E-text prepared by Chris Curnow, Josephine Paolucci,
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"And thrusting his sword through its head, laid it dead on the ground."—p. [4]

THE BOY'S BOOK OF HEROES.

BY

HELENA PEAKE.

With Original Illustrations.

LONDON:
FREDERICK WARNE AND CO.,
BEDFORD STREET, COVENT GARDEN.
NEW YORK: SCRIBNER, WELFORD, AND CO.
LONDON:
J. AND W. RIDER, PRINTERS,
BARTHOLOMEW CLOSE.

CONTENTS.

PAGE
HEREWARD—LAST OF THE SAXONS [1]
THE CID [17]
LOUIS IX., KING OF FRANCE [49]
GUSTAVUS VASA, KING OF SWEDEN [82]
BERTRAND DU GUESCLIN [110]
CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS [144]
THE CHEVALIER DE BAYARD [192]
SIR MARTIN FROBISHER [225]
SIR WALTER RALEIGH [242]
SIR PHILIP SIDNEY [257]

A LITTLE BOY'S BOOK OF HEROES.

HEREWARD.—LAST OF THE SAXONS.

In the days of Edward the Confessor there lived in Mercia a noble Anglo-Saxon youth named Hereward. He was brave, stedfast, and spirited, but so violent and overbearing, so ready to quarrel and to use his sword, if everything he desired was not conceded to him at once that the youths he played and wrestled with around his home at Bourne[1], resolved to make complaint of him to his father, Leofric, the great Earl of Mercia.

Leofric was a very valiant man, and he had done King Edward good service at the time of Earl Godwin's rebellion. He had three sons; of these Hereward was the second; the eldest was Algar, whom the Confessor made lord over East Anglia.

Leofric was very much grieved when he heard, day after day, of the unruly deeds of his son, and found that he paid little heed to the reproofs he so justly deserved. And if Leofric was grieved, far more so was his wife, the saintly lady Godiva, who passed nearly the whole of her time in the performance of good works, feeding and clothing the poor, nursing the sick, and praying long hours for those she loved, and it may be most of all for her wayward son, Hereward. Besides this, she gave large sums of money for the support of religious houses, and founded the monastery at Coventry, which is said to have contained greater treasure of gold, silver, and jewels, than any other in England.

But father and mother at last were wearied out, and Leofric persuaded King Edward to outlaw his turbulent son, as the only means of preserving peace in the neighbourhood of his castle of Bourne.

The youth, not the least dismayed when sentence was passed upon him, set out on his travels accompanied by one servant, named Martin, as brave and as reckless as himself, and who followed him because he loved him. Perhaps some of his relations were sorry after all to see him go, for they could not help admiring his free, brave spirit, and amongst those who cared for him was his uncle Brand, abbot of Peterborough, a very pious man, as the chroniclers say, but haughty and unbending to the enemies of his land.

Let us glance at Hereward as he bade farewell for many a year to the home of his youth. He was of middle height, broad shouldered, and sturdy limbed, but active and graceful in all his movements. His features were handsome, his golden hair fell in long curls over his shoulders, according to the Saxon fashion; one of his large eyes being blue and the other grey, gave a strange expression to his countenance.

It is supposed that he lived chiefly in the woods and forests during the early days of his exile, but a few months after he quitted Bourne, we find him "beyond Northumberland" with the Fleming, Gilbert of Ghent, who bore him good-will, and had sent for him as soon as he heard that he was outlawed. Hereward had not been long in his friend's house, which was in some part of Scotland, when an event occurred which redounded very much to his credit.

It was the custom then for rich men to have various kinds of sports at Christmas, Easter, and Whitsuntide, and they used to keep a number of wild beasts in enclosures, which were led forth at these seasons, that the noble youths assembled might try their strength against them.

It was Christmas time when Hereward arrived "beyond Northumberland." He had passed some joyous days hunting in the wintry forests, and had become a great favourite with the company, because he excelled in all manly sports, and could charm the ladies besides by singing sweetly, and playing on the harp, in the long winter evenings. But when he looked at the wild beasts in their cages, he only saw one that he thought he should like to fight with, and that was a huge white bear, which was known to be exceedingly fierce. And beyond this it was said that its parent was the famed Norwegian bear, which lived far away in the pine woods of the north, and, according to the fable believed in at the time, was endowed with human sense, and could understand human speech.

Now it happened one day that the white bear broke the bars of its enclosure, and rushed out, killing and tearing to pieces all the animals that came in its path. This must have been very alarming, and worse still, it was making its way towards a room, opening out of the court where the women and children belonging to the house had taken refuge, and some knights in their terror had followed them, instead of trying to drive back the fierce creature with their lances. Hereward had just come in from hunting, and saw at a glance what had happened; he went straight up to the bear, and thrusting his sword through its head, he laid it dead on the ground.

His praises after this were sung far and wide; but amidst all the joy there was a secret plot made to destroy him by some of the knights who had shown themselves to be cowards, and were jealous of the bold deed he had performed. So one day they concealed themselves in the wood and tried to kill him as he came slowly along the mossy paths followed by his servant Martin. The story tells how Hereward slew two of these knights in self-defence, and another crept away, or was carried wounded to the house. Soon after this he bade Gilbert of Ghent farewell; he said that he could not live happily where there were traitors, but those who loved him were grieved when he rode away, and the women shed many tears, remembering how he had saved them with his strong right arm from a cruel death.

From Scotland he went to Cornwall, and there we are told he performed some brave deeds, and rescued a Cornish princess by slaying in combat a fierce and cruel Pict, a giant in height, whom her father had commanded her to marry against her own inclination.

