Heroines of the Crusades

When entered her favorite page in haste.
In the early morning he went in quest
Of eaglets’ eyries, and on the crest
Of a lofty mountain he found a nest,
With golden treasure hid in its breast,
Wrapped in a scarlet mantel.

22. No sooner beheld she the page’s prize,
Than the tears o’erflowed the ladie’s eyes.
My true and loyal knight she cries,
(The palmer looked on with mute surprise.)
Hast thou Sir Isumbras seen?
One moment they gazed in silent survey,
The mists of memory rolled away;
And locked within his arms she lay —
The lost one found again.
And there was feast and festival;
Resounded then through bower and hall,
The lute and joyous madrigal;
And joustings there were in tournament,
And breaking of lances in compliment,
To the beauty of ladies bright;
Then over the Sultan’s fair domain,
In peace the knight and lady reign;
Till the king in all sincerity,
Strove with pious zeal to free
From the bonds of Infidelity,
His Paynim lieges hight.

23. But no one there his cause upheld,
Save God and the Queen, I trow;
And were they e’er so valorous,
Never could they withstand
An armament so numerous,
As the unbelievers’ band.

24. Then by a chance miraculous,
The tide of war was turned.
As they might be sent in our Lady’s name,
Three knights came pricking o’er the plain,
As if the ground they spurned.
Came the first on a lion strong;
On a leopard the second was borne —
The third bestrode a unicorn.
Tall men and brave were they;
The hosts of the Saracens fled in dismay,
And repenting of their disloyalty,
Returned they then to their fealty;
And the knight and lady peacefully
Together with their children, three
Restored to them so happily,
Reigned in tranquillity,
Prosperously and long.

25. They lived and died in good intent;
Unto Heaven their souls went.
When that they dead were,
Jesus Christ, Heaven’s king,
Give us aye his blessing,
And shield us aye from care.

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

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

The flute-like call was thrice repeated, and then a low response to the challenge issued from a mimic grotto, curiously roofed with overhanging vines.

“The minstrel of our sister Petronilla has leave to present her cause before our court,” said the queen encouragingly, as the troop of the young princess advanced from the shadow into the clear light, and knelt at the footstool of justice.

“The lady Petronilla,” began the Troubadour, “arraigns before the court her recreant knight, Count Rudolph of Vermandois. Cold greeting gives he for her fair looks, scant courtesy for her warm smiles; his ungloved hand returns not the pressure of her slight fingers, and the banderol she sent him flutters not from his gleaming lance.” A slight pause followed this accusation, and the herald again stood forth and demanded if any minstrel or Troubadour could say aught in extenuation of the offence of the accused. Not a voice answered, not a harp string stirred. At the third call the page of Eleanor arose, and with a graceful obeisance begged to be heard.

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

A general murmur attested the disapprobation of the assembly at this new and strange defence; for it had already become a proverb in Guienne, that “True love cannot exist between married persons.” The importance of the action, however, elicited a brilliant contest among the rival Troubadours, and never was a case more warmly argued, more skilfully enveloped with the subtleties of logic, or more thoroughly transpierced with the sallies of wit, than that which arose from the efforts of the wily granddaughter of Philippa of Toulouse, to fascinate the husband of the granddaughter of Adela, Countess of Blois. The fair jurors finally, like their successors in modern days, rendered their verdict in accordance with preconceived opinions, independent of justice or argument. The defence being thus found invalid, the culprit was put under ban of the court, and all true ladies were forbidden to smile upon him, except by the grace of his slighted lady-love. The fairy camp then adjourned its sitting to receive the royal guests, who were already on the way to meet them. As Eleanor accepted the assistance of her lover to climb the terraced pathway leading to the castle, she said with her most bewitching smile, “We consign our young sister, Petronilla, to the care of our noble cousin of Vermandois.” The count dissembling his reluctance bowed and offered his hand to the sprightly sorceress, and the queen whispered her sister, “The hawk is hooded, it must be thine to bind his jessies.”

CHAPTER II

Where is the antique glory now become,
That while some wont in woman to appear?
Where be the bold achievements done by some?
Where be the battles, where the shield and spear?
And all the conquests which them high did rear
Be they all dead, or shall again appear?

    Spenser.

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

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

At Blois, the Count of Vermandois, who had by circumstances that seemed to him wholly accidental been forced to give his constant attendance upon the artful Petronilla, embraced once more his beautiful Adelais, and pleading her ill health, obtained permission of the prince to absent himself for a time from court. The disappointed Petronilla could scarcely conceal her chagrin at this unlooked-for interruption in her proceedings, and from that moment conceived the most violent hatred of her innocent rival. On their entrance at Paris, instead of the enthusiastic greeting and splendid festivities which Eleanor had anticipated, the bridal party was escorted through silent streets by weeping attendants, who conducted them to the death-bed of Louis VI. The great legislator of France gazed with a look of solemn benignity upon the youthful pair that knelt to crave his parting blessing, and reminding them, that their recent union involved not only their individual happiness, but the peace and prosperity of both the north and the south, added with his expiring breath, “Remember, royalty is a public trust, for the exercise of which a rigorous account will be exacted by Him who has the sole disposal of crowns and of sceptres.”

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

Adelais sought to hide her sorrow and her wrongs in the seclusion of a convent; but her brother, the valiant Count Thibault of Champagne, was not inclined to suffer the indignity in silence. Such, however, was Eleanor’s power over the plastic mind of her husband, that the count appealed in vain to the sympathy or justice of the king. Finding that his remonstrance could not reach the royal ear, he presented his cause before the pope, who compelled Vermandois to put away the guilty Petronilla, and take back the injured sister of Champagne. The repudiated wife enraged at her own dishonor, and incensed at the undissembled joy with which Vermandois exchanged her dazzling graces, for the long-regretted charms of the weeping recluse, again had recourse to Eleanor. The queen, not less vindictive than her sister, and more practised in diplomacy, succeeded in fanning an ancient feud between Louis and Count Thibault, into the flame of war. The king invaded Champagne at the head of a large army, and commenced a devastating progress through the province. The town of Vitry, strongly walled and fortified, for a long time resisted the royal forces; but the queen, whose apprehensions of the temperate counsels of Suger, prompted her to accompany her husband upon every occasion, privately commissioned a body of Gascons to set fire to the town at the very moment of its surrender. The flames spread from house to house, and finally extended to the cathedral, and thirteen hundred persons who had taken refuge there, were burned to death. The king stung by the cries of his perishing subjects, exerted himself for their rescue, but in vain; and the horrors of the scene made such a fearful impression on his mind, as seriously to affect his health. The vision of his lamented father, repeating in solemn tones, “Remember, my son, that royalty is a public trust, for the exercise of which a rigorous account will be exacted by Him who has the sole disposal of crowns and of sceptres,” haunted his slumbers and destroyed his rest. Queen Eleanor journeyed with him from one holy place to another, to entreat the prayers of pious monks in his behalf, but the dejection of his mind increased to such an extent, that even her insinuating blandishments failed to recall him from his gloomy contemplations. Wearied with fruitless endeavors, she petulantly remarked to Petronilla, who now triumphed in the possession of a new lover, the young Count Maurienne, “Fate has given me the name of queen with the destiny of a nun. Would we were again in our native realm, for I tire of this dull life. Instead of the gay minstrelsy of the sweet southwest, I am jaded with perpetual psalmody, and my attempts to beguile the weary hours with the ‘joyous science,’ are mocked with the mummery of muttered prayers. I have married a monk rather than a monarch;” and the mortified queen burst into tears.