped in and removed Henry II. from the hostility
of his foes, and the treachery and ingratitude of his children. His
son Richard immediately concluded an alliance with Philip Augustus,
and the two young, valiant, and impetuous Monarchs, united all their
energies to forward the Crusade. They met with a numerous and
brilliant retinue at Nonancourt in Normandy, where, in sight of their
assembled chivalry, they embraced as brothers, and swore to live as
friends and true allies, until a period of forty days after their
return from the Holy Land. With a view of purging their camp from the
follies and vices which had proved so ruinous to preceding
expeditions, they drew up a code of laws for the government of the
army. Gambling had been carried to a great extent, and had proved the
fruitful source of quarrels and bloodshed, and one of their laws
prohibited any person in the army, beneath the degree of a knight,
from playing at any game for money. [Strutt's "Sports and Pastimes."]
Knights and clergymen might play for money, but no one was permitted
to lose or gain more than twenty shillings in a day, under a penalty
of one hundred shillings. The personal attendants of the Monarchs were
also allowed to play to the same extent. The penalty in their case for
infraction was that they should be whipped naked through the army for
the space of three days. Any crusader, who struck another and drew
blood, was ordered to have his hand cut off; and whoever slew a
brother crusader was condemned to be tied alive to the corpse of his
victim and buried with him. No young women were allowed to follow the
army, to the great sorrow of many vicious and of many virtuous dames,
who had not courage to elude the decree by dressing in male attire.
But many high-minded and affectionate maidens and matrons, bearing the
sword or the spear, followed their husbands and lovers to the war in
spite of King Richard, and in defiance of danger. The only women
allowed to accompany the army in their own habiliments, were
washerwomen, of fifty years complete, and any others of the fair sex
who had reached the same age.

These rules having been promulgated, the two monarchs marched
together to Lyons, where they separated, agreeing to meet again at
Messina. Philip proceeded across the Alps to Genoa, where he took
ship, and was conveyed in safety to the place of rendezvous. Richard
turned in the direction of Marseilles, where he also took ship for
Messina. His impetuous disposition hurried him into many squabbles by
the way, and his knights and followers, for the most part as brave and
as foolish as himself, imitated him very zealously in this particular.
At Messina the Sicilians charged the most exorbitant prices for every
necessary of life. Richard's army in vain remonstrated. From words
they came to blows, and, as a last resource, plundered the Sicilians,
since they could not trade with them. Continual battles were the
consequence, in one of which Lebrun, the favourite attendant of
Richard, lost his life. The peasantry from far and near came flocking
to the aid of the townspeople, and the battle soon became general.
Richard, irritated at the loss of his favourite, and incited by a
report that Tancred, the King of Sicily, was fighting at the head of
his own people, joined the melee with his boldest knights, and,
beating back the Sicilians, attacked the city, sword in hand, stormed
the battlements, tore down the flag of Sicily, and planted his own in
its stead. This collision gave great offence to the King of France,
who became from that time jealous of Richard, and apprehensive that
his design was not so much to re-establish the Christian Kingdom of
Jerusalem, as to make conquests for himself. He, however, exerted his
influence to restore peace between the English and Sicilians, and
shortly afterwards set sail for Acre, with distrust of his ally
germinating in his heart.

Richard remained behind for some weeks, in a state of inactivity
quite unaccountable in one of his temperament. He appears to have had
no more squabbles with the Sicilians, but to have lived an easy
luxurious life, forgetting, in the lap of pleasure, the objects for
which he had quitted his own dominions and the dangerous laxity he was
introducing into his army. The superstition of his soldiers recalled
him at length to a sense of his duty: a comet was seen for several
successive nights, which was thought to menace them with the vengeance
of Heaven for their delay. Shooting stars gave them similar warning;
and a fanatic, of the name of Joachim, with his drawn sword in his
hand, and his long hair streaming wildly over his shoulders, went
through the camp, howling all night long, and predicting plague,
famine, and every other calamity, if they did not set out immediately.
Richard did not deem it prudent to neglect the intimations; and,
after doing humble penance for his remissness, he set sail for Acre.

A violent storm dispersed his fleet, but he arrived safely at
Rhodes with the principal part of the armament. Here he learned that
three of his ships had been stranded on the rocky coasts of Cyprus,
and that the ruler of the island, Isaac Comnenus, had permitted his
people to pillage the unfortunate crews, and had refused shelter to
his betrothed bride, the Princess Berengaria, and his sister, who, in
one of the vessels, had been driven by stress of weather into the port
of Limisso. The fiery monarch swore to be revenged, and, collecting
all his vessels, sailed back to Limisso. Isaac Comnenus refused to
apologize or explain, and Richard, in no mood to be trifled with,
landed on the island, routed with great loss the forces sent to oppose
him, and laid the whole country under contribution.

On his arrival at Acre, he found the whole of the chivalry of
Europe there before him. Guy of Lusignan, the King of Jerusalem, had
long before collected the bold Knights of the Temple, the Hospital,
and St. John, and had laid siege to Acre, which was resolutely
defended by the Sultan Saladin, with an army magnificent both for its
numbers and its discipline. For nearly two years the crusaders had
pushed the siege, and made efforts almost superhuman to dislodge the
enemy. Various battles had taken place in the open fields with no
decisive advantage to either party, and Guy of Lusignan had begun to
despair of taking that strong position without aid from Europe. His
joy was extreme on the arrival of Philip with all his chivalry, and he
only awaited the coming of Coeur de Lion to make one last decisive
attack upon the town. When the fleet of England was first seen
approaching the shores of Syria, a universal shout arose from the
Christian camp; and when Richard landed with his train, one louder
still pierced to the very mountains of the south, where Saladin lay
with all his army.

It may be remarked as characteristic of this Crusade, that the
Christians and the Moslems no longer looked upon each other as
barbarians, to whom mercy was a crime. Each host entertained the
highest admiration for the bravery and magnanimity of the other, and
in their occasional truces met upon the most friendly terms. The
Moslem warriors were full of courtesy to the Christian knights, and
had no other regret than to think that such fine fellows were not
Mahomedans. The Christians, with a feeling precisely similar, extolled
to the skies the nobleness of the Saracens, and sighed to think that
such generosity and valour should be sullied by disbelief in the
Gospel of Jesus. But when the strife began, all these feelings
disappeared, and the struggle became mortal.

The jealousy excited in the mind of Philip by the events of
Messina still rankled, and the two monarchs refused to act in concert.
Instead of making a joint attack upon the town, the French monarch
assailed it alone, and was repulsed. Richard did the same, and with
the same result. Philip tried to seduce the soldiers of Richard from
their allegiance by the offer of three gold pieces per month to every
knight who would forsake the banners of England for those of France.
Richard met the bribe by another, and promised four pieces to every
French knight who should join the Lion of England. In this unworthy
rivalry their time was wasted, to the great detriment of the
discipline and efficiency of their followers. Some good was
nevertheless effected; for the mere presence of two such armies
prevented the besieged city from receiving supplies, and the
inhabitants were reduced by famine to the most woeful straits. Saladin
did not deem it prudent to risk a general engagement by coming to
their relief, but preferred to wait till dissension had weakened his
enemy, and made him an easy prey. Perhaps if he had been aware of the
real extent of the extremity in Acre, he would have changed his plan;
but, cut off from the town, he did not know their misery till it was
too late. After a short truce the city capitulated upon terms so
severe that Saladin afterwards refused to ratify them. The chief
conditions were, that the precious wood of the true cross, captured by
the Moslems in Jerusalem, should be restored; that a sum of two
hundred thousand gold pieces should be paid; and that all the
Christian prisoners in Acre should be released, together with two
hundred knights and a thousand soldiers, detained in captivity by
Saladin. The eastern monarch, as may be well conceived, did not set
much store on the wood of the cross, but was nevertheless anxious to
keep it, as he knew its possession by the Christians would do more
than a victory to restore their courage. He refused, therefore, to
deliver it up, or to accede to any of the conditions; and Richard, as
he had previously threatened, barbarously ordered all the Saracen
prisoners in his power to be put to death.

The possession of the city only caused new and unhappy dissensions
between the Christian leaders. The Archduke of Austria unjustifiably
hoisted his flag on one of the towers of Acre, which Richard no sooner
saw than he tore it down with his own hands, and trampled it under his
feet. Philip, though he did not sympathise with the Archduke, was
piqued at the assumption of Richard, and the breach between the two
monarchs became wider than ever. A foolish dispute arose at the same
time between Guy of Lusignan and Conrad of Montferrat for the crown of
Jerusalem. The inferior knights were not slow to imitate the
pernicious example, and jealousy, distrust, and ill-will reigned in
the Christian camp. In the midst of this confusion the King of France
suddenly announced his intention to return to his own country. Richard
was filled with indignation, and exclaimed, "Eternal shame light on
him, and on all France, if, for any cause, he leave this work
unfinished!" But Philip was not to be stayed. His health had suffered
by his residence in the East, and, ambitious of playing a first part,
he preferred to play none at all, than to play second to King Richard.
Leaving a small detachment of Burgundians behind, he returned to
France with the remainder of his army; and Coeur de Lion, without
feeling, in the multitude of his rivals, that he had lost the
greatest, became painfully convinced that the right arm of the
enterprize was lopped off.

After his departure, Richard re-fortified Acre, restored the
Christian worship in the churches, and, leaving a Christian garrison
to protect it, marched along the sea-coast towards Ascalon. Saladin
was on the alert, and sent his light horse to attack the rear of the
Christian army, while he himself, miscalculating their weakness since
the defection of Philip, endeavoured to force them to a general
engagement. The rival armies met near Azotus. A fierce battle ensued,
in which Saladin was defeated and put to flight, and the road to
Jerusalem left free for the crusaders.

Again discord exerted its baleful influence, and prevented Richard
from following up his victory. His opinion was constantly opposed by
the other leaders, all jealous of his bravery and influence; and the
army, instead of marching to Jerusalem, or even to Ascalon, as was
first intended, proceeded to Jaffa, and remained in idleness until
Saladin was again in a condition to wage war against them.

Many months were spent in fruitless hostilities and as fruitless
negotiations. Richard's wish was to recapture Jerusalem; but there
were difficulties in the way, which even his bold spirit could not
conquer. His own intolerable pride was not the least cause of the
evil; for it estranged many a generous spirit, who would have been
willing to co-operate with him in all cordiality. At length it was
agreed to march to the Holy City; but the progress made was so slow
and painful, that the soldiers murmured, and the leaders meditated
retreat. The weather was hot and dry, and there was little water to be
procured. Saladin had choked up the wells and cisterns on the route,
and the army had not zeal enough to push forward amid such privation.
At Bethlehem a council was held, to debate whether they should retreat
or advance. Retreat was decided upon, and immediately commenced. It is
said, that Richard was first led to a hill, whence he could obtain a
sight of the towers of Jerusalem, and that he was so affected at being
so near it, and so unable to relieve it, that he hid his face behind
his shield, and sobbed aloud.

The army separated into two divisions, the smaller falling back
upon Jaffa, and the larger, commanded by Richard and the Duke of
Burgundy, returning to Acre. Before the English monarch had made all
his preparations for his return to Europe, a messenger reached Acre
with the intelligence that Jaffa was besieged by Saladin, and that,
unless relieved immediately, the city would be taken. The French,
under the Duke of Burgundy, were so wearied with the war, that they
refused to aid their brethren in Jaffa. Richard, blushing with shame
at their pusillanimity, called his English to the rescue, and arrived
just in time to save the city. His very name put the Saracens to
flight, so great was their dread of his prowess. Saladin regarded him
with the warmest admiration, and when Richard, after his victory,
demanded peace, willingly acceded. A truce was concluded for three
years and eight months, during which Christian pilgrims were to enjoy
the liberty of visiting Jerusalem without hindrance or payment of any
tax. The crusaders were allowed to retain the cities of Tyre and
Jaffa, with the country intervening. Saladin, with a princely
generosity, invited many of the Christians to visit Jerusalem; and
several of the leaders took advantage of his offer to feast their eyes
upon a spot which all considered so sacred. Many of them were
entertained for days in the Sultan's own palace, from which they
returned with their tongues laden with the praises of the noble
infidel. Richard and Saladin never met, though the impression that
they did will remain on many minds, who have been dazzled by the
glorious fiction of Sir Walter Scott. But each admired the prowess and
nobleness of soul of his rival, and agreed to terms far less onerous
than either would have accepted, had this mutual admiration not
existed.[Richard left a high reputation in Palestine. So much terror
did his name occasion, that the women of Syria used it to frighten
their children for ages afterwards. Every disobedient brat became
still when told that King Richard was coming. Even men shared the
panic that his name created; and a hundred years afterwards, whenever
a horse shied at any object in the way, his rider would exclaim,
"What! dost thou think King Richard is in the bush?"]

The King of England no longer delayed his departure, for
messengers from his own country brought imperative news that his
presence was required to defeat the intrigues that were fomenting
against his crown. His long imprisonment in the Austrian dominions and
final ransom are too well known to be dwelt upon. And thus ended the
third Crusade, less destructive of human life than the two first, but
quite as useless.

The flame of popular enthusiasm now burned pale indeed, and all
the efforts of popes and potentates were insufficient to rekindle it.
At last, after flickering unsteadily, like a lamp expiring in the
socket, it burned up brightly for one final instant, and was
extinguished for ever.

The fourth Crusade, as connected with popular feeling, requires
little or no notice. At the death of Saladin, which happened a year
after the conclusion of his truce with Richard of England, his vast
empire fell to pieces. His brother Saif Eddin, or Saphaddin, seized
upon Syria, in the possession of which he was troubled by the sons of
Saladin. When this intelligence reached Europe, the Pope, Celestine
III. judged the moment favourable for preaching a new Crusade. But
every nation in Europe was unwilling and cold towards it. The people
had no ardour, and Kings were occupied with more weighty matters at
home. The only Monarch of Europe who encouraged it was the Emperor
Henry of Germany, under whose auspices the Dukes of Saxony and Bavaria
took the field at the head of a considerable force. They landed in
Palestine, and found anything but a welcome from the Christian
inhabitants. Under the mild sway of Saladin, they had enjoyed repose
and toleration, and both were endangered by the arrival of the
Germans. They looked upon them in consequence as over-officious
intruders, and gave them no encouragement in the warfare against
Saphaddin. The result of this Crusade was even more disastrous than
the last -- for the Germans contrived not only to embitter the
Saracens against the Christians of Judea, but to lose the strong city
of Jaffa, and cause the destruction of nine-tenths of the army with
which they had quitted Europe. And so ended the fourth Crusade.

The fifth was more important, and had a result which its
projectors never dreamed of -- no less than the sacking of
Constantinople, and the placing of a French dynasty upon the imperial
throne of the eastern Caesars. Each succeeding Pope, however much he
may have differed from his predecessors on other points, zealously
agreed in one, that of maintaining by every possible means the papal
ascendancy. No scheme was so likely to aid in this endeavour as the
Crusades. As long as they could persuade the kings and nobles of
Europe to fight and die in Syria, their own sway was secured over the
minds of men at home. Such being their object, they never inquired
whether a Crusade was or was not likely to be successful, whether the
time were well or ill chosen, or whether men and money could be
procured in sufficient abundance. Pope Innocent III. would have
been proud if he could have bent the refractory Monarchs of England
and France into so much submission. But John and Philip Augustus were
both engaged. Both had deeply offended the church, and had been laid
under her ban, and both were occupied in important reforms at home;
Philip in bestowing immunities upon his subjects, and John in having
them forced from him. The emissaries of the Pope therefore plied them
in vain; -- but as in the first and second Crusades, the eloquence of
a powerful preacher incited the nobility, and through them a certain
portion of the people, Foulque, Bishop of Neuilly, an ambitious and
enterprizing prelate, entered fully into the views of the Court of
Rome, and preached the Crusade wherever he could find an audience.
Chance favoured him to a degree he did not himself expect, for he had
in general found but few proselytes, and those few but cold in the
cause. Theobald, Count of Champagne, had instituted a grand
tournament, to which he had invited all the nobles from far and near.
Upwards of two thousand knights were present with their retainers,
besides a vast concourse of people to witness the sports. In the midst
of the festivities Foulque arrived upon the spot, and conceiving the
opportunity to be a favourable one, he addressed the multitude in
eloquent language, and passionately called upon them to enrol
themselves for the new Crusade. The Count de Champagne, young, ardent,
and easily excited, received the cross at his hands. The enthusiasm
spread rapidly. Charles Count of Blois followed the example, and of
the two thousand knights present, scarcely one hundred and fifty
refused. The popular phrensy seemed on the point of breaking out as in
the days of yore. The Count of Flanders, the Count of Bar, the Duke of
Burgundy, and the Marquis of Montferrat, brought all their vassals to
swell the train, and in a very short space of time an effective army
was on foot and ready to march to Palestine.

The dangers of an overland journey were too well understood, and
the crusaders endeavoured to make a contract with some of the Italian
states to convey them over in their vessels. Dandolo, the aged Doge of
Venice, offered them the galleys of the Republic; but the crusaders,
on their arrival in that city, found themselves too poor to pay even
half the sum demanded. Every means was tried to raise money; the
crusaders melted down their plate, and ladies gave up their trinkets.
Contributions were solicited from the faithful, but came in so slowly,
as to make it evident to all concerned, that the faithful of Europe
were outnumbered by the prudent. As a last resource, Dandolo offered
to convey them to Palestine at the expense of the Republic, if they
would previously aid in the recapture of the city of Zara, which had
been seized from the Venetians a short time previously by the King of
Hungary. The crusaders consented, much to the displeasure of the Pope,
who threatened excommunication upon all who should be turned aside
from the voyage to Jerusalem. But notwithstanding the fulminations of
the church, the expedition never reached Palestine. The siege of Zara
was speedily undertaken. After a long and brave defence, the city
surrendered at discretion, and the crusaders were free, if they had so
chosen it, to use their swords against the Saracens. But the ambition
of the chiefs had been directed, by unforeseen circumstances,
elsewhere.

After the death of Manuel Comnenus, the Greek empire had fallen a
prey to intestine divisions. His son Alexius II. had succeeded him,
but was murdered after a very short reign by his uncle Andronicus, who
seized upon the throne. His reign also was but of short duration.
Isaac Angelus, a member of the same family, took up arms against the
usurper, and having defeated and captured him in a pitched battle, had
him put to death. He also mounted the throne only to be cast down from
it. His brother Alexius deposed him, and to incapacitate him from
reigning, put out his eyes, and shut him up in a dungeon. Neither was
Alexius III. allowed to remain in peaceable possession of the throne;
the son of the unhappy Isaac, whose name also was Alexius, fled from
Constantinople, and hearing that the crusaders had undertaken the
siege of Zara, made them the most magnificent offers if they would
afterwards aid him in deposing his uncle. His offers were, that if by
their means he was re-established in his father's dominions, he would
place the Greek church under the authority of the Pope of Rome, lend
the whole force of the Greek Empire to the conquest of Palestine, and
distribute two hundred thousand marks of silver among the crusading
army. The offer was accepted, with a proviso on the part of some of
the leaders, that they should be free to abandon the design, if it met
with the disapproval of the Pope. But this was not to be feared. The
submission of the schismatic Greeks to the See of Rome was a greater
bribe to the Pontiff, than the utter annihilation of the Saracen power
in Palestine would have been.

The crusaders were soon in movement for the imperial city. Their
operations were skilfully and courageously directed, and spread such
dismay as to paralyse the efforts of the usurper to retain possession
of his throne. After a vain resistance, he abandoned the city to its
fate, and fled no one knew whither. The aged and blind Isaac was taken
from his dungeon by his subjects, and placed upon the throne ere the
crusaders were apprized of the flight of his rival. His son Alexius
IV. was afterwards associated with him in the sovereignty.

But the conditions of the treaty gave offence to the Grecian
people, whose prelates refused to place themselves under the dominion
of the See of Rome. Alexius at first endeavoured to persuade his
subjects to submission, and prayed the crusaders to remain in
Constantinople until they had fortified him in the possession of a
throne which was yet far from secure. He soon became unpopular with
his subjects; and breaking faith with regard to the subsidies, he
offended the crusaders. War was at length declared upon him by both
parties; by his people for his tyranny, and by his former friends for
his treachery. He was seized in his palace by his own guards and
thrown into prison, while the crusaders were making ready to besiege
his capital. The Greeks immediately proceeded to the election of a new
Monarch; and looking about for a man with courage, energy, and
perseverance, they fixed upon Alexius Ducas, who, with almost every
bad quality, was possessed of the virtues they needed. He ascended the
throne under the name of Murzuphlis. One of his first acts was to rid
himself of his youngest predecessor -- a broken heart had already
removed the blind old Isaac -- no longer a stumbling block in his way
-- and the young Alexius was soon after put to death in his prison.

War to the knife was now declared between the Greeks and the
Franks, and early in the spring of the year 1204, preparations were
commenced for an assault upon Constantinople. The French and Venetians
entered into a treaty for the division of the spoils among their
soldiery, for so confident were they of success, that failure never
once entered into their calculations. This confidence led them on to
victory, while the Greeks, cowardly as treacherous people always are,
were paralysed by a foreboding of evil. It has been a matter of
astonishment to all historians, that Murzuphlis, with the reputation
for courage which he had acquired, and the immense resources at his
disposal, took no better measures to repel the onset of the crusaders.
Their numbers were as a mere handful in comparison with those which he
could have brought against them; and if they had the hopes of plunder
to lead them on, the Greeks had their homes to fight for, and their
very existence as a nation to protect. After an impetuous assault,
repulsed for one day, but renewed with double impetuosity on another,
the crusaders lashed their vessels against the walls, slew every man
who opposed them, and, with little loss to themselves, entered the
city. Murzuphlis fled, and Constantinople was given over to be
pillaged by the victors. The wealth they found was enormous. In money
alone there was sufficient to distribute twenty marks of silver to
each knight, ten to each squire or servant at arms, and five to each
archer. Jewels, velvets, silks, and every luxury of attire, with rare
wines and fruits, and valuable merchandise of every description, also
fell into their hands, and were bought by the trading Venetians, and
the proceeds distributed among the army. Two thousand persons were put
to the sword; but had there been less plunder to take up the attention
of the victors, the slaughter would in all probability have been much
greater.