Some time after he was heard of in Ireland, where he took part in the warlike exploits of King Ranald. Whenever there was fighting he was sure to be found where the danger was thickest, and the name of "The Wake" was given to him because he was always on the watch for his enemies, and could never be taken unawares.

But in Ireland he began to get homesick; he longed to see his brave father once more, and his mother, the Lady of Bourne, sitting amongst her maidens, or gliding amongst the sick like some comforting angel; he wanted to know if his relations had any kindly feeling left towards him. This longing became so strong that he asked the king to give him two ships, which Ranald granted him readily in return for his services, and with these he set out for England. But he had not sailors enough on board, and since he could get no more to serve him in Ireland, he sailed up northwards towards the Orkneys. When he reached these islands a storm arose and one of his ships was wrecked on the shore of Hoy.

With the other vessel he hoped to get safe to England, but he had not been long at sea when the winds blew furiously, the waves dashed and foamed, and storm-tossed for many days he was at last driven on the shore of Flanders. In this country he found a welcome, and married a noble Flemish lady named Torfrida. No part of his life, perhaps, was more peaceful than that which he spent in his new home: nevertheless, it appears that wherever he was, he always engaged in the wars that were carried on around him, and never failed to distinguish himself by his valour.

Whilst Hereward had been wandering about all this time an outlaw, great changes had taken place in the affairs of England. On the death of Edward the Confessor the English had welcomed Harold, son of Earl Godwin to the throne, quietly setting aside Edgar Atheling, who was too weak-minded to defend his right, or to have ruled had he been king. But Harold had scarcely been crowned when William of Normandy began making his vast preparations for the conquest of England. The terrible battle of Hastings had been fought; Harold the Second was slain, and nearly all the bravest warriors amongst the English had fallen on the battle-field. And with the exception of a few valiant noblemen, it seemed as if the people of England had lost all spirit and would bow quietly to the Norman yoke. Leofric of Mercia was dead; Algar also had died, leaving two fair young sons, Edwin and Morcar, who at the time of the conquest were accounted the most powerful noblemen in the land, Edwin being Earl of Mercia, and Morcar, Earl of Northumberland. It must be remembered that Mercia included all the midland counties of England.

The brothers proclaimed Edgar Atheling king, and tried to persuade the Londoners to rise; but their efforts were of no avail, and they were soon obliged to retire to their own lands.

One day, some emigrants came to Flanders and told Hereward all that had happened in England. Oh, how he wished he had been amongst the Saxons on the day of battle! Surely, if there had been many as brave and stern as he, the Normans would have been driven back. And when he learned that some Frenchmen had taken possession of the estate of Bourne, which was now his own, and that they were cruelly oppressing his widowed mother, he only waited to bid Torfrida farewell, and then set out for England, followed by Martin, with the intention of avenging his mother's wrongs.

It was late in the evening when he drew near the old house of Bourne. Some of the companions of his boyhood recognised him, and told him that William of Normandy had given his estate to a low-born foreigner, and that a party of Normans had just taken up their abode in the house. So Hereward hastened on towards Bourne, and sought out a house at the end of the long street which belonged to one Percy where he thought he could lodge for the night. Here he found a number of fighting men bewailing the misfortunes of England, and heard from them how the Frenchmen had robbed his mother of all her treasures, and how his youngest brother, a youth of sixteen, had been slain defending her, and his head had been fastened up over the door of the house. And one amongst the company of warriors said, that if Hereward, the outlawed son of Leofric had been at home, this trouble would never have come upon Bourne.

Now Hereward, having formed a plan in his mind, did not make himself known yet: he only said that he had come from Flanders, but the men perceived by the flash of his eye and his proud bearing that his spirit was kindled at their wrongs, and their hearts leaned towards him because he looked so brave and strong.

After a while, the warriors dropped off one by one to sleep as the night wore on. Hereward heard in the silence around, the sound of harps and joyful singing, and the clinking of goblets. He asked a boy what it was that he heard, and the boy said it was the merry-making of the guests in the lord's house above, where the youngest son had been killed only the day before. Then Hereward beckoned Martin and Percy to him, and by their means he covered his helmet and his shining coat of mail with some woman's robe of black stuff, and went out with Martin, who was disguised in like manner, to the house of Bourne. The first grievous sight that awaited him was the head of his young brother fixed up above the door. He could see through the windows the Normans sitting at their feast in noisy merriment: they boasted loudly of their deeds, and spoke slightingly of Hereward, whom they believed to be far away in Flanders, although one Flemish woman amongst the guests declared that if he had been there he could have overthrown them all.

Then Hereward, the Wake, the Terrible, waited to hear no more; he rushed with Martin on those unprepared men; a fearful struggle began, and of all the foreigners, it is said that not one was left there alive when the day dawned. Such is the story told by the Monk of Ely, of the fierce and relentless manner in which Bourne was rescued from the Normans.

The Lady Godiva was very thankful to know that she had yet a son to protect her. After this night of horror she removed to the Abbey of Croyland, where she lived praying and fasting, and tending the poor and sick until she died.

In the year 1069 there was a rebellion throughout England. The English were angry and indignant when they saw how the Conqueror bestowed all the high offices in the land upon his Normans, whilst he trod their own liberties under foot.

Several bands of patriots assembled in the marshy lands of Cambridgeshire, and there in the island of Ely they formed entrenchments of earth and wood, and lived in security, often completely hidden by the mists that rose up from the stagnant waters. There, too, they were amongst friends; the Abbey of Croyland was in the marshes; Peterborough was not far off northward, and as yet the monastery was held by the Abbot Brand, who prided himself on never having sought favour from the Conqueror.

