Chapter III: Part 3

The first shock was impetuous and terrible. The Christians, indignant at the resistance they had met with the day before, fought with fury. The besieged, who had learnt the arrival of an Egyptian army, were animated by the hopes of victory; formidable machines covered their ramparts. Javelins were heard hissing on all sides; stones and large timbers, launched by the Christians and the infidels, met in the air with a fearful crash, and fell upon the assailants. From the height of their towers the Mussulmans incessantly hurled blazing torches and fire-pots. The wooden fortresses of the Christians approached the walls amidst a conflagration which seemed spreading in all directions. The infidels directed most of their efforts against the tower of Godfrey, upon which glittered a cross of gold, the sight of which provoked their fury and their insults. The Duke of Lorraine had seen one of his esquires and several of his soldiers fall by his side; himself a mark for all the arrows and darts of the enemy, he fought on amidst the dead and the wounded, never ceasing to shout encouragement to his companions in arms. The Count of Toulouse, who attacked the city on the south side, opposed all his machines to those of the Mussulmans; he had to contend with the Emir of Jerusalem, who animated his troops by his words, and showed himself upon the walls, surrounded by the _élite_ of the Egyptian soldiery. Towards the north, Tancred and the two Roberts appeared at the head of their battalions. Motionless upon their rolling fortress, they looked impatient to be wielding lance and sword. Already their rams had, upon several points, shaken the wall, behind which the Saracens closed their ranks, and presented themselves as a last rampart to the attack of the Crusaders.

In the midst of the combat, say the historians, two female magicians appeared upon the ramparts of the city, appealing to the elements and the powers of hell. They were not able to avoid the death they invoked upon the Christians, and fell beneath a shower of arrows and stones. Two Egyptian emissaries, who had come from Ascalon to exhort the besieged to defend themselves, were surprised by the Crusaders as they were seeking to obtain entrance into the city. One of them fell, covered with wounds; the other, after having revealed the secret of his mission, was launched, by means of a machine, on to the ramparts where the Saracens were fighting.

The combat had lasted half the day, without the Crusaders being able to entertain any hope of penetrating into the place. All their machines were on fire; they wanted water, but more particularly vinegar, which alone had the power to extinguish the kind of fire launched at them by the besieged. In vain the bravest exposed themselves to the greatest dangers, to prevent the destruction of all the wooden machines and the rams; they fell, buried under the ruins, and the raging flames devoured even their bucklers and their vestments. Many of the most intrepid warriors had found death at the foot of the ramparts; a great number of those mounted on the towers had been placed _hors de combat_; others, covered with sweat and dust, smothered with heat, and staggering under the weight of their armour, began to lose courage. The Saracens, who perceived this, uttered loud cries of joy. In their blasphemies, they reproaching the Christians with adoring a God who was not able to help them. The assailants deplored their lot, and, believing themselves abandoned by Christ, remained motionless on the field of battle.

But the combat was about to change its character. All at once the Crusaders beheld, on the Mount of Olives, a horseman, waving his buckler, and giving the Christian army the signal to enter the city. Godfrey and Raymond, who perceived him first, and at the same moment, cried out that St. George was come to the succour of the Christians. The tumult of the fight allowed of neither reflection nor examination, and the sight of the celestial horseman fired the besiegers with fresh ardour. They returned to the charge; even the women, the children, and the sick crowded into the _mêlée_, bringing water, food, and arms, and uniting their efforts with those of the soldiers to get the rolling towers, the dread of the enemy, nearer to the walls. That of Godfrey advanced, amidst a terrible discharge of stones, arrows, and Greek fire, and let fall its drawbridge upon the wall. Fiery darts flew at one and the same time against the machines of the besiegers, and against the sacks of straw and hay, and the bales of wool which covered the inner walls of the city. The wind kindled the fires, and drove the flames full upon the Saracens, who, enveloped in fire and smoke, recoiled at the aspect of the lances and swords of the Christians. Godfrey, preceded by the two brothers Lethalde and Engelbert of Tournay, and followed by Baldwin du Bourg, Eustache, Raimbaud, Créton, Guicher, Bernard de St. Vallier, and Amenjeu d’Albret, broke through the enemy, pursued them, and rushed with them into Jerusalem. The brave men who had fought upon the platform of the tower with their intrepid leader, followed them into the streets, and massacred all they met with on their passage.

At the same time a report was spread in the Christian army, that the holy pontiff Adhemar, and several Crusaders who had died during the siege, had appeared at the head of the assailants, and unfurled the banners of the Cross upon the towers of Jerusalem. Tancred and the two Roberts, animated by this account, made fresh efforts, and threw themselves into the place, accompanied by Hugh de St. Paul, Gerard de Roussillon, Louis de Mousson, Conon and Lambert de Montargis, and Gaston de Béarn. A crowd of heroes follow them closely; some enter by a half-open breach, others scale the walls with ladders, many spring from the wooden towers. The Mussulmans fly on all sides, and Jerusalem resounds with the victory-cry of the Crusaders, _God wills it! God wills it!_ The companions of Godfrey and Tancred hew down the gate of St. Stephen with axes, and the city lies open to the crowd of Crusaders, who press upon each other, and dispute the honour of inflicting the last blow upon the infidels.