In many of the bloody wars which defile the page of history, we
find that soldiers, utterly reckless of the works of God, will destroy
his masterpiece, man, with unsparing brutality, but linger with
respect around the beautiful works of art. They will slaughter women
and children, but spare a picture; will hew down the sick, the
helpless, and the hoary-headed, but refrain from injuring a fine piece
of sculpture. The Latins, on their entrance into Constantinople,
respected neither the works of God nor man, but vented their brutal
ferocity upon the one and satisfied their avarice upon the other. Many
beautiful bronze statues, above all price as works of art, were broken
into pieces to be sold as old metal. The finely-chiselled marble,
which could be put to no such vile uses, was also destroyed, with a
recklessness; if possible, still more atrocious. [The following is a
list of some of the works of art thus destroyed, from Nicetas, a
contemporary Greek author: -- 1st. A colossal Juno, from the forum of
Constantine, the head of which was so large that four horses could
scarcely draw it from the place where it stood to the palace. 2d. The
statue of Paris presenting the apple to Venus. 3d. An immense bronze
pyramid, crowned by a female figure, which turned with the wind. 4th.
The colossal statue of Bellerophon, in bronze, which was broken down
and cast into the furnace. Under the inner nail of the horse's hind
foot on the left side, was found a seal wrapped in a woollen cloth.
5th. A figure of Hercules, by Lysimachus, of such vast dimensions that
the thumb was equal in circumference to the waist of a man. 6th. The
Ass and his driver, cast by order of Augustus after the battle of
Actium, in commemoration of his having discovered the position of
Antony through the means of an ass-driver. 7th. The Wolf suckling the
twins of Rome. 8th. The Gladiator in combat with a lion. 9th. The
Hippopotamus. 10th. The Sphinxes. 11th. An eagle fighting with a
serpent. 12th. A beautiful statue of Helen. 13th. A group, with a
monster somewhat resembling a bull, engaged in deadly conflict with a
serpent; and many other works of art, too numerous to mention.]

The carnage being over, and the spoil distributed, six persons
were chosen from among the Franks and six from among the Venetians,
who were to meet and elect an Emperor, previously binding themselves
by oath to select the individual best qualified among the candidates.
The choice wavered between Baldwin, Count of Flanders, and Boniface,
Marquis of Montferrat, but fell eventually upon the former. He was
straightway robed in the imperial purple, and became the founder of a
new dynasty. He did not live long to enjoy his power, or to
consolidate it for his successors, who, in their turn, were soon swept
away. In less than sixty years the rule of the Franks at
Constantinople was brought to as sudden and disastrous a termination
as the reign of Murzuphlis: and this was the grand result of the fifth
Crusade.

Pope Innocent III, although he had looked with no very
unfavourable eye upon these proceedings, regretted that nothing had
been done for the relief of the Holy Land; still, upon every
convenient occasion, he enforced the necessity of a new Crusade. Until
the year 1213, his exhortations had no other effect than to keep the
subject in the mind of Europe. Every spring and summer, detachments of
pilgrims continued to set out for Palestine to the aid of their
brethren, but not in sufficient numbers to be of much service. These
periodical passages were called the passagiuum Martii, or the passage
of March, and the passagium Johannis, or the passage of the festival
of St. John. These did not consist entirely of soldiers, armed against
the Saracen, but of pilgrims led by devotion, and in performance of
their vows, bearing nothing with them but their staff and their
wallet. Early in the spring of 1213 a more extraordinary body of
crusaders was raised in France and Germany. An immense number of boys
and girls, amounting, according to some accounts, to thirty thousand,
were incited by the persuasion of two monks to undertake the journey
to Palestine. They were, no doubt, composed of the idle and deserted
children who generally swarm in great cities, nurtured in vice and
daring, and ready for anything. The object of the monks seems to have
been the atrocious one of inveigling them into slave ships, on
pretence of sending them to Syria, and selling them for slaves on the
coast of Africa. [See Jacob de Voragine and Albericus.] Great numbers
of these poor victims were shipped at Marseilles; but the vessels,
with the exception of two or three, were wrecked on the shores of
Italy, and every soul perished. The remainder arrived safely in
Africa, and were bought up as slaves, and sent off into the interior
of the country. Another detachment arrived at Genoa; but the
accomplices in this horrid plot having taken no measures at that port,
expecting them all at Marseilles, they were induced to return to their
homes by the Genoese.

Fuller, in his quaint history of the "Holy Warre," says that this
Crusade was done by the instinct of the devil; and he adds a reason,
which may provoke mirth now, but which was put forth by the worthy
historian in all soberness and sincerity. He says, "the devil, being
cloyed with the murdering of men, desired a cordial of children's
blood to comfort his weak stomach;" as epicures, when tired of mutton,
resort to lamb for a change.

It appears from other authors that the preaching of the vile monks
had such an effect upon these deluded children that they ran about the
country, exclaiming, "O, Lord Jesus, restore thy cross to us!" and
that neither bolts nor bars, the fear of fathers, nor the love of
mothers, was sufficient to restrain them from journeying to Jerusalem.

The details of these strange proceedings are exceedingly meagre
and confused, and none of the contemporary writers who mention the
subject have thought it worth while to state the names of the monks
who originated the scheme, or the fate they met for their wickedness.
Two merchants of Marseilles, who were to have shared in the profits,
were, it is said, brought to justice for some other crime, and
suffered death; but we are not informed whether they divulged any
circumstances relating to this matter.

Pope Innocent III does not seem to have been aware that the causes
of this juvenile Crusade were such as have been stated, for, upon
being informed that numbers of them had taken the Cross, and were
marching to the Holy Land, he exclaimed, "These children are awake,
while we sleep!" He imagined, apparently, that the mind of Europe was
still bent on the recovery of Palestine, and that the zeal of these
children implied a sort of reproach upon his own lukewarmness. Very
soon afterwards, he bestirred himself with more activity, and sent an
encyclical letter to the clergy of Christendom, urging them to preach
a new Crusade. As usual, a number of adventurous nobles, who had
nothing else to do, enrolled themselves with their retainers. At a
council of Lateran, which was held while these bands were collecting,
Innocent announced that he himself would take the Cross, and lead the
armies of Christ to the defence of his sepulchre. In all probability
he would have done so, for he was zealous enough; but death stepped
in, and destroyed his project ere it was ripe. His successor
encouraged the Crusade, though he refused to accompany it; and the
armament continued in France, England, and Germany. No leaders of any
importance joined it from the former countries. Andrew, King of
Hungary, was the only monarch who had leisure or inclination to leave
his dominions. The Dukes of Austria and Bavaria joined him with a
considerable army of Germans, and marching to Spalatro, took ship for
Cyprus, and from thence to Acre.

The whole conduct of the King of Hungary was marked by
pusillanimity and irresolution. He found himself in the Holy Land at
the head of a very efficient army; the Saracens were taken by
surprise, and were for some weeks unprepared to offer any resistance
to his arms. He defeated the first body sent to oppose him, and
marched towards Mount Tabor, with the intention of seizing upon an
important fortress which the Saracens had recently constructed. He
arrived without impediment at the Mount, and might have easily taken
it; but a sudden fit of cowardice came over him, and he returned to
Acre without striking a blow. He very soon afterwards abandoned the
enterprise altogether, and returned to his own country.

Tardy reinforcements arrived at intervals from Europe; and the
Duke of Austria, now the chief leader of the expedition, had still
sufficient forces at his command to trouble the Saracens very
seriously. It was resolved by him, in council with the other chiefs,
that the whole energy of the Crusade should be directed upon Egypt,
the seat of the Saracen power in its relationship to Palestine, and
from whence were drawn the continual levies that were brought against
them by the Sultan. Damietta, which commanded the river Nile, and was
one of the most important cities of Egypt, was chosen as the first
point of attack. The siege was forthwith commenced, and carried on
with considerable energy, until the crusaders gained possession of a
tower, which projected into the middle of the stream, and was looked
upon as the very key of the city.

While congratulating themselves upon this success, and wasting in
revelry the time which should have been employed in pushing the
advantage, they received the news of the death of the wise Sultan
Saphaddin. His two sons, Camhel and Cohreddin, divided his empire
between them. Syria and Palestine fell to the share of Cohreddin,
while Egypt was consigned to the other brother, who had for some time
exercised the functions of Lieutenant of that country. Being unpopular
among the Egyptians, they revolted against him, giving the crusaders a
finer opportunity for making a conquest than they had ever enjoyed
before. But, quarrelsome and licentious as they had been from time
immemorial, they did not see that the favourable moment had come; or,
seeing, could not profit by it. While they were revelling or fighting
among themselves, under the walls of Damietta, the revolt was put
down, and Camhel firmly established on the throne of Egypt. In
conjunction with his brother, Cohreddin, his next care was to drive
the Christians from Damietta, and, for upwards of three months, they
bent all their efforts to throw in supplies to the besieged, or draw
on the besiegers to a general engagement. In neither were they
successful; and the famine in Damietta became so dreadful, that vermin
of every description were thought luxuries, and sold for exorbitant
prices. A dead dog became more valuable than a live ox in time of
prosperity. Unwholesome food brought on disease, and the city could
hold out no longer, for absolute want of men to defend the walls.

Cohreddin and Camhel were alike interested in the preservation of
so important a position, and, convinced of the certain fate of the
city, they opened a conference with the crusading chiefs, offering to
yield the whole of Palestine to the Christians, upon the sole
condition of the evacuation of Egypt. With a blindness and
wrong-headedness almost incredible, these advantageous terms were
refused, chiefly through the persuasion of Cardinal Pelagius, an
ignorant and obstinate fanatic, who urged upon the Duke of Austria and
the French and English leaders, that infidels never kept their word;
that their offers were deceptive, and merely intended to betray. The
conferences were brought to an abrupt termination by the crusaders,
and a last attack made upon the walls of Damietta. The besieged made
but slight resistance, for they had no hope, and the Christians
entered the city, and found, out of seventy thousand people, but three
thousand remaining: so fearful had been the ravages of the twin
fiends, plague and famine.

Several months were spent in Damietta. The climate either weakened
the frames or obscured the understandings of the Christians; for,
after their conquest, they lost all energy, and abandoned themselves
more unscrupulously than ever to riot and debauchery. John of Brienne,
who, by right of his wife, was the nominal sovereign of Jerusalem, was
so disgusted with the pusillanimity, arrogance, and dissensions of the
chiefs, that he withdrew entirely from them, and retired to Acre.
Large bodies also returned to Europe, and Cardinal Pelagius was left
at liberty to blast the whole enterprise whenever it pleased him. He
managed to conciliate John of Brienne, and marched forward with these
combined forces to attack Cairo. It was only when he had approached
within a few hours' march of that city, that he discovered the
inadequacy of his army. He turned back immediately, but the Nile had
risen since his departure; the sluices were opened, and there was no
means of reaching Damietta. In this strait, he sued for the peace he
had formerly spurned, and, happily for himself, found the generous
brothers, Camhel and Cohreddin, still willing to grant it. Damietta
was soon afterwards given up, and the Cardinal returned to Europe.
John of Brienne retired to Acre, to mourn the loss of his kingdom,
embittered against the folly of his pretended friends, who had ruined
where they should have aided him. And thus ended the sixth Crusade.

The seventh was more successful. Frederic II, Emperor of Germany,
had often vowed to lead his armies to the defence of Palestine, but
was as often deterred from the journey by matters of more pressing
importance. Cohreddin was a mild and enlightened monarch, and the
Christians of Syria enjoyed repose and toleration under his rule: but
John of Brienne was not willing to lose his kingdom without an effort;
and the Popes in Europe were ever willing to embroil the nations for
the sake of extending their own power. No monarch of that age was
capable of rendering more effective assistance than Frederic of
Germany. To inspire him with more zeal, it was proposed that he should
wed the young Princess, Violante, daughter of John of Brienne, and
heiress of the kingdom of Jerusalem. Frederic consented with joy and
eagerness. The Princess was brought from Acre to Rome without delay,
and her marriage celebrated on a scale of great magnificence. Her
father, John of Brienne, abdicated all his rights in favour of his
son-in-law, and Jerusalem had once more a king, who had not only the
will, but the power, to enforce his claims. Preparations for the new
crusade were immediately commenced, and in the course of six months
the Emperor was at the head of a well-disciplined army of sixty
thousand men. Matthew Paris informs us, that an army of the same
amount was gathered in England; and most of the writers upon the
Crusades adopt his statement. When John of Brienne was in England,
before his daughter's marriage with the Emperor was thought of,
praying for the aid of Henry III. and his nobles to recover his lost
kingdom, he did not meet with much encouragement. Grafton, in his
Chronicle, says, "he departed again without any great comfort." But
when a man of more influence in European politics appeared upon the
scene, the English nobles were as ready to sacrifice themselves in the
cause as they had been in the time of Coeur de Lion.

The army of Frederic encamped at Brundusium; but a pestilential
disease having made its appearance among them, their departure was
delayed for several months. In the mean time the Empress Violante died
in child-bed. John of Brienne, who had already repented of his
abdication, and was besides incensed against Frederic for many acts of
neglect and insult, no sooner saw the only tie which bound them,
severed by the death of his daughter, than he began to bestir himself,
and make interest with the Pope to undo what he had done, and regain
the honorary crown he had renounced. Pope Gregory the Ninth, a man of
a proud, unconciliating, and revengeful character, owed the Emperor a
grudge for many an act of disobedience to his authority, and
encouraged the overtures of John of Brienne more than he should have
done. Frederic, however, despised them both, and, as soon as his army
was convalescent, set sail for Acre. He had not been many days at sea,
when he was himself attacked with the malady, and obliged to return to
Otranto, the nearest port. Gregory, who had by this time decided in
the interest of John of Brienne, excommunicated the Emperor for
returning from so holy an expedition on any pretext whatever. Frederic
at first treated the excommunication with supreme contempt; but when
he got well, he gave his Holiness to understand that he was not to be
outraged with impunity, and sent some of his troops to ravage the
Papal territories. This, however, only made the matter worse, and
Gregory despatched messengers to Palestine, forbidding the faithful,
under severe pains and penalties, to hold any intercourse with the
excommunicated Emperor. Thus between them both, the scheme which they
had so much at heart bade fair to be as effectually ruined as even the
Saracens could have wished. Frederic still continued his zeal in the
Crusade, for he was now King of Jerusalem, and fought for himself, and
not for Christendom, or its representative, Pope Gregory. Hearing that
John of Brienne was preparing to leave Europe, he lost no time in
taking his own departure, and arrived safely at Acre. It was here that
he first experienced the evil effects of excommunication. The
Christians of Palestine refused to aid him in any way, and looked with
distrust, if not with abhorrence, upon him. The Templars,
Hospitallers, and other knights, shared at first the general feeling;
but they were not men to yield a blind obedience to a distant
potentate, especially when it compromised their own interests. When,
therefore, Frederic prepared to march upon Jerusalem without them,
they joined his banners to a man.

It is said, that previous to quitting Europe, the German Emperor
had commenced a negotiation with the Sultan Camhel for the restoration
of the Holy Land, and that Camhel, who was jealous of the ambition of
his brother Cohreddin, was willing to stipulate to that effect, on
condition of being secured by Frederic in the possession of the more
important territory of Egypt. But before the crusaders reached
Palestine, Camhel was relieved from all fears by the death of his
brother. He nevertheless did not think it worth while to contest with
the crusaders the barren corner of the earth which had already been
dyed with so much Christian and Saracen blood, and proposed a truce of
three years, only stipulating, in addition, that the Moslems should be
allowed to worship freely in the Temple of Jerusalem. This happy
termination did not satisfy the bigoted Christians of Palestine. The
tolerance they fought for themselves, they were not willing to extend
to others, and they complained bitterly of the privilege of free
worship allowed to their opponents. Unmerited good fortune had made
them insolent, and they contested the right of the Emperor to become a
party to any treaty, as long as he remained under the ecclesiastical
ban. Frederic was disgusted with his new subjects; but, as the
Templars and Hospitallers remained true to him, he marched to
Jerusalem to be crowned. All the churches were shut against him, and
he could not even find a priest to officiate at his coronation. He had
despised the Papal authority too long to quail at it now, when it was
so unjustifiably exerted, and, as there was nobody to crown him, he
very wisely crowned himself. He took the royal diadem from the altar
with his own hands, and boldly and proudly placed it on his brow. No
shouts of an applauding populace made the welkin ring, no hymns of
praise and triumph resounded from the ministers of religion; but a
thousand swords started from their scabbards, to testify that their
owners would defend the new monarch to the death.

It was hardly to be expected that he would renounce for any long
period the dominion of his native land for the uneasy crown and barren
soil of Palestine. He had seen quite enough of his new subjects before
he was six months among them, and more important interests called him
home. John of Brienne, openly leagued with Pope Gregory against him,
was actually employed in ravaging his territories at the head of a
papal army. This intelligence decided his return. As a preliminary
step, he made those who had contemned his authority feel, to their
sorrow, that he was their master. He then set sail, loaded with the
curses of Palestine. And thus ended the seventh Crusade, which, in
spite of every obstacle and disadvantage, had been productive of more
real service to the Holy Land than any that had gone before; a result
solely attributable to the bravery of Frederic and the generosity of
the Sultan Camhel.

Soon after the Emperor's departure a new claimant started for the
throne of Jerusalem, in the person of Alice, Queen of Cyprus, and
half-sister of the Mary who, by her marriage, had transferred her
right to John of Brienne. The grand military orders, however, clung to
Frederic, and Alice was obliged to withdraw.

So peaceful a termination to the Crusade did not give unmixed
pleasure in Europe. The chivalry of France and England were unable to
rest, and long before the conclusion of the truce, were collecting
their armies for an eighth expedition. In Palestine, also, the
contentment was far from universal. Many petty Mahomedan states in the
immediate vicinity were not parties to the truce, and harassed the
frontier towns incessantly. The Templars, ever turbulent, waged bitter
war with the Sultan of Aleppo, and in the end were almost
exterminated. So great was the slaughter among them that Europe
resounded with the sad story of their fate, and many a noble knight
took arms to prevent the total destruction of an order associated with
so many high and inspiring remembrances. Camhel, seeing the
preparations that were making, thought that his generosity had been
sufficiently shown, and the very day the truce was at an end assumed
the offensive, and marching forward to Jerusalem took possession of
it, after routing the scanty forces of the Christians. Before this
intelligence reached Europe a large body of crusaders was on the
march, headed by the King of Navarre, the Duke of Burgundy, the Count
de Bretagne, and other leaders. On their arrival, they learned that
Jerusalem had been taken, but that the Sultan was dead, and his
kingdom torn by rival claimants to the supreme power. The dissensions
of their foes ought to have made them united, but, as in all previous
Crusades, each feudal chief was master of his own host, and acted upon
his own responsibility, and without reference to any general plan. The
consequence was that nothing could be done. A temporary advantage was
gained by one leader, who had no means of improving it, while another
was defeated, without means of retrieving himself. Thus the war
lingered till the battle of Gaza, when the King of Navarre was
defeated with great loss, and compelled to save himself from total
destruction by entering into a hard and oppressive treaty with the
Emir of Karac.

At this crisis aid arrived from England, commanded by Richard Earl
of Cornwall, the namesake of Coeur de Lion, and inheritor of his
valour. His army was strong, and full of hope. They had confidence in
themselves and in their leader, and looked like men accustomed to
victory. Their coming changed the aspect of affairs. The new Sultan of
Egypt was at war with the Sultan of Damascus, and had not forces to
oppose two enemies so powerful. He therefore sent messengers to meet
the English Earl, offering an exchange of prisoners and the complete
cession of the Holy Land. Richard, who had not come to fight for the
mere sake of fighting, agreed at once to terms so advantageous, and
became the deliverer of Palestine without striking a blow. The Sultan
of Egypt then turned his whole force against his Moslem enemies, and
the Earl of Cornwall returned to Europe. Thus ended the eighth
Crusade, the most beneficial of all. Christendom had no further
pretence for sending her fierce levies to the East. To all appearance,
the holy wars were at an end: the Christians had entire possession of
Jerusalem, Tripoli, Antioch, Edessa, Acre, Jaffa, and, in fact, of
nearly all Judea; and, could they have been at peace among themselves,
they might have overcome, without great difficulty, the jealousy and
hostility of their neighhours. A circumstance, as unforeseen as it was
disastrous, blasted this fair prospect, and reillumed, for the last
time, the fervour and fury of the Crusades.

Gengis Khan and his successors had swept over Asia like a tropical
storm, overturning in their progress the landmarks of ages. Kingdom
after kingdom was cast down as they issued, innumerable, from the far
recesses of the North and East, and, among others, the empire of
Korasmin was overrun by these all-conquering hordes. The Korasmins, a
fierce, uncivilized race, thus driven from their homes, spread
themselves, in their turn, over the south of Asia with fire and sword,
in search of a resting place. In their impetuous course they directed
themselves towards Egypt, whose Sultan, unable to withstand the swarm
that had cast their longing eyes on the fertile valleys of the Nile,
endeavoured to turn them from their course. For this purpose, he sent
emissaries to Barbaquan, their leader, inviting them to settle in
Palestine; and the offer being accepted by the wild horde, they
entered the country before the Christians received the slightest
intimation of their coming. It was as sudden as it was overwhelming.
Onwards, like the simoom, they came, burning and slaying, and were at
the walls of Jerusalem before the inhabitants had time to look round
them. They spared neither life nor property; they slew women and
children, and priests at the altar, and profaned even the graves of
those who had slept for ages. They tore down every vestige of the
Christian faith, and committed horrors unparalleled in the history of
warfare. About seven thousand of the inhabitants of Jerusalem sought
safety in retreat; but before they were out of sight, the banner of
the Cross was hoisted upon the walls by the savage foe to decoy them
back. The artifice was but too successful. The poor fugitives imagined
that help had arrived from another direction, and turned back to
regain their homes. Nearly the whole of them were massacred, and the
streets of Jerusalem ran with blood.

The Templars, Hospitallers, and Teutonic knights forgot their long
and bitter animosities, and joined hand in hand to rout out this
desolating foe. They intrenched themselves in Jaffa with all the
chivalry of Palestine that yet remained, and endeavoured to engage the
Sultans of Emissa and Damascus to assist them against the common
enemy. The aid obtained from the Moslems amounted at first to only
four thousand men, but with these reinforcements Walter of Brienne,
the Lord of Jaffa, resolved to give battle to the Korasrains. The
conflict was as deadly as despair on the one side, and unmitigated
ferocity on the other, could make it. It lasted with varying fortune
for two days, when the Sultan of Emissa fled to his fortifications,
and Walter of Brienne fell into the enemy's hands. The brave knight
was suspended by the arms to a cross in sight of the walls of Jaffa,
and the Korasminian leader declared that he should remain in that
position until the city surrendered. Walter raised his feeble voice,
not to advise surrender, but to command his soldiers to hold out to
the last. But his gallantry was unavailing. So great had been the
slaughter, that out of the grand array of knights, there now remained
but sixteen Hospitallers, thirty-three Templars, and three Teutonic
cavaliers. These with the sad remnant of the army fled to Acre, and
the Korasmins were masters of Palestine.

The Sultans of Syria preferred the Christians to this fierce horde
for their neighbours. Even the Sultan of Egypt began to regret the aid
he had given to such barbarous foes, and united with those of Emissa
and Damascus to root them from the land. The Korasmins amounted to but
twenty thousand men, and were unable to resist the determined
hostility which encompassed them on every side. The Sultans defeated
them in several engagements, and the peasantry rose up in masses to
take vengeance upon them. Gradually their numbers were diminished. No
mercy was shown them in defeat. Barbaquan, their leader, was slain,
and after five years of desperate struggles they were finally
extirpated, and Palestine became once more the territory of the
Mussulmans.