Meanwhile, Hereward had returned to Flanders, but he did not remain there long, and when he came back to England a second time, bringing with him his wife Torfrida and his little daughter, his kinsmen welcomed him heartily, and asked him to lead them in the battles they hoped to fight with the Normans.

But notwithstanding the numerous warlike deeds he had performed, he was not what was called a legitimate "miles" or knight, and to be this it was requisite that he should receive knighthood according to the Anglo-Saxon custom. It was a law that every man desiring to be a lawful knight should go to some abbey, and the evening before the ceremony of knighthood was to take place, should confess his sins in deep penitence, and pass the whole night inside the church in prayer and mortification. The next morning he was to hear mass, and then offer up his sword upon the altar; this being done the Gospel would be read, and the priest, having consecrated the sword, would place it on the neck of the warrior with his blessing.[2]

The Normans looked with much scorn on this manner of knighthood at the hands of a priest, but it may have been, as a modern French historian observes, that they did not like to see so many knights continually rising up amongst a people they had conquered.

Hereward went to Peterborough,[3] with two of his band, Winter and Gwenoch, and persuaded his uncle to knight them all. And he told him that William had given the abbey to Thorold, called "the fighting monk," but that Brand would not believe for a long time.

All the brave Anglo-Saxons rose up now to make a last effort to deliver themselves from the Normans. The Danes came to help them under Objorn, brother of Sweyn, King of Norway. Edgar Atheling appeared from Scotland with a number of brave men. The people of York put their Norman governor to death; the fiercest struggles were in the north of England. Hereward established himself with his followers in the island of Ely, and had a fortress of wood constructed which served them for shelter, and was a point where other men of like mind could meet them from the forests and fastnesses around. And here they remained for a long time to the great annoyance of the Normans who could not reach them because their horses constantly lost their footing in the marshes and bogs around.

Thorold set out for Peterborough, but Brand did not live to be despoiled of his abbey. Hereward hearing that the fighting monk was coming, hastened to Peterborough with some of his men, and when they found that the monks were not at all inclined to bar the entrance of Thorold, they took all the crosses, and golden cups, the sacred robes and staffs belonging to the abbey, and carried them to their quarters in Ely. And soon after this the monks of Peterborough opened the gates to the Normans.

The Danish warriors made their way to Ely, but William found means to persuade Sweyn to recall them, and he bribed Objorn to retire by giving him large presents and the liberty of plundering the sea coast. The departure of the Danes caused great vexation to the people in Ely, because they carried away with them all the sacred treasures of Peterborough.

Now Taillebois, the Angevin,[4] had many followers, and being a great boaster, he swore that he would quickly drive the outlaws out of their hiding places. The fighting monk was out in the marshes, and he told him that he meant to attack the English. Hereward let him enter a forest of willows which served to protect the patriots from their enemies, but as Taillebois went in on one side of the forest, he came out on the other side himself, and falling upon Thorold and his men, who had remained behind, he took them all prisoners and kept them in the marshes, not releasing the abbot until he had paid him three thousand marks of silver.

The young brothers, Edwin and Morcar, had not joined in this last rebellion, but they were not at all happy at King William's court; their hearts were with their brave kinsman and not with the conqueror of their land. At last Edwin went to Northumberland to lay his plans for another rising, and Morcar fled to the island of Ely, where Hereward was still holding out bravely, although the Saxon nobles in other parts of England had all given way.

William was very uneasy so long as he could not gain possession of Ely. In the hope of preventing the Saxons from coming out of the island, he surrounded it with flat-bottomed boats and made a causeway to the extent of two miles. The workmen who were employed in constructing the causeway were much harassed by Hereward and his men, and the king was persuaded by some of his nobles to place an old woman, believed to be a witch, in a wooden tower at the head of the works that she might use her spells against the enemy. Hereward, on this, came out with his troop and set fire to the willows that grew closely around the tower, and thus the poor old woman perished in the flames. This seems to have been a very cruel act on the part of our hero, although, unhappily, in those days, the burning of witches was not considered a crime.

The island remained blockaded for several months. At last the inmates of a monastery in the interior got very hungry because no provisions could be brought in, and they sent word to the king that they would show him how his troops might enter the island if he would promise not to deprive them of their property. Two Norman knights, Gilbert de Clare, and Guillaume de Larenne undertook to try the path; the king's troops poured in after them, and it is said that they put a thousand Englishmen to the sword. All the nobles now surrendered except Hereward, and William imprisoned Morcar, and Egelwine, Bishop of Durham, who had taken refuge in Ely. Morcar died in his prison,[5] and Egelwine went mad, and as for the others "they suffered so much in their captivity that it had been better for them if they had been put to death the day they were taken."[6]

Hereward, with a few of his men, fought his way through the enemy and escaped from their pursuit by difficult paths to the lowlands of Lincolnshire. There some Saxon fishermen who were in the habit of carrying fish every day to the Norman stations, along the marshes, concealed them in their boats by covering them up with straw. When the boats reached one of these strongholds, the Normans little imagining that their greatest enemy was so near, purchased their fish as usual, and when it was cooked, sat down to dinner. They had scarcely begun to eat when Hereward and his men rose up out of the straw, and with hatchets in their hands rushed suddenly upon them. There was a fierce conflict, and many of the Normans were slain; those who survived fled in great terror and left their horses behind them ready saddled. Then Hereward, and the followers that remained to him, each chose a good steed for himself and galloped away into the forests.

