Chapter IX: Part 9

"Late on the evening of the 31st of June 1097, the troops arrived
at a spot where pasturage appeared abundant, and they resolved to
pitch their camp. The Christian army passed the night in the most
profound security; but on the following morning, at break of day,
detached horsemen presented themselves, and clouds of dust
appearing on the adjoining heights, announced the presence of the
enemy. Instantly the trumpets sounded, and the whole camp stood to
their arms. Bohemond, the second in command, having the chief
direction in the absence of Godfrey, hastened to make the necessary
dispositions to repel the threatened attack. The camp of the
Christians was defended on one side by a river, and on the other by
a marsh, entangled with reeds and bushes. The Prince of Tarentum
caused it to be surrounded with palisades, made with the stakes
which served for fixing the cords of the tents; he then assigned
their proper posts to the infantry, and placed the women, children,
and sick in the centre. The cavalry, arranged in three columns,
advanced to the margin of the river, and prepared to dispute the
passage. One of these corps was commanded by Tancred, and William
his brother; the other by the Duke of Normandy and the Count of
Chartres. Bohemond, who headed the reserve, was posted with his
horsemen on an eminence in the rear, from whence he could descry
the whole field of battle.

"Hardly were these dispositions completed, when the Saracens, with
loud cries, descended from the mountains, and, as soon as they
arrived within bowshot, let fall a shower of arrows upon the
Christians. This discharge did little injury to the knights,
defended as they were by their armour and shields; but a great
number of horses were wounded, and, in their pain, introduced
disorder into the ranks. The archers, the slingers, the
crossbow-men, scattered along the flanks of the Christian army, in
vain returned the discharge with their stones and javelins; their
missiles could not reach the enemy, and fell on the ground without
doing any mischief. The Christian horse, impatient at being
inactive spectators of the combat, charged across the river and
fell headlong with their lances in rest on the Saracens; but they
avoided the shock, and, opening their ranks, dispersed when the
formidable mass approached them. Again rallying at a distance in
small bodies, they let fly a cloud of arrows at their ponderous
assailants, whose heavy horses, oppressed with weighty armour,
could not overtake the swift steeds of the desert.

"This mode of combating turned entirely to the advantage of the
Turks. The whole dispositions made by the Christians before the
battle became useless. Every chief, almost every cavalier, fought
for himself; he took counsel from his own ardour, and it alone. The
Christians combated almost singly on a ground with which they were
unacquainted; in that terrible strife, death became the only reward
of undisciplined valour. Robert of Paris the same who had sat on
the imperial throne beside Alexis, was mortally wounded, after
having seen forty of his bravest companions fall by his side.
William, brother of Tancred, fell pierced by arrows. Tancred
himself, whose lance was broken, and who had no other weapon but
his sword, owed his life to Bohemond, who came up to the rescue,
and extricated him from the hands of the Infidels.

"While victory was still uncertain between force and address,
agility and valour, fresh troops of the Saracens descended from the
mountains, and mingled in overwhelming proportion in the conflict.
The Sultan of Nice took advantage of the moment when the cavalry of
the Crusaders withstood with difficulty the attack of the Turks,
and directed his forces against their camp. He assembled the elite
of his troops, crossed the river, and overcame with ease all the
obstacles which opposed his progress. In an instant the camp of the
Christians was invaded and filled with a multitude of barbarians.
The Turks massacred without distinction all who presented
themselves to their blows; except the women whom youth and beauty
rendered fit for their seraglios. If we may credit Albert d'Aix,
the wives and daughters of the knights preferred in that extremity
slavery to death; for they were seen in the midst of the tumult to
adorn themselves with their most elegant dresses, and, arrayed in
this manner, sought by the display of their charms to soften the
hearts of their merciless enemies.

"Bohemond, however, soon arrived to the succour of the camp, and
obliged the Sultan to retrace his steps to his own army. Then the
combat recommenced on the banks of the river with more fury than
ever. The Duke Robert of Normandy, who had remained with some of
his knights on the field of battle, snatched from his
standard-bearer his pennon of white, bordered with gold, and
exclaiming, '_A moi, la Normandie!_' penetrated the ranks of the
enemy, striking down with his sword whatever opposed him, till he
laid dead at his feet one of the principal emirs. Tancred, Richard,
the Prince of Salerno, Stephen count of Blois, and other chiefs,
followed his example, and emulated his valour. Bohemond, returning
from the camp, which he had delivered from its oppressors,
encountered a troop of fugitives. Instantly advancing among them,
he exclaimed, 'Whither fly you, O Christian soldiers?--Do you not
see that the enemies' horses, swifter than your own, will not fail
soon to reach you? Follow me--I will show you a surer mode of
safety than flight.' With these words he threw himself followed by
his own men and the rallied fugitives, into the midst of the
Saracens, and striking down all who attempted to resist them, made
a frightful carnage. In the midst of the tumult, the women who had
been taken and delivered from the lands of the Mussulmans, burning
to avenge their outraged modesty, went through the ranks carrying
refreshments to the soldiers, and exhorting them to redouble their
efforts to save them from Turkish servitude.

"But all these efforts were in vain. The Crusaders, worn out by
fatigue, parched by thirst, were unable to withstand an enemy who
was incessantly recruited by fresh troops. The Christian army, a
moment victorious, was enveloped on all sides, and obliged to yield
to numbers. They retired, or rather fled, towards the camp, which
the Turks were on the point of entering with them. No words can
paint the consternation of the Christians, the disorder of their
ranks, or the scenes of horror which the interior of the camp
presented. There were to be seen priests in tears, imploring on
their knees the assistance of Heaven--there, women in despair rent
the air with their shrieks, while the more courageous of their
numbers bore the wounded knights into the tents; and the soldiers,
despairing of life, cast themselves on their knees before their
priests or bishops, and demanded absolution of their sins. In the
frightful tumult, the voice of the chief was no longer heard; the
most intrepid had already fallen covered with wounds, or sunk under
the rays of a vertical sun and the horrors of an agonizing thirst.
All seemed lost, and nothing to appearance could restore their
courage, when all of a sudden loud cries of joy announced the
approach of Raymond of Toulouse and Godfrey of Bouillon, who
advanced at the head of the second corps of the Christian army.