Raymond alone met with some resistance. Made aware of the victory of the Christians by the cries of the Mussulmans, the clash of arms, and the tumult from the interior of the city, he roused the courage of his soldiers. These brave men, impatient to join their companions, abandoned their tower and their machines, which they could no longer move. They planted their ladders, and sticking their swords into the walls as steps, they mounted to the ramparts; they were preceded by the Count de Toulouse, Raymond Pelet, the Bishop of Bira, the Count de Die, and William de Sabran. Nothing could now stop them; they dispersed the Saracens, who, with their Emir, flew for refuge to the fortress of David; and soon all the Crusaders in Jerusalem met together, embraced, wept with joy, and gave all their attention to securing their victory.

In the mean time despair had for a moment rallied the bravest of the Saracens; they fell with impetuosity upon the Christians, who were advancing in disorder, bent upon pillage. The latter were beginning to give way before the enemy they had conquered, when Evrard de Preysaie, whose bravery Ralph of Caën has celebrated, revived the courage of his companions, placed himself at their head, and once more carried terror among the infidels. From that moment the Crusaders had no longer an enemy to contend with.

History has remarked that the Christians entered Jerusalem on a Friday, at three o’clock in the afternoon, which was the day and the hour at which Christ expired for the salvation of mankind. This memorable epoch ought to have recalled to their hearts a feeling of mercy; but, irritated by the menaces and long insults of the Saracens, exasperated by the various ills they had undergone during the siege, and the resistance they had met with, even in the city, they filled the Jerusalem they came to deliver, and which they considered as their future country, with blood and mourning. The carnage was soon general, such as escaped the swords of the soldiers of Godfrey and Tancred, becoming the victims of the Provençals, equally thirsty for blood. The Saracens were indiscriminately massacred in the streets and in their houses; Jerusalem had no asylum for the vanquished; some tried to escape death by precipitating themselves from the ramparts, whilst others ran in crowds to seek refuge in the palaces, the towers, and particularly in the mosques, but nowhere could they escape the murderous pursuit of the Christians.

The Crusaders, masters of the Mosque of Omar, in which the Saracens had defended themselves for a short time, repeated the scenes of carnage which had followed and sullied the conquest of Titus. Foot and horse entered the sacred structure _pêle-mêle_ with the vanquished. Amidst the most horrible tumult the place re-echoes with cries and groans of death; the conquerors trampled upon heaps of slain in pursuit of such as endeavoured to escape. Raymond d’Agiles, an eye-witness, says that beneath the portico and in the front court of the Temple the blood ascended to the knees and the bridles of the horses. To paint this terrible spectacle, which war presented twice in the same place, it will suffice to say, in the words of Josephus, that the number of the slain exceeded by far that of the soldiers who immolated them to their vengeance, and that the echoes of the mountains neighbouring the Jordan repeated the groans and cries that issued from the Temple.

The imagination turns with disgust from these horrible pictures, and can scarcely, amid the carnage, contemplate the Christians of Jerusalem whose chains the Crusaders had broken. They crowded from all parts to meet the conquerors; they shared with them the provisions they had been able to keep from the Saracens; and all together were thankful to the God who had crowned the arms of the Christians with such a triumph. The hermit Peter, who, five years before, had promised to arm the West for the deliverance of the Christians of Jerusalem, must have experienced inexpressible delight in witnessing their gratitude and joy. They appeared to consider no one among the Crusaders but him; they recalled his words and his promises; it was to him they addressed their songs of praise; it was him they proclaimed their liberator; they related to him all they had suffered during his absence; they could scarcely believe that he stood before them; and, in their enthusiasm, they expressed astonishment that God should have employed one man alone to rouse so many nations and effect such prodigies.

The sight of the brethren they had delivered, no doubt, reminded the pilgrims that they had come for the purpose of worshipping the tomb of Jesus Christ. The pious Godfrey, who had abstained from slaughter as soon as the victory was certain, quitted his companions, and, followed by two attendants, repaired, without arms and barefoot, to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. The news of this purpose of devotion soon spread through the Christian army, and immediately all fury, all vengeance, were appeased; the Crusaders, stripping off their blood-stained vestments, made Jerusalem resound with their sobs and groans, and, led by the clergy, they marched in a body, barefoot and with uncovered heads, towards the Church of the Resurrection.

When the Christian army was thus assembled upon Calvary, night began to fall; silence reigned in the public places and upon the ramparts; nothing was to be heard in the Holy City but canticles of penitence, and the words of Isaiah, “_You who love Jerusalem, rejoice you with her!_” The Crusaders evinced so much devotion that, according to the remark of a modern historian, it might be thought that these men who had just taken a city by assault, and committed a horrible carnage, really came from a long retreat and a profound meditation upon religious mysteries. These inexplicable contrasts are often remarked in the history of the Crusades. Some writers have fancied they found in them a pretext for an accusation against the Christian religion; others, not less blind or less prejudiced, attempt to excuse the deplorable excesses of fanaticism: the impartial historian is satisfied with relating them, and sighs in silence over the weaknesses of human nature.