In the country around they found many friends, and before they came as far as Huntingdon their company included a hundred well armed men, all of them faithful subjects of Hereward and proud to share his exploits. Their numbers increasing daily, they became so strong at last that Gaimar, the French poet, says they might have assailed a city. And a very strong castle they did take, and found in it quantities of gold, silver, and armour, besides rich furs and stuffs. So for a while they went on fighting under their brave leader with spirit unquenched; often one Englishman against three of the enemy.

But hope died out even in the heart of Hereward when the power of the Conqueror became fully established in the land. His friends were either dead or in prison, or they had been sent blinded and maimed to their homes. The persuasions of a Saxon lady, named Alfrueda, helped to induce him to make peace, or rather a truce, with William, and he set out accordingly, followed by three of his comrades, for Winchester, where the king was then living. But when he drew near the gates of the city, he thought that this manner of presenting himself before his sovereign was unworthy of his own high rank, and he turned back in order to provide a more dignified escort. The second time he approached Winchester he was at the head of forty men, all clad in armour from head to foot, and mounted on handsomely accoutred horses. The king had a great admiration for the valour and constancy of Hereward; he welcomed him gladly to his court, and suffered him to retain his estate at Bourne.

Notwithstanding this, the Normans were always trying to quarrel with the brave Saxon, and one day Oger, the Breton, offended him so deeply that a combat took place between them, in which Oger was wounded. Then the enemies of Hereward told the king that he had spoken evil of him, and persuaded him to arrest him for that and for having wounded Oger. William seems to have been very ready to believe ill of his powerful subject, and ordered him to be imprisoned in Bedford Castle, where he remained a whole year.

When Hereward was released he went to live in his house at Bourne, and was known by the name of "the Lord of the Fens." The monk who wrote his life in Latin, asserts that he died peacefully in his home, but other documents have been found which prove that he did not meet his death in quiet, but in fierce conflict with his enemies.

His house at Bourne was frequently attacked by the Normans. One day he was sitting outside the door, the weather was sultry, and he had fallen asleep. Suddenly, he was awakened by the clash of weapons and the tread of horses, and found that he was surrounded by a party of Bretons. He was without his coat of mail, and had only a sword and a short pike. Undaunted amongst so many, he snatched up a shield that was lying near, and defended himself "like a lion." Taillebois, his greatest enemy, was with the troop. When he perceived him he cried out that they were all traitors because he had made his peace with the king, and that if they sought his life or his goods they should pay dearly for either. Terrible was the struggle that ensued; the Normans fell around; Hereward himself received four sword thrusts at once; it was Raoul de Dol, a Breton knight, who rushed forward to give him the death blow; then, he made one last effort, and flinging his shield in the face of his foe, he fell back dead.

The life of Hereward was marked by many fierce deeds, and would that all anger and strife had been hushed before he died! His memory must be cherished because he loved his country so well, and it was great and noble of him, when all his partizans had laid down their arms in submission, to stand up alone in her righteous cause, and to be the last man to yield to the thraldom of a conqueror.

The daughter of Hereward was given in marriage by William to a valiant knight named Hugh de Evermere, to whom she brought the lands of Bourne. Torfrida ended her days in the Abbey of Croyland.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Bourne, then called Brun, in Lincolnshire.

[2] See Sharon Turner.

[3] Peterborough was formerly called Burgh.

[4] Angevin, a native of Anjou.

[5] See Gaimar.

[6] Edwin, the brother of Morcar, was slain by some of his own followers.

THE CID.

According to the Spanish chronicles the famous Rodrigo Diaz de Bivar, known by the name of the Cid, was born about the year 1026, in the city of Burgos, the capital of old Castille. His father, Diego Laynez, was descended from Layn Calvo, one of two judges by whom the country was governed after Ordono, its king, had behaved very treacherously. When we first hear of Rodrigo as a youth of gentle manners, but of great courage and bodily strength, Don Ferrando, a Christian king, who traced his descent from the other judge, was ruling over Castille.

Spain was then composed of many different kingdoms; the Moors had been steadily gaining ground ever since they first set foot in the land, more than three hundred years before, whilst the Christians had been trying as steadily to keep them back. Now they held sway over by far the larger portion of Spain; several of the great-cities, especially those in the south, were under the dominion of Moorish kings, and were filled with beautiful buildings, many of which remain, to show what wonderful skill the Arabian architects must have possessed. The Moors lived in great splendour; their palaces and courts were paved with marble, and the walls were covered with arabesques in brilliant colours, or fretwork in gold[7]; the ceilings were often of cedar wood, inlaid with silver, ivory, or mother of pearl, and the chambers were filled with the fragrance of costly spices, which were kept always burning. Then they had beautiful gardens blooming with roses and myrtles, where orange trees grew, and silvery fountains played into basins of white marble. The outside of their buildings was also richly ornamented, and sometimes with the strangest devices. The Alhambra, the finest of all the Moorish palaces, which still remains in its ancient splendour, was not built in the city of Granada until nearly two hundred years after the death of the Cid.

The Spaniards themselves were very brave, and inherited their valour from the Visigoths, who were in possession of Spain for a long time before the Moors crossed over the sea from Africa. The middle ages were not as dark for them as they were for the other nations of Europe, because their Moorish invaders taught them many useful arts and sciences, and also introduced into Spain various fruits and trees which had hitherto only grown in the East, or in Africa. Amongst these was the pomegranate, with its shining dark green leaves, its beautiful crimson blossom, and its red, juicy fruit; then there was the palm-tree, which was cultivated in the fertile soil of Valencia, until it reached the height of a hundred and fifty feet; and the strange-looking carob-tree, with leaves gloomily dark, and pods full of a sweet pulp, like manna in taste, which were given to the horses and mules.