A short time previous to this devastating irruption, Louis IX.
fell sick in Paris, and dreamed in the delirium of his fever that he
saw the Christian and Moslem hosts fighting before Jerusalem, and the
Christians defeated with great slaughter. The dream made a great
impression on his superstitious mind, and he made a solemn vow that if
ever he recovered his health, he would take a pilgrimage to the Holy
Land. When the news of the misfortunes of Palestine, and the awful
massacres at Jerusalem and Jaffa, arrived in Europe, St. Louis
remembered him of his dream. More persuaded than ever, that it was an
intimation direct from Heaven, he prepared to take the Cross at the
head of his armies, and march to the deliverance of the Holy
Sepulchre. From that moment he doffed the royal mantle of purple and
ermine, and dressed in the sober serge becoming a pilgrim. All his
thoughts were directed to the fulfilment of his design, and although
his kingdom could but ill spare him, he made every preparation to
leave it. Pope Innocent IV. applauded his zeal and afforded him every
assistance. He wrote to Henry III. of England to forward the cause in
his dominions, and called upon the clergy and laity all over Europe to
contribute towards it. William Longsword, the celebrated Earl of
Salisbury, took the Cross at the head of a great number of valiant
knights and soldiers. But the fanaticism of the people was not to be
awakened either in France or England. Great armies were raised, but
the masses no longer sympathized. Taxation had been the great cooler
of zeal. It was no longer a disgrace even to a knight if he refused to
take the Cross. Rutebeuf, a French minstrel, who flourished about this
time (1250), composed a dialogue between a crusader and a
non-crusader, which the reader will find translated in "Way's
Fabliaux." The crusader uses every argument to persuade the
non-crusader to take up arms, and forsake every thing, in the holy
cause; but it is evident from the greater force of the arguments used
by the noncrusader, that he was the favourite of the minstrel. To a
most urgent solicitation of his friend, the crusader, he replies,

"I read thee right, thou boldest good
  To this same land I straight should hie,
And win it back with mickle blood,
  Nor gaine one foot of soil thereby.
While here dejected and forlorn,
My wife and babes are left to mourn;
My goodly mansion rudely marred,
All trusted to my dogs to guard.
But I, fair comrade, well I wot
  An ancient saw, of pregnant wit,
Doth bid us keep what we have got,
  And troth I mean to follow it."

This being the general feeling, it is not to be wondered at that Louis
IX. was occupied fully three years in organizing his forces, and in
making the necessary preparations for his departure. When all was
ready he set sail for Cyprus, accompanied by his Queen, his two
brothers, the Counts d'Anjou and d'Artois, and a long train of the
noblest chivalry of France. His third brother, the Count de Poitiers,
remained behind to collect another corps of crusaders, and followed
him in a few months afterwards. The army united at Cyprus, and
amounted to fifty thousand men, exclusive of the English crusaders
under William Longsword. Again, a pestilential disease made its
appearance, to which many hundreds fell victims. It was in consequence
found necessary to remain in Cyprus until the spring. Louis then
embarked for Egypt with his whole host; but a violent tempest
separated his fleet, and he arrived before Damietta with only a few
thousand men. They were, however, impetuous and full of hope; and
although the Sultan Melick Shah was drawn up on the shore with a force
infinitely superior, it was resolved to attempt a landing without
waiting the arrival of the rest of the army. Louis himself in wild
impatience sprang from his boat, and waded on shore; while his army,
inspired by his enthusiastic bravery, followed, shouting the old
war-cry of the first crusaders, Dieu le veut! Dieu le veut! A panic
seized the Turks. A body of their cavalry attempted to bear down upon
the crusaders, but the knights fixed their large shields deep in the
sands of the shore. and rested their lances upon them, so that they
projected above, and formed a barrier so imposing, that the Turks,
afraid to breast it, turned round and fairly took to flight. At the
moment of this panic, a false report was spread in the Saracen host,
that the Sultan had been slain. The confusion immediately became
general -- the deroute was complete: Damietta itself was abandoned,
and the same night the victorious crusaders fixed their headquarters
in that city. The soldiers who had been separated from their chief by
the tempest, arrived shortly afterwards; and Louis was in a position
to justify the hope, not only of the conquest of Palestine, but of
Egypt itself.

But too much confidence proved the bane of his army. They thought,
as they had accomplished so much, that nothing more remained to be
done, and gave themselves up to ease and luxury. When, by the command
of Louis, they marched towards Cairo, they were no longer the same
men; success, instead of inspiring, had unnerved them; debauchery had
brought on disease, and disease was aggravated by the heat of a
climate to which none of them were accustomed. Their progress towards
Massoura, on the road to Cairo, was checked by the Thanisian canal, on
the banks of which the Saracens were drawn up to dispute the passage.
Louis gave orders that a bridge should be thrown across; and the
operations commenced under cover of two cat-castles, or high moveable
towers. The Saracens soon destroyed them by throwing quantities of
Greek fire, the artillery of that day, upon them, and Louis was forced
to think of some other means of effecting his design. A peasant
agreed, for a considerable bribe, to point out a ford where the army
might wade across, and the Count d'Artois was despatched with fourteen
hundred men to attempt it, while Louis remained to face the Saracens
with the main body of the army. The Count d'Artois got safely over,
and defeated the detachment that had been sent to oppose his landing.
Flushed with the victory, the brave Count forgot the inferiority of
his numbers, and pursued the panic-stricken enemy into Massoura. He
was now completely cut off from the aid of his brother-crusaders,
which the Moslems perceiving, took courage and returned upon him, with
a force swollen by the garrison of Massoura, and by reinforcements
from the surrounding districts. The battle now became hand to hand.
The Christians fought with the energy of desperate men, but the
continually increasing numbers of the foe surrounded them completely,
and cut off all hope, either of victory or escape. The Count d'Artois
was among the foremost of the slain, and when Louis arrived to the
rescue, the brave advance-guard was nearly cut to pieces. Of the
fourteen hundred but three hundred remained. The fury of the battle
was now increased threefold. The French King and his troops performed
prodigies of valour, and the Saracens, under the command of the Emir
Ceccidun, fought as if they were determined to exterminate, in one
last decisive effort, the new European swarm that had settled upon
their coast. At the fall of the evening dews the Christians were
masters of the field of Massoura, and flattered themselves that they
were the victors. Self-love would not suffer them to confess that the
Saracens had withdrawn, and not retreated; but their leaders were too
wofully convinced that that fatal field had completed the
disorganization of the Christian army, and that all hopes of future
conquest were at an end.

Impressed with this truth, the crusaders sued for peace. The
Sultan insisted upon the immediate evacuation of Damietta, and that
Louis himself should be delivered as hostage for the fulfilment of the
condition. His army at once refused, and the negotiations were broken
off. It was now resolved to attempt a retreat; but the agile Saracens,
now in the front and now in the rear, rendered it a matter of extreme
difficulty, and cut off the stragglers in great numbers. Hundreds of
them were drowned in the Nile; and sickness and famine worked sad
ravage upon those who escaped all other casualties. Louis himself was
so weakened by disease, fatigue, and discouragement that he was
hardly able to sit upon his horse. In the confusion of the flight he
was separated from his attendants, and left a total stranger upon the
sands of Egypt, sick, weary, and almost friendless. One knight, Geffry
de Sergines, alone attended him, and led him to a miserable hut in a
small village, where for several days he lay in the hourly expectation
of death. He was at last discovered and taken prisoner by the
Saracens, who treated him with all the honour due to his rank and all
the pity due to his misfortunes. Under their care his health rapidly
improved, and the next consideration was that of his ransom.

The Saracens demanded, besides money, the cession of Acre,
Tripoli, and other cities of Palestine. Louis unhesitatingly refused,
and conducted himself with so much pride and courage that the Sultan
declared he was the proudest infidel he had ever beheld. After a good
deal of haggling, the Sultan agreed to waive these conditions, and a
treaty was finally concluded. The city of Damietta was restored; a
truce of ten years agreed upon, and ten thousand golden bezants paid
for the release of Louis and the liberation of all the captives. Louis
then withdrew to Jaffa, and spent two years in putting that city, and
Cesarea, with the other possessions of the Christians in Palestine,
into a proper state of defence. He then returned to his own country,
with great reputation as a saint, but very little as a soldier.

Matthew Paris informs us that, in the year 1250, while Louis was
in Egypt, "thousands of the English were resolved to go to the holy
war, had not the King strictly guarded his ports and kept his people
from running out of doors." When the news arrived of the reverses and
captivity of the French King, their ardour cooled; and the Crusade was
sung of only, but not spoken of.

In France, a very different feeling was the result. The news of
the King's capture spread consternation through the country. A fanatic
monk of Citeaux suddenly appeared in the villages, preaching to the
people, and announcing that the Holy Virgin, accompanied by a whole
army of saints and martyrs, had appeared to him, and commanded him to
stir up the shepherds and farm labourers to the defence of the Cross.
To them only was his discourse addressed, and his eloquence was such
that thousands flocked around him, ready to follow wherever he should
lead. The pastures and the corn-fields were deserted, and the
shepherds, or pastoureaux, as they were termed, became at last so
numerous as to amount to upwards of fifty thousand, -- Millot says one
hundred thousand men. [Elemens de l'Histoire de France.] The Queen
Blanche, who governed as Regent during the absence of the King,
encouraged at first the armies of the pastoureaux; but they soon gave
way to such vile excesses that the peaceably disposed were driven to
resistance. Robbery, murder, and violation marked their path; and all
good men, assisted by the government, united in putting them down.
They were finally dispersed, but not before three thousand of them had
been massacred. Many authors say that the slaughter was still greater.

The ten years' truce concluded in 1264, and St. Louis was urged by
two powerful motives to undertake a second expedition for the relief
of Palestine. These were fanaticism on the one hand, and a desire of
retrieving his military fame on the other, which had suffered more
than his parasites liked to remind him of. The Pope, of course,
encouraged his design, and once more the chivalry of Europe began to
bestir themselves. In 1268, Edward, the heir of the English monarchy,
announced his determination to join the Crusade; and the Pope (Clement
IV.) wrote to the prelates and clergy to aid the cause by their
persuasions and their revenues. In England, they agreed to contribute
a tenth of their possessions; and by a parliamentary order, a
twentieth was taken from the corn and moveables of all the laity at
Michaelmas.

In spite of the remonstrances of the few clearheaded statesmen who
surrounded him, urging the ruin that might in consequence fall upon
his then prosperous kingdom, Louis made every preparation for his
departure. The warlike nobility were nothing loth, and in the spring
of 1270, the King set sail with an army of sixty thousand men. He was
driven by stress of weather into Sardinia, and while there, a change
in his plans took place. Instead of proceeding to Acre, as he
originally intended, he shaped his course for Tunis, on the African
coast. The King of Tunis had some time previously expressed himself
favourably disposed towards the Christians and their religion, and
Louis, it appears, had hopes of converting him, and securing his aid
against the Sultan of Egypt. "What honour would be mine," he used to
say, "if I could become godfather to this Mussulman King." Filled with
this idea he landed in Africa, near the site of the city of Carthage,
but found that he had reckoned without his host. The King of Tunis had
no thoughts of renouncing his religion, nor intention of aiding the
Crusaders in any way. On the contrary, he opposed their landing with
all the forces that could be collected on so sudden an emergency. The
French, however, made good their first position, and defeated the
Moslems with considerable loss. They also gained some advantage over
the reinforcements that were sent to oppose them; but an infectious
flux appeared in the army, and put a stop to all future victories. The
soldiers died at the rate of a hundred in a day. The enemy, at the
same time, made as great havoc as the plague. St. Louis himself was
one of the first attacked by the disease. His constitution had been
weakened by fatigues, and even before he left France he was unable to
bear the full weight of his armour. It was soon evident to his
sorrowing soldiers that their beloved monarch could not long survive.
He lingered for some days, and died in Carthage, in the fifty-sixth
year of his age, deeply regretted by his army and his subjects, and
leaving behind him one of the most singular reputations in history. He
is the model-king of ecclesiastical writers, in whose eyes his very
defects became virtues, because they were manifested in furtherance of
their cause. More unprejudiced historians, while they condemn his
fanaticism, admit that he was endowed with many high and rare
qualities; that he was in no one point behind his age, and, in many,
in advance of it.

His brother, Charles of Anjou, in consequence of a revolution in
Sicily, had become King of that country. Before he heard of the death
of Louis, he had sailed from Messina with large reinforcements. On his
landing near Carthage, he advanced at the head of his army, amid the
martial music of drums and trumpets. He was soon informed how
inopportune was his rejoicing, and shed tears before his whole army,
such as no warrior would have been ashamed to shed. A peace was
speedily agreed upon with the King of Tunis, and the armies of France
and Sicily returned to their homes.

So little favour had the Crusade found in England, that even the
exertions of the heir to the throne had only collected a small force
of fifteen hundred men. With these few Prince Edward sailed from Dover
to Bourdeaux, in the expectation that he would find the French King in
that city. St. Louis, however, had left a few weeks previously; upon
which Edward followed him to Sardinia, and afterwards to Tunis. Before
his arrival in Africa, St. Louis was no more, and peace had been
concluded between France and Tunis. He determined, however, not to
relinquish the Crusade. Returning to Sicily, he passed the winter in
that country, and endeavoured to augment his little army. In the
spring he set sail for Palestine, and arrived in safety at Acre. The
Christians were torn, as usual, by mutual jealousies and animosities.
The two great military orders were as virulent and as intractable as
ever; opposed to each other, and to all the world. The arrival of
Edward had the effect of causing them to lay aside their unworthy
contention, and of uniting heart to heart, in one last effort for the
deliverance of their adopted country. A force of six thousand
effective warriors was soon formed to join those of the English
prince, and preparations were made for the renewal of hostilities. The
Sultan, Bibars or Bendocdar, [Mills, in his history, gives the name of
this chief as Al Malek al Dhaker Rokneddin Abulfeth Bibars al Ali al
Bundokdari al Salehi."] a fierce Mamluke, who had been placed on the
throne by a bloody revolution, was at war with all his neighbours, and
unable, for that reason, to concentrate his whole strength against
them. Edward took advantage of this; and marching boldly forward to
Nazareth, defeated the Turks and gained possession of that city. This
was the whole amount of his successes. The hot weather engendered
disease among his troops, and he himself, the life and soul of the
expedition, fell sick among the first. He had been ill for some time,
and was slowly recovering, when a messenger desired to speak with him
on important matters, and to deliver some despatches into his own
hand. While the Prince was occupied in examining them, the traitorous
messenger drew a dagger from his belt, and stabbed him in the breast.
The wound fortunately was not deep, and Edward had gained a portion of
his strength. He struggled with the assassin, and put him to death
with his own dagger, at the same time calling loudly for assistance.
[The reader will recognise the incident which Sir Walter Scott has
introduced into his beautiful romance, "The Talisman," and which, with
the licence claimed by poets and romancers, he represents as having
befallen King Richard I.] His attendants came at his call, and found
him bleeding profusely, and ascertained on inspection that the dagger
was poisoned. Means were instantly taken to purify the wound; and an
antidote was sent by the Grand Master of the Templars which removed
all danger from the effects of the poison. Camden, in his history, has
adopted the more popular, and certainly more beautiful, version of
this story, which says that the Princess Eleonora, in her love for her
gallant husband, sucked the poison from his wound at the risk of her
own life: to use the words of old Fuller, "It is a pity so pretty a
story should not be true; and that so sovereign a remedy as a woman's
tongue, anointed with the virtue of loving affection," should not have
performed the good deed.

Edward suspected, and doubtless not without reason, that the
assassin was employed by the Sultan of Egypt. But it amounted to
suspicion only; and by the sudden death of the assassin, the principal
clue to the discovery of the truth was lost for ever. Edward, on his
recovery, prepared to resume the offensive; but the Sultan,
embarrassed by the defence of interests which, for the time being, he
considered of more importance, made offers of peace to the crusaders.
This proof of weakness on the part of the enemy was calculated to
render a man of Edward's temperament more anxious to prosecute the
war; but he had also other interests to defend. News arrived in
Palestine of the death of his father, King Henry III; and his presence
being necessary in England, he agreed to the terms of the Sultan.
These were, that the Christians should be allowed to retain their
possessions in the Holy Land, and that a truce of ten years should be
proclaimed. Edward then set sail for England; and thus ended the last
Crusade.

The after-fate of the Holy Land may be told in a few words. The
Christians, unmindful of their past sufferings and of the jealous
neighbours they had to deal with, first broke the truce by plundering
some Egyptian traders near Margat. The Sultan immediately revenged the
outrage by taking possession of Margat, and war once more raged
between the nations. Margat made a gallant defence, but no
reinforcements arrived from Europe to prevent its fall. Tripoli was
the next, and other cities in succession, until at last Acre was the
only city of Palestine that remained in possession of the Christians.

The Grand Master of the Templars collected together his small and
devoted band; and with the trifling aid afforded by the King of
Cyprus, prepared to defend to the death the last possession of his
order. Europe was deaf to his cry for aid, the numbers of the foe were
overwhelming, and devoted bravery was of no avail. In that disastrous
siege the Christians were all but exterminated. The King of Cyprus
fled when he saw that resistance was vain, and the Grand Master fell
at the head of his knights, pierced with a hundred wounds. Seven
Templars, and as many Hospitallets, alone escaped from the dreadful
carnage. The victorious Moslems then set fire to the city, and the
rule of the Christians in Palestine was brought to a close for ever.

This intelligence spread alarm and sorrow among the clergy of
Europe, who endeavoured to rouse once more the energy and enthusiasm
of the nations, in the cause of the Holy Land: but the popular mania
had run its career; the spark of zeal had burned its appointed time,
and was never again to be re-illumined. Here and there a solitary
knight announced his determination to take up arms, and now and then a
king gave cold encouragement to the scheme; but it dropped almost as
soon as spoken of, to be renewed again, still more feebly, at some
longer interval.

Now what was the grand result of all these struggles? Europe
expended millions of her treasures, and the blood of two millions of
her children; and a handful of quarrelsome knights retained possession
of Palestine for about one hundred years! Even had Christendom
retained it to this day, the advantage, if confined to that, would
have been too dearly purchased. But notwithstanding the fanaticism
that originated, and the folly that conducted them, the Crusades were
not productive of unmitigated evil. The feudal chiefs became better
members of society, by coming in contact, in Asia, with a civilization
superior to their own; the people secured some small instalments of
their rights; kings, no longer at war with their nobility, had time to
pass some good laws; the human mind learned some little wisdom from
hard experience, and, casting off the slough of superstition in which
the Roman clergy had so long enveloped it, became prepared to receive
the seeds of the approaching Reformation. Thus did the all-wise
Disposer of events bring good out of evil, and advance the
civilization and ultimate happiness of the nations of the West, by
means of the very fanaticism that had led them against the East. But
the whole subject is one of absorbing interest; and if carried fully
out in all its bearings, would consume more space than the plan of
this work will allow. The philosophic student will draw his own
conclusions; and he can have no better field for the exercise of his
powers than this European madness; its advantages and disadvantages;
its causes and results.

THE WITCH MANIA.

What wrath of gods, or wicked influence
Of tears, conspiring wretched men t' afflict,
Hath pour'd on earth this noyous pestilence,
That mortal minds doth inwardly infect
With love of blindness and of ignorance ?

Spencer's Tears of the Muses.

Countrymen: "Hang her! -- beat her! -- kill her!"
Justice: "How now? Forbear this violence!"
Mother Sawyer: "A crew of villains -- a knot of bloody hangmen! set to
                torment me! -- I know not why."
Justice: "Alas! neighbour Banks, are you a ringleader in mischief? Fie
          I to abuse an aged woman!"
Banks: "Woman! -- a she hell-cat, a witch! To prove her one, we no
        sooner set fire on the thatch of her house, but in she came
        running, as if the Devil had sent her in a barrel of
        gunpowder."

Ford's Witch of Edmonton.

The belief that disembodied spirits may be permitted to revisit
this world, has its foundation upon that sublime hope of immortality,
which is at once the chief solace and greatest triumph of our reason.
Even if revelation did not teach us, we feel that we have that within
us which shall never die; and all our experience of this life but
makes us cling the more fondly to that one repaying hope. But
in the early days of "little knowledge," this grand belief became the
source of a whole train of superstitions, which, in their turn, became
the fount from whence flowed a deluge of blood and horror. Europe, for
a period of two centuries and a half, brooded upon the idea, not only
that parted spirits walked the earth to meddle in the affairs of men,
but that men had power to summon evil spirits to their aid to work woe
upon their fellows. An epidemic terror seized upon the nations; no man
thought himself secure, either in his person or possessions, from the
machinations of the devil and his agents. Every calamity that befell
him, he attributed to a witch. If a storm arose and blew down his
barn, it was witchcraft; if his cattle died of a murrain-if disease
fastened upon his limbs, or death entered suddenly, and snatched a
beloved face from his hearth -- they were not visitations of
Providence, but the works of some neighbouring hag, whose wretchedness
or insanity caused the ignorant to raise their finger, and point at
her as a witch. The word was upon everybody's tongue -- France, ItaLy,
Germany, England, Scotland, and the far North, successively ran mad
upon this subject, and for a long series of years, furnished their
tribunals with so many trials for witchcraft that other crimes were
seldom or never spoken of. Thousands upon thousands of unhappy persons
fell victims to this cruel and absurd delusion. In many cities of
Germany, as will be shown more fully in its due place hereafter, the
average number of executions for this pretended crime, was six hundred
annually, or two every day, if we leave out the Sundays, when, it is
to be supposed, that even this madness refrained from its work.

A misunderstanding of the famous text of the Mosaic law, "Thou
shalt not suffer a witch to live," no doubt led many conscientious men
astray, whose superstition, warm enough before, wanted but a little
corroboration to blaze out with desolating fury. In all ages of the
world men have tried to hold converse with superior beings; and to
pierce, by their means, the secrets of futurity. In the time of Moses,
it is evident that there were impostors, who trafficked upon the
credulity of mankind, and insulted the supreme majesty of the true God
by pretending to the power of divination. Hence the law which Moses,
by Divine command, promulgated against these criminals; but it did not
follow, as the superstitious monomaniacs of the middle ages imagined,
that the Bible established the existence of the power of divination by
its edicts against those who pretended to it. From the best
authorities, it appears that the Hebrew word, which has been rendered,
venefica, and witch, means a poisoner and divineress -- a dabbler in
spells, or fortune-teller. The modern witch was a very different
character, and joined to her pretended power of foretelling future
events that of working evil upon the life, limbs, and possessions of
mankind. This power was only to be acquired by an express compact,
signed in blood, with the devil himself, by which the wizard or witch
renounced baptism, and sold his or her immortal soul to the evil one,
without any saving clause of redemption.