Besides, this pious fervour was soon burnt out, and only suspended the scenes of carnage for awhile; policy and cupidity soon led to fresh horrors, and fanaticism most ably seconded them. All whom humanity or lassitude of carnage had spared, or even some who had been saved in the hopes of a rich ransom, were slaughtered. The Saracens were forced to precipitate themselves from the tops of their houses; they perished by thousands in the flames; they were dragged into the public places, and immolated upon the heaps of slain which already encumbered them. Neither the tears of women, the cries of infants, nor the aspect of the Holy Places, where Christ had pardoned his executioners, had power to soften the irritated conquerors. The carnage was so great, that heaps of bodies were not only seen in the palaces, the temples, and the streets, but were found in the most secluded and solitary places. Such was the delirium of vengeance, cupidity, and fanaticism, that the scenes did not disgust beholders who might be supposed to be impartial: contemporary historians describe them without offering a word of excuse, and throughout their recitals of revolting events, a single expression of horror or pity does not escape them. We, however, cannot pursue the frightful details further. The carnage lasted for a full week, and the Oriental and Latin historians agree in stating that the numbers of Mussulmans slain in Jerusalem amounted to more than seventy thousand! The Jews experienced no more mercy than the Saracens: they took refuge in their synagogue; the Crusaders set fire to the building, and all perished in the flames.

Such was the ever-memorable capture of Jerusalem by the Crusaders. The reflections it gives rise to are too numerous, too complicated, and too interesting to be ventured upon in such a work as this; we must be satisfied with having given principally, in the words of an elegant historian, an account of the siege. We perceive the same weapons, the same machines, the same natural objects of offence and defence, that are to be found in other sieges. The terraces of Titus became the rolling towers of the Middle Ages; but the ancient instruments, the ram, catapultæ, and the cross-bow, were still in full force. Although there was a body of English in the army, we hear nothing of their national weapon, the long-bow. Jerusalem, from its situation, was wanting in a moat or ditch; if it had had a broad one, it would have very much increased the difficulties of the besiegers. Objects in themselves apparently unconnected with the art of war, seem to have been freely made use of; boiling oil, melted pitch, and huge beams were had recourse to by the besieged. We likewise hear of the Greek fire, but there are not so many miracles attached to its effects as in some sieges. The Asiatics despised no natural means of defence that offered themselves; in one of the minor sieges of the Crusades, they adopted a very ingenious and effective mode of annoyance. The country round was famous for the production of honey, and the citizens had vast apiaries. When the ladders were planted, and the Crusaders commenced the assault, the inhabitants brought all the bee-hives they could collect, and precipitated them and their swarms of little armed warriors amidst the assailing host. The effect may be more easily imagined than described.

ELEVENTH SIEGE, A.D. 1187.

The siege we have last described gave birth to one of the shortest-lived and most troublous monarchies that is to be found in the pages of history. One or two good monarchs are met with in its short annals of eighty-eight years, the rest were either wicked or imbecile, and only hastened the fall which naturally attended its peculiar construction and existence. The state of Jerusalem when the errors of its rulers brought upon it the vengeance of Saladin--perhaps the greatest man that ever figured in the East,--was disgraceful beyond description; the two great principles which really drew the Crusaders from their homes,--_military glory and cupidity_, during the few years of this kingdom upon which all the world was supposed to have its attention fixed,--were in constant operation to precipitate its downfall. The stormy passions, inseparable from a feudal government, had weakened all the resources of the nominal government. The king was a shadow, totally without power: he could neither avenge his own injuries, nor those of either the state or religion. Want of bravery was the only crime he could punish: because cowards found no patrons amongst the barons: they were useless to them, and they were heedless of their fate. The king was totally without the first prerogatives of royalty; he had not the power to support justice or make the laws of nations respected: the kingdom was covered with strong castles, whose commanders scarcely acknowledged any fealty to the king; the summits of the mountains were crowned with threatening towers, and the caverns at their feet even were converted into fortresses, in which the barons commanded as masters, and made peace or war at their will. The military orders, given up to profligacy, luxury, and thirst of wealth, were divided among themselves, and frequently shed blood in quarrels that were most fatal to the Christians. Discord prevailed between the clergy of Jerusalem and the knights of the Temple and of St. John; the military orders were not subject to ecclesiastical jurisdiction, and the clergy, accustomed to give laws to princes, could not endure the haughty independence of these warriors. The Hospitallers built houses in front of the Church of the Resurrection, for the purpose of annoying the clergy, and even went so far as to amuse themselves with shooting arrows at the holy fathers as they entered the church.

The inhabitants and the Crusaders seldom agreed long together; booty being the object of every new-comer, the people were his readiest victims, under the pretence of defending them against the infidels. The maritime cities were divided into ruinous national parties; the barons and knights were weakened by idleness and debauchery, and could only be roused to exertion by the hopes of plunder and booty: the love of glory and the cause of Christ were forgotten. They no longer asked what enemy they were to attack, what ally they were to defend, but what province was to be given up to pillage. Some of the leaders, even in the most perilous circumstances of the state, abandoned their standards, and sold their inaction or their neutrality. Others went so far as even to plunder the Christian provinces, or sell their active services to the Saracens.

Religion had lost all hold upon men’s minds, and principally by the immorality of the churchmen. It was said by a respectable historian, that there was scarcely one chaste woman in Jerusalem. The leaders of the Christian colonies and the heads of the church set the example of licentiousness; from the throne to the lowest grade of society, all were vitiated, but particularly those who, from their rank or their holy functions, ought to have set an example. A people so degenerated could not be expected to save the kingdom, when attacked by such a man as Saladin.