Some of the Moorish kings were merciful rulers, and rendered their subjects happy; still, as they were strangers and infidels, it was very natural for the Spaniards to wish to drive them out of the land, and Rodrigo de Bivar is renowned for having regained more ground from them than any of the other great Spanish captains.

Whilst Rodrigo was still a youth, a quarrel arose between his father and a certain Count Gomez, during which the Count gave his adversary a blow. Laynez was old and feeble, and could not lift his sword, and he grieved over the insult with a Spaniard's sense of shame and thirst for revenge. Rodrigo, indignant at seeing his father treated thus scornfully, went out and defied the Count to a combat, and slew him in the struggle. And when he came home and told his father how he had avenged the affront that had been offered him, the old man decreed that he should be considered thenceforth as the head of the house of Layn Calvo. Alas! those were terrible times when men fired up at the slightest provocation, and thought their honour was at stake if an offence were not wiped out with the shedding of blood, and seldom or never gave the "soft answer that turneth away wrath."

A little while after this, the Moors, led by five of their kings, entered Castille; they plundered the cities and carried away captive men, women, and children, besides seizing the cows and the sheep that were feeding in the pastures. They were going home in triumph when Rodrigo, young as he was, came up with them in the mountains of Oca, and put them all to the rout.

"He rode to the hills of Oca, where the Moormen lay,
He conquered all the Moors, and took from their prey."

His father being now dead, he went home to his mother, a noble lady, the daughter of the Count of Asturias, and told her how he had won back all that the Moors had taken, and had made their five kings captive. His mother was very proud of his success, and rejoiced still more when she heard him say that it would not be fair to keep the kings in prison, and that he would send them all back to their own territory. And the Moors were so touched by his generous conduct towards them that they resolved to pay tribute and to remain subject to the king of Castille.

The next event recorded in his life is his marriage with Ximena, daughter of Count Gomez, whom he had slain. It is said that Ximena, without any regard for the memory of her father, went to the king, Don Ferrando, and entreated him to allow her to be married to Rodrigo de Bivar, because she thought that he would one day be the richest and most powerful man in the realm.

The marriage took place, and a short time after, Don Ferrando, of Castille, and Don Ramiero, of Arragon, had a quarrel about a city called Calahorra, each laying claim to it as his rightful possession. As it seemed impossible to find out which king had the right on his side, it was agreed to decide the question by single combat, so Don Martin Gonzalez, accounted the bravest knight in all Spain, was chosen to fight for Ramiero, and Rodrigo de Bivar was to fight for Ferrando.

Before the day of the combat arrived, Rodrigo set out on a pilgrimage to the holy shrine of St. James, at Compostella, accompanied by twenty knights. The Spaniards have a curious legend in reference to this journey which must not be passed over, although so many strange stories are told of the Cid that it is difficult to discover how many of the events detailed in his life are really true.

On the road to Compostella the pilgrims found a leper struggling in a quagmire, and crying in vain for help. Rodrigo hastened to his relief and dragged him out of the muddy water. Then he set him before him on his own horse and continued his journey. When they arrived at the inn where they were to pass the night, Rodrigo seated the leper at supper next himself, and eat with him of all the viands that were served before them off the same plate. The knights to show their disgust at this, rose with one accord and left the supper room. Nevertheless, Rodrigo, feeling sure that no one else in the inn would have pity upon the poor leper or give him shelter, made him share his bed, but when he awoke at midnight he found him gone. After a while a figure appeared before him, clad in shining white garments, and a voice asked him if he were asleep or awake. "I am awake," replied Rodrigo, "but who art thou, and whence is this fragrance and brightness?"

The strange visitant, answered, "I am Saint Lazarus, the leper whom thou hast succoured and honoured for the love of God;" and he told him that when he felt a breath near him, such as he had felt that night, before he appeared, it would be a sign that he should succeed in whatever enterprise he was engaged in at the time; and he told him also that he should be feared both by Christians and Moors, and that his foes should never prevail against him. Then the saint vanished, and Rodrigo, wondering at the extraordinary vision, knelt down, and remained many hours in prayer, and at daybreak he set out on his pilgrimage once more, doing all the good he could along his journey.

On the day fixed for the combat, Rodrigo had not appeared at the spot where it was to take place, and his cousin Alvar Fanez, was preparing to fight in his stead. But at the very moment when the contest was to begin, he stepped forward and took his stand against the champion of Arragon. They fought so fiercely that their lances were broken, and they were both severely wounded, and although Gonzalez taunted his opponent by saying that he should never go back alive to his bride, Doña Ximena, Rodrigo was more cruel to him than he need have been, and gave him his death wound as he lay, faint from loss of blood, upon the ground. Then Don Ferrando came up and embraced Rodrigo, and helped to unharm him himself; he was so glad that he could take possession of Calahorra, but all the people of Arragon sorrowed bitterly for the loss of Gonzalez, their bravest knight.

The Counts of Castille now grew jealous of Rodrigo's renown, and plotted with the Moors that a battle should take place, in which they hoped he might be killed and so stand no longer in their way. The affair was made known to the Moors who were his vassals; they refused to share in the treason, and revealed the whole plot to their lord. The king was very angry when he heard of the treachery of his nobles, and to punish them, he ordered all the traitors to quit the kingdom at once.