There are so many wondrous appearances in nature, for which
science and philosophy cannot, even now, account, that it is not
surprising that, when natural laws were still less understood, men
should have attributed to supernatural agency every appearance which
they could not otherwise explain. The merest tyro now understands
various phenomena which the wisest of old could not fathom. The
schoolboy knows why, upon high mountains, there should, on certain
occasions, appear three or four suns in the firmament at once; and why
the figure of a traveller upon one eminence should be reproduced,
inverted, and of a gigantic stature, upon another. We all know the
strange pranks which imagination can play in certain diseases -- that
the hypochondriac can see visions and spectres, and that there have
been cases in which men were perfectly persuaded that they were
teapots. Science has lifted up the veil, and rolled away all the
fantastic horrors in which our forefathers shrouded these and similar
cases. The man who now imagines himself a wolf, is sent to the
hospital, instead of to the stake, as in the days of the witch mania;
and earth, air, and sea are unpeopled of the grotesque spirits that
were once believed to haunt them.

Before entering further into the history of Witchcraft, it may be
as well if we consider the absurd impersonation of the evil principle
formed by the monks in their legends. We must make acquaintance with
the primum mobile, and understand what sort of a personage it was, who
gave the witches, in exchange for their souls, the power to torment
their fellow-creatures. The popular notion of the devil was, that he
was a large, ill-formed, hairy sprite, with horns, a long tail, cloven
feet, and dragon's wings. In this shape he was constantly brought on
the stage by the monks in their early "miracles" and "mysteries." In
these representations he was an important personage, and answered the
purpose of the clown in the modern pantomime. The great fun for the
people was to see him well belaboured by the saints with clubs or
cudgels, and to hear him howl with pain as he limped off, maimed by
the blow of some vigorous anchorite. St. Dunstan generally served him
the glorious trick for which he is renowned -- catching hold of his
nose with a pair of red-hot pincers, till

"Rocks and distant dells resounded with his cries."

Some of the saints spat in his face, to his very great annoyance; and
others chopped pieces off his tail, which, however, always grew on
again. This was paying him in his own coin, and amused the populace
mightily; for they all remembered the scurvy tricks he had played them
and their forefathers. It was believed that he endeavoured to trip
people up, by laying his long invisible tail in their way, and giving
it a sudden whisk when their legs were over it; -- that he used to get
drunk, and swear like a trooper, and be so mischievous in his cups as
to raise tempests and earthquakes, to destroy the fruits of the earth
and the barns and homesteads of true believers; -- that he used to run
invisible spits into people by way of amusing himself in the long
winter evenings, and to proceed to taverns and regale himself with the
best, offering in payment pieces of gold which, on the dawn of the
following morning, invariably turned into slates. Sometimes, disguised
as a large drake, he used to lurk among the bulrushes, and frighten
the weary traveller out of his wits by his awful quack. The reader
will remember the lines of Burns in his address to the "De'il," which
so well express the popular notion on this point --

"Ae dreary, windy, winter night,
The stars shot down wi' sklentin light,
Wi' you, mysel, I got a fright
       Ayont the lough;
Ye, like a rash-bush, stood in sight
       Wi' waving sough.

"The cudgel in my nieve did shake,
Each bristled hair stood like a stake,
When wi' an eldritch stour, 'quaick! quaick!'
       Among the springs
Awa ye squatter'd, like a drake,
       On whistling wings."

In all the stories circulated and believed about him, he was
represented as an ugly, petty, mischievous spirit, who rejoiced in
playing off all manner of fantastic tricks upon poor humanity. Milton
seems to have been the first who succeeded in giving any but a
ludicrous description of him. The sublime pride which is the
quintessence of evil, was unconceived before his time. All other
limners made him merely grotesque, but Milton made him awful. In this
the monks showed themselves but miserable romancers; for their object
undoubtedly was to represent the fiend as terrible as possible: but
there was nothing grand about their Satan; on the contrary, he was a
low mean devil, whom it was easy to circumvent and fine fun to play
tricks with. But, as is well and eloquently remarked by a modern
writer, [See article on Demonology, in the sixth volume of the
"Foreign Quarterly Review."] the subject has also its serious side.
An Indian deity, with its wild distorted shape and grotesque attitude,
appears merely ridiculous when separated from its accessories and
viewed by daylight in a museum; but restore it to the darkness of its
own hideous temple, bring back to our recollection the victims that
have bled upon its altar, or been crushed beneath its ear, and our
sense of the ridiculous subsides into aversion and horror. So, while
the superstitious dreams of former times are regarded as mere
speculative insanities, we may be for a moment amused with the wild
incoherences of the patients; but, when we reflect, that out of these
hideous misconceptions of the principle of evil arose the belief in
witchcraft -- that this was no dead faith, but one operating on the
whole being of society, urging on the wisest and the mildest to deeds
of murder, or cruelties scarcely less than murder -- that the learned
and the beautiful, young and old, male and female, were devoted by its
influence to the stake and the scaffold -- every feeling disappears,
except that of astonishment that such things could be, and humiliation
at the thought that the delusion was as lasting as it was universal.

Besides this chief personage, there was an infinite number of
inferior demons, who played conspicuous parts in the creed of
witchcraft. The pages of Bekker, Leloyer, Bodin, Delrio, and De Lancre
abound with descriptions of the qualities of these imps and the
functions which were assigned them. From these authors, three of whom
were commissioners for the trial of witches, and who wrote from the
confessions made by the supposed criminals and the evidence delivered
against them, and from the more recent work of M. Jules Garinet, the
following summary of the creed has been, with great pains, extracted.
The student who is desirous of knowing more, is referred to the works
in question; he will find enough in every leaf to make his blood
curdle with shame and horror: but the purity of these pages shall not
be soiled by anything so ineffably humiliating and disgusting as a
complete exposition of them; what is here culled will be a sufficient
sample of the popular belief, and the reader would but lose time who
should seek in the writings of the Demonologists for more ample
details. He will gain nothing by lifting the veil which covers their
unutterable obscenities, unless, like Sterne, he wishes to gather
fresh evidence of "what a beast man is." In that case, he will find
plenty there to convince him that the beast would be libelled by the
comparison.

It was thought that the earth swarmed with millions of demons of
both sexes, many of whom, like the human race, traced their lineage up
to Adam, who, after the fall, was led astray by devils, assuming the
forms of beautiful women to deceive him. These demons "increased and
multiplied," among themselves, with the most extraordinary rapidity.
Their bodies were of the thin air, and they could pass though the
hardest substances with the greatest ease. They had no fixed residence
or abiding place, but were tossed to and fro in the immensity of
space. When thrown together in great multitudes, they excited
whirlwinds in the air and tempests in the waters, and took delight in
destroying the beauty of nature and the monuments of the industry of
man. Although they increased among themselves like ordinary creatures,
their numbers were daily augmented by the souls of wicked men -- of
children still-born -- of women who died in childbed, and of persons
killed in duels. The whole air was supposed to be full of them, and
many unfortunate men and women drew them by thousands into their
mouths and nostrils at every inspiration; and the demons, lodging in
their bowels or other parts of their bodies, tormented them with pains
and diseases of every kind, and sent them frightful dreams. St.
Gregory of Nice relates a story of a nun who forgot to say her
benedicite, and make the sign of the cross, before she sat down to
supper, and who, in consequence, swallowed a demon concealed among the
leaves of a lettuce. Most persons said the number of these demons was
so great that they could not be counted, but Wierus asserted that they
amounted to no more than seven millions, four hundred and five
thousand, nine hundred, and twenty-six; and that they were divided
into seventy-two companies or battalions, to each of which there was a
prince or captain. They could assume any shape they pleased. When they
were male, they were called incubi; and when female, succubi. They
sometimes made themselves hideous; and at other times, they assumed
shapes of such transcendant loveliness, that mortal eyes never saw
beauty to compete with theirs.

Although the devil and his legions could appear to mankind at any
time, it was generally understood that he preferred the night between
Friday and Saturday. If Satan himself appeared in human shape, he was
never perfectly, and in all respects, like a man. He was either too
black or too white -- too large or too small, or some of his limbs were
out of proportion to the rest of his body. Most commonly his feet were
deformed; and he was obliged to curl up and conceal his tall in some
part of his habiliments; for, take what shape he would, he could not
get rid of that encumbrance. He sometimes changed himself into a tree
or a river; and upon one occasion he transformed himself into a
barrister, as we learn from Wierus, book iv, chapter ix. In the reign
of Philippe le Bel, he appeared to a monk in the shape of a dark man,
riding a tall black horse -- then as a friar -- afterwards as an ass,
and finally as a coach-wheel. Instances are not rare in which both he
and his inferior demons have taken the form of handsome young men;
and, successfully concealing their tails, have married beautiful young
women, who have had children by them. Such children were easily
recognizable by their continual shrieking -- by their requiring five
nurses to suckle them, and by their never growing fat.

All these demons were at the command of any individual, who would
give up his immortal soul to the prince of evil for the privilege of
enjoying their services for a stated period. The wizard or witch could
send them to execute the most difficult missions: whatever the witch
commanded was performed, except it was a good action, in which case
the order was disobeyed, and evil worked upon herself instead.

At intervals, according to the pleasure of Satan, there was a
general meeting of the demons and all the witches. This meeting was
called the Sabbath, from its taking place on the Saturday or
immediately after midnight on Fridays. These Sabbaths were sometimes
held for one district, sometimes for another, and once at least, every
year, it was held on the Brocken, or among other high mountains, as a
general sabbath of the fiends for the whole of Christendom.

The devil generally chose a place where four roads met, as the
scene of this assembly, or if that was not convenient, the
neighbourhood of a lake. Upon this spot nothing would ever afterwards
grow, as the hot feet of the demons and witches burnt the principle of
fecundity from the earth, and rendered it barren for ever. When orders
had been once issued for the meeting of the Sabbath, all the wizards
and witches who failed to attend it were lashed by demons with a rod
made of serpents or scorpions, as a punishment for their inattention
or want of punctuality.

In France and England, the witches were supposed to ride uniformly
upon broomsticks; but in Italy and Spain, the devil himself, in the
shape of a goat, used to transport them on his back, which lengthened
or shortened according to the number of witches he was desirous of
accommodating. No witch, when proceeding to the Sabbath, could get out
by a door or window, were she to try ever so much. Their general mode
of ingress was by the keyhole, and of egress, by the chimney, up which
they flew, broom and all, with the greatest ease. To prevent the
absence of the witches from being noticed by their neighbours, some
inferior demon was commanded to assume their shapes and lie in their
beds, feigning illness, until the Sabbath was over.

When all the wizards and witches had arrived at the place of
rendezvous, the infernal ceremonies of the Sabbath began. Satan,
having assumed his favourite shape of a large he-goat, with a face in
front and another in his haunches, took his seat upon a throne; and
all present, in succession, paid their respects to him, and kissed him
in his face behind. This done, he appointed a master of the
ceremonies, in company with whom he made a personal examination of all
the wizards and witches, to see whether they had the secret mark about
them by which they were stamped as the devil's own. This mark was
always insensible to pain. Those who had not yet been marked, received
the mark from the master of the ceremonies; the devil at the same time
bestowing nicknames upon them. This done, they all began to sing and.
dance in the most furious manner, until some one arrived who was
anxious to be admitted into their society. They were then silent for a
while, until the new-comer had denied his salvation, kissed the devil,
spat upon the Bible, and sworn obedience to him in all things. They
then began dancing again with all their might, and singing these
words,

"Alegremos, Alegremos!
Que gente va tenemos!"

In the course of an hour or two, they generally became wearied of this
violent exercise, and then they all sat down and recounted the evil
deeds they had done since their last meeting. Those who had not been
malicious and mischievous enough towards their fellow-creatures,
received personal chastisement from Satan himself, who flogged them
with thorns or scorpions till they were covered with blood, and unable
to sit or stand.

When this ceremony was concluded, they were all amused by a dance
of toads. Thousands of these creatures sprang out of the earth; and
standing on their hind-legs, danced, while the devil played the
bagpipes or the trumpet. These toads were all endowed with the faculty
of speech, and entreated the witches to reward them with the flesh of
unbaptized babes for their exertions to give them pleasure. The
witches promised compliance. The devil bade them remember to keep
their word; and then stamping his foot, caused all the toads to sink
into the earth in an instant. The place being thus cleared,
preparation was made for the banquet, where all manner of disgusting
things were served up and greedily devoured by the demons and witches;
although the latter were sometimes regaled with choice meats and
expensive wines from golden plates and crystal goblets; but they were
never thus favoured unless they had done an extraordinary number of
evil deeds since the last period of meeting.

After the feast, they began dancing again; but such as had no
relish for any more exercise in that way, amused themselves by mocking
the holy sacrament of baptism. For this purpose, the toads were again
called up, and sprinkled with filthy water; the devil making the sign
of the cross, and all the witches calling out, "In nomine Patrica,
Aragueaco Petrica, agora! agora! Valentia, jouando goure gaits
goustia!" which meant, "In the name of Patrick, Petrick of Aragon, --
now, now, all our ills are over!"

When the devil wished to be particularly amused, he made the
witches strip off their clothes and dance before him, each with a cat
tied round her neck, and another dangling from her body in form of a
tail. When the cock crew, they all disappeared, and the Sabbath was
ended.

This is a summary of the belief which prevailed for many centuries
nearly all over Europe, and which is far from eradicated even at this
day. It was varied in some respects in several countries, but the main
points were the same in France, Germany, Great Britain, Italy, Spain,
and the far North of Europe.

The early annals of France abound with stories of supposed
sorcery, but it was not until the time of Charlemagne that the crime
acquired any great importance. "This monarch," says M. Jules
Garinet, ["Histoire de la Magie en France. Rois de la seconde race,"
page 29.] "had several times given orders that all necromancers,
astrologers, and witches should be driven from his states; but as the
number of criminals augmented daily, he found it necessary at last to
resort to severer measures. In consequence, he published several
edicts, which may be found at length in the 'Capitulaire de Baluse.'
By these, every sort of magic, enchantment, and witchcraft was
forbidden; and the punishment of death decreed against those who in
any way evoked the devil -- compounded love-philters -- afflicted
either man or woman with barrenness -- troubled the atmosphere --
excited tempests -- destroyed the fruits of the earth -- dried up the
milk of cows, or tormented their fellow-creatures with sores and
diseases. All persons found guilty of exercising these execrable arts,
were to be executed immediately upon conviction, that the earth might
be rid of the burthen and curse of their presence; and those even who
consulted them might also be punished with death. [M. Michaud, in his
"History of the Crusades," M. Guinguene, in his "Literary History of
Italy," and some other critics, have objected to Tasso's poem, that he
has attributed to the Crusaders a belief in magic, which did not exist
at that time. If these critics had referred to the Edicts of
Charlemagne, they would have seen that Tasso was right, and that a
disposition too eager to spy out imperfections in a great work was
leading themselves into error.]

After this time, prosecutions for witchcraft are continually
mentioned, especially by the French historians. It was a crime imputed
with so much ease, and repelled with so much difficulty, that the
powerful, whenever they wanted to ruin the weak, and could fix no
other imputation upon them, had only to accuse them of witchcraft to
ensure their destruction. Instances, in which this crime was made the
pretext for the most violent persecution, both of individuals and of
communities, whose real offences were purely political or religious,
must be familiar to every reader. The extermination of the Stedinger,
in 1234; of the Templars, from 1307 to 1313; the execution of Joan of
Arc, in 1429; and the unhappy scenes of Arras, in 1459; are the most
prominent. The first of these is perhaps the least known, but is not
among the least remarkable. The following account, from Dr. Kortum's
interesting history ["Entstehungsgeschichte der freistadlischen Bunde
im Mittelalter, von Dr. F. Kortum." 1827.] of the republican
confederacies of the Middle Ages, will show the horrible convenience
of imputations of witchcraft, when royal or priestly wolves wanted a
pretext for a quarrel with the sheep.

The Frieslanders, inhabiting the district from the Weser to the
Zuydersee, had long been celebrated for their attachment to freedom,
and their successful struggles in its defence. As early as the
eleventh century, they had formed a general confederacy against the
encroachments of the Normans and the Saxons, which was divided into
seven seelands, holding annually a diet under a large oaktree at
Aurich, near the Upstalboom. Here they managed their own affairs,
without the control of the clergy and ambitious nobles who surrounded
them, to the great scandal of the latter. They already had true
notions of a representative government. The deputies of the people
levied the necessary taxes, deliberated on the affairs of the
community, and performed, in their simple and patriarchal
manner; nearly all the functions of the representative assemblies of
the present day. Finally, the Archbishop of Bremen, together with the
Count of Oldenburg and other neighbouring potentates, formed a league
against that section of the Frieslanders, known by the name of the
Stedinger, and succeeded, after harassing them, and sowing dissensions
among them for many years, in bringing them under the yoke. But the
Stedinger, devotedly attached to their ancient laws, by which they had
attained a degree of civil and religious liberty very uncommon in that
age, did not submit without a violent struggle. They arose in
insurrection, in the year 1204, in defence of the ancient customs of
their country -- refused to pay taxes to the feudal chiefs, or tithes
to the clergy, who had forced themselves into their peaceful retreats,
and drove out many of their oppressors. For a period of
eight-and-twenty years the brave Stedinger continued the struggle
single-handed against the forces of the Archbishops of Bremen and the
Counts of Oldenburg, and destroyed, in the year 1232, the strong
castle of Slutterberg, near Delmenhorst, built by the latter nobleman
as a position from which he could send out his marauders to plunder
and destroy the possessions of the peasantry.

The invincible courage of these poor people proving too strong for
their oppressors to cope with by the ordinary means of warfare, the
Archbishop of Bremen applied to Pope Gregory IX. for his spiritual aid
against them. That prelate entered cordially into the cause, and
launching forth his anathema against the Stedinger as heretics and
witches, encouraged all true believers to assist in their
extermination. A large body of thieves and fanatics broke into their
country in the year 1233, killing and burning wherever they went, and
not sparing either women or children, the sick or the aged, in their
rage. The Stedinger, however, rallied in great force, routed their
invaders, and killed in battle their leader, Count Burckhardt of
Oldenburg, with many inferior chieftains.

Again the pope was applied to, and a crusade against the Stedinger
was preached in all that part of Germany. The pope wrote to all the
bishops and leaders of the faithful an exhortation to arm, to root out
from the land those abominable witches and wizards. "The Stedinger,"
said his Holiness, "seduced by the devil, have abjured all the laws of
God and man; slandered the Church -- insulted the holy sacraments --
consulted witches to raise evil spirits -- shed blood like water --
taken the lives of priests, and concocted an infernal scheme to
propagate the worship of the devil, whom they adore under the name of
Asmodi. The devil appears to them in different shapes; sometimes as a
goose or a duck, and at others in the figure of a pale, black-eyed
youth, with a melancholy aspect, whose embrace fills their hearts with
eternal hatred against the holy church of Christ. This devil presides
at their Sabbaths, when they all kiss him and dance around him. He
then envelopes them in total darkness, and they all, male and female,
give themselves up to the grossest and most disgusting debauchery."

In consequence of these letters of the pope, the Emperor of
Germany, Frederic II, also pronounced his ban against them. The
Bishops of Ratzebourg, Lubeck, Osnabruek, Munster, and Minden took up
arms to exterminate them, aided by the Duke of Brabant, the Counts of
Holland, of Cloves, of the Mark, of Oldenburg, of Egmond, of Diest,
and many other powerful nobles. An army of forty thousand men was soon
collected, which marched, under the command of the Duke of Brabant,
into the country of the Stedinger. The latter mustered vigorously in
defence of their lives and liberties, but could raise no greater
force, including every man capable of bearing arms, than eleven
thousand men to cope against the overwhelming numbers of their foe.
They fought with the energy of despair, but all in vain. Eight
thousand of them were slain on the field of battle; the whole race was
exterminated; and the enraged conquerors scoured the country in all
directions -- slew the women and children and old men -- drove away
the cattle -- fired the woods and cottages, and made a total waste of
the land.

Just as absurd and effectual was the charge brought against the
Templars in 1307, when they had rendered themselves obnoxious to the
potentates and prelacy of Christendom. Their wealth, their power,
their pride, and their insolence had raised up enemies on every side;
and every sort of accusation was made against them, but failed to work
their overthrow, until the terrible cry of witchcraft was let loose
upon them. This effected its object, and the Templars were extirpated.
They were accused of having sold their souls to the devil, and of
celebrating all the infernal mysteries of the witches' Sabbath. It was
pretended that, when they admitted a novice into their order, they
forced him to renounce his salvation and curse Jesus Christ; that they
then made him submit to many unholy and disgusting ceremonies, and
forced him to kiss the Superior on the cheek, the navel, and the
breech; and spit three times upon a crucifix. That all the members
were forbidden to have connexion with women, but might give themselves
up without restraint to every species of unmentionable debauchery.
That when, by any mischance, a Templar infringed this order, and a
child was born, the whole order met, and tossed it about like a
shuttlecock from one to the other until it expired; that they then
roasted it by a slow fire, and with the fat which trickled from it
anointed the hair and beard of a large image of the devil. It was also
said that, when one of the knights died, his body was burnt into a
powder, and then mixed with wine and drunk by every member of the
order. Philip IV, who, to exercise his own implacable hatred,
invented, in all probability, the greater part of these charges,
issued orders for the immediate arrest of all the Templars in his
dominions. The pope afterwards took up the cause with almost as much
fervour as the King of France; and in every part of Europe, the
Templars were thrown into prison and their goods and estates
confiscated. Hundreds of them, when put to the rack, confessed even
the most preposterous of the charges against them, and by so doing,
increased the popular clamour and the hopes of their enemies. It is
true that, when removed from the rack, they denied all they had
previously confessed; but this circumstance only increased the outcry,
and was numbered as an additional crime against them. They were
considered in a worse light than before, and condemned forthwith to
the flames, as relapsed heretics. Fifty-nine of these unfortunate
victims were all burned together by a slow fire in a field in the
suburbs of Paris, protesting to the very last moment of their lives,
their innocence of the crimes imputed to them, and refusing to accept
of pardon upon condition of acknowledging themselves guilty. Similar
scenes were enacted in the provinces; and for four years, hardly a
month passed without witnessing the execution of one or more of these
unhappy men. Finally, in 1313, the last scene of this tragedy closed
by the burning of the Grand-Master, Jacques de Molay, and his
companion, Guy, the Commander of Normandy. Anything more atrocious it
is impossible to conceive; disgraceful alike to the monarch who
originated, the pope who supported, and the age which tolerated the
monstrous iniquity. That the malice of a few could invent such a
charge, is a humiliating thought for the lover of his species; but
that millions of mankind should credit it, is still more so.