To repeat the causes which had exasperated this powerful prince would trench too much upon the province of general history; suffice it to say, that the conduct of the Christians was a tissue of weakness, perfidy, and occasional insane rashness; they were under no strong-handed or prudent government, they showed themselves subject to no moral restraints.

Politic, brave, cool, but severe when provoked, Saladin was the last man the Christians should have made an enemy of. Irritated by their total want of good faith, and their perpetual invasions of his territory when they thought he was distant or engaged with other objects, he at length determined to subdue them, and that effectually, by taking their capital city.

After gaining the sanguinary battle of Tiberias, and taking every city in Palestine before which he thought it worth his while to sit down, the victorious Sultan advanced towards Jerusalem. The moment appeared to be come at which this religiously important city must fall again into the power of the Mussulmans, and they implored Mahomet to grant this crowning triumph to the arms of Saladin. After having taken Gaza, and several fortresses in the neigbourhood, the Sultan collected his whole army and surrounded the holy city. A queen in tears, the children of the warriors killed at the battle of Tiberias, a few fugitive soldiers, and some pilgrims recently arrived from the West, were the only guardians of the Holy Sepulchre. A great number of Christian families who had left the devastated provinces of Palestine filled the city; but, far from bringing it any assistance, they only served to augment the trouble and consternation.

When close to the walls, Saladin summoned before him the principal inhabitants, and said to them: “I know, as well as you do, that Jerusalem is the house of God, and I do not wish to profane its sanctity by the effusion of blood: abandon its walls, and I will give up to you a part of my treasures; I will give you as much land as you can cultivate.” “We cannot,” they replied, “cede willingly a city in which our God died; still less can we yield it to you.” Saladin, irritated by their refusal, swore upon the Koran to level the towers and ramparts of Jerusalem, and to avenge the death of the Mussulmans slaughtered by the companions and the soldiers of Godfrey de Bouillon.

At the moment Saladin was speaking to the deputies, an eclipse of the sun all at once left the heavens in darkness, and appeared to be a sinister presage for the Christians. Nevertheless, the inhabitants, encouraged by the clergy, prepared to defend the city. They had chosen as leader Baleau d’Ibelin, who had been present at the battle of Tiberias. This old warrior, whose experience and virtue inspired confidence and respect, immediately set about repairing the fortifications and disciplining the new defenders of Jerusalem. As he wanted officers, he created fifty knights from among the citizens; all the Christians in a condition to fight took up arms, and swore to shed their blood in the cause of Christ. There was no money to defray the expenses of the war, but all means of obtaining it appeared legitimate amidst the danger which threatened the city of God. The churches were spoiled, and the people, terrified at the approach of Saladin, beheld without scandal the precious metal which covered the chapel of the Holy Sepulchre converted into coin.

The standards of Saladin were speedily seen floating over the heights of Emäus; the Mussulman army pitched its camp on the same places as were occupied by the tents of Godfrey, Tancred, and the two Roberts, when they besieged the Holy City. The Christians at first opposed a warm resistance, and made frequent sorties, in which they held in one hand the lance or the sword, and in the other a shovel, with which they threw dust in the eyes of the Saracens. A great number of citizens received the palm of martyrdom, and ascended, say the historians, into the celestial Jerusalem. Many Mussulmans fell under the swords of their adversaries, and went to inhabit the _banks of the river which waters Paradise_.

Saladin, after being encamped some days on the west of the city, directed his attacks on the north, and mined the ramparts which extend from the gate of Josophat to that of St. Stephen. The bravest of the citizens made a sortie, and endeavoured to destroy the machines and works of the besiegers, encouraging each other by repeating the words of Scripture,--“_A single one of us will put ten infidels to flight; and ten will scatter ten thousand._” They performed prodigies of valour, but they could not retard the progress of the siege; repulsed by the Saracens, they slowly retired to the city, whither their return brought discouragement and terror. The towers and ramparts seemed ready to fall at the first assault. Despair then seized upon the inhabitants, who saw before them no defence but tears and prayers. Instead of flying to arms, the soldiers ran to the churches; the promise of a hundred pieces of gold could not detain them one night on the threatened ramparts. The clergy made processions through the streets, to invoke the assistance of Heaven; some beat their breasts with stones, others lacerated their bodies with scourges, crying _Mercy! mercy!_ Nothing was heard in Jerusalem but groans; “_but our Sir Jesus Christ_,” says an old chronicle, “_would not listen to them; for the luxury and impurity which were in the city did not allow orisons or prayers to mount up before God_.” The despair of the inhabitants inspired them with a thousand contrary projects at once: sometimes they formed the resolution of leaving the city, and seeking a glorious death in the ranks of the infidels: at others, they placed all their hopes in the clemency of Saladin.