"From the commencement of the battle, Bohemond had dispatched
accounts to them of the attack of the Turks. No sooner did the
intelligence arrive, than the Duke of Lorraine, the Count of
Vermandois, and the Count of Flanders, at the head of their
corps-d'armee, directed their march towards the valley of Gorgoni,
followed by Raymond and D'Adhemar, who brought up the luggage and
formed the rear-guard. When they appeared on the eastern slope of
the mountains, the sun was high in the heavens, and his rays were
reflected from their bucklers, helmets, and drawn swords; their
standards were displayed, and a loud flourish of their trumpets
resounded from afar. Fifty thousand horsemen, clad in steel and
ready for the fight, advanced in regular order to the attack. That
sight at once reanimated the Crusaders and spread terror among the
Infidels.

"Already Godfrey, outstripping the speed of his followers, had come
up at the head of fifty chosen cavaliers, and taken a part in the
combat. Upon this the Sultan sounded a retreat, and took post upon
the hills, where he trusted the Crusaders would not venture to
attack him. Soon, however, the second corps of the Christians
arrived on the field still reeking with the blood of their
brethren. They knew their comrades and companions stretched in the
dust--they became impatient to avenge them, and demanded with loud
cries to be led on to the attack; those even who had combated all
day with the first corps desired to renew the conflict. Forthwith
the Christian army was arranged for a second battle. Bohemond,
Tancred, Robert of Normandy, placed themselves the left; Godfrey,
the Count of Flanders, the Count de Blois, led the right: Raymond
commanded in the centre; the reserve was placed under the order of
D'Adhemar. Before the chiefs gave the order to advance, the priests
went through the ranks, exhorted the soldiers to fight bravely, and
gave them their benediction. Then the soldiers and chiefs drew
their swords together, and repeated aloud the war-cry of the
Crusades, 'Dieu le veut! Dieu le veut!' That cry was re-echoed from
the mountains and the valleys. While the echoes still rolled, the
Christian army advanced, and marched full of confidence against the
Turks, who, not less determined, awaited them on the summit of
their rocky asylum.

"The Saracens remained motionless on the top of the hills--they did
not even discharge their redoubtable arrows; their quivers seemed
to be exhausted. The broken nature of the ground they occupied
precluded the adoption of those rapid evolutions, which in the
preceding conflict had proved so fatal to the Christians. They
seemed to be no longer animated with the same spirit--they awaited
the attack rather with the resignation of martyrs than the hope of
warriors. The Count of Toulouse, who assailed them in front, broke
their ranks by the first shock. Tancred, Godfrey, and the two
Roberts attacked their flanks with equal advantage. D'Adhemar, who
with the reserve had made the circuit of the mountains, charged
their rear, when already shaken by the attack in front, and on both
flanks. This completed their route. The Saracens found themselves
surrounded by a forest of lances, from which there was no escape
but in breaking their ranks and seeking refuge among the rocks. A
great number of emirs, above three thousand officers, and twenty
thousand soldiers fell in the action or pursuit. Four thousand of
the Crusaders had perished, almost all in the first action. The
enemy's camp, distant two leagues from the field of battle, fell
into the hands of the Crusaders, with vast stores of provisions,
tents magnificently ornamented, immense treasures, and a vast
number of camels. The sight of these animals, which they had not
yet seen in the East, gave them as much surprise as pleasure. The
dismounted horsemen mounted the swift steeds of the Saracens to
pursue the broken remains of the enemy. Towards evening they
returned to the camp loaded with booty, and preceded by their
priests singing triumphant songs and hymns of victory. On the
following day the Christians interred their dead, shedding tears of
sorrow. The priests read prayers over them, and numbered them among
the saints in heaven."--_Hist. des Croisades_, i. 228-233.

This extract gives an idea at once of the formidable nature of the contest which awaited the Christians in their attempts to recover the Holy Land, of the peculiar character of the attack and defence on both sides, and of the talent for graphic and lucid description which M. Michaud possesses. It is curious how identical the attack of the West and defence of the East are the same in all ages. The description of the manner in which the Crusading warriors were here drawn into a pursuit of, and then enveloped by the Asiatic light horse, is precisely the same as that in which the legions of Crassus were destroyed; and might pass for a narrative of the way in which Napoleon's European cavalry were cut to pieces by the Arab horse at the combat at Salahout, near the Red Sea; or Lord Lake's horse worsted in the first part of the battle of Laswaree in India, before the infantry came up, and, by storming the batteries, restored the combat. On the other hand, the final overthrow of the Saracens at Dorislaus was evidently owing to their imprudence in _standing firm_, and awaiting in that position the attack of the Christians. They did so, trusting to the strength of the rocky ridge on which they were posted; but that advantage, great as it was, by no means rendered them a match in close fight for the weighty arms and the determined resolution of the Europeans, any more than the discharges of their powerful batteries availed the Mahrattas in the latter part of the battles of Assaye and Laswaree, or, more recently, the Sikhs in the desperate conflict at Ferozepore in the Punjaub. The discovery of fire-arms, and all the subsequent improvements in tactics and strategy, though they have altered the weapons with which war is carried on, yet have not materially changed the mode in which success is won, or disaster averted, between ancient and modern times.