The execution of Joan of Arc is the next most notorious example
which history affords us, of the imputation of witchcraft against a
political enemy. Instances of similar persecution, in which this crime
was made the pretext for the gratification of political or religious
hatred, might be multiplied to a great extent. But it is better to
proceed at once to the consideration of the bull of Pope Innocent, the
torch that set fire to the longlaid train, and caused so fearful an
explosion over the Christian world. It will be necessary, however, to
go back for some years anterior to that event, the better to
understand the motives that influenced the Church in the promulgation
of that fearful document.

Towards the close of the fourteenth and beginning of the fifteenth
century, many witches were burned in different parts of Europe. As a
natural consequence of the severe persecution, the crime, or the
pretenders to it, increased. Those who found themselves accused and
threatened with the penalties, if they happened to be persons of a bad
and malicious disposition, wished they had the power imputed to them,
that they might be revenged upon their persecutors. Numerous instances
are upon record of half-crazed persons being found muttering the
spells which were supposed to raise the evil one. When religion and
law alike recognized the crime, it is no wonder that the weak in
reason and the strong in imagination, especially when they were of a
nervous temperament, fancied themselves endued with the terrible
powers of which all the world was speaking. The belief of their
neighbours did not lag behind their own, and execution was the speedy
consequence.

As the fear of witchcraft increased, the Catholic clergy strove to
fix the imputation of it upon those religious sects, the pioneers of
the Reformation, who began about this time to be formidable to the
Church of Rome. If a charge of heresy could not ensure their
destruction, that of sorcery and witchcraft never failed. In the year
1459, a devoted congregation of the Waldenses, at Arras, who used to
repair at night to worship God in their own manner in solitary places,
fell victims to an accusation of sorcery. It was rumored in Arras that
in the desert places to which they retired, the devil appeared before
them in human form, and read from a large book his laws and
ordinances, to which they all promised obedience; that he then
distributed money and food among them, to bind them to his service,
which done, they gave themselves up to every species of lewdness and
debauchery. Upon these rumours, several creditable persons in Arras
were seized and imprisoned, together with a number of decrepit and
idiotic old women. The rack, that convenient instrument for making the
accused confess anything, was of course put in requisition.
Monstrelet, in his Chronicle, says that they were tortured until some
of them admitted the truth of the whole accusations, and said besides,
that they had seen and recognized, in their nocturnal assemblies, many
persons of rank; many prelates, seigneurs, governors of bailliages,
and mayors of cities, being such names as the examiners had themselves
suggested to the victims. Several who had been thus informed against,
were thrown into prison, and so horribly tortured, that reason fled,
and, in their ravings of pain, they also confessed their midnight
meetings with the devil, and the oaths they had taken to serve him.
Upon these confessions judgment was pronounced: the poor old women, as
usual in such cases, were hanged and burned in the market-place; the
more wealthy delinquents were allowed to escape, upon payment of large
sums. It was soon after universally recognized that these trials had
been conducted in the most odious manner, and that the judges had
motives of private vengeance against many of the more influential
persons who had been implicated. The Parliament of Paris afterwards
declared the sentence illegal, and the judges iniquitous; but its
arret was too late to be of service even to those who had paid the
fine, or to punish the authorities who had misconducted themselves;
for it was not delivered until thirty-two years after the executions
had taken place.

In the mean time, accusations of witchcraft spread rapidly in
France, Italy, and Germany. Strange to say, that although in the first
instance chiefly directed against heretics, the latter were as firm
believers in the crime as even the Catholics themselves. In after
times we also find that the Lutherans and Calvinists became greater
witchburners than ever the Romanists had been: so deeply was the
prejudice rooted. Every other point of belief was in dispute, but that
was considered by every sect to be as well established as the
authenticity of the Scriptures, or the existence of a God.

But at this early period of the epidemic the persecutions were
directed by the heads of the Catholic Church. The spread of heresy
betokened, it was thought, the coming of Antichrist. Florimond, in his
work concerning the Antichrist, lets us fully into the secret of these
prosecutions. He says, "All who have afforded us some signs of the
approach of Antichrist agree that the increase of sorcery and
witchcraft is to distinguish the melancholy period of his advent; and
was ever age so afflicted as ours? The seats destined for criminals in
our courts of justice are blackened with persons accused of this
guilt. There are not judges enough to try them. Our dungeons are
gorged with them. No day passes that we do not render our tribunals
bloody by the dooms which we pronounce, or in which we do not return
to our homes, discountenanted and terrified at the horrible
confessions which we have heard. And the devil is accounted so good a
master, that we cannot commit so great a number of his slaves to the
flames, but what there shall arise from their ashes a sufficient
number to supply their place."

Florimond here spoke the general opinion of the Church of Rome;
but it never suggested itself to the mind of any person engaged in
these trials, that if it were indeed a devil, who raised up so many
new witches to fill the places of those consumed, it was no other than
one in their own employ -- the devil of persecution. But so it was.
The more they burned, the more they found to burn; until it became a
common prayer with women in the humbler walks of life, that they might
never live to grow old. It was sufficient to be aged, poor, and
ill-tempered, to ensure death at the stake or the scaffold.

In the year 1487 there was a severe storm in Switzerland, which
laid waste the country for four miles around Constance. Two wretched
old women, whom the popular voice had long accused of witchcraft, were
arrested on the preposterous charge of having raised the tempest. The
rack was displayed, and the two poor creatures extended upon it. In
reply to various leading questions from their tormentors, they owned,
in their agony, that they were in the constant habit of meeting the
devil, that they had sold their souls to him, and that at their
command he had raised the tempest. Upon this insane and blasphemous
charge they were condemned to die. In the criminal registers of
Constance there stands against the name of each the simple but
significant phrase, "convicta et combusta."

This case and hundreds of others were duly reported to the
ecclesiastical powers. There happened at that time to be a Pontiff at
the head of the Church who had given much of his attention to the
subject of witchcraft, and who, with the intent of rooting out the
crime, did more to increase it than any other man that ever lived.
John Baptist Cibo, elected to the Papacy in 1485, under the
designation of Innocent VIII, was sincerely alarmed at the number of
witches, and launched forth his terrible manifesto against them. In
his celebrated bull of 1488, he called the nations of Europe to the
rescue of the church of Christ upon earth, emperilled by the arts of
Satan, and set forth the horrors that had reached his ears; how that
numbers of both sexes had intercourse with the infernal fiends; how by
their sorceries they afflicted both man and beast; how they blighted
the marriage bed, destroyed the births of women and the increase of
cattle; and how they blasted the corn on the ground, the grapes of
the vineyard, the fruits of the trees, and the herbs of the field. In
order that criminals so atrocious might no longer pollute the earth,
he appointed inquisitors in every country, armed with the apostolic
power to convict and punish.

It was now that the Witch Mania, properly so called, may be said
to have fairly commenced. Immediately a class of men sprang up in
Europe, who made it the sole business of their lives to discover and
burn the witches. Sprenger, in Germany, was the most celebrated of
these national scourges. In his notorious work, the "Malleus
Maleficarum," he laid down a regular form of trial, and appointed a
course of examination by which the inquisitors in other countries
might best discover the guilty. The questions, which were always
enforced by torture, were of the most absurd and disgusting nature.
The inquisitors were required to ask the suspected whether they had
midnight meetings with the devil? whether they attended the witch's
sabbath on the Brocken? whether they had their familiar spirits?
whether they could raise whirlwinds and call down the lightning? and
whether they had sexual intercourse with Satan?

Straightway the inquisitors set to work; Cumarius, in Italy,
burned forty-one poor women in one province alone, and Sprenger, in
Germany, burned a number which can never be ascertained correctly, but
which, it is agreed on all hands, amounted to more than five hundred
in a year. The great resemblance between the confessions of the
unhappy victims was regarded as a new proof of the existence of the
crime. But this is not astonishing. The same questions from the
"Malleus Maleficarum," were put to them all, and torture never failed
to educe the answer required by the inquisitor. Numbers of people
whose imaginations were filled with these horrors, went further in the
way of confession than even their tormenters anticipated, in the hope
that they would thereby be saved from the rack, and put out of their
misery at once. Some confessed that they had had children by the
devil; but no one, who had ever been a mother, gave utterance
to such a frantic imagining, even in the extremity of her anguish. The
childless only confessed it, and were burned instanter as unworthy to
live.

For fear the zeal of the enemies of Satan should cool, successive
Popes appointed new commissions. One was appointed by Alexander VI, in
1494; another by Leo X, in 1521, and a third by Adrian VI, in 1522.
They were all armed with the same powers to hunt out and destroy, and
executed their fearful functions but too rigidly. In Geneva alone five
hundred persons were burned in the years 1515 and 1516, under the
title of Protestant witches. It would appear that their chief crime
was heresy, and their witchcraft merely an aggravation. Bartolomeo de
Spina has a list still more fearful. He informs us that, in the year
1524, no less than a thousand persons suffered death for witchcraft in
the district of Como, and that for several years afterwards the
average number of victims exceeded a hundred annually. One inquisitor,
Remigius, took great credit to himself for having, during fifteen
years, convicted and burned nine hundred.

In France, about the year 1520, fires for the execution of witches
blazed in almost every town. Danaeus, in his "Dialogues of Witches,"
says they were so numerous that it would he next to impossible to tell
the number of them. So deep was the thraldom of the human mind, that
the friends and relatives of the accused parties looked on and
approved. The wife or sister of a murderer might sympathise in his
fate, but the wives and husbands of sorcerers and witches had no pity.
The truth is that pity was dangerous, for it was thought no one could
have compassion on the sufferings of a witch who was not a dabbler in
the art: to have wept for a witch would have insured the stake. In
some districts, however, the exasperation of the people broke out, in
spite of superstition. The inquisitor of a rural township in Piedmont
burned the victims so plentifully, and so fast, that there was not a
family in the place which did not lose a member. The people at last
arose, and the inquisitor was but too happy to escape from the country
with whole limbs. The Archbishop of the diocese proceeded afterwards
to the trial of such as the inquisitor had left in prison.

Some of the charges were so utterly preposterous that the poor
wretches were at once liberated; others met a harder, but the usual
fate. Some of them were accused of having joined the witches' dance at
midnight under a blasted oak, where they had been seen by creditable
people. The husbands of several of these women (two of whom were young
and beautiful) swore positively that at the time stated their wives
were comfortably asleep in their arms; but it was all in vain. Their
word was taken, but the Archbishop told them they had been deceived by
the devil and their own senses. It was true they might have had the
semblance of their wives in their beds, but the originals were far
away, at the devil's dance under the oak. The honest fellows were
confounded, and their wives burned forthwith.

In the year 1561, five poor women of Verneuil were accused of
transforming themselves into cats, and in that shape attending the
sabbath of the fiends -- prowling around Satan, who presided over them
in the form of a goat, and dancing, to amuse him, upon his back. They
were found guilty, and burned. [Bodin, page 95. Garinet, page 125.
"Anti-demon de Serclier," page 346.]

In 1564, three wizards and a witch appeared before the Presidents
Salvert and D'Avanton: they confessed, when extended on the rack, that
they anointed the sheep-pens with infernal unguents to kill the sheep
-- that they attended the sabbath, where they saw a great black goat,
which spoke to them, and made them kiss him, each holding a lighted
candle in his hand while he performed the ceremony. They were all
executed at Poitiers.

In 1571, the celebrated sorcerer, Trois Echelles, was burned in
the Place de Greve, in Paris. He confessed, in the presence of Charles
IX, and of the Marshals de Montmorency, De Retz, and the Sieur du
Mazille, physician to the King, that he could perform the most
wonderful things by the aid of a devil to whom he had sold himself. He
described at great length the saturnalia of the fiends -- the
sacrifices which they offered up -- the debaucheries they committed
with the young and handsome witches, and the various modes of
preparing the infernal unguent for blighting cattle. He said he had
upwards of twelve hundred accomplices in the crime of witchcraft in
various parts of France, whom he named to the King, and many of whom
were afterwards arrested and suffered execution.

At Dole, two years afterwards, Gilles Garnier, a native of Lyons,
was indicted for being a loupgarou, or man-wolf, and for prowling in
that shape about the country at night to devour little children. The
indictment against him, as read by Henri Camus, doctor of laws and
counsellor of the King, was to the effect that he, Gilles Garnier, had
seized upon a little girl, twelve years of age, whom he drew into a
vineyard and there killed, partly with his teeth and partly with his
hands, seeming like wolf's paws -- that from thence he trailed her
bleeding body along the ground with his teeth into the wood of La
Serre, where he ate the greatest portion of her at one meal, and
carried the remainder home to his wife; that, upon another occasion,
eight days before the festival of All Saints, he was seen to seize
another child in his teeth, and would have devoured her had she not
been rescued by the country-people -- and that the said child died a
few days afterwards of the injuries he had inflicted; that fifteen
days after the same festival of All Saints, being again in the shape
of a wolf, he devoured a boy thirteen years of age, having previously
torn off his leg and thigh with his teeth, and hid them away for his
breakfast on the morrow. He was, furthermore, indicted for giving way
to the same diabolical and unnatural propensities even in his shape of
a man, and that he had strangled a boy in a wood with the intention of
eating him, which crime he would have effected if he had not been seen
by the neighhours and prevented.

Gilles Garnier was put to the rack, after fifty witnesses had
deposed against him: he confessed everything that was laid to his
charge. He was, thereupon, brought back into the presence of his
judges, when Dr. Camus, in the name of the Parliament of Dole,
pronounced the following sentence:--

"Seeing that Gilles Garnier has, by the testimony of credible
witnesses, and by his own spontaneous confession, been proved guilty
of the abominable crimes of lycanthropy and witchcraft, this court
condemns him, the said Gilles, to be this day taken in a cart from
this spot to the place of execution, accompanied by the executioner
(maitre executeur de la haute justice), where he, by the said
executioner, shall be tied to a stake and burned alive, and that his
ashes be then scattered to the winds. The Court further condemns him,
the said Gilles, to the costs of this prosecution."

"Given at Dole, this 18th day of January, 1573."

In 1578, the Parliament of Paris was occupied for several days
with the trial of a man, named Jacques Roller. He, also, was found
guilty of being a loup-garou, and in that shape devouring a little
boy. He was burnt alive in the Place de Greve.

In 1579, so much alarm was excited in the neighbourhood of Melun
by the increase of witches and loup-garous, that a council was held to
devise some measures to stay the evil. A decree was passed, that all
witches, and consulters with witches, should be punished with death;
and not only those, but fortune-tellers and conjurors of every kind.
The Parliament of Rouen took up the same question in the following
year, and decreed that the possession of a grimoire, or book of
spells, was sufficient evidence of witchcraft; and that all persons on
whom such books were found should be burned alive. Three councils were
held in different parts of France in the year 1583, all in relation to
the same subject. The Parliament of Bourdeaux issued strict
injunctions to all curates and clergy whatever, to use redoubled
efforts to root out the crime of witchcraft. The Parliament of Tours
was equally peremptory, and feared the judgments of an offended God,
if all these dealers with the devil were not swept from the face of
the land. The Parliament of Rheims was particularly severe against the
noueurs d'aiguillette, or "tyers of the knot;" people of both sexes,
who took pleasure in preventing the consummation of marriage, that
they might counteract the command of God to our first parents, to
increase and multiply. This Parliament held it to be sinful to wear
amulets to preserve from witchcraft; and that this practice might not
be continued within its jurisdiction, drew up a form of exorcism,
which would more effectually defeat the agents of the devil, and put
them to flight.

A case of witchcraft, which created a great sensation in its day,
occurred in 1588, at a village in the mountains of Auvergne, about two
leagues from Apchon. A gentleman of that place being at his window,
there passed a friend of his who had been out hunting, and who was
then returning to his own house. The gentleman asked his friend what
sport he had had; upon which the latter informed him that he had been
attacked in the plain by a large and savage wolf, which he had shot
at, without wounding; and that he had then drawn out his hunting-knife
and cut off the animal's fore-paw, as it sprang upon his neck to
devour him. The huntsman, upon this, put his hand into his bag to pull
out the paw, but was shocked to find that it was a woman's hand, with
a wedding-ring on the finger. The gentleman immediately recognized his
wife's ring, "which," says the indictment against her, "made him begin
to suspect some evil of her." He immediately went in search of her,
and found her sitting by the fire in the kitchen, with her arm hidden
underneath her apron. He tore off her apron with great vehemence, and
found that she had no hand, and that the stump was even then bleeding.
She was given into custody, and burned at Riom in presence of some
thousands of spectators. [Tablier. See also Boguet, "Discours sur les
Sorciers;" and M. Jules Garinet, "Histoire de la Magie," page 150.]

In the midst of these executions, rare were the gleams of mercy;
few instances are upon record of any acquittal taking place when the
charge was witchcraft. The discharge of fourteen persons by the
Parliament of Paris, in the year 1589, is almost a solitary example of
a return to reason. Fourteen persons, condemned to death for
witchcraft, appealed against the judgment to the Parliament of Paris,
which for political reasons had been exiled to Tours. The Parliament
named four commissioners, Pierre Pigray, the King's surgeon, and
Messieurs Leroi, Renard, and Falaiseau, the King's physicians, to
visit and examine these witches, and see whether they had the mark of
the devil upon them. Pigray, who relates the circumstance in his work
on Surgery, book vii, chapter the tenth, says the visit was made in
presence of two counsellors of the court. The witches were all
stripped naked, and the physicians examined their bodies very
diligently, pricking them in all the marks they could find, to see
whether they were insensible to pain, which was always considered a
certain proof of guilt. They were, however, very sensible of the
pricking, and some of them called out very lustily when the pins were
driven into them. "We found them," continues Pierre Pigray, "to be
very poor, stupid people, and some of them insane; many of them were
quite indifferent about life, and one or two of them desired death as
a relief for their sufferings. Our opinion was, that they stood more
in need of medicine than of punishment, and so we reported to the
Parliament. Their case was, thereupon, taken into further
consideration, and the Parliament, after mature counsel amongst all
the members, ordered the poor creatures to be sent to their homes,
without inflicting any punishment upon them."

Such was the dreadful state of Italy, Germany, and France, during
the sixteenth century, which was far from being the worst crisis of
the popular madness with regard to witchcraft. Let us see what was the
state of England during the same period. The Reformation, which in its
progress had rooted out so many errors, stopped short at this, the
greatest error of all. Luther and Calvin were as firm believers in
witchcraft as Pope Innocent himself, and their followers showed
themselves more zealous persecutors than the Romanists. Dr.
Hutchinson, in his work on Witchcraft, asserts that the mania
manifested itself later in England, and raged with less virulence than
on the Continent. The first assertion only is true; but though the
persecution began later both in England and Scotland, its progress was
as fearful as elsewhere.

It was not until more than fifty years after the issuing of the
Bull of Innocent VIII. that the Legislature of England thought fit to
make any more severe enactments against sorcery than those already in
operation. The statute of 1541 was the first that specified the
particular crime of witchcraft. At a much earlier period, many persons
had suffered death for sorcery in addition to other offences; but no
executions took place for attending the witches' sabbath, raising
tempests, afflicting cattle with barrenness, and all the fantastic
trumpery of the Continent. Two statutes were passed in 1551; the
first, relating to false prophecies, caused mainly, no doubt, by the
impositions of Elizabeth Barton, the Holy Maid of Kent, in 1534, and
the second against conjuration, witchcraft, and sorcery. But even this
enactment did not consider witchcraft as penal in itself, and only
condemned to death those who by means of spells, incantations, or
contracts with the devil, attempted the lives of their neighbours. The
statute of Elizabeth, in 1562, at last recognized witchcraft as a
crime of the highest magnitude, whether exerted or not to the injury
of the lives, limbs, and possessions of the community. From that date,
the persecution may be fairly said to have commenced in England. It
reached its climax in the early part of the seventeenth century, which
was the hottest period of the mania all over Europe.

A few cases of witch persecution in the sixteenth century will
enable the reader to form a more accurate idea of the progress of this
great error than if he plunged at once into that busy period of its
history when Matthew Hopkins and his coadjutors exercised their
infernal calling. Several instances occur in England during the latter
years of the reign of Elizabeth. At this time the public mind had
become pretty familiar with the details of the crime. Bishop Jewell,
in his sermons before Her Majesty, used constantly to conclude them by
a fervent prayer that she might be preserved from witches. Upon one
occasion, in 1598, his words were, "It may please your Grace to
understand that witches and sorcerers, within these last four years,
are marvellously increased within this your Grace's realm. Your
Grace's subjects pine away even unto the death; their colour fadeth --
their flesh rotteth -- their speech is benumbed-- their senses are
bereft! I pray God they may never practise further than upon the
subject!"

By degrees, an epidemic terror of witchcraft spread into the
villages. In proportion as the doctrines of the Puritans took root
this dread increased, and, of course, brought persecution in its
train. The Church of England has claimed, and is entitled to the
merit, of having been less influenced in these matters than any other
sect of Christians; but still they were tainted with the superstition
of the age. One of the most flagrant instances of cruelty and delusion
upon record was consummated under the authority of the Church, and
commemorated till a very late period by an annual lecture at the
University of Cambridge.

This is the celebrated case of the Witches of Warbois, who were
executed about thirty-two years after the passing of the statute of
Elizabeth. Although in the interval but few trials are recorded, there
is, unfortunately, but too much evidence to show the extreme length to
which the popular prejudice was carried. Many women lost their lives
in every part of England without being brought to trial at all, from
the injuries received at the hands of the people. The number of these
can never be ascertained.

The case of the Witches of Warbois merits to be detailed at
length, not only from the importance attached to it for so many years
by the learned of the University, but from the singular absurdity of
the evidence upon which men, sensible in all other respects, could
condemn their fellow-creatures to the scaffold.

The principal actors in this strange drama were the families of
Sir Samuel Cromwell and a Mr. Throgmorton, both gentlemen of landed
property near Warbois, in the county of Huntingdon. Mr. Throgmorton
had several daughters, the eldest of whom, Mistress Joan, was an
imaginative and melancholy girl, whose head was filled with stories of
ghosts and witches. Upon one occasion she chanced to pass the cottage
of one Mrs. or, as she was called, Mother Samuel, a very aged, a very
poor, and a very ugly woman. Mother Samuel was sitting at her door
knitting, with a black cap upon her head, when this silly young lady
passed, and taking her eyes from her work she looked steadfastly at
her. Mistress Joan immediately fancied that she felt sudden pains in
all her limbs, and from that day forth, never ceased to tell her
sisters, and everybody about her, that Mother Samuel had bewitched
her. The other children took up the cry, and actually frightened
themselves into fits whenever they passed within sight of this
terrible old woman.