Amongst the general trouble and agitation, the Greek and Syrian Christians, and the Melchite Christians, endured with much pain the authority of the Latins, and laid to their charge all the misfortunes of the war. A plot was discovered, in which they had resolved to deliver Jerusalem to the Mussulmans: this discovery increased the general alarm, and determined the principal men of the city to ask a capitulation of Saladin. Accompanied by Baleau d’Ibelin, they went to propose to the Sultan to give up the place upon the conditions he had offered before the siege. But Saladin remembered that he had sworn to take the city by assault, and to put all the inhabitants to the sword. He sent back the deputies without giving them any hope; Baleau d’Ibelin returned to him several times, renewed his supplications and prayers, but found Saladin still inflexible. One day, when the Christian deputies were conjuring him warmly to accept their capitulation, he turned towards the place, and, pointing to the standards which floated over the walls,--“How can you ask me,” said he, “to grant conditions to a captured city?” Notwithstanding this, the Saracens were repulsed; and Baleau, animated by the advantage obtained by the Christians, replied to the Sultan,--“You see, Jerusalem does not want for defences; if we cannot obtain any mercy from you, we will adopt a terrible resolution, and the excess of our despair shall fill you with fright. Those temples and palaces you are so anxious to conquer shall be destroyed, and all our wealth, which excites the ambition and cupidity of the Saracens, shall be given up to the flames. We will lay level the mosque of Omar, and the mysterious stone of Jacob, the object of your worship, shall be broken and ground into dust. Jerusalem contains five thousand Mussulman prisoners: they shall perish by the sword. We will, with our own hands, slaughter our women and our children, and thus spare them the disgrace of becoming your slaves. When the Holy City shall be nothing but a mass of ruins--one vast tomb, we will leave it, followed by the angry manes of our friends and neighbours; we will leave it, fire and sword in hand; not one of us will gain Paradise, without having sent to Hell ten Mussulmans. We shall thus obtain a glorious death, and shall yield our last breath in calling down upon you the maledictions of the God of Jerusalem.”

This speech produced a great effect upon Saladin, and he invited the deputies to return next day. He consulted the doctors of the law, and they decided that he might accept the proposed capitulation without violating his oath. The conditions were signed on the morrow, in the tent of the Sultan; thus Jerusalem again fell under the domination of the Infidels, after having been eighty-four years in the hands of the Christians. The Latin historians had remarked that the Crusaders had entered Jerusalem on a Friday, at the same hour that Christ had suffered death to expiate the crimes of the human race. The Saracens retook the city on a Friday, the anniversary of the day on which, according to their belief, Mahomet ascended from Jerusalem to Heaven. This circumstance, which might have induced Saladin to sign the capitulation proposed to him, did not fail to add new splendour to his triumph with the Mussulmans, and caused him to be looked upon as the favourite of the prophet.

All the warriors in Jerusalem obtained permission to retire to Tyre or to Tripoli. The conqueror granted their lives to the inhabitants, and permitted them to purchase their liberty. All Christians, with the exception of Greeks and Syrians, received an order to quit Jerusalem within four days. The ransom was fixed at ten pieces of gold for men, five for women, and two for children. Those who had not the means to purchase their freedom remained slaves.

These conditions had at first been received with joy by the Christians; but when the time arrived for their leaving Jerusalem, their grief at quitting the Holy Places became intense; they watered the tomb of Christ with their tears, and reproached themselves with not having died to defend it; they ran, unconsciously, from Calvary to the various churches they were never to see again, shedding torrents of tears; they embraced each other, weeping, in the streets, and deploring their fatal divisions. Such as could not pay their ransom, and could only leave Jerusalem as the slaves of the Saracens, gave themselves up to the wildest despair. But so great, in these deplorable moments, appeared their attachment to a religion whose precepts in happier times they had completely neglected, that the outrages offered to their worship afflicted them more than their own proper misery. A cross of gold having been torn from the dome of the church of the Templars, and dragged through the streets by the Saracens, all the Christians burst into cries of grief and indignation, and, although disarmed, Jerusalem was on the point of rising against its conquerors.

At last the fatal day arrived on which the Christians were to leave Jerusalem. All the gates of the city were closed, except that of David, through which the Christians were to go out. Saladin, seated upon a lofty throne, saw all the people pass before him. The patriarch, followed by the clergy, appeared the first, bearing the sacred vases, the ornaments of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and treasures of which, says an Arabian author, God alone knows the value. The Queen of Jerusalem, accompanied by the barons and knights, came next. Saladin respected her grief, and addressed some kind words to her. The Queen was followed by a great number of women, bearing their children in their arms, and uttering the most pitiable cries. Several of them drew near to the throne of Saladin: “You see at your feet,” said they, “the wives, the mothers, and the daughters of the warriors you detain prisoners; we are leaving for ever our country, which they have defended with glory; they assisted us in supporting life; losing them we have lost our last hope; if you would deign to restore them to us, they would soften the miseries of our exile, and we should be no longer without a support upon earth.” Saladin was touched by their prayers, and promised to mitigate the misfortunes of so many unhappy families. He restored the sons to mothers, and the husbands to wives, who were found among the captives. Many Christians had abandoned their valuable goods and property, in order to bear away upon their shoulders some of their parents weakened by age, and others their friends, the infirm, and the sick. Saladin was affected by this spectacle, and rewarded the virtue and piety of his enemies with gifts and alms; he took pity upon all these unfortunates, and permitted the Hospitallers to remain in the city to tend to the sick, as well as such as serious maladies prevented from moving.

When the Saracens commenced the siege, the Holy City contained more than a hundred thousand Christians. The greater part of them purchased their freedom: Baleau d’Ibelin, the depositary of the treasures destined to defray the expenses of the siege, employed all that was left in the liberation of the citizens. Malec-Adel, the brother of the Sultan, paid the ransom of two thousand captives. Saladin followed his example by setting free great numbers of poor and orphans. There only remained in slavery about fourteen thousand Christians, among whom were four or five thousand children, too young to be aware of the extent of their misfortune, but whose fate the faithful deplored the more, from the probability that these innocent victims of war would be brought up in the idolatry of Mahomet. From this period Jerusalem has remained in the hands of the Mahometans.