Our author's account of the storming of Jerusalem, the final object and crowning glory of the Crusades, is animated and interesting in the highest degree.

"At the last words of the Hermit Peter the warmest transports
seized the Crusaders. They descended from the Mount of Olives,
where they had listened to his exhortations; and turning to the
south, saluted on their right the fountain of Siloe, where Christ
had restored sight to the blind; in the distance they perceived the
ruins of the palace of Judah, and advanced on the slope of Mount
Sion, which awakened afresh all their holy enthusiasm. Many in that
cross march were struck down by the arrows and missiles from the
walls: they died blessing God, and imploring his justice against
the enemies of the faith. Towards evening the Christian army
returned to its quarters, chanting the words of the Prophet--'Those
of the West shall fear the Lord, and those of the East shall see
his glory.' Having re-entered into the camp, the greater part of
the pilgrims passed the night in prayer: the chiefs and soldiers
confessed their sins at the feet of their priests, and received in
communion that God whose promises filled them with confidence and
hope.

"While the Christian army prepared, by these holy ceremonies, for
the combat, a mournful silence prevailed around the walls of
Jerusalem. The only sound heard was that of the men who, from the
top of the mosques of the city, numbered the hours by calling the
Mussulmans to prayers. At the well-known signals, the Infidels ran
in crowds to their temples to implore the protection of their
Prophet: they swore by the mysterious House of Jacob to defend the
town, which they styled 'the House of God.' The besiegers and
besieged were animated with equal ardour for the fight, and equal
determination to shed their blood--the one to carry the town, the
other to defend it. The hatred which animated them was so violent,
that during the whole course of the siege, no Mussulman deputy came
to the camp of the besiegers, and the Christians did not even deign
to summon the town. Between such enemies, the shock could not be
other than terrible, and the victors implacable.

"On Thursday, 14th July 1199, at daybreak, the trumpets resounded,
and the whole Christian army stood to their arms. All the machines
were worked at once: the mangonels and engines poured on the
ramparts a shower of stones, while the battering-rams were brought
up close to their feet. The archers and slingers directed their
missiles with fatal effect against the troops who manned the walls,
while the most intrepid of the assailants planted scaling-ladders
on the places where the ascent appeared most practicable. On the
south, east, and north of the town, rolling towers advanced towards
the ramparts, in the midst of a violent tumult, and amidst the
cries of the workmen and soldiers. Godfrey appeared on the highest
platform of his wooden tower, accompanied by his brother Eustache
and Baudoin du Bourg. His example animated his followers: so
unerring was their aim, that all the javelins discharged from this
platform carried death among the besieged. Tancred, the Duke of
Normandy, and the Count of Flanders, combated at the head of their
followers: the knights and men-at-arms, animated with the same
ardour, pressed into the _melee_, and threw themselves into the
thickest of the fight.

"Nothing could equal the fury of the first shock of the Christians;
but they met every where the most determined resistance. Arrows and
javelins, boiling oil and water, with Greek fire, were poured down
incessantly on the assailants; while fourteen huge machines, which
the besieged had got time to oppose to those of the besiegers,
replied with effect to the fire of the more distant warlike
instruments. Issuing forth by one of the breaches in the rampart,
the Infidels made a sortie, and succeeded in burning some of the
machines of the Christians, and spread disorder through their army.
Towards the end of the day, the towers of Godfrey and Tancred were
so shattered, that they could no longer be moved, while that of
Raymond was falling into ruins. The combat had lasted eleven hours,
without victory having declared for the Crusaders. The Christians
retired to their camp, burning with rage and grief: their chiefs,
and especially the two Roberts, sought in vain to console them, by
saying that 'God had not judged them as yet worthy to enter into
his Holy City, and adore the tomb of his Son.'

"The night was passed on both sides in the utmost disquietude:
every one deplored the losses already discovered, and dreaded to
hear of fresh ones. The Saracens were in hourly apprehension of a
surprise: the Christians feared that the Infidels would burn their
machines, which they had pushed forward to the foot of the rampart.
The besieged were occupied without intermission in repairing the
breaches in their walls; the besiegers in putting their machines in
a condition to serve for a new assault. On the day following, the
same combats and dangers were renewed as on the preceding one. The
chiefs sought by their harangues to revive the spirits of the
Crusaders. The priests and bishops went through their tents
promising them the assistance of Heaven. On the signal to advance
being given, the Christian army, full of confidence, advanced in
silence towards the destined points of attack, while the clergy,
chanting hymns and prayers, marched round the town.

"The first shock was terrible. The Christians, indignant at the
resistance they had experienced on the preceding day, combated with
fury. The besieged, who had learned the near approach of the
Egyptian army, were animated by the hopes of approaching succour. A
formidable array of warlike engines lined the tops of their
ramparts. On every side was heard the hissing of javelins and
arrows: frequently immense stones, discharged from the opposite
side, met in the air, and fell back on the assailants with a
frightful crash. From the top of their towers, the Mussulmans never
ceased to throw burning torches and pots of Greek fire on the
storming parties. In the midst of this general conflagration, the
moving towers of the Christians approached the walls. The chief
efforts of the besieged were directed against Godfrey, on whose
breast a resplendent cross of gold shone, the sight of which was an
additional stimulus to their rage. The Duke of Lorraine saw one of
his squires and several of his followers fall by his side; but,
though exposed himself to all the missiles of the enemy, he
continued to combat in the midst of the dead and the dying, and
never ceased to exhort his companions to redouble their courage and
ardour. The Count of Toulouse directed the attack on the southern
side, and stoutly opposed his machines to those of the Mussulmans:
he had to combat the Emir of Jerusalem, who bravely animated his
followers by his discourse, and showed himself on the ramparts
surrounded by the _elite_ of the Egyptian soldiers. On the northern
side, Tancred and the two Roberts appeared at the head of their
battalions. Firmly stationed on their moving tower, they burned
with desire to come to the close combat of the lance and sword.
Already their battering-rams had on many points shaken the walls,
behind which the Saracens were assembled in dense battalions, as a
last rampart against the attack of the Crusaders.