About this time Rodrigo was knighted in the great mosque of Coimbra, the king giving him his sword, the queen his horse, and the infanta fastening on his spurs. After this he was called Ruy Diaz, Ruy being short for Rodrigo; and his Moorish vassals when they brought him tribute called him "El Seid," the Arabic for "the lord," so that he was known thenceforth by the name of the Cid.

Not long after this Don Ferrando died, leaving his dominions divided amongst his five children. Sancho had Castille, Alonzo Leon, Garcia Gallicia, and their two sisters, the cities of Tora and Zamora. The brothers kept at peace for only two years, and then they went to war with one another. The Cid remained faithful to the fortunes of Don Sancho, and one day during the war, when the king was being carried away prisoner by thirteen knights who were on the side of Alonzo, Ruy Diaz chanced to come up with them in time, and being unarmed, he asked them to give him a lance. The knights refused at first, but afterwards gave him one, laughing at the idea that one man could hold out against so many. They soon found that they were mistaken, for the Cid overthrew them one after another until only two were left, and thus freed Don Sancho from the power of his enemies. The war between the brothers unhappily lasted some years, and at last Alonzo was defeated by Sancho, and shut up in prison, whence he contrived to escape to the court of the Moorish kings. Sancho himself received a death blow from an unknown hand at the siege of Zamora. Before he died he prayed that his brother Alonzo might come from the land of the Moors and show favour to the Cid, and that the hidalgos would entreat him to forgive whatever wrongs, he, Don Sancho, had done to him.

Alonzo returned from the land of the Moors, and as soon as he arrived his sister Urraca sent letters to all the nobles in the kingdom that they might render him homage. Those of Leon and Gallicia were very glad to come and receive him for their king; then the Castillians appeared, and they kissed his hands, all except the Cid; but they were not all content, for Alonzo had been suspected of having connived at the death of Don Sancho.

When the king saw that the Cid would not kiss his hand, he was vexed, and he asked him why he held back. And the Cid replied that he would never render him homage until he had sworn with twelve of his hidalgos who were likewise suspected, that he had not connived at the death of Don Sancho.

The king consented to take the oath in the great church of Saint Gadea, in Burgos, and went thither on the appointed day with his sisters and all his court. The Cid made him stand with the hidalgos on a high stage so that they might be seen by all the people in the church; then he took the book of the holy gospels and laid it on the altar, and when Alonzo had placed his hand upon it, he asked him in the most solemn manner if he had anything to do with his brother's death. And he said that if it were so, and he denied the crime, he should die a like death himself, at the hands of one who was not a Castillian, but would come from a strange land.

At the end of every sentence the Cid spoke, the king and his hidalgos answered, Amen.

It was an awful scene, and when Alonzo heard the doom pronounced upon him if he did not speak the truth, he turned pale, and asked Ruy Diaz why he pressed him so much, because he made him take the oath three times. When he had sworn that he was innocent for the last time, the Cid kissed his hand and acknowledged him for his king, and from thenceforth Alonzo reigned over Castille, Leon, Gallicia, and Navarre, and was free from the attempts of his brother Garcia since he had invited him to his court, and then shut him up in a strong castle, where he remained to the end of his days. It was a very long time, however, before he could look kindly on the Cid, for he thought he had done him a great injury by making him take the oath so many times before his people.

The first expedition of Ruy Diaz after this was against the kings of Seville and Cordova, in which he won great honour, and afterwards returned to Castille laden with spoils. Then he lay sick for a long time, and could not go with Alonzo to fight the Moors in another part of Spain. And it happened that when the king was far away, a vast company of Moors, thinking that all was quiet, entered Castille and did great damage to the country. The Cid, hearing of this, roused himself and gathered his strength and pursued them as far as the city of Toledo. The Castillians around Toledo were very jealous of his power, and they complained to Alonzo that Ruy Diaz had driven the Moors into their territory on purpose to annoy them.

Alonzo flew into a great passion, and summoned the Cid to his presence, and glad of an opportunity of vexing him, ordered him to leave the country of Castille for ever, and all the fair domains he possessed.

When the sentence was passed the Cid's cousin, Alvar Fanez, and all his friends, kinsmen, and vassals, declared that if he must needs quit the land they would follow him into his exile and remain faithful to him all the days of their life. This comforted Ruy Diaz, although he did not desire that so many of those he loved should condemn themselves to wander in the land of the Moors for his sake. He sent his wife Ximena, and his two little daughters, Elvira and Sol,[8] to the convent of Saint Peter, of Cardeña, where they would be safe; and one sad day he bade farewell to his home in Castille and set out on his wanderings, the king having granted him nine days for his journey out of the country.

The costly furniture of his palace in Burgos had been all stored away; there were no people coming and going; no voices of children gladdened the empty halls; the birds were all gone from the perches, there would be no more pleasant pastime of hawking, the whole place was silent and desolate.

When the Cid saw this he knelt down and turned towards the east, and prayed that he might be victorious over the Moors, and gain enough to requite his friends for their devotion. Then he turned to the whole company and cheered them with the hope that he might yet be able to return to Castille in honour. And an old woman, who stood by the door, repeated the Spanish proverb, "Go in a lucky moment, and you shall make spoil of whatever you desire."

The mausoleum of the Cid now occupies the spot where his palace stood, and his statue ornaments the gate of Saint Maria, which is the principal entrance into the city of Burgos, and opens on to one of the bridges leading out into the suburb called Vega.

As Ruy Diaz came with his people through the streets of Burgos, the citizens wept aloud; they were so grieved to see him depart, and to know that no house might afford him shelter even for one night. So when the dark came he was obliged to have a tent raised on the sandy plain and rest for a while there.