We have given these interesting sieges in greater detail than we shall be able to afford to most others; but we feel satisfied our readers will be pleased at being made acquainted with as many particulars as possible regarding a city which occupies so prominent a place in the religious and civil history of the world. We were fortunate, likewise, in having an historian[2] to refer to who had devoted great part of his life and his superior talents to the history of the wars of which the two latter sieges form a part. We have adopted, in the sieges of Jerusalem, the plan we shall follow in other cases; we have given the sieges in one series, thinking that the best way to impress the general history of the places in young minds, as likewise of showing, by something like a consecutive account, the causes of wars, defeats, and successes.

SAMARIA.

Samaria, the capital of the kingdom of Israel, and the rival of Jerusalem, sustained several memorable sieges. Adad, King of Syria, entered into Palestine in the reign of Achab, and encamped before the walls of Samaria. He soon reduced the city to the last extremity. Adad, reckoning upon the certainty of conquering the states of Achab, offered that king peace upon the conditions of his giving up his treasures, his wives, and his children. Achab, being without resource, consented to his demands; but on the morrow, Adad having added propositions still more hard, the king resolved to defend himself to the last. At the moment Adad thought victory within his grasp, the footmen of the Prince of Israel advanced, attacked his vanguard, killed many of them, and pursued the rest to the camp. Achab with his troops fell upon the infidels, put them to flight, and enriched himself with their spoils.--A.C. 907.

SECOND SIEGE, A.C. 906.

The following year Adad returned into Palestine with a more formidable army. Achab marched to meet him, and gave him battle. The Syrians were routed, and lost, it is said, a hundred thousand men. Adad was made prisoner.

THIRD SIEGE, A.C. 891.

In the reign of Joram, the son of Achab, the capital of Israel once more beheld a formidable Syrian army at its gates. This siege was long and celebrated. Adad surrounded the city on all sides; no supplies could be brought in; the public magazines were exhausted, and the famine became so excessive that an ass’s head was sold for ninety pieces of silver; and twelve bushels of pigeons’ dung, which was used instead of salt, was worth five. Such distress made Joram fear that in their despair the people would open the gates to the enemy. To encourage the soldiers and watch the people, he every day visited the walls and the fortifications. Whilst thus employed, a woman cast herself at his feet. “My lord and my king,” said she, uttering fearful cries, “in the name of God, save an unfortunate!” “What would you with me?” replied the monarch; “if the Lord does not save you, think you that I, who am but a simple mortal, can? What have you to say to me?” “Lord, the woman you see with me said: ‘Give me your son, and let us eat him to-day; to-morrow we will eat mine.’ I killed my son, and we ate him, but this wicked woman, notwithstanding her promise, has concealed her child, and robbed me of the food that is my due.” On hearing this horrid recital, the King of Israel tore his vestments, and exposed to the eyes of everybody the hair shirt he wore next his skin. This prince, reduced to despair, threw the cause of so many evils upon Elijah, and wished to put him to death. But the man of God promised him that the next day the abundance should be so great that a measure of pure meal should be sold for less than one sicle, or thirty sols; but the prophet gained no believers. An officer upon whose arm the king was leaning, turned him into ridicule: “If the All-powerful,” said he, “were to open the heavens, and shower down provisions, this would not be possible.” “You will see,” replied Elijah, “but you will enjoy no part of it.” Four lepers, who dwelt near the gates of the city, urged on by despair, went to the camp of the Syrians in hopes of meeting with death, but what was their astonishment to find no one there? The enemy, struck by a sudden panic, and thinking they heard the noise of a great army advancing, had taken to flight, and left everything behind them. The lepers, after having satisfied their hunger, and put aside a great quantity of gold and silver, hastened to announce this happy news to the king. Joram feared it was a trick. At length, after being assured of the flight of the infidels, the people rushed in crowds to the camp, and the word of the prophet was fulfilled in all its circumstances. The king set the officer who had mocked the prophet, at the gate of the city, and the unfortunate man was smothered by the crowd of people, without being able to take a part in the unlooked-for abundance.

FOURTH SIEGE, A.C. 721.

Salmanazar, King of Assyria, learning that Hosea had made himself king of Israel, which country he considered tributary to his power, and wished to shake off the yoke, besieged Samaria, and carried it by assault after a blockade of three years. Hosea was made prisoner, and carried away, with the greater part of his subjects, into Assyria. Thus ended the kingdom of Israel, or of the ten tribes.

FIFTH SIEGE, A.C. 120.

Samaria, however, became again peopled, and continued to dispute precedency with Jerusalem till the government of Hyrcanus, son of Simon Maccabeus. This great sacrificator took it by escalade, after a siege of a year, and completely destroyed the city and fortifications. But Herod the Great rebuilt it, increased its extent considerably, and named it Sebasta, out of compliment to Augustus.

ROME.