"Mid-day arrived, and the Crusaders had as yet no hope of
penetrating into the place. All their machines were in flames: they
stood grievously in want of water, and still more of vinegar, which
could alone extinguish the Greek fire used by the besieged. In vain
the bravest exposed themselves to the most imminent danger, to
prevent the destruction of their wooden towers and battering-rams;
they fell crushed beneath their ruins, and the devouring flames
enveloped their arms and clothing. Many of the bravest warriors had
found death at the foot of the ramparts: most of those who had
mounted on the rolling towers were _hors de combat_; the remainder,
covered with sweat and dust, overwhelmed with heat and the weight
of their armour, began to falter. The Saracens who perceived this
raised cries of joy. In their blasphemies they reproached the
Christians for adoring a God who was unable to defend them. The
assailants deplored their loss, and believing themselves abandoned
by Jesus Christ, remained motionless on the field of battle.

"But the aspect of affairs was soon changed. All of a sudden the
Crusaders saw, on the Mount of Olives, a horseman shaking a
buckler, and giving this signal to enter the town. Godfrey and
Raymond, who saw the apparition at the same instant, cried aloud,
that St George was come to combat at the head of the Christians.
Such was the tumult produced by this incident, that it bore down
alike fear and reflection. All rushed tumultuously forward to the
assault. The women even, with the children and sick, issued from
their retreats, and pressed forward into the throng, bearing
water, provisions, or arms, and aiding to drag forward the moving
towers. Impelled in this manner, that of Godfrey advanced in the
midst of a terrible discharge of stones, arrows, javelins, and
Greek fire, and succeeded in getting so near as to let its
drawbridge fall on the ramparts. At the same time a storm of
burning darts flew against the machines of the besieged, and the
bundles of straw piled up against the last walls of the town took
fire. Terrified by the flames the Saracens gave way. Lethalde and
Engelbert de Tournay, followed by Godfrey and his brother Everard,
crossed the drawbridge and gained the rampart. Soon with the aid of
their followers they cleared it, and, descending into the streets,
struck down all who disputed the passage.

"At the same time, Tancred and the two Roberts made new efforts,
and on their side, too, succeeded in penetrating into the town. The
Mussulmans fled on all sides; the war-cry of the Crusaders, "Dieu
le veut! Dieu le veut!" resounded in the streets of Jerusalem. The
companions of Godfrey and Tancred with their hatchets cut down the
gate of St Stephen, and let in the main body of the Crusaders, who
with loud shouts rushed tumultuously in. Some resistance was
attempted by a body of brave Saracens in the mosque of Omar, but
Everard of Puysave expelled them from it. All opposition then
ceased; but not so the carnage. Irritated by the long resistance of
the Saracens, stung by their blasphemies and reproaches, the
Crusaders filled with blood that Jerusalem which they had just
delivered, and which they regarded as their future country. The
carnage was universal. The Saracens were massacred in the streets,
in the houses, in the mosques."

The number of the slain greatly exceeded that of the conquerors. In the mosque of Omar alone ten thousand were put to the sword.

"So terrible was the slaughter, that the blood came up to the knees
and reins of the horses; and human bodies, with hands and arms
severed from the corpse to which they belonged, floated about in
the crimson sea.

"In the midst of these frightful scenes, which have for ever
stained the glory of the conquerors, the Christians of the Holy
City crowded round Peter the Hermit, who five years before had
promised to arm the West for the deliverance of the faithful in
Jerusalem, and then enjoyed the spectacle of their liberation. They
were never wearied of gazing on the man by whom God had wrought
such prodigies. At the sight of their brethren whom they had
delivered, the pilgrims recollected that they had come to adore the
tomb of Jesus Christ. Godfrey, who had abstained from carnage after
the victory, quitted his companions, and attended only by three
followers, repaired bareheaded and with naked feet to the Church of
the Holy Sepulchre. Soon the news of that act of devotion spread
among the Christian army. Instantly the fury of the war ceased, and
the thirst for vengeance was appeased; the Crusaders threw off
their bloody garments, and marching together to the Holy Sepulchre,
with the clergy at their head, bareheaded and without shoes, they
made Jerusalem resound with their groans and sobs. Silence more
terrible even than the tumult which had preceded it, reigned in the
public places and on the ramparts. No sound was heard but the
canticles of repentance, and the words of Isaiah, 'Ye who love
Jerusalem, rejoice with me.' So sincere and fervent was the
devotion which the Crusaders manifested on this occasion, that it
seemed as if the stern warriors, who had just taken a city by
assault, and committed the most frightful slaughter, were cenobites
who had newly emerged from a long retreat and peaceful
meditations."--_Hist. des Croisades_, i. 440-446.

Inexplicable as such contradictory conduct appears to those who "sit at home at ease," and are involved in none of the terrible calamities which draw forth the latent marvels of the human heart, history in every age affords too many examples of its occurrence to permit us to doubt the truth of the narrative. It is well known that during the worst period of the French Revolution, in the massacres in the prisons on Sept. 2, 1792, some of the mob who had literally wearied their arms in hewing down the prisoners let loose from the jails, took a momentary fit of compunction, were seized with pity for some of the victims, and after saving them from their murderers, accompanied them home, and witnessed with tears of joy the meeting between them and their relations. We are not warranted, after such facts have been recorded on authentic evidence in all ages, in asserting that this transient humanity is assumed or hypocritical. The conclusion rather is, that the human mind is so strangely compounded of good and bad principles, and contains so many veins of thought apparently irreconcilable with each other, that scarce any thing can be set down as absolutely impossible, but every alleged fact is to be judged of mainly by the testimony by which it is supported, and its coincidence with what has elsewhere been observed of that strange compound of contradictions, the human heart.