At last he got to the convent of Cardeña, and bade a long farewell to his wife and daughters, giving them a hundred marks of gold for their expenditure; and before he left he gave the Abbot fifty marks of silver, and commended his family to his care, for he did not feel sure that he should ever see them again. Then he pursued his journey, travelling all night because he had a long and difficult way to go before he could get to the land of the Moors. The next day but one they crossed the river Douro in wooden boats, and rested at a place called Figueruela. And there in the night he either dreamed or had a vision of an angel coming to him who said, "Cid, be of good cheer, for it shall be well with thee all thy life long; and thou shalt accomplish all that thou shalt undertake, and shalt become rich and honoured." The Cid thought very much on what he had heard, and he arose and gave thanks for the mercy that had befallen him. The following day he reached the wild Sierra, of Miedes, and he said, "Friends, let us mount our horses quickly, and cross the Sierra and go out of the kingdom of Don Alonzo, for this is the ninth day, and it is time we were gone." So they passed the Sierra in the dark night and then they were in the country of the Moors. The whole company of the Cid amounted to 400 horsemen, and 3,000 foot. They travelled by night, and hid by day until they reached the Castle of Castregon. Ruy Diaz concealed himself and his friends close by, and in the morning the Moors, not knowing they were there, came out of the Castle gates to go to their work; the Spaniards rushed suddenly upon them, slaying some and dispersing the rest, and soon got possession of the castle where they found a quantity of gold and silver. But they could not stay in it because there was no water, and besides this, the Moors all around were vassals of Don Alonzo. So the Cid left the Moors there whom he had taken prisoner in the skirmish, and went further on his way to meet with fresh adventures. During the whole time of his exile he remained loyal to the king who had so unjustly treated him, and did him good service, for he took many strong castles from the Moors, and either drove the invaders out of the land or made them subject to Castille. He shared with his company all the rich spoils he won, and after many brave exploits determined to send his cousin Alvar to Alonzo with a present of thirty Arab horses, and a message entreating him to restore him to his favour, and to give back to his friends the estates they had lost by following him into his exile.

When the king saw the beautiful Arab horses, each with a fine sword mounted in silver hanging from its saddle, his face brightened, and he could not bring himself to refuse the gift. Still he thought it was too soon yet to pardon the mighty Cid, and only restored to his friends and relations their lands.

Ruy Diaz got as far as the district of Ternel in Arragon, and there he settled himself in a fortress on a high rock which has been called ever since "The Rock of the Cid." From this stronghold he sallied forth from time to time against the Moors, and forced numbers of them to pay tribute. And besides overcoming the Moors, he served the king by punishing some great Spanish lords who had been guilty of treason, and Alonzo at last desired him to return to the court. The Cid waited yet to take the strong Castle of Rueda from the Moors, and then he came back to Castille in honour, as he had hoped on the sorrowful day when he left Burgos. All the king's displeasure passed away when Ruy Diaz came before him and delivered into his hands the rich treasures he had captured, and Alonzo gave him many castles, and the right of keeping in future all the places he should win from the Moors for himself.

Ruy Diaz was chosen to lead the Spanish army against Toledo in the year 1032. This city was possessed by the Moorish king Yahia, and was considered so important a place, that all the Christian sovereigns in Spain made up their quarrels, and joined together to besiege it. Yahia held out for three years, and then only yielded up the city on condition that he should reign over Valencia instead. The first Christian banner that entered Toledo was the banner of the Cid. A story is told by the Spaniards how, when the army had to cross a ford of the Tagus, that they might get nearer the city, and the river was so swollen that the horsemen feared to plunge into it, a monk of the order of St. Benedict rode over first on an ass, after which the whole army passed over in safety.

Later on, Castille was threatened by the Almoravides, a nation of African Moors. The Moorish kings already settled in Spain had many bitter quarrels amongst themselves; there was trouble and treason all over the land. Yahia, who was protected by the Cid, and called himself his friend, was murdered by a wicked alcayde named Abeniaf soon after he had joined with Ruy Diaz to defend Spain against the Almoravides. Abeniaf buried the treasures of the murdered king, and let some of the new invaders into Valencia, for which service they made him Wali, or governor of the city.

The Cid came with a great army of Christians and Moors, and lay siege to Valencia, so incensed was he at the cruel death of Yahia, and began by attacking the suburbs, because by gaining them he could close all round the city, and prevent the Moors from going in or coming out. That siege of Valencia was very terrible, the people died daily of hunger; they eat horses, dogs, cats, and mice, and when all the flesh was gone they had only a little wheat and garlic, and a few raisins and figs.

In their sore need they implored some more of the Almoravides to come to their aid, although a great quarrel had broken out between that people and Abeniaf. The Almoravides set out for Valencia, but they were dismayed by a violent tempest which arose and turned back. Then the besieged went almost mad through hunger and misery, and the Cid came nearer its walls, thinking that famine would force them to yield. The longer the siege lasted, the more defiant did Abeniaf become; besides which he governed the people very cruelly, and oppressed them in every way. The Cid was very cruel too outside their walls, and showed them no mercy. He sent word to them that he would burn all persons who should dare to come out of the city, and it is said that several Moors who tried to escape were burned by his command. Many men, women, and children, too, came out whenever the gates were opened, and sold themselves to the Christians for food. The price of a Moor was a loaf and a pitcher of wine.

At last Abeniaf agreed to deliver up the place if no succour came within fifteen days, provided he might still continue in his office of Wali. The people thought they might yet be saved, because they had entreated the King of Saragossa to assist them, but no help came, and the gates were opened, and the Christians poured in to the city.