Mr. and Mrs. Throgmorton, not a whir wiser than their children,
believed all the absurd tales they had been told; and Lady Cromwell, a
gossip of Mrs. Throgmorton, made herself very active in the business,
and determined to bring the witch to the ordeal. The sapient Sir
Samuel joined in the scheme; and the children thus encouraged gave
loose reins to their imaginations, which seem to have been of the
liveliest. They soon invented a whole host of evil spirits, and names
for them besides, which, they said, were sent by Mother Samuel to
torment them continually. Seven spirits especially, they said, were
raised from hell by this wicked woman to throw them into fits; and as
the children were actually subject to fits, their mother and her
commeres gave the more credit to the story. The names of these spirits
were, "First Smack," "Second Smack," "Third Smack," "Blue," "Catch,"
"Hardname," and "Pluck."

Throgmorton, the father, was so pestered by these idle fancies,
and yet so well inclined to believe them, that he marched valiantly
forth to the hut where Mother Samuel resided with her husband and
daughter, and dragged her forcibly into his own grounds. Lady
Cromwell, Mrs. Throgmorton, and the girls were in waiting, armed with
long pins to prick the witch, and see if they could draw blood from
her. Lady Cromwell, who seems to have been the most violent of the
party, tore the old woman's cap off her head, and plucking out a
handful of her grey hair, gave it to Mrs. Throgmorton to burn, as a
charm which would preserve them all from her future machinations. It
was no wonder that the poor creature, subjected to this rough usage,
should give vent to an involuntary curse upon her tormentors. She did
so, and her curse was never forgotten. Her hair, however, was supposed
to be a grand specific, and she was allowed to depart, half dead with
terror and ill usage. For more than a year, the families of Cromwell
and Throgmorton continued to persecute her, and to assert that her
imps afflicted them with pains and fits, turned the milk sour in their
pans, and prevented their cows and ewes from bearing. In the midst of
these fooleries, Lady Cromwell was taken ill and died. It was then
remembered that her death had taken place exactly a year and a quarter
since she was cursed by Mother Samuel, and that on several occasions
she had dreamed of the witch and a black cat, the latter being of
course the arch-enemy of mankind himself.

Sir Samuel Cromwell now conceived himself bound to take more
energetic measures against the sorceress, since he had lost his wife
by her means. The year and a quarter and the black cat were proofs
positive. All the neighbours had taken up the cry of witchcraft
against Mother Samuel; and her personal appearance, unfortunately for
her, the very ideal of what a witch ought to be, increased the popular
suspicion. It would appear that at last the poor woman believed, even
to her own disadvantage, that she was what everybody represented her
to be. Being forcibly brought into Mr. Throgmorton's house, when his
daughter Joan was in one of her customary fits, she was commanded by
him and Sir Samuel Cromwell to expel the devil from the young lady.
She was told to repeat her exorcism, and to add, "as I am a witch, and
the causer of Lady Cromwell's death, I charge thee, fiend, to come out
of her!" She did as was required of her, and moreover confessed that
her husband and daughter were leagued with her in witchcraft, and had,
like her, sold their souls to the devil. The whole family were
immediately arrested, and sent to Huntingdon to prison.

The trial was instituted shortly afterwards before Mr. Justice
Fenner, when all the crazy girls of Mr. Throgmorton's family gave
evidence against Mother Samuel and her family. They were all three put
to the torture. The old woman confessed in her anguish that she was a
witch -- that she had cast her spells upon the young ladies, and that
she had caused the death of Lady Cromwell. The father and daughter,
stronger in mind than their unfortunate wife and parent, refused to
confess anything, and asserted their innocence to the last. They were
all three condemned to be hanged, and their bodies burned. The
daughter, who was young and good-looking, excited the pity of many
persons, and she was advised to plead pregnancy, that she might gain
at ]east a respite from death. The poor girl refused proudly, on the
ground that she would not be accounted both a witch and a strumpet.
Her half-witted old mother caught at the idea of a few weeks' longer
life, and asserted that she was pregnant. The court was convulsed with
laughter, in which the wretched victim herself joined, and this was
accounted an additional proof that she was a witch. The whole family
were executed on the 7th of April, 1593.

Sir Samuel Cromwell, as lord of the manor, received the sum of 40
pounds out of the confiscated property of the Samuels, which he turned
into a rent-charge of 40 shillings yearly, for the endowment of an
annual sermon or lecture upon the enormity of witchcraft, and this
case in particular, to be preached by a doctor or bachelor of divinity
of Queen's College, Cambridge. I have not been able to ascertain the
exact date at which this annual lecture was discontinued, but it
appears to have been preached so late as 1718, when Dr. Hutchinson
published his work upon witchcraft.

To carry on in proper chronological order the history of the witch
delusion in the British isles, it will be necessary to examine into
what was taking place in Scotland during all that part of the
sixteenth century anterior to the accession of James VI. to the crown
of England. We naturally expect that the Scotch, -- a people renowned
from the earliest times for their powers of imagination, -- should be
more deeply imbued with this gloomy superstition than their neighhours
of the South. The nature of their soil and climate tended to encourage
the dreams of early ignorance. Ghosts, goblins, wraiths, kelpies, and
a whole host of spiritual beings, were familiar to the dwellers by the
misty glens of the Highlands and the romantic streams of the Lowlands.
Their deeds, whether of good or ill, were enshrined in song, and took
a greater hold upon the imagination because "verse had sanctified
them." But it was not till the religious reformers began the practice
of straining Scripture to the severest extremes, that the arm of the
law was called upon to punish witchcraft as a crime per se. What Pope
Innocent VIII. had done for Germany and France, the preachers of the
Reformation did for the Scottish people. Witchcraft, instead of being
a mere article of faith, became enrolled in the statute book; and all
good subjects and true Christians were called upon to take arms
against it. The ninth Parliament of Queen Mary passed an act in 1563,
which decreed the punishment of death against witches and consulters
with witches, and immediately the whole bulk of the people were
smitten with an epidemic fear of the devil and his mortal agents.
Persons in the highest ranks of life shared and encouraged the
delusion of the vulgar. Many were themselves accused of witchcraft;
and noble ladies were shown to have dabbled in mystic arts, and proved
to the world that, if they were not witches, it was not for want of
the will.

Among the dames who became notorious for endeavouring to effect
their wicked ends by the devil's aid, may be mentioned the celebrated
Lady Buccleugh, of Branxholme, familiar to all the readers of Sir
Walter Scott; the Countess of Lothian, the Countess of Angus, the
Countess of Athol, Lady Kerr, the Countess of Huntley, Euphemia
Macalzean (the daughter of Lord Cliftonhall), and Lady Fowlis. Among
the celebrated of the other sex who were accused of wizzardism was Sir
Lewis Ballantyne, the Lord Justice Clerk for Scotland, who, if we may
believe Scot of Scotstarvet, "dealt by curiosity with a warlock called
Richard Grahame," and prayed him to raise the devil. The warlock
consented, and raised him in propria persona, in the yard of his house
in the Canongate, "at sight of whom the Lord Justice Clerk was so
terrified that he took sickness and thereof died." By such idle
reports as these did the envious ruin the reputation of those they
hated, though it would appear in this case that Sir Lewis had been
fool enough to make the attempt of which he was accused, and that the
success of the experiment was the only apocryphal part of the story.

The enemies of John Knox invented a similar tale, which found
ready credence among the Roman Catholics; glad to attach any stigma to
that grand scourge of the vices of their church. It was reported that
he and his secretary went into the churchyard of St. Andrew's with the
intent to raise "some sanctes;" but that, by a mistake in their
conjurations, they raised the great fiend himself, instead of the
saints they wished to consult. The popular rumour added that Knox's
secretary was so frightened at the great horns, goggle eyes, and long
tail of Satan, that he went mad, and shortly afterwards died. Knox
himself was built of sterner stuff, and was not to be frightened.

The first name that occurs in the records of the High Court of
Justiciary of persons tried or executed for witchcraft is that of
Janet Bowman, in 1572, nine years after the passing of the act of
Mary. No particulars of her crimes are given, and against her name
there only stand the words, "convict and brynt." It is not, however,
to be inferred that, in this interval, no trials or executions took
place; for it appears on the authority of documents of unquestioned
authenticity in the Advocates' Library at Edinburgh, [Foreign
Quarterly Review, vol. vi. page 41.] that the Privy Council made a
practice of granting commissions to resident gentlemen and ministers,
in every part of Scotland, to examine, try, and execute witches within
their own parishes. No records of those who suffered from the sentence
of these tribunals have been preserved; but if popular tradition may
be believed, even to the amount of one-fourth of its assertions, their
number was fearful. After the year 1572, the entries of executions for
witchcraft in the records of the High Court become more frequent, but
do not average more than one per annum; another proof that trials for
this offence were in general entrusted to the local magistracy. The
latter appear to have ordered witches to the stake with as little
compunction, and after as summary a mode, as modern justices of the
peace order a poacher to the stocks.

As James VI. advanced in manhood, he took great interest in the
witch trials. One of them especially, that of Gellie Duncan, Dr. Fian,
and their accomplices, in the year 1591, engrossed his whole
attention, and no doubt suggested in some degree, the famous work on
Demonology which he wrote shortly afterwards. As these witches had
made an attempt upon his own life, it is not surprising, with his
habits, that he should have watched the case closely, or become
strengthened in his prejudice and superstition by its singular
details. No other trial that could be selected would give so fair an
idea of the delusions of the Scottish people as this. Whether we
consider the number of victims, the absurdity of the evidence, and the
real villany of some of the persons implicated, it is equally
extraordinary.

Gellie Duncan, the prime witch in these proceedings, was servant
to the Deputy Bailiff of Tranent, a small town in Hadingtonshire,
about ten miles from Edinburgh. Though neither old nor ugly (as
witches usually were), but young and good-looking, her neighbours,
from some suspicious parts of her behaviour, had long considered her a
witch. She had, it appears, some pretensions to the healing art. Some
cures which she effected were so sudden, that the worthy Bailiff, her
master, who, like his neighbours, mistrusted her, considered them no
less than miraculous. In order to discover the truth, he put her to
the torture; but she obstinately refused to confess that she had
dealings with the devil. It was the popular belief that no witch would
confess as long as the mark which Satan had put upon her remained
undiscovered upon her body. Somebody present reminded the torturing
Bailie of this fact, and on examination, the devil's mark was found
upon the throat of poor Gellie. She was put to the torture again, and
her fortitude giving way under the extremity of her anguish, she
confessed that she was indeed a witch -- that she had sold her soul to
the devil, and effected all her cures by his aid. This was something
new in the witch creed, according to which, the devil delighted more
in laying diseases on, than in taking them off; but Gellie Duncan
fared no better on that account. The torture was still applied, until
she had named all her accomplices, among whom were one Cunningham, a
reputed wizard, known by the name of Dr. Fian, a grave and matron-like
witch, named Agnes Sampson, Euphemia Macalzean, the daughter of Lord
Cliftonhall, already mentioned, and nearly forty other persons, some
of whom were the wives of respectable individuals in the city of
Edinburgh. Every one of these persons was arrested, and the whole
realm of Scotland thrown into commotion by the extraordinary nature of
the disclosures which were anticipated.

About two years previous to this time, James had suddenly left his
kingdom, and proceeded gallantly to Denmark, to fetch over his bride,
the Princess of Denmark, who had been detained by contrary weather in
the harbour of Upslo. After remaining for some months in Copenhagen,
he set sail with his young bride, and arrived safely in Leith, on the
1st of May 1590, having experienced a most boisterous passage, and
been nearly wrecked. As soon as the arrest of Gellie Duncan and Fian
became known in Scotland, it was reported by everybody who pretended
to be well-informed that these witches and their associates had, by
the devil's means, raised the storms which had endangered the lives of
the King and Queen. Gellie, in her torture, had confessed that such
was the fact, and the whole kingdom waited aghast and open-mouthed for
the corroboration about to be furnished by the trial.

Agnes Sampson, the "grave and matron-like" witch implicated by
Gellie Duncan, was put to the horrible torture of the pilliewinkis.
She laid bare all the secrets of the sisterhood before she had
suffered an hour, and confessed that Gellie Duncan, Dr. Fian, Marion
Lineup, Euphemia Macalzean, herself, and upwards of two hundred
witches and warlocks, used to assemble at midnight in the kirk of
North Berwick, where they met the devil; that they had plotted there
to attempt the King's life; that they were incited to this by the old
fiend himself, who had asserted with a thundering oath that James was
the greatest enemy he ever had, and that there would be no peace for
the devil's children upon earth until he were got rid of; that the
devil upon these occasions always liked to have a little music, and
that Gellie Duncan used to play a reel before him on a trump or Jew's
harp, to which all the witches danced.

James was highly flattered at the idea that the devil should have
said that he was the greatest enemy he ever had. He sent for Gellie
Duncan to the palace, and made her play before him the same reel which
she had played at the witches' dance in the kirk.

Dr. Fian, or rather Cunningham, a petty schoolmaster at Tranent,
was put to the torture among the rest. He was a man who had led an
infamous life, was a compounder of and dealer in poisons, and a
pretender to magic. Though not guilty of the preposterous crimes laid
to his charge, there is no doubt that he was a sorcerer in will,
though not in deed, and that he deserved all the misery he endured.
When put on the rack, he would confess nothing, and held out so long
unmoved, that the severe torture of the boots was resolved upon. He
endured this till exhausted nature could bear no longer, when
Insensibility kindly stepped in to his aid. When it was seen that he
was utterly powerless, and that his tongue cleaved to the roof of his
mouth, he was released. Restoratives were administered; and during the
first faint gleam of returning consciousness, he was prevailed upon to
sign, ere he well knew what he was about, a full confession, in strict
accordance with those of Gellie Duncan and Agnes Sampson. He was then
remanded to his prison, from which, after two days, he managed,
somehow or other, to escape. He was soon recaptured, and brought
before the Court of Justiciary, James himself being present. Fian now
denied all the circumstances of the written confession which he had
signed; whereupon the King, enraged at his "stubborn wilfulness,"
ordered him once more to the torture. His finger nails were riven out
with pincers, and long needles thrust up to the eye into the quick;
but still he did not wince. He was then consigned again to the boots,
in which, to quote a pamphlet published at the time, [News from
Scotland, declaring the damnable life of Dr. Fian.] he continued "so
long, and abode so many blows in them, that his legs were crushed and
beaten together as small as might be, and the bones and flesh so
bruised, that the blood and marrow spouted forth in great abundance,
whereby they were made unserviceable for ever."

The astonishing similarity of the confessions of all the persons
implicated in these proceedings has often been remarked. It would
appear that they actually endeavoured to cause the King's death by
their spells and sorceries. Fian, who was acquainted with all the
usual tricks of his profession, deceived them with pretended
apparitions, so that many of them were really convinced that they had
seen the devil. The sum of their confessions was to the following
effect:-

Satan, who was, of course, a great foe of the reformed religion,
was alarmed that King James should marry a Protestant princess. To
avert the consequences to the realms of evil, he had determined to put
an end to the King and his bride by raising a storm on their voyage
home. Satan, first of all, sent a thick mist over the waters, in the
hope that the King's vessel might be stranded on the coast amid the
darkness. This failing, Dr. Fian, who, from his superior scholarship,
was advanced to the dignity of the devil's secretary, was commanded to
summon all the witches to meet their master, each one sailing on a
sieve on the high seas.

On All-hallowmas Eve, they assembled to the number of upwards of
two hundred, including Gellie Duncan, Agnes Sampson, Euphemia
Macalzean, one Barbara Napier, and several warlocks; and each
embarking in a riddle, or sieve, they sailed "over the ocean very
substantially." After cruising about for some time, they met with the
fiend, bearing in his claws a cat, which had been previously drawn
nine times through the fire. This he delivered to one of the warlocks,
telling him to cast it into the sea, and cry "Hola!" This was done
with all solemnity, and immediately the ocean became convulsed -- the
waters hissed loudly, and the waves rose mountains high,

"Twisting their arms to the dun-coloured heaven."

The witches sailed gallantly through the tempest they had raised,
and landing on the coast of Scotland, took their sieves in their
hands, and marched on in procession to the haunted kirk of North
Berwick, where the devil had resolved to hold a preaching. Gellie
Duncan, the musician of the party, tripped on before, playing on her
Jew's harp, and singing,

"Cummer, go ye before, Cummer, go ye;
Gif ye will not go before, Cummer, let me!"

Arrived at the kirk, they paced around it withershins, that is, in
reverse of the apparent motion of the sun. Dr. Fian then blew into the
key-hole of the door, which opened immediately, and all the witches
entered. As it was pitch dark, Fian blew with his mouth upon the
candles, which immediately lighted, and the devil was seen occupying
the pulpit. He was attired in a black gown and hat, and the witches
saluted him, by crying, "All hail, master!" His body was hard, like
iron; his face terrible; his nose, like the beak of an eagle; he had
great burning eyes; his hands and legs were hairy; and he had long
claws upon his hands and feet, and spake with an exceedingly gruff
voice. Before commencing his sermon, he called over the names of his
congregation, demanding whether they had been good servants, and what
success had attended their operations against the life of the King and
his bride.

Gray Meill, a crazy old warlock, who acted as beadle or
doorkeeper, was silly enough to answer, "that nothing ailed the King
yet, God be thanked;" upon which the devil, in a rage, stepped down
from the pulpit, and boxed his ears for him. He then remounted, and
commenced the preaching, commanding them to be dutiful servants to
him, and do all the evil they could. Euphemia Macalzean and Agnes
Sampson, bolder than the rest, asked him whether he had brought the
image or picture of King James, that they might, by pricking it, cause
pains and diseases to fall upon him. "The father of lies" spoke truth
for once, and confessed that he had forgotten it; upon which Euphemia
Macalzean upbraided him loudly for his carelessness. The devil,
however, took it all in good part, although Agnes Sampson and several
other women let loose their tongues at him immediately. When they had
done scolding, he invited them all to a grand entertainment. A newly
buried corpse was dug up, and divided among them, which was all they
had in the way of edibles. He was more liberal in the matter of drink,
and gave them so much excellent wine that they soon became jolly.
Gellie Duncan then played the old tune upon her trump, and the devil
himself led off the dance with Euphemia Mac alzean. Thus they kept
up the sport till the cock crew.

Agnes Sampson, the wise woman of Keith, as she was called, added
some other particulars in her confession. She stated, that on a
previous occasion, she had raised an awful tempest in the sea, by
throwing a cat into it, with four joints of men tied to its feet. She
said also, that on their grand attempt to drown King James, they did
not meet with the devil after cruising about, but that he had
accompanied them from the first, and that she had seen him dimly in
the distance, rolling himself before them over the great waves, in
shape and size not unlike a huge haystack. They met with a foreign
ship richly laden with wines and other good things, which they
boarded, and sunk after they had drunk all the wine, and made
themselves quite merry.

Some of these disclosures were too much even for the abundant
faith of King James, and he more than once exclaimed, that the witches
were like their master, "extreme lyars." But they confessed many other
things of a less preposterous nature, and of which they were, no
doubt, really guilty. Agnes Sampson said she was to have taken the
King's life by anointing his linen with a strong poison. Gellie Duncan
used to threaten her neighbours by saying she would send the devil
after them; and many persons of weaker minds than usual were
frightened into fits by her, and rendered subject to them for the
remainder of their lives. Dr. Finn also made no scruple in aiding and
abetting murder, and would rid any person of an enemy by means of
poison, who could pay him his fee for it. Euphemia Macalzean also was
far from being pure. There is no doubt that she meditated the King's
death, and used such means to compass it as the superstition of the
age directed. She was a devoted partizan of Bothwell, who was accused
by many of the witches as having consulted them on the period of the
King's death. They were all found guilty, and sentenced to be hanged
and burned. Barbara Napier, though found guilty upon other counts, was
acquitted upon the charge of having been present at the great
witch-meeting in Berwick kirk. The King was highly displeased, and
threatened to have the jury indicted for a wilful error upon an
assize. They accordingly reconsidered their verdict, and threw
themselves upon the King's mercy for the fault they had committed.
James was satisfied, and Barbara Napier was hanged along with Gellie
Duncan, Agnes Sampson, Dr. Fian, and five-and-twenty others. Euphemia
Macalzean met a harder fate. Her connexion with the bold and obnoxious
Bothwell, and her share in poisoning one or two individuals who had
stood in her way, were thought deserving of the severest punishment
the law could inflict. Instead of the ordinary sentence, directing the
criminal to be first strangled and then burned, the wretched woman was
doomed "to be bound to a stake, and burned in ashes, quick to the
death." This cruel sentence was executed on the 25th of June 1591.

These trials had the most pernicious consequences all over
Scotland. The lairds and ministers in their districts, armed with due
power from the privy council, tried and condemned old women after the
most summary fashion. Those who still clung to the ancient faith of
Rome were the severest sufferers, as it was thought, after the
disclosures of the fierce enmity borne by the devil towards a
Protestant King and his Protestant wife, that all the Catholics were
leagued with the powers of evil to work woe on the realm of Scotland.
Upon a very moderate calculation, it is presumed that from the passing
of the act of Queen Mary till the accession of James to the throne of
England, a period of thirty-nine years, the average number of
executions for witchcraft in Scotland was two hundred annually, or
upwards of seventeen thousand altogether. For the first nine years the
number was not one quarter so great; but towards the years 1590 to
1593, the number must have been more than four hundred. The case last
cited was one of an extraordinary character. The general aspect of the
trials will be better seen from that of Isabel Gowdie, which, as it
would be both wearisome and disgusting to go through them all, is
cited as a fair specimen, although it took place at a date somewhat
later than the reign of James. This woman, wearied of her life by the
persecutions of her neighbours, voluntarily gave herself up to
justice, and made a confession, embodying the whole witch-creed of the
period. She was undoubtedly a monomaniac of the most extraordinary
kind. She said that she deserved to be stretched upon an iron rack,
and that her crimes could never be atoned for, even if she were to be
drawn asunder by wild horses. She named a long list of her associates,
including nearly fifty women and a few warlocks. They dug up the
graves of unchristened infants, whose limbs were serviceable in their
enchantments. When they wanted to destroy the crops of an enemy, they
yoked toads to his plough, and on the following night Satan himself
ploughed the land with his team, and blasted it for the season. The
witches had power to assume almost any shape; but they generally chose
either that of a cat or a hare, oftenest the latter. Isabel said, that
on one occasion, when she was in this disguise, she was sore pressed
by a pack of hounds, and had a very narrow escape with her life. She
reached her own door at last, feeling the hot breath of the pursuing
dogs at her haunches. She managed, however, to hide herself behind a
chest, and got time to pronounce the magic words that could alone
restore her to her proper shape. They were :--

"Hare! hare!
God send thee care!
   I am in a hare's likeness now;
   But I shall be a woman e'en now!
Hare! hare!
God send thee care!"

If witches, when in this shape, were bitten by the dogs, they always
retained the marks in their human form; but she had never heard that
any witch had been bitten to death. When the devil appointed any
general meeting of the witches, the custom was that they should
proceed through the air mounted on broomsticks, or on corn or
bean-straws, pronouncing as they went:--

"Horse and partook, horse and go,
Horse and pellats, ho! ho! ho!"