In the events which have been mentioned, the Crusaders were victorious; and the Crescent, in the outset of the contest, waned before the Cross. But it was only for a time that it did so. The situation of Palestine in Asia, constituting it the advanced post as it were of Christendom across the sea, in the regions of Islamism, perpetually exposed it to the attack of the Eastern powers. They were at home, and fought on their own ground, and with their own weapons, in the long contest which followed the first conquest of Palestine; whereas the forces of the Christians required to be transported, at a frightful expense of life, over a hazardous journey of fifteen hundred miles in length, or conveyed by sea at a very heavy cost from Marseilles, Genoa, or Venice. Irresistible in the first onset, the armament of the Christians gradually dwindled away as the first fervour of the Holy Wars subsided, and the interminable nature of the conflict in which they were engaged with the Oriental powers became apparent. It was the same thing as Spain maintaining a transatlantic contest with her South American, or England with her North American colonies. Indeed, the surprising thing, when we consider the exposed situation of the kingdom of Palestine, the smallness of its resources, and the scanty and precarious support it received, after the first burst of the Crusades was over, from the Western powers, is not that it was at last destroyed, but that it existed so long as it did. The prolongation of its life was mainly owing to the extraordinary qualities of one man.

It is hard to say whether the heroism of Richard Coeur de Lion has been most celebrated in Europe or Asia. Like Solomon, Alexander the Great, Haroun El Raschid, Charlemagne, and Napoleon, his fame has taken root as deeply in the East as in the West, among his enemies as his friends; among the followers of Mahomet as the disciples of the Cross. If he is the hero of European romance,--if he is the theme of the Troubadour's song, he is not less celebrated among the descendants of the Saracens; his exploits are not less eagerly chanted in the tents of the children of Ishmael. To this day, when an Arab's steed starts at a bush in the desert, his master asks him if he expects to see Richard issue from the covert. He possessed that surprising personal strength and daring valour which are so highly prized by warriors in all rude periods, and united with those qualities that singleness of heart and _bonhommie_ of disposition, which, not less powerfully in the great, win upon the hearts of men. His chief qualities--those which have given him his deathless fame--undoubtedly were his heroic courage, extraordinary personal strength, and magnanimity of mind. But if his campaigns with Saladin are attentively considered, it will appear that he was also a great general; and that his marvellous successes were as much owing to his conduct as a commander as his prowess as a knight. This is more particularly conspicuous, in the manner in which he conducted his then sorely diminished army on Acre to within sight of Jerusalem, surrounded as it was the whole way by prodigious clouds of Asiatic horse, headed by the redoubtable Saladin. Beyond all doubt he would, but for the defection of Philip Augustus and France, have wrested Palestine from the Infidels, and again planted the Cross on Mount Calvary, despite the whole forces of the East, led by their ablest and most powerful sultans. His grief at not being able to accomplish this glorious object, is well described by Michaud--

"After a month's abode at Bethnopolis, seven leagues from
Jerusalem, the Crusaders renewed their complaints, and exclaimed
with sadness, 'We shall never go to Jerusalem!' Richard, with heart
torn by contending feelings, while he disregarded the clamours of
the pilgrims, shared their grief, and was indignant at his own
fortune. One day, that his ardour in pursuing the Saracens had led
him to the heights of Emmaus, from which he beheld the towers of
Jerusalem, he burst into tears at the sight, and, covering his face
with his buckler, declared he was unworthy to contemplate the Holy
City which his arms could not deliver."--_Hist. des Croisades_, ii.
399.

As a specimen of the magnitude of the battles fought in this Crusade, we take that of Assur, near Ptolemais--

"Two hundred thousand Mussulmans were drawn up in the plains of
Assur, ready to bar the passage of the Christian army, and deliver
a decisive battle. No sooner did he perceive the Saracen array,
than Richard divided his army into five corps. The Templars formed
the first; the warriors of Brittany and Anjou the second; the king,
Guy, and the men of Poitou the third; the English and Normans,
grouped round the royal standard, the fourth; the Hospitallers the
fifth; and behind them marched the archers and javelin men. At
three o'clock in the afternoon, the army was all arranged in order
of battle, when all at once a multitude of Saracens appeared in
rear, who descended from the mountains which the Crusaders had just
crossed. Amongst them were Bedouin Arabs, bearing bows and round
bucklers; Scythians with long bows, and mounted on tall and
powerful horses; Ethiopians of a lofty stature, with their sable
visages strangely streaked with white. These troops of barbarians
advanced on all sides against the Christian army with the rapidity
of lightning. The earth trembled under their horses' feet. The din
of their clarions, cymbals, and trumpets, was so prodigious, that
the loudest thunder could not have been heard. Men were in their
ranks, whose sole business it was to raise frightful cries, and
excite the courage of the Mussulman warriors by chanting their
national songs. Thus stimulated, their battalions precipitated
themselves upon the Crusaders, who were speedily assailed at once
in front, both flanks, and rear--enveloped by enemies, say the old
chronicles, as the eyelashes surround the EYE. After their arrows
and javelins were discharged, the Saracens commenced the attack
with the lance, the mace, and the sword. An English chronicle aptly
compares them to smiths, and the Crusaders to the anvil on which
their hammers rang. Meanwhile, the Franks did not for a moment
intermit their march towards Assur, and the Saracens, who sought in
vain to shake their steady ranks, called them 'a nation of iron.'