In our account of the early sieges of Rome, notwithstanding our conviction that many of the events related of them are apochryphal, we shall adhere to the version which was the delight of our boyhood. We do not believe the ancient history of Rome to be more fabulous than that of other countries. One of the great objects of history is to form character by placing acts of patriotic devotion or private virtue in the most attractive light; and we believe that the firmness of a Mutius Scævola, the devotedness of a Curtius, or even the apologue of Menenius Agrippa, will be more beneficial to the young mind than the bare skeletons left by the scepticism of German historians. We venerate truth, but we have seen and read nothing to convince us that the fine old tales of Livy were not founded upon _something_; and if in their passage to us a colouring has been added to make virtue more attractive and vice more repulsive, let us not reject them because they are too pleasing; the hard world youth have before them will prove quite chilling enough to their better sympathies: let them be allowed to enter it with hearts alive to the good, the great, and the elevating.

FIRST SIEGE, A.C. 747.

From the way in which what is called Rome, as a nation, was got together, it was naturally in a constant state of warfare. The spirit in which it was founded pervaded and ruled over it to its fall: it was at all times a nation of the sword; and when that sword was blunted by having conquered the known world, its conquests all crumbled away: when Rome ceased to be an aggressor, she instantly ceased to be great. Rome, of course, commenced this aggressive career with wars upon her neighbours, a cause for quarrel being quickly and easily found where everything was to be gained and little to be lost. Thus, the rape of the Sabine women produced the first siege of the nascent city,--a violation not only of the laws of nations, but of the laws of even the rudest state of nature, created its first enemies. The Sabines of Cures, animated by a warm desire for vengeance, presented themselves before Rome; their design was to blockade it, when chance rendered them masters of the citadel by the treachery of Tarpeia. She covenanted, as her reward for betraying the capital, for what they wore on their arms, meaning their ornamental bracelets; but they, disgusted with her action, threw their bucklers upon her and smothered her. After her, the rock from which criminals were precipitated was called the Tarpeian,--a proof that there was at least some foundation for that now disputed legend. The two peoples then came to close action, and victory remained long undecided: the Romans gave way at the first charge, but were rallied by the voice of Romulus, and recommenced the fight with obstinacy and success. The carnage was about to become horrible, when the Sabine women, for whose honour so much blood was being spilt, threw themselves between the combatants, with dishevelled hair, holding in their arms the fruits of their forced marriages, and uttering piercing cries. Their voices, their tears, their supplicating posture, relaxed the fury of the fight, and calmed the animosity of the combatants; the Sabine women became mediators between their relations and their husbands. Peace was made on the condition that the two people should from that time be one, and that the two kings should reign together.

SECOND SIEGE, A.C. 507.

Tarquin the Superb, not being able to recover by artifice the throne from which he had been expelled, sought to employ force. He had the address to interest several neighbouring nations in his cause;--when they had a chance of success, Rome had always plenty of enemies around her. Porsenna, King of Clusium, then the most powerful monarch of Italy, raised a numerous army in his defence, and laid siege to Rome. In an assault, the two consuls were wounded, and the consequently disordered Romans could not withstand their opponents. The Etruscans attacked a bridge, the capture of which must lead to that of the city; but Horatius, surnamed Cocles from having lost an eye, alone opposed himself to the troops of Porsenna, whilst his companions broke down the bridge behind him. When they had completed the work, he threw himself into the Tiber and swam ashore.

The King of Clusium, having failed in his attempt, undertook to reduce the place by famine; but the bold action of a young Roman soon made him change his design. Mutius Scævola, animated by the same spirit that had governed Cocles, was determined to relieve his country from this dreaded enemy. He went to the Clusian camp, disguised as an Etruscan, entered the king’s tent, and meeting with that prince’s secretary superbly dressed, poniarded him instead of Porsenna. He was arrested, led before the king, and strictly interrogated, whilst the instruments of torture were ostentatiously displayed in his sight. Mutius, with a haughty air, and without being the least intimidated by their menaces, exclaimed, “_I am a Roman; I know how to suffer, I know how to die!_” At the same time, as if he wished to punish the hand which had so ill served him, he held it in the flame of a brazier till it was consumed, looking all the while at Porsenna with a firm and stern glance. “There are thirty of us,” said he, “all sworn to rid Rome of her implacable enemy; and all will not make such a mistake as I have.” The king, astonished at the intrepid coolness of the young Roman, concluded a treaty of peace, which delivered Rome from the most formidable enemy she had had to encounter. Among the hostages given by the Romans, was Clœlia, a Roman maiden, possessed of courage beyond her sex or age. She persuaded her companions to escape by swimming across the Tiber. They succeeded, in spite of the numerous arrows discharged upon them on their passage. The boldness of the action met with high praise in Rome; but they were sent back to Porsenna, that public faith might not be violated. That prince, however, was so much pleased with such virtuous spirit, that he restored the generous maidens to freedom, and made his alliance still more close with a city that could produce heroines as well as heroes. Now all the best incidents of this siege are deemed apochryphal; and yet, who will dare to tell us that the well-authenticated accounts of the vices of the declining empire are equally instructive and ameliorating? We cannot render minds we are forming too familiar with pictures of the noble and the good, nor keep from them too carefully representations of the wicked and debasing.

THIRD SIEGE, A.C. 488.