They generally left behind them a broom, or a three-legged stool,
which, when placed in their beds and duly charmed, assumed the human
shape till their return. This was done that the neighhours might not
know when they were absent.

She added, that the devil furnished his favourite witches with
servant imps to attend upon them. These imps were called "The Roaring
Lion," "Thief of Hell," "Wait-upon-Herself," "Ranting Roarer,"
"Care-for-Naught," &c. and were known by their liveries, which were
generally yellow, sad-dun, sea-green, pea-green, or grass-green. Satan
never called the witches by the names they had received at baptism;
neither were they allowed, in his presence, so to designate each
other. Such a breach of the infernal etiquette assuredly drew down his
most severe displeasure. But as some designation was necessary, he
re-baptized them in their own blood by the names of "Able-and-Stout,"
"Over-the-dike-with-it," "Raise-the-wind," "Pickle-nearest-the-wind,"
"Batter-them-down-Maggy," "Blow-Kale," and such like. The devil
himself was not very particular what name they called him so that it
was not "Black John." If any witch was unthinking enough to utter
these words, he would rush out upon her, and beat and buffet her
unmercifully, or tear her flesh with a wool-card. Other names he did
not care about; and once gave instructions to a noted warlock that
whenever he wanted his aid, he was to strike the ground three times
and exclaim, "Rise up, foul thief!"

Upon this confession many persons were executed. So strong was the
popular feeling, that no one once accused of witchcraft was acquitted;
at least, acquittals did not average one in a hundred trials.
Witch-finding, or witch-pricking became a trade, and a set of
mercenary vagabonds roamed about the country, provided with long pins
to run into the flesh of supposed criminals. It was no unusual thing
then, nor is it now, that in aged persons there should be some spot on
the body totally devoid of feeling. It was the object of the
witchpricker to discover this spot, and the unhappy wight who did not
bleed when pricked upon it, was doomed to the death. If not
immediately cast into prison, her life was rendered miserable by the
persecution of her neighbours. It is recorded of many poor women, that
the annoyances they endured in this way were so excessive, that they
preferred death. Sir George Mackenzie, the Lord Advocate, at the time
when witch-trials were so frequent, and himself a devout believer in
the crime, relates, in his "Criminal Law," first published in 1678,
some remarkable instances of it. He says, "I went, when I was a
justice-depute, to examine some women who had confessed judicially:
and one of them, who was a silly creature, told me, under secrecy,
that she had not confessed because she was guilty, but being a poor
creature who wrought for her meat, and being defamed for a witch, she
knew she should starve; for no person thereafter would either give her
meat or lodging, and that all men would beat her and set dogs at her;
and that, therefore, she desired to be out of the world; whereupon she
wept most bitterly, and upon her knees called God to witness to what
she said." Sir George, though not wholly elevated above the prejudices
of his age upon this subject, was clearsighted enough to see the
danger to society of the undue encouragement given to the
witch-prosecutions. He was convinced that three-fourths of them were
unjust and unfounded. He says, in the work already quoted, that the
persons who were in general accused of this crime, were poor ignorant
men and women, who did not understand the nature of the accusation,
and who mistook their own superstitious fears for witchcraft. One poor
wretch, a weaver, confessed that he was a warlock, and, being asked
why, he replied, because "he had seen the devil dancing, like a fly,
about the candle!" A simple woman, who, because she was called a
witch, believed that she was, asked the judge upon the bench, whether
a person might be a witch and not know it? Sir George adds, that all
the supposed criminals were subjected to severe torture in prison from
their gaolers, who thought they did God good service by vexing and
tormenting them; "and I know," says this humane and enlightened
magistrate, "that this usage was the ground of all their confession;
and albeit, the poor miscreants cannot prove this usage, the actors in
it being the only witnesses, yet the judge should be jealous of it, as
that which did at first elicit the confession, and for fear of which
they dare not retract it." Another author, ["Satan's Invisible World
discovered," by the Rev. G. Sinclair.] also a firm believer in
witchcraft, gives a still more lamentable instance of a woman who
preferred execution as a witch to live on under the imputation. This
woman, who knew that three others were to be strangled and burned on
an early day, sent for the minister of the parish, and confessed that
she had sold her soul to Satan. "Whereupon being called before the
judges, she was condemned to die with the rest. Being carried forth to
the place of execution, she remained silent during the first, second,
and third prayer, and then, perceiving that there remained no more but
to rise and go to the stake, she lifted up her body, and, with a loud
voice, cried out, "Now all you that see me this day, know that I am
now to die as a witch, by my own confession, and I free all men,
especially the ministers and magistrates, of the guilt of my blood. I
take it wholly upon myself. My blood be upon my own head. And, as I
must make answer to the God of heaven presently, I declare I am as
free of witchcraft as any child. But, being delated by a malicious
woman, and put in prison under the name of a witch, disowned by my
husband and friends, and seeing no ground of hope of ever coming out
again, I made up that confession to destroy my own life, being weary
of it, and choosing rather to die than to live." As a proof of the
singular obstinacy and blindness of the believers in witches, it may
be stated, that the minister who relates this story only saw in the
dying speech of the unhappy woman an additional proof that she was a
witch. True indeed is it, that "none are so blind as those who will
not see."

It is time, however, to return to James VI, who is fairly entitled
to share with Pope Innocent, Sprenger, Bodinus, and Matthew Hopkins
the glory or the odium of being at the same time a chief enemy and
chief encourager of witchcraft. Towards the close of the sixteenth
century, many learned men, both on the Continent and in the isles of
Britain, had endeavoured to disabuse the public mind on this subject.
The most celebrated were Wierus in Germany, Pietro d'Apone in Italy,
and Reginald Scot in England. Their works excited the attention of the
zealous James, who, mindful of the involuntary compliment which his
merits had extorted from the devil, was ambitious to deserve it by
still continuing "his greatest enemie." In the year 1597 he published,
in Edinburgh, his famous treatise on Demonology. Its design may be
gathered from the following passage in the introduction. "The fearful
abounding," says the King, "at this time, and in this country, of
these detestable slaves of the devil, the witches, or enchanters, hath
moved me, beloved reader, to despatch in post this following treatise
of mine, not in any wise, as I protest, to serve for a show of mine
own learning and ingene (ingenuity), but only (moved of conscience) to
press thereby, so far as I can, to resolve the doubting hearts of
many; both that such assaults of Satan are most certainly practised,
and that the instrument thereof merits most severely to be punished,
against the damnable opinions of two, principally in our age, whereof
the one, called Scot, an Englishman, is not ashamed, in public print,
to deny that there can be such thing as witchcraft, and so maintains
the old error of the Sadducees, in denying of spirits. The other,
called Wierus, a German physician, sets out a public apology for all
these crafts-folks, whereby procuring for them impunity, he plainly
betrays himself to have been one of that profession." In other parts
of this treatise, which the author had put into the form of a dialogue
to "make it more pleasant and facile," he says, "Witches ought to be
put to death, according to the law of God, the civil and imperial law,
and the municipal law of all Christian nations: yea, to spare the
life, and not strike whom God bids strike, and so severely punish in
so odious a treason against God, is not only unlawful, but doubtless
as great a sin in the magistrate, as was Saul's sparing Agag." He says
also, that the crime is so abominable, that it may be proved by
evidence which would not be received against any other offenders, --
young children, who knew not the nature of an oath, and persons of an
infamous character, being sufficient witnesses against them; but lest
the innocent should be accused of a crime so difficult to be acquitted
of, he recommends that in all cases the ordeal should be resorted to.
He says, "Two good helps may be used: the one is, the finding of their
mark, and the trying the insensibleness thereof; the other is their
floating on the water; for, as in a secret murther, if the dead
carcass be at any time thereafter handled by the murtherer, it will
gush out of blood, as if the blood were crying to Heaven for revenge
of the murtherer, (God having appointed that secret supernatural sign
for trial of that secret unnatural crime); so that it appears that God
hath appointed (for a supernatural sign of the monstrous impiety of
witches) that the water shall refuse to receive them in her bosom,
that have shaken off them the sacred water of baptism, and wilfully
refused the benefit thereof; no, not so much as their eyes are able to
shed tears (threaten and torture them as you please), while first they
repent (God not permitting them to dissemble their obstinacy in so
horrible a crime). Albeit, the womenkind especially, be able otherwise
to shed tears at every light occasion, when they will; yea, although
it were dissembling, like the crocodiles."

When such doctrines as these were openly promulgated by the
highest authority in the realm, and who, in promulgating them,
flattered, but did not force the public opinion, it is not surprising
that the sad delusion should have increased and multiplied, until the
race of wizards and witches replenished the earth. The reputation
which he lost by being afraid of a naked sword, he more than regained
by his courage in combating the devil. The Kirk showed itself a most
zealous coadjutor, especially during those halcyon days when it was
not at issue with the King upon other matters of doctrine and
prerogative.

On his accession to the throne of England, in 1603, James came
amongst a people who had heard with admiration of his glorious deeds
against the witches. He himself left no part of his ancient prejudices
behind him, and his advent was the signal for the persecution to burst
forth in England with a fury equal to that in Scotland. It had
languished a little during the latter years of the reign of Elizabeth;
but the very first Parliament of King James brought forward the
subject. James was flattered by their promptitude, and the act passed
in 1604. On the second reading in the House of Lords, the bill passed
into a committee, in which were twelve bishops. By it was enacted,
"That if any person shall use, practise, or exercise any conjuration
of any wicked or evil spirit, or shall consult, covenant with, or feed
any such spirit, the first offence to be imprisonment for a year and
standing in the pillory once a quarter; the second offence to be
death."

The minor punishment seems but rarely to have been inflicted.
Every record that has been preserved, mentions that the witches were
hanged and burned, or burned without the previous strangling, "alive
and quick." During the whole of James's reign, amid the civil wars of
his successor, the sway of the Long Parliament, the usurpation of
Cromwell, and the reign of Charles II, there was no abatement of the
persecution. If at any time it raged with less virulence, it was when
Cromwell and the Independents were masters. Dr. Zachary Grey, the
editor of an edition of "Hudibras," informs us, in a note to that
work, that he himself perused a list of three thousand witches who
were executed in the time of the Long Parliament alone. During the
first eighty years of the seventeenth century, the number executed has
been estimated at five hundred annually, making the frightful total of
forty thousand. Some of these cases deserve to be cited. The great
majority resemble closely those already mentioned, but two or three of
them let in a new light upon the popular superstition.

Every one has heard of the "Lancashire witches," a phrase now used
to compliment the ladies of that county for their bewitching beauty;
but it is not every one who has heard the story in which it
originated. A villainous boy, named Robinson, was the chief actor in
the tragedy. He confessed, many years afterwards, that he had been
suborned by his father and other persons to give false evidence
against the unhappy witches whom he brought to the stake. The time of
this famous trial was about the year 1634. This boy Robinson, whose
father was a wood-cutter, residing on the borders of Pendle Forest, in
Lancashire, spread abroad many rumours against one Mother Dickenson,
whom he accused of being a witch. These rumours coming to the ears of
the local magistracy, the boy was sent for, and strictly examined. He
told the following extraordinary story, without hesitation or
prevarication, and apparently in so open and honest a manner, that no
one who heard him doubted the truth of it: -- He said, that as he was
roaming about in one of the glades of the forest, amusing himself by
gathering blackberries, he saw two greyhounds before him, which he
thought at the time belonged to some gentleman of the neighbourhood.
Being fond of sport, he proposed to have a course, and a hare being
started, he incited the hounds to run. Neither of them would stir.
Angry at the beasts, he seized hold of a switch, with which he was
about to punish them, when one of them suddenly started up in the form
of a woman, and the other, of a little boy. He at once recognised the
woman to be the witch Mother Dickenson. She offered him some money to
induce him to sell his soul to the devil; but he refused. Upon this
she took a bridle out of her pocket, and, shaking it over the head of
the other little boy, he was instantly turned into a horse. Mother
Dickenson then seized him in her arms, sprang upon the horse; and,
placing him before her, rode with the swiftness of the wind over
forests, fields, bogs, and rivers, until they came to a large barn.
The witch alighted at the door; and taking him by the hand, led him
inside. There he saw seven old women, pulling at seven halters which
hung from the roof. As they pulled, large pieces of meat, lumps of
butter, loaves of bread, basins of milk, hot puddings, black puddings,
and other rural dainties, fell from the halters on to the floor. While
engaged in this charm they made such ugly faces, and looked so
fiendish, that he was quite frightened. After they had pulled, in this
manner enough for an ample feast, they set-to, and showed, whatever
might be said of the way in which their supper was procured, that
their epicurism was a little more refined than that of the Scottish
witches, who, according to Gellie Duncan's confession, feasted upon
dead men's flesh in the old kirk of Berwick. The boy added, that as
soon as supper was ready, many other witches came to partake of it,
several of whom he named. In consequence of this story, many persons
were arrested, and the boy Robinson was led about from church to
church, in order that he might point out to the officers, by whom he
was accompanied, the hags he had seen in the barn. Altogether about
twenty persons were thrown into prison; eight of them were condemned
to die, including Mother Dickenson, upon this evidence alone, and
executed accordingly. Among the wretches who concocted this notable
story, not one was ever brought to justice for his perjury; and
Robinson, the father, gained considerable sums by threatening persons
who were rich enough to buy off exposure.

Among the ill weeds which flourished amid the long dissensions of
the civil war, Matthew Hopkins, the witch-finder, stands eminent in
his sphere. This vulgar fellow resided, in the year 1644, at the town
of Manningtree, in Essex, and made himself very conspicuous in
discovering the devil's marks upon several unhappy witches. The credit
he gained by his skill in this instance seems to have inspired him to
renewed exertions. In the course of a very short time, whenever a
witch was spoken of in Essex, Matthew Hopkins was sure to be present,
aiding the judges with his knowledge of "such cattle," as he called
them. As his reputation increased, he assumed the title of
"Witchfinder General," and travelled through the counties of Norfolk,
Essex, Huntingdon, and Sussex, for the sole purpose of finding out
witches. In one year he brought sixty poor creatures to the stake. The
test he commonly adopted was that of swimming, so highly recommended
by King James in his "Demonologie." The hands and feet of the
suspected persons were tied together crosswise, the thumb of the right
hand to the toe of the left foot, and vice versa. They were then
wrapped up in a large sheet or blanket, and laid upon their backs in a
pond or river. If they sank, their friends and relatives had the poor
consolation of knowing they were innocent, but there was an end of
them: if they floated, which, when laid carefully on the water was
generally the case, there was also an end of them; for they were
deemed guilty of witchcraft, and burned accordingly.

Another test was to make them repeat the Lord's prayer and creed.
It was affirmed that no witch could do so correctly. If she missed a
word, or even pronounced one incoherently, which in her trepidation,
it was most probable she would, she was accounted guilty. It was
thought that witches could not weep more than three tears, and those
only from the left eye. Thus the conscious innocence of many persons,
which gave them fortitude to bear unmerited torture without flinching,
was construed by their unmerciful tormentors into proofs of guilt. In
some districts the test resorted to was to weigh the culprit against
the church Bible. If the suspected witch proved heavier than the
Bible, she was set at liberty. This mode was far too humane for the
witch-finders by profession. Hopkins always maintained that the most
legitimate modes were pricking and swimming.

Hopkins used to travel through his counties like a man of
consideration, attended by his two assistants, always putting up at
the chief inn of the place, and always at the cost of the authorities.
His charges were twenty shillings a town, his expenses of living while
there, and his carriage thither and back. This he claimed whether he
found witches or not. If he found any, he claimed twenty shillings a
head in addition when they were brought to execution. For about three
years he carried on this infamous trade, success making him so
insolent and rapacious, that high and low became his enemies. The Rev.
Mr. Gaul, a clergyman of Houghton, in Huntingdonshire, wrote a
pamphlet impugning his pretensions, and accusing him of being a common
nuisance. Hopkins replied in an angry letter to the functionaries of
Houghton, stating his intention to visit their town; but desiring to
know whether it afforded many such sticklers for witchcraft as Mr.
Gaul, and whether they were willing to receive and entertain him with
the customary hospitality, if he so far honoured them. He added, by
way of threat, that in case he did not receive a satisfactory reply,
"He would waive their shire altogether, and betake himself to such
places where he might do and punish, not only without control, but
with thanks and recompence." The authorities of Houghton were not much
alarmed at his awful threat of letting them alone. They very wisely
took no notice either of him or his letter.

Mr. Gaul describes in his pamphlet one of the modes employed by
Hopkins, which was sure to swell his revenues very considerably. It
was a proof even more atrocious than the swimming. He says, that the
"Witch-finder General" used to take the suspected witch and place her
in the middle of a room, upon a stool or table, cross-legged, or in
some other uneasy posture. If she refused to sit in this manner, she
was bound with strong cords. Hopkins then placed persons to watch her
for four-and-twenty hours, during which time she was to be kept
without meat or drink. It was supposed that one of her imps would come
during that interval, and suck her blood. As the imp might come in the
shape of a wasp, a moth, a fly, or other insect, a hole was made in
the door or window to let it enter. The watchers were ordered to keep
a sharp look-out, and endeavour to kill any insect that appeared in
the room. If any fly escaped, and they could not kill it, the woman
was guilty; the fly was her imp, and she was sentenced to be burned,
and twenty shillings went into the pockets of Master Hopkins. In this
manner he made one old woman confess, because four flies had appeared
in the room, that she was attended by four imps, named "Ilemazar,"
"Pye-wackett," "Peck-in-the-crown," and "Grizel-Greedigut."

It is consoling to think that this impostor perished in his own
snare. Mr. Gaul's exposure and his own rapacity weakened his influence
among the magistrates; and the populace, who began to find that not
even the most virtuous and innocent were secure from his persecution,
looked upon him with undisguised aversion. He was beset by a mob, at a
village in Suffolk, and accused of being himself a wizard. An old
reproach was brought against him, that he had, by means of sorcery,
cheated the devil out of a certain memorandum-book, in which he,
Satan, had entered the names of all the witches in England. "Thus,"
said the populace, "you find out witches, not by God's aid, but by the
devil's." In vain he denied his guilt. The populace longed to put him
to his own test. He was speedily stripped, and his thumbs and toes
tied together. He was then placed in a blanket, and cast into a pond.
Some say that he floated; and that he was taken out, tried, and
executed upon no other proof of his guilt. Others assert that he was
drowned. This much is positive, that there was an end of him. As no
judicial entry of his trial and execution is to be found in any
register, it appears most probable that he expired by the hands of the
mob. Butler has immortalized this scamp in the following lines of his
"Hudibras:"--

"Hath not this present Parliament
A lieger to the devil sent,
Fully empower'd to treat about
Finding revolted witches out?
And has he not within a year
Hang'd threescore of them in one shire?
Some only for not being drown'd,
And some for sitting above ground
Whole days and nights upon their breeches,
And feeling pain, were hang'd for witches;
And some for putting knavish tricks
Upon green geese or turkey chicks;
Or pigs that suddenly deceased
Of griefs unnatural, as he guess'd;
Who proved himself at length a witch,
And made a rod for his own breech."

In Scotland also witch-finding became a trade. They were known
under the designation of "common prickers," and, like Hopkins,
received a fee for each witch they discovered. At the trial of Janet
Peaston, in 1646, the magistrates of Dalkeith "caused John Kincaid, of
Tranent, the common pricker, to exercise his craft upon her. He found
two marks of the devil's making; for she could not feel the pin when
it was put into either of the said marks, nor did the marks bleed when
the pin was taken out again. When she was asked where she thought the
pins were put in her, she pointed to a part of her body distant from
the real place. They were pins of three inches in length." [Pitcairn's
"Records of Justiciary."]

These common prickers became at last so numerous, that they were
considered nuisances. The judges refused to take their evidence, and
in 1678 the privy council of Scotland condescended to hear the
complaint of an honest woman, who had been indecently exposed by one
of them, and expressed their opinion that common prickers were common
cheats.

But such an opinion was not formed in high places before hundreds
of innocent persons had fallen victims. The Parliaments had encouraged
the delusion both in England and Scotland; and, by arming these
fellows with a sort of authority, had in a manner forced the
magistrates and ministers to receive their evidence. The fate of one
poor old gentleman, who fell a victim to the arts of Hopkins in 1646,
deserves to be recorded. Mr. Louis, a venerable clergyman, upwards of
seventy years of age, and who had been rector of Framlingham, in
Suffolk, for fifty years, excited suspicion that he was a wizard.
Being a violent royalist, he was likely to meet with no sympathy at
that time; and even his own parishioners, whom he had served so long
and so faithfully, turned their backs upon him as soon as he was
accused. Placed under the hands of Hopkins, who knew so well how to
bring the refractory to confession, the old man, the light of whose
intellect had become somewhat dimmed from age, confessed that he was a
wizard. He said he had two imps, that continually excited him to do
evil; and that one day, when he was walking on the sea-coast, one of
them prompted him to express a wish that a ship, whose sails were just
visible in the distance, might sink. He consented, and saw the vessel
sink before his eyes. He was, upon this confession, tried and
condemned. On his trial the flame of reason burned up as brightly as
ever. He denied all that had been alleged against him, and
cross-examined Hopkins with great tact and severity. After his
condemnation, he begged that the funeral service of the church might
be read for him. The request was refused, and he repeated it for
himself from memory, as he was led to the scaffold.

A poor woman in Scotland was executed upon evidence even less
strong than this. John Bain, a common pricker, swore that, as he
passed her door, he heard her talking to the devil. She said in
defence, that it was a foolish practice she had of talking to herself,
and several of her neighbours corroborated her statement; but the
evidence of the pricker was received. He swore that none ever talked
to themselves who were not witches. The devil's mark being found upon
her, the additional testimony of her guilt was deemed conclusive, and
she was "convict and brynt."

From the year 1652 to 1682, these trials diminished annually in
number, and acquittals were by no means so rare as they had been. To
doubt in witchcraft was no longer dangerous. Before country justices,
condemnations on the most absurd evidence still continued, but when
the judges of the land had to charge the jury, they took a more humane
and philosophical view. By degrees, the educated classes (comprised,
in those days, within very narrow limits), openly expressed their
unbelief of modern witchcraft, although they were not bold enough to
deny its existence altogether. Between them and the believers in the
old doctrine fierce arguments ensued, and the sceptics were designated
Sadducees. To convince them, the learned and Reverend Joseph Glanvil
wrote his well-known work, "Sadducismus Triumphatus," and "The
Collection of Relations;" the first part intended as a philosophical
inquiry into witchcraft, and the power of the devil "to assume a
mortal shape;" the latter containing what he considered a multitude
of well-authenticated modern instances.