"Richard had renewed his orders for the whole army to remain on the
defensive, and not to advance against the enemy till six trumpets
sounded--two at the head of the army, two in the centre, two in the
rear. This signal was impatiently expected; the barons and knights
could bear every thing except the disgrace of remaining thus
inactive in presence of an enemy, who without intermission renewed
his attacks. Those of the rear-guard had already began to reproach
Richard with having forgotten them; they invoked in despair the
protection of St George, the patron of the brave. At last some of
the bravest and most ardent, forgetting the orders they had
received, precipitated themselves on the Saracens. This example
soon drew the Hospitallers after them; the contagion spread from
rank to rank, and soon the whole Christian army was at blows with
the enemy, and the scene of carnage extended from the sea to the
mountains. Richard showed himself wherever the Christians had need
of his succour; his presence was always followed by the flight of
the Turks. So confused was the _melee_, so thick the dust, so
vehement the fight, that many of the Crusaders fell by the blows of
their comrades, who mistook them for enemies. Torn standards,
shivered lances, broken swords, strewed the plain. Such of the
combatants as had lost their arms, hid themselves in the bushes, or
ascended trees; some, overcome with terror, fled towards the sea,
and from the top of the rocks precipitated themselves into its
waves.

"Every instant the combat became warmer and more bloody. The whole
Christian army was now engaged in the battle, and returning on its
steps, the chariot which bore the royal standard was in the
thickest of the fight. Ere long, however, the Saracens were unable
to sustain the impetuous assault of the Franks. Boha-Eddin, an
eyewitness, having quitted the Mussulman centre, which was put to
the route, fled to the tent of the Sultan, where he found the
Sultan, who was attended only by seventeen Mamelukes. While their
enemies fled in this manner, the Christians, hardly able to credit
their victory, remained motionless on the field which they had
conquered. They were engaged in tending their wounded, and in
collecting the arms which lay scattered over the field of battle,
when all at once twenty thousand Saracens, whom their chief had
rallied, fell upon them. The Crusaders overwhelmed with heat and
fatigue, and not expecting to be attacked, showed at first a
surprise which bordered on fear. Taki-Eddin, nephew of Saladin, at
the head of the bravest enemies, led on the Turks, at the head of
whom were seen the Mameluke guard of Saladin, distinguished by
their yellow banner. So vehement was their onset, that it ploughed
deep into the Crusaders' ranks; and they had need of the presence
and example of Richard, before whom no Saracen could stand, and
whom the contemporary chronicles compare to a reaper cutting down
corn. At the moment when the Christians, again victorious, resumed
their march towards Assur, the Mussulmans, impelled by despair,
again attacked their rear-guard. Richard, who had twice repulsed
the enemy, no sooner heard the outcry, than, followed only by
fifteen knights, he flew to the scene of combat, shouting aloud the
war-cry of the Christians--'God protect the Holy Sepulchre!' The
bravest followed their king; the Mussulmans were dispersed at the
first shock, and their army, then a third time vanquished, would
have been totally destroyed, had not night and the forest of Assur
sheltered them from the pursuit of the enemy. As it was they lost
eight thousand men, including thirty-two of their bravest emirs
slain; while the victory did not cost the Christians a thousand
men. Among the wounded was Richard himself, who was slightly hurt
in the breast. But the victory was prodigious, and if duly improved
by the Crusaders, without dissension or defection, would have
decided the fate of Palestine and of that Crusade."--_Hist. des
Croisades_, i. 468-471.

These extracts convey a fair idea of M. Michaud's power of description and merits as an historian. He cannot be said to be one of the highest class. He does not belong to the school who aim at elevating history to its loftiest pitch. The antiquarian school never have, and never will do so. The minute observation and prodigious attentions to detail which their habits produce, are inconsistent with extensive vision. The same eye scarcely ever unites the powers of the microscope and the telescope. He has neither the philosophic mind of Guizot, nor the pictorial eye of Gibbon; he neither takes a luminous glance like Robertson, nor sums up the argument of a generation in a page, like Hume. We shall look in vain in his pages for a few words diving into the human heart such as we find in Tacitus, or splendid pictures riveting every future age as in Livy. He is rather an able and animated abridger of the chronicles, than an historian. But in that subordinate, though very important department, his merits are of a very high order. He is faithful, accurate, and learned; he has given a succinct and yet interesting detail, founded entirely on original authority, of the wars of two centuries. Above all, his principles are elevated, his feelings warm, his mind lofty and generous. He is worthy of his subject, for he is entirely free of the grovelling utilitarian spirit, the disgrace and the bane of the age in which he writes. His talents for description are very considerable, as will be apparent from the account we hope to give in a future Number of his highly interesting travels to the principal scenes of the Crusades. It is only to be regretted, that in his anxiety to preserve the fidelity of his narrative, he has so frequently restrained it, and given us rather descriptions of scenes taken from the old chronicles, than such as his own observations and taste could have supplied. But still his work supplies a great desideratum in European literature; and if not the best that could be conceived, is by much the best that has yet appeared on the subject. And it is written in the spirit of the age so finely expressed in the title given by one of the most interesting of the ancient chroniclers to his work--

"Gesta DEI per Francos."[7]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 5: Michaud: _Histoire des Croisades_.]

[Footnote 6: Porson.]

[Footnote 7: "The doings of God by the Franks."]

THE BURDEN OF SION.

BY DELTA.

[This Ode, composed by Judas Hallevy bar Samuel, a Spanish Rabbi of
the twelfth century, is said to be still recited every year, during
the Fast observed in commemoration of the Destruction of Jerusalem.
The versifier has been much indebted to a very literal translation,
from the original necessarily obscure Spanish of the Rabbi, into
excellent French, by Joseph Mainzer, Esq., a gentleman to whom the
sacred music of this country is under great and manifold
obligations.]