Caius Marcius Coriolanus, exiled from Rome by the seditious Tribunes and by his own indomitable pride, so far forgot all patriotic feelings as to engage the Volscians to make war against his country. Here we beg to draw the attention of our young readers to the very different conduct of Themistocles, his contemporary, under similar circumstances. The Volscians, proud of the assistance of such a distinguished hero, made him their general: he took the field with vengeance in his heart. After a great number of victories, he marched straight to Rome, for the purpose of laying siege to it. So bold a design threw the patricians and the people equally into a state of the greatest alarm. Hatred gave way to fear: deputies were sent to Coriolanus, who received them with all the haughtiness of an enemy determined upon making his will the law. The Roman generals, instead of boldly meeting him in the field, exhorted him to grant them peace; they conjured him to have pity on his country, and forget the injuries offered to him by the populace, who were already sufficiently punished by the evils he had inflicted upon them. But they brought back nothing but the stern reply, “that they must restore to the Volscians all they had taken from them, and grant them the right of citizenship.” Other deputies were dismissed in the same manner. The courage of these Romans, so proud and so intrepid, appeared to have passed with Coriolanus over to the side of the Volscians. Obedience to the laws was at an end; military discipline was neglected: they took counsel of nothing but their fear. At length, after many tumultuous deliberations, the ministers of religion were sent to endeavour to bend the will of the angry compatriot. Priests, clothed in their sacred habiliments advanced with mournful steps to the camp of the Volscians, and the most venerable amongst them implored Coriolanus to give peace to his country, and, in the name of the gods, to have compassion on the Romans, his fellow-citizens and brothers: but they found him equally stern and inflexible. When the people saw the holy priests return without success, they indeed supposed the republic lost. They filled the temples, they embraced the altars of the gods, and gathered in clusters about the city, uttering cries and lamentations: Rome presented a picture of profound grief and debasement. Veturia, the mother of Coriolanus, and Volumnia, his wife, saved their unhappy country. They presented themselves before him, and conjured him by all that he held most sacred, to spare a city which had given him birth, and which still contained his mother, his wife, and his children. His mother was a woman of great spirit,--a Roman, almost a Spartan mother: she had, from his boyhood, stimulated him to the performance of noble and heroic deeds: she might be called the parent of his glory, as well as of his vigorous person. Coriolanus loved his mother tenderly, almost idolized her, and could not resist her tears. He raised the siege, and delivered Rome from the greatest alarm it had ever experienced.

FOURTH SIEGE, A.C. 387.

A colony of Gauls, confined for room in their own country, entered upper Italy, under the command of Brennus, three hundred and eighty-seven years before Christ, and laid siege to Clusium, in Tuscany. Accustomed already to command as a master in Italy, Rome sent three ambassadors to Brennus, to inform him that that city was under the protection of the Roman republic. Offended by the rude reply of the Gauls, the ambassadors retired indignantly, but violated the rights of nations by entering Clusium, and assisting in the defence of it. Brennus, highly irritated, demanded satisfaction, and Rome refused to give it. He marched directly against that already superb city. The two armies met on the banks of the river Allia, within half a league of Rome. The Romans, being the less in numbers, extended their ranks, in order not to be surrounded, and by that means weakened their centre. The Gauls, perceiving this, fell with fury on the cohorts of the centre, broke through them, and attacked the wings, whose flanks this opening left exposed. Already conquered by the terror inspired by this bold manœuvre, which bespoke a people accustomed to military tactics, the wings of the Roman army took to flight without drawing sword, and the main body, bewildered by the general rout which ensued, took refuge in Veii, instead of regaining Rome, which offered them the nearest asylum. Thousands of Romans fell under the sword of the Gauls; and if these people had marched straight to the city, instead of lingering to share the spoil, the Roman name would have been at an end. They remained three days engaged in distributing the spoil, and these three days saved Rome, whither the fugitives bore the news of the disaster the army and the consuls had sustained. They rendered the republic aware of what it had to expect from the victorious Gauls. The Senate, in the general alarm, took advantage of the time the barbarians employed in rejoicings for their victory. Not finding a sufficient force to defend the city, they threw all the men capable of bearing arms into the Capitol, and sent away all useless mouths; the old men, women, and children took refuge in the nearest cities. There only remained in Rome a few pontiffs and ancient senators, who, not being willing to survive either their country or its glory, generously devoted themselves to death, to appease, according to their belief, the anger of the infernal gods. These venerable men, in order to preserve to the last sigh the marks of a dignity which they believed would expire with them, put on their sacred vestments or their consular robes, placed themselves at the doors of their houses, in their ivory chairs, and awaited with firmness the decree which Destiny was about to pronounce on Rome. Brennus arrived three days after his victory. Surprised at finding the gates open, the walls without defence, and the houses without inhabitants, he suspected some ambush or stratagem. The continued silence and calm at length reassured him. He placed his points of guard; then, whilst spreading his troops through the quarters of the city, the first objects that met his eyes were the venerable old men who had devoted themselves to death. Their splendid habits, their white beards, their air of grandeur and firmness, their silence even, astonished Brennus, and inspired a religious fear in his army. A Gaul, less touched with this august spectacle and more daring than the rest, ventured to pluck insolently the beard of an ancient senator. The spirited old man dealt him a heavy blow with his ivory staff on the head. The irritated soldier killed the senator, and this became the signal for slaughter; all were massacred in their chairs, and the inhabitants who had not escaped were put to the sword. Brennus attacked the Capitol, but he was repulsed with loss. Despairing of taking it by force, he had recourse to blockade, to reduce it by famine. In order to avenge himself for the resistance offered by the Romans, he set fire to the city; and soon Rome presented nothing but its hills surrounded with smoking ruins.