But though progress was made, it was slow. In 1664, the venerable
Sir Matthew Hale condemned two women, named Amy Duny and Rose
Cullender, to the stake at St. Edmondsbury, upon evidence the most
ridiculous. These two old women, whose ugliness gave their neighbours
the first idea that they were witches, went to a shop to purchase
herrings, and were refused. Indignant at the prejudice against them,
they were not sparing of their abuse. Shortly afterward, the daughter
of the herring-dealer fell sick, and a cry was raised that she was
bewitched by the old women who had been refused the herrings. This
girl was subject to epileptic fits. To discover the guilt of Amy Duny
and Rose Cullender, the girl's eyes were blinded closely with a shawl,
and the witches were commanded to touch her. They did so, and she was
immediately seized with a fit. Upon this evidence they were sent to
prison. The girl was afterwards touched by an indifferent person, and
the force of her imagination was so great, that, thinking it was again
the witches, she fell down in a violent fit as before. This, however,
was not received in favour of the accused.

The following extract, from the published reports of the trial,
will show the sort of evidence which was received:--

"Samuel Pacey, of Leystoff, (a good, sober man,) being sworn, said
that, on Thursday the 10th of October last, his younger daughter,
Deborah, about nine years old, was suddenly taken so lame that she
could not stand on her legs, and so continued till the 17th of the
same month, when the child desired to be carried to a bank on the east
side of the house, looking towards the sea; and, while she was sitting
there, Amy Duny came to this examinant's house to buy some herrings,
but was denied. Then she came twice more, but, being as often denied,
she went away discontented and grumbling. At this instant of time, the
child was taken with terrible fits, complaining of a pain in her
stomach, as if she was pricked with pins, shrieking out with a voice
like a whelp, and thus continued till the 30th of the same month. This
examinant further saith, that Amy Duny, having long had the reputation
of a witch, and his child having, in the intervals of her fits,
constantly cried out on her, as the cause of her disorder, saying,
that the said Amy did appear to her and fright her, he himself did
suspect the said Amy to be a witch, and charged her with being the
cause of his child's illness, and set her in the stocks. Two days
after, his daughter Elizabeth was taken with such strange fits, that
they could not force open her mouth without a tap; and the younger
child being in the same condition, they used to her the same remedy.
Both children grievously complained that Amy Duny and another woman,
whose habit and looks they described, did appear to them, and torment
them, and would cry out, 'There stands Amy Duny! There stands Rose
Cullender!' the other person who afflicted them. Their fits were not
alike. Sometimes they were lame on the right side; sometimes on
the left; and sometimes so sore, that they could not bear to be
touched. Sometimes they were perfectly well in other respects, but
they could not hear; at other times, they could not see. Sometimes
they lost their speech for one, two, and once for eight, days
together. At times they had swooning fits, and, when they could speak,
were taken with a fit of coughing, and vomited phlegm and crooked
pins; and once a great twopenny nail, with above forty pins; which
nail he, the examinant, saw vomited up, with many of the pins. The
nail and pins were produced in the court. Thus the children continued
for two months, during which time the examinant often made them read
in the New Testament, and observed, when they came to the words Lord
Jesus, or Christ, they could not pronounce them, but fell into a fit.
When they came to the word Satan, or devil, they would point, and say,
'This bites, but makes me speak right well.' Finding his children
thus tormented without hopes of recovery, he sent them to his sister,
Margaret Arnold, at Yarmouth, being willing to try whether change of
air would help them.

"Margaret Arnold was the next witness. Being sworn, she said, that
about the 30th of November, Elizabeth and Deborah Pacey came to her
house, with her brother, who told her what had happened, and that he
thought his children bewitched. She, this examinant, did not much
regard it, supposing the children had played tricks, and put the pins
into their mouths themselves. She, therefore, took all the pins from
their clothes, sewing them with thread instead of pinning them. But,
notwithstanding, they raised, at times, at least thirty pins, in her
presence, and had terrible fits; in which fits they would cry out upon
Amy Duny and Rose Cullender, saying, that they saw them and heard them
threatening, as before; that they saw things, like mice, running about
the house; and one of them catched one, and threw it into the fire,
which made a noise, like a rat. Another time the younger child, being
out of doors, a thing like a bee would have forced itself into her
mouth, at which the child ran screaming into the house, and before
this examinant could come at her, fell into a fit, and vomited a
twopenny nail, with a broad head. After that, this examinant asked the
child how she came by this nail, when she answered, 'The bee brought
the nail, and forced it into my mouth.' At other times, the eldest
child told this examinant that she saw flies bring her crooked pins.
She would then fall into a fit, and vomit such pins. One time the said
child said she saw a mouse, and crept under the table to look for it;
and afterwards, the child seemed to put something into her apron,
saying, 'She had caught it.' She then ran to the fire, and threw it
in, on which there did appear to this examinant something like a flash
of gunpowder, although she does own she saw nothing in the child's
hand. Once the child, being speechless, but otherwise very sensible,
ran up and down the house, crying, 'Hush! hush!' as if she had seen
poultry; but this examinant saw nothing. At last the child catched at
something, and threw it into the fire. Afterwards, when the child
could speak, this examinant asked her what she saw at the time? She
answered, that she saw a duck. Another time the youngest child said,
after a fit, that Amy Duny had been with her, and tempted her to drown
herself, or cut her throat, or otherwise destroy herself. Another time
they both cried out upon Amy Duny and Rose Cullender, saying, 'Why
don't you come yourselves? Why do you send your imps to torment us?'"

The celebrated Sir Thomas Brown, the author of "Vulgar Errors,"
was also examined as a witness upon the trial. Being desired to give
his opinion of the three persons in court, he said, he was clearly of
opinion that they were bewitched. He said, there had lately been a
discovery of witches in Denmark, who used the same way of tormenting
persons, by conveying crooked pins, needles, and nails into their
bodies. That he thought, in such cases, the devil acted upon human
bodies by natural means, namely, by exciting and stirring up the
superabundant humours, he did afflict them in a more surprising manner
by the same diseases their bodies were usually subject to; that these
fits might be natural, only raised to a great degree by the subtlety
of the devil, co-operating with the malice of these witches.

The evidence being concluded, Sir Matthew Hale addressed the jury.
He said, he would waive repeating the evidence, to prevent any
mistake, and told the jury, there were two things they had to inquire
into. First, Whether or not these children were bewitched; secondly,
Whether these women did bewitch them. He said, he did not in the least
doubt there were witches; first, Because the Scriptures affirmed it;
secondly, Because the wisdom of all nations, particularly our own, had
provided laws against witchcraft, which implied their belief of such a
crime. He desired them strictly to observe the evidence, and begged of
God to direct their hearts in the weighty concern they had in hand,
since, to condemn the innocent and let the guilty go free, are both an
abomination to the Lord.

The jury then retired, and, in about half an hour, returned a
verdict of guilty upon all the indictments, being thirteen in number.
The next morning the children came with their father to the lodgings
of Sir Matthew Hale, very well, and quite restored to their usual
health. Mr. Pacey, being asked at what time their health began to
improve, replied, that they were quite well in half an hour after the
conviction of the prisoners.

Many attempts were made to induce the unfortunate women to confess
their guilt; but in vain, and they were both hanged.

Eleven trials were instituted before Chief-Justice Holt for
witchcraft between the years 1694 and 1701. The evidence was of the
usual character; but Holt appealed so successfully in each case to the
common sense of the jury, that they were every one acquitted. A
general feeling seemed to pervade the country that blood enough had
been shed upon these absurd charges. Now and then, the flame of
persecution burnt up in a remote district; but these instances were no
longer looked upon as mere matters of course. They appear, on the
contrary, to have excited much attention; a sure proof, if no other
were to be obtained, that they were becoming unfrequent.

A case of witchcraft was tried in 1711, before Lord Chief Justice
Powell; in which, however, the jury persisted in a verdict of guilty,
though the evidence was of the usual absurd and contradictory
character, and the enlightened judge did all in his power to bring
them to a right conclusion. The accused person was one Jane Wenham,
better known as the Witch of Walkerne; and the persons who were
alleged to have suffered from her witchcraft were two young women,
named Thorne and Street. A witness, named Mr. Arthur Chauncy, deposed,
that he had seen Ann Thorne in several of her fits, and that she
always recovered upon prayers being said, or if Jane Wenham came to
her. He related, that he had pricked the prisoner several times in the
arms, but could never fetch any blood from her; that he had seen her
vomit pins, when there were none in her clothes or within her reach;
and that he had preserved several of them, which he was ready to
produce. The judge, however, told him that was needless, as he
supposed they were crooked pins.

Mr. Francis Bragge, another witness, deposed, that strange "cakes"
of bewitched feathers having been taken from Ann Thorne's pillow, he
was anxious to see them. He went into a room where some of these
feathers were, and took two of the cakes, and compared them together.
They were both of a circular figure, something larger than a crown
piece; and he observed that the small feathers were placed in a nice
and curious order, at equal distances from each other, making so many
radii of the circle, in the centre of which the quill ends of the
feathers met. He counted the number of these feathers, and found them
to be exactly thirty-two in each cake. He afterwards endeavoured to
pull off two or three of them, and observed that they were all
fastened together by a sort of viscous matter, which would stretch
seven or eight times in a thread before it broke. Having taken off
several of these feathers, he removed the viscous matter with his
fingers, and found under it, in the centre, some short hairs, black
and grey, matted together, which he verily believed to be cat's hair.
He also said, that Jane Wenham confessed to him that she had bewitched
the pillow, and had practised witchcraft for sixteen years.

The judge interrupted the witness at this stage, and said, he
should very much like to see an enchanted feather, and seemed to
wonder when he was told that none of these strange cakes had been
preserved. His Lordship asked the witness why he did not keep one or
two of them, and was informed that they had all been burnt, in order
to relieve the bewitched person of the pains she suffered, which could
not be so well effected by any other means.

A man, named Thomas Ireland, deposed, that hearing several times a
great noise of cats crying and screaming about his house, he went out
and frightened them away, and they all ran towards the cottage of Jane
Wenham. One of them he swore positively had a face very like Jane
Wenham's. Another man, named Burville, gave similar evidence, and
swore that he had often seen a cat with Jane Wenham's face. Upon one
occasion he was in Ann Thorne's chamber, when several cats came in,
and among them the cat above stated. This witness would have favoured
the court with a much longer statement, but was stopped by the judge,
who said he had heard quite enough.

The prisoner, in her defence, said nothing, but that "she was a
clear woman." The learned judge then summed up, leaving it to the jury
to determine whether such evidence as they had heard was sufficient to
take away the prisoner's life upon the indictment. After a long
deliberation they brought in their verdict, that she was guilty upon
the evidence. The Judge then asked them whether they found her guilty
upon the indictment of conversing with the devil in the shape of a
cat? The sapient foreman very gravely answered, "We find her guilty of
that." The learned judge then very reluctantly proceeded to pass
sentence of death; but, by his persevering exertions, a pardon was at
last obtained, and the wretched old woman was set at liberty. In the
year 1716, a woman and her daughter, - the latter only nine years of
age, -- were hanged at Huntingdon for selling their souls to the
devil, and raising a storm by pulling off their stockings and making a
lather of soap. This appears to have been the last judicial execution
in England. From that time to the year 1736, the populace raised at
intervals the old cry, and more than once endangered the lives of poor
women by dragging them through ponds on suspicion; but the philosophy
of those who, from their position, sooner or later give the tone to
the opinions and morals of the poor, was silently working a cure for
the evil. The fear of witches ceased to be epidemic, and became
individual, lingering only in minds lettered by inveterate prejudice
or brutalizing superstition. In the year 1736, the penal statute of
James I. was finally blotted from the statutebook, and suffered no
longer to disgrace the advancing intelligence of the country.
Pretenders to witchcraft, fortune-tellers, conjurors, and all their
train, were liable only to the common punishment of rogues and
impostors -- imprisonment and the pillory.

In Scotland, the delusion also assumed the same phases, and was
gradually extinguished in the light of civilization. As in England the
progress of improvement was slow. Up to the year 1665, little or no
diminution of the mania was perceptible. In 1643, the General Assembly
recommended that the Privy Council should institute a standing
commission, composed of any "understanding gentlemen or magistrates,"
to try the witches, who were stated to have increased enormously of
late years. In 1649, an act was passed, confirmatory of the original
statute of Queen Mary, explaining some points of the latter which were
doubtful, and enacting severe penalties, not only against witches
themselves, but against all who covenanted with them, or sought by
their means to pry into the secrets of futurity, or cause any evil to
the life, lands, or limbs of their neighbours. For the next ten years,
the popular madness upon this subject was perhaps more furious than
ever; upwards of four thousand persons suffered for the crime during
that interval. This was the consequence of the act of parliament and
the unparalleled severity of the magistrates; the latter frequently
complained that for two witches they burned one day, there were ten to
burn the next: they never thought that they themselves were the cause
of the increase. In a single circuit, held at Glasgow, Ayr, and
Stirling, in 1659, seventeen unhappy creatures were burned by judicial
sentence for trafficking with Satan. In one day, (November 7, 1661,)
the Privy Council issued no less than fourteen commissions for trials
in the provinces. Next year, the violence of the persecution seems to
have abated. From 1662 to 1668, although "the understanding gentlemen
and magistrates" already mentioned, continued to try and condemn, the
High Court of Justiciary had but one offender of this class to deal
with, and she was acquitted. James Welsh, a common pricker, was
ordered to be publicly whipped through the streets of Edinburgh for
falsely accusing a woman of witchcraft; a fact which alone proves that
the superior court sifted the evidence in these cases with much more
care and severity than it had done a few years previously. The
enlightened Sir George Mackenzie, styled by Dryden "the noble wit of
Scotland," laboured hard to introduce this rule into court -- that the
confessions of the witches should be held of little worth, and that
the evidence of the prickers and other interested persons should be
received with distrust and jealousy. This was reversing the old
practice, and saved many innocent lives. Though a firm believer both
in ancient and modern witchcraft, he could not shut his eyes to the
atrocities daily committed under the name of justice. In his work on
the Criminal Law of Scotland, published in 1678, he says, "From the
horridness of this crime, I do conclude that, of all others, it
requires the clearest relevancy and most convincing probature; and I
condemn, next to the wretches themselves, those cruel and too forward
judges who burn persons by thousands as guilty of this crime." In the
same year, Sir John Clerk plumply refused to serve as a commissioner
on trials for witchcraft, alleging, by way of excuse, "that he was not
himself good conjuror enough to be duly qualified." The views
entertained by Sir George Mackenzie were so favourably received by the
Lords of Session that he was deputed, in 1680, to report to them on
the cases of a number of poor women who were then in prison awaiting
their trial. Sir George stated that there was no evidence against them
whatever but their own confessions, which were absurd and
contradictory, and drawn from them by severe torture. They were
immediately discharged.

For the next sixteen years, the Lords of Session were unoccupied
with trials for witchcraft; not one is entered upon the record: but in
1697, a case occurred, which equalled in absurdity any of those that
signalized the dark reign of King James. A girl, named Christiana
Shaw, eleven years of age, the daughter of John Shaw of Bargarran, was
subject to fits, and being of a spiteful temper, she accused her
maid-servant, with whom she had frequent quarrels, of bewitching her.
Her story, unfortunately, was believed. Encouraged to tell all the
persecutions of the devil which the maid had sent to torment her, she
in the end concocted a romance that involved twenty-one persons. There
was no other evidence against them but the fancies of this lying
child, and the confessions which pain had extorted from them; but upon
this no less than five women were condemned, before Lord Blantyre and
the rest of the Commissioners, appointed specially by the Privy
Council to try this case. They were burned on the Green at Paisley.
The warlock of the party, one John Reed, who was also condemned,
hanged himself in prison. It was the general belief in Paisley that
the devil had strangled him, lest he should have revealed in his last
moments too many of the unholy secrets of witchcraft. This trial
excited considerable disgust in Scotland. The Rev. Mr. Bell, a
contemporary writer, observed that, in this business, "persons of more
goodness and esteem than most of their calumniators were defamed for
witches." He adds, that the persons chiefly to blame were "certain
ministers of too much forwardness and absurd credulity, and some
topping professors in and about Glasgow." [Preface to "Law's
Memorials," edited by Sharpe.]

After this trial, there again occurs a lapse of seven years, when
the subject was painfully forced upon public attention by the brutal
cruelty of the mob at Pittenween. Two women were accused of having
bewitched a strolling beggar, who was subject to fits, or who
pretended to be so, for the purpose of exciting commiseration. They
were cast into prison, and tortured until they confessed. One of them,
named Janet Cornfoot, contrived to escape, but was brought back to
Pittenween next day by a party of soldiers. On her approach to the
town, she was, unfortunately, met by a furious mob, composed
principally of fishermen and their wives, who seized upon her with the
intention of swimming her. They forced her away to the sea shore, and
tying a rope around her body, secured the end of it to the mast of a
fishing-boat lying alongside. In this manner they ducked her several
times. When she was half dead, a sailor in the boat cut away the rope,
and the mob dragged her through the sea to the beach. Here, as she lay
quite insensible, a brawny ruffian took down the door of his hut,
close by, and placed it on her back. The mob gathered large stones
from the beach, and piled them upon her till the wretched woman was
pressed to death. No magistrate made the slightest attempt to
interfere, and the soldiers looked on, delighted spectators. A great
outcry was raised against this culpable remissness, but no judicial
inquiry was set on foot. This happened in 1704.

The next case we hear of is that of Elspeth Rule, found guilty of
witchcraft before Lord Anstruther at the Dumfries circuit, in 1708.
She was sentenced to be marked in the cheek with a redhot iron, and
banished the realm of Scotland for life.

Again there is a long interval. In 1718, the remote county of
Caithness, where the delusion remained in all its pristine vigour for
years after it had ceased elsewhere, was startled from its propriety
by the cry of witchcraft. A silly fellow, named William Montgomery, a
carpenter, had a mortal antipathy to cats, and, somehow or other,
these animals generally chose his back-yard as the scene of their
catterwaulings. He puzzled his brains for a long time to know why he,
above all his neighbours, should be so pestered; at last he came to
the sage conclusion that his tormentors were no cats, but witches. In
this opinion he was supported by his maid-servant, who swore a round
oath that she had often heard the aforesaid cats talking together in
human voices. The next time the unlucky tabbies assembled in his
back-yard, the valiant carpenter was on the alert. Arming himself with
an axe, a dirk, and a broadsword, he rushed out among them: one of
them he wounded in the back, a second in the hip, and the leg of a
third he maimed with his axe; but he could not capture any of them. A
few days afterwards, two old women of the parish died, and it was said
that, when their bodies were laid out, there appeared upon the back of
one the mark as of a recent wound, and a similar scar upon the hip of
the other. The carpenter and his maid were convinced that they were
the very cats, and the whole county repeated the same story. Every one
was upon the look-out for proofs corroborative: a very remarkable one
was soon discovered. Nanny Gilbert, a wretched old creature of upwards
of seventy years of age, was found in bed with her leg broken; as she
was ugly enough for a witch, it was asserted that she, also, was one
of the cats that had fared so ill at the hands of the carpenter. The
latter, when informed of the popular suspicion, asserted that he
distinctly remembered to have struck one of the cats a blow with the
back of his broadsword, which ought to have broken her leg. Nanny was
immediately dragged from her bed, and thrown into prison. Before she
was put to the torture, she explained, in a very natural and
intelligible manner, how she had broken her limb; but this account did
not give satisfaction: the professional persuasions of the torturer
made her tell a different tale, and she confessed that she was indeed
a witch, and had been wounded by Montgomery on the night stated - that
the two old women recently deceased were witches also, besides about a
score of others whom she named. The poor creature suffered so much by
the removal from her own home, and the tortures inflicted upon her,
that she died the next day in prison. Happily for the persons she had
named in her confession, Dundas of Arniston, at that time the King's
Advocate-general, wrote to the Sheriff-depute, one Captain Ross of
Littledean, cautioning him not to proceed to trial, the "thing being
of too great difficulty, and beyond the jurisdiction of an inferior
court." Dundas himself examined the precognition with great care, and
was so convinced of the utter folly of the whole case that he quashed
all further proceedings.

We find this same Sheriff-depute of Caithness very active four
years afterwards in another trial for witchcraft. In spite of the
warning he had received, that all such cases were to be tried in
future by the superior courts, he condemned to death an old woman at
Dornoch, upon the charge of bewitching the cows and pigs of her
neighbours. This poor creature was insane, and actually laughed and
clapped her hands at sight of "the bonnie fire" that was to consume
her. She had a daughter, who was lame both of her hands and feet, and
one of the charges brought against her was, that she had used this
daughter as a pony in her excursions to join the devil's sabbath, and
that the devil himself had shod her, and produced lameness.

This was the last execution that took place in Scotland for
witchcraft. The penal statutes were repealed in 1756, and, as in
England, whipping, the pillory, or imprisonment, were declared the
future punishments of all pretenders to magic or witchcraft.

Still, for many years after this, the superstition lingered both
in England and Scotland, and in some districts is far from being
extinct even at this day. But before we proceed to trace it any
further than to its legal extinction, we have yet to see the frightful
havoc it made in continental Europe from the commencement of the
seventeenth to the middle of the eighteenth century. France, Germany,
and Switzerland were the countries which suffered most from the
epidemic. The number of victims in these countries during the
sixteenth century has already been mentioned; but, at the early part
of the seventeenth, the numbers are so great, especially in Germany,
that were they not to be found in the official records of the
tribunals, it would be almost impossible to believe that mankind could
ever have been so maddened and deluded. To use the words of the
learned and indefatigable Horst, [Zauber Bibliothek. Theil 5.] "the
world seemed to be like a large madhouse for witches and devils to
play their antics in." Satan was believed to be at everybody's call,
to raise the whirlwind, draw down the lightning, blight the
productions of the earth, or destroy the health and paralyse the limbs
of man. This belief, so insulting to the majesty and beneficence of
the Creator, was shared by the most pious ministers of religion. Those
who in their morning and evening prayers acknowledged the one true
God, and praised him for the blessings of the seed time and the
harvest, were convinced that frail humanity could enter into a compact
with the spirits of hell to subvert his laws and thwart all his
merciful intentions. Successive popes, from Innocent VIII. downwards,
promulgated this degrading doctrine, which spread so rapidly that
society seemed to be divided into two great factions, the bewitching
and the bewitched.

The commissioners named by Innocent VIII. to prosecute the
witch-trials in Germany, were Jacob Sprenger, so notorious for his
work on demonology, entitled the "Malleus Maleficarum," or "Hammer to
knock down Witches," Henry Institor a learned jurisconsult, and the
Bishop of Strasburgh. Barnberg, Treves, Cologne, Paderborn, and
Wurzburg, were the chief seats of the commissioners, who, during their
lives alone, condemned to the stake, on a very moderate calculation,
upwards of three thousand victims. The number of witches so increased,
that new commissioners were continually appointed in Germany, France,
and Switzerland. In Spain and Portugal the Inquisition