Captive and sorrow-pale, the mournful lot
Say, hast thou, Sion, of thy sons forgot?
Hast thou forgot the innocent flocks, that lay
Prone on thy sunny banks, or frisk'd in play
Amid thy lilied meadows? Wilt thou turn
A deaf ear to thy supplicants, who mourn
Downcast in earth's far corners? Unto thee
Wildly they turn in their lone misery;
For wheresoe'er they rush in their despair,
The pitiless Destroyer still is there!

Eden of earth! despisest thou the sighs
From the slave's heart that rise
To thee, amid his fetters--who can dare
Still to hope on in his forlorn despair--
Whose morn and evening tears for thee fall down
Like dews on Hermon's thirsty crown--
And who would blessed be in all his ills,
Wander'd his feet once more even on thy desert hills!

But not is Hope's fair star extinguish'd quite
In rayless night;
And, Sion, as thy fortunes I bewail,
Harsh sounds my voice, as of the birds that sail
The stormy dark. Let but that star be mine,
And through the tempest tremulously shine;
So, when the brooding clouds have overpast,
Rejoicing, with the dawn, may come at last,
Even as an instrument, whose lively sound
Makes the warm blood in every bosom bound,
And whose triumphant notes are given
Freely in songs of thanksgiving to Heaven!

Bethel!--and as thy name's name leaves my tongue,
The very life-drops from my heart are wrung!
Thy sanctuary--where, veil'd in mystic light,
For ever burning, and for ever bright,
Jehovah's awful majesty reposed,
And shone for aye heaven's azure gates unclosed--
Thy sanctuary!--where from the Eternal flow'd
The radiance of his glory, in whose power
Noonday itself like very darkness show'd,
And stars were none at midnight's darkest hour--
Thy sanctuary! oh _there!_ oh _there!_ that I
Might breathe my troubled soul out, sigh on sigh,
_There_, where thine effluence, Mighty God, was pour'd
On thine Elect, who, kneeling round, adored!

Stand off! the place is holy. Know ye not,
Of potter's clay the children, that this spot
Is sacred to the Everlasting One--
The Ruler over heaven, and over earth?
Stand off, degraded slaves, devoid of worth!
Nor dare profane again, as ye have done,
This spot--'tis holy ground--profane it not!

Oh, might I cleave, with raptured wing, the waste
Of the wide air, then, where in splendour lie
Thy ruins, would my sorrowing spirit haste,
Forth to outpour its flood of misery!--
There, where thy grandeur owns a dire eclipse,
Down to the dust as sank each trembling knee,
Unto thy dear soil should I lay my face,
Thy very stones in rapture to embrace,
And to thy smouldering ashes glue my lips!

And how, O Sion! how should I but weep,
As on our fathers' tombs I fondly gazed,
Or, wistfully, as turn'd mine eye
To thee, in all thy desolate majesty,
Hebron, where rests the mighty one in sleep,
And high his pillar of renown was raised!
There--in thine atmosphere--'twere blessedness
To breathe a purer ether. Oh! to me
Thy dust than perfumes dearer far should be,
And down thy rocks the torrent streams should roam
With honey in their foam!

Oh, sweet it were--unutterably sweet--
Even though with garments rent, and bleeding feet,
To wander over the deserted places
Where once thy princely palaces arose,
And 'mid the weeds and wild-flowers mark the traces,
Where the ground, yawning in its earthquake throes,
The ark of covenant and the cherubim
Received, lest stranger hands, that reek'd the while
With blood of thine own children, should defile
Its heaven-resplendent glory, and bedim:
And my dishevell'd locks, in my despair,
All madly should I tear;
And as I cursed the day that dawn'd in heaven--
The day that saw thee to destruction given,
Even from my very frenzy should I wring
A rough, rude comfort in my sorrowing.

What other comfort can I know? Behold,
Wild dogs and wolves with hungry snarl contend
Over thy prostrate mighty ones; and rend
Their quivering limbs, ere life hath lost its hold.
I sicken at the dawn of morn--the noon
Brings horror with its brightness; for the day
Shows but the desolate plain,
Where, feasting on the slain,
(Thy princes,) flap and scream the birds of prey!

Chalice from Marah's bitterest spring distill'd!
Goblet of woe, to overflowing fill'd!
Who, quaffing thee, can live? Give me but breath--
A single breath--that I once more may see
The dreary vision. I will think of thee,
Colla, once more--of Cliba will I think--
Then fearlessly and freely drink
The cup--the fatal cup--whose dregs are death.

Awake thee, Queen of Cities, from thy slumber--
Awake thee, Sion! Let the quenchless love
Of worshippers, a number beyond number,
A fountain of rejoicing prove.
Thy sorrows they bewail, thy wounds they see,
And feel them as their own, and mourn for thee!
Oh, what were life to them, did Hope not hold
Her mirror, to unfold
That glorious future to their raptured sight,
When a new morn shall chase away this night!
Even from the dungeon gloom,
Their yearning hearts, as from a tomb,
Are crying out--are crying out to thee;
And, as they bow the knee
Before the Eternal, every one awaits
The answer of his prayer, with face toward thy gates.

Earth's most celestial region! Babylon
The mighty, the magnificent, to thee,
With all the trappings of her bravery on,
Seems but a river to the engulfing sea.
What are its oracles but lies? 'Tis given
Thy prophets only to converse with Heaven--
The hidden to reveal, the dark to scan,
And be the interpreters of God to man.
The idols dumb that erring men invoke,
Themselves are vanities, their power is smoke:
But, while the heathen's pomp is insecure,
Is transient, thine, O Sion! shall endure;
For in thy temples, God, the only Lord,
Hath been, and still delights to be, adored.

Blessed are they, who, by their love,
Themselves thy veritable children prove!
Yea! blessed they who cleave
To thee, with faithful hearts, and scorn to leave!
Come shall the day--and come it may full soon--
When thou, more splendid than the moon,
Shalt rise; and, triumphing o'er night,
Turn ebon darkness into silver light:
The glory of thy brightness shall be shed
Around each faithful head:
Rising from thy long trance, earth shall behold
Thee loftier yet, and lovelier than of old;
And portion'd with the saints in bliss shall be
All who, through weal and woe, were ever true to thee!

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 7: "The doings of God by the Franks."]

RHYMED HEXAMETERS AND PENTAMETERS.

[This species of versification, consisting of rhymed Hexameter and
Pentameter lines, we do not remember to have seen before attempted,
and we now offer it as a literary curiosity. It is, perhaps,
subject to the objection that applies against painted statuary, as
combining embellishments of a character not altogether consistent,
and not adding to the beauty of the result. But we are not without
a feeling that some additional pleasure is thus conveyed to the
mind. The experiment, of course, is scarcely possible, except in
quatrains of an epigrammatic structure. But the examples are
selected from the most miscellaneous sources that readily
occurred.]

HIS OWN EPITAPH.

BY ENNIUS.

Adspicite, O cives! senis Ennii imagini' formam;
Hic vostrum panxit maxuma facta patrum.
Nemo me lacrumis decoret, nec funera fletu
Faxit. Cur? volito vivu' per ora virum.

See, O citizens! here old Ennius's image presented,
Who to your forefathers' deeds gave their own glory again.
Honour me not with your tears; by none let my death be lamented:
Why? still in every mouth living I flit among men.

ON GELLIA.

FROM MARTIAL.

Amissum non flet, cum sola est, Gellia patrem;
Si quis adest, jussae prosiliunt lacrymae.
Non dolet hic, quisquis laudari, Gellia, quaerit;
Ille dolet vere qui sine teste dolet.

Gellia, when she's alone, doesn't weep the death of her father;
But, if a visitor comes, tears at her bidding appear.
Gellia, they do not mourn who are melted by vanity rather;
They are true mourners who weep when not a witness is near.

TO CECILIANUS.

FROM MARTIAL.

Nullus in urbe fuit tota qui tangere vellet
Uxorem gratis, Caeciliane, tuam,
Dum licuit: sed nunc positis custodibus ingens
Agmen amatorum est. Ingeniosus homo es.

Nobody, Cecilianus, e'er thought of your wife (she's so ugly!)
When she could gratis be seen, when she was easily won.
Now that, with locks and with guards you pretend to secure her so snugly,
Crowds of gallants flock around: faith, it is cleverly done.

ON A BEE INCLOSED IN AMBER.

FROM MARTIAL.

Et latet et lucet Phaethontide condita gutta,
Ut videatur apis nectare clausa suo.
Dignum tantorum pretium tulit illa laborum:
Credibile est ipsam sic voluisse mori.

Lucid the bee lurks here, bright amber her beauty inclosing!
As in the nectar she made seems the fair insect to lie.
Worthy reward she has gain'd, after such busy labours reposing:
Well we might deem that herself thus would be willing to die.

THE SURVEYOR'S TALE.

Good resolutions are, like glass, manufactured for the purpose of being broken. Immediately after my marriage, I registered in the books of my conscience a very considerable vow against any future interference with the railway system. The Biggleswades had turned out so well, that I thought it unsafe to pursue my fortune any further. The incipient gambler, I am told, always gains, through the assistance of a nameless personage who shuffles the cards a great deal oftener than many materialists suppose. Nevertheless, there is always a day of retribution.

I wish I had adhered to my original orthodox determination. During the whole period of the honeymoon, I remained blameless as to shares. Uncle Scripio relinquished the suggestion of "dodges" in despair. He was, as usual, brimful of projects, making money by the thousand, and bearing or bulling, as the case might be, with genuine American enthusiasm. I believe he thought me a fool for remaining so easily contented, and very soon manifested no further symptom of his consciousness of my existence than by transmitting me regularly a copy of the Railway Gazette, with some mysterious pencil-markings at the list of prices, which I presume he intended for my guidance in the case of an alteration of sentiment. For some time I never looked at them. When a man is newly married, he has a great many other things to think of. Mary had a decided genius for furniture, and used to pester me perpetually with damask curtains, carved-wood chairs, gilt lamps, and a whole wilderness of household paraphernalia, about which, in common courtesy, I was compelled to affect an interest. Now, to a man like myself, who never had any fancy for upholstery, this sort of thing is very tiresome. My wife might have furnished the drawingroom after the pattern of the Cham of Tartary's for any thing I cared, provided she had left me in due ignorance of the proceeding; but I was not allowed to escape so comfortably. I looked over carpet patterns and fancy papers innumerable, mused upon all manner of bell-pulls, and gave judgment between conflicting rugs, until the task became such a nuisance, that I was fain to take refuge in the sacred sanctuary of my club. Young women should be particularly careful against boring an accommodating spouse. Of all places in the world, a club is the surest focus of speculation. You meet gentlemen there who hold stock in every line in the kingdom--directors, committeemen, and even crack engineers. I defy you to continue an altogether uninterested auditor of the fascinating intelligence of Mammon. In less than a week my vow was broken, and a new _liaison_ commenced with the treacherous Delilah of scrip. As nine-tenths of my readers have been playing the same identical game towards the close of last year, it would be idle to recount to them the various vicissitudes of the market. It is a sore subject with most of us--a regular undeniable case of "_infandum regina_." The only comfort is, that our fingers were simultaneously burned.