The Cid entered with all the hidalgos and knights, and went up to the highest tower in the wall, whence he could look down on the whole of Valencia; and the Moors came to him, and they kissed his hands, and bade him welcome. The Cid, in return, ordered that all the windows of the tower which looked towards the streets should be closed, that the Spaniards might not annoy the Moors by prying into their affairs, and commanded the Christians to guard the people and to pay them the greatest honour. The Moors were very grateful for his kindness, and rejoiced indeed that the city had been given up, for now the provision merchants could come inside the gates and they could buy food; and some of them were so famished that they went and plucked the grass and herbs from the field, and tried thus to satisfy their sharp hunger. It must have been a sad sight to have seen those who had survived the famine standing about like ghosts, whilst there was mourning in every house, and space had not been found to bury all the dead.

The Cid planted his banner on the Alcazar, which was the name given to all royal houses and palaces in Spain. He caused Abeniaf to be seized by force, and after he had made him say where he had concealed the treasures of Yahia he condemned him to be burnt alive, but showed mercy to his son when the Moors entreated him not to include him in the punishment of his father; and had the Cid put the innocent child to death it would have been as dreadful a crime as Abeniaf was guilty of in murdering Yahia.

The city of Valencia lay in a great plain which was called the Garden, because it was covered with the most luxuriant vegetation, and trees, such as the mulberry, olive, orange, carob, and palm grew in its fertile soil. There were fair gardens lying between the walls and the shore.

When the Cid had taken up his abode in the vast and beautiful Alcazar, the people began to cast off their sorrow and gloom, and to take part in the rejoicings made by the Spaniards. Valencia was now all his own. He suffered the Moors to remain in the city and to keep all their herds and flocks; they were to give him a tenth part of their substance, and to retain all their customs; and he made a good man Wali over them that they might be governed by their own laws. Those who were not content with this arrangement, he ordered to go and dwell in the suburb of Alcudia, outside the walls. From this time he was called the Cid Campeador, the latter title being given to one greatly renowned for his exploits.

One day, Hieronymo, a holy and learned man, "all shaven and shorn," came from the East to Valencia, and desired to see the Cid. He said that if he might once meet the Moors on the battle-field, and have his fill of smiting them, he would be content. These were warlike words for a priest, but they pleased Ruy Diaz, and the very next day after the stranger arrived the mosques were changed into churches, and Hieronymo was made Bishop of Valencia.

The King of Seville soon came with the Almoravides to besiege the Cid in his new abode. Ruy Diaz defeated him, and won from them his famed horse Bavieca, although the chronicles say that Bavieca was the horse he chose when a boy, because it was so fiery, and the name was given to it from his godfather exclaiming, "Bavieca (meaning simpleton) thou hast chosen ill."

After this he sent his faithful cousin Alvar with a number of brave knights to fetch his wife and daughters from the convent of Cardeña, where they had been all this time. The ladies were joyful indeed to hear that Valencia was gained, and when they drew near, the Cid came out on his horse Bavieca, with a stately company to meet them, and he took them up to the highest tower of the Alcazar, whence they could see all the fair city lying in its plain beside the sea, and its beautiful houses built by the Moorish architects, its fountains and gateways, and its gardens filled with the brilliant flowers and luscious fruits of the East.

Doña Ximena and her daughters had been in Valencia about three months, when news was brought to the Cid that King Yusef was coming from Morocco with 50,000 horsemen, and myriads of men on foot, to invest the city by sea and land. The Campeador was not alarmed; he had his fortresses well manned, and the enormously thick walls of the city repaired, and he got in plenty of provisions, whilst a number of his vassals, Christians and Moors, came to his aid.

The day before the battle he took his wife and Elvira and Sol to the tower, and showed them the Moors as they gained their footing on shore. Soon they began to enter the gardens, and Ruy Diaz told a very brave man to go down thither with two hundred knights, and show them a little play. So he went down, and soon drove them out of the gardens. The Cid, being so often at war, had certain signals, by which the knights knew how many of them were to arm themselves and assemble, the signal being usually the ringing of a bell.

Early the next morning Bishop Hieronymo sang the mass and absolved all the Christians from their sins; praying afterwards, warlike man that he was, to be the first to drive back the enemy. Whilst it was still dark, the Cid, well armed and mounted on Bavieca, went out with his company at the gate which was called the Gate of the Snake. They loitered about at first, and then when the Cid rang his bell the Christians came out of their hiding-places amongst the narrow ways and passes, and the Moors were shut in between their enemies and the sea. There was hard fighting that day; the Moors, arming themselves in haste, made a firm stand, but before night they were overcome and fled to Denia, leaving great riches behind them in the camp. Ruy Diaz, who had been wounded in the battle, rode joyfully back to the city when they were gone, still mounted on Bavieca, and with his drawn sword still in his hand; and he sent King Alonzo a present of three hundred horses laden with the gold and silver he had found amongst the spoils.

Yusef died soon after his defeat, and his brother Bucar swore upon the Koran, the book of their law, that he would take revenge upon the mighty Castillian chief.

The Infantes of Carrion, Diego, and Fernan Gonzalez, vassals of King Alonzo in Castille, having heard how the power of the Cid was increasing day by day, demanded his daughters in marriage, thinking by so doing they would become rich and powerful themselves. The Cid was pleased with the proposal, but Doña Ximena did not like the idea of such a marriage at all; however, since the king had heartily approved of it, she dared say nothing against it.

The weddings were performed by Bishop Hieronymo, and there were great rejoicings in Valencia for eight days. Each day had its festival, either in bull-fighting, or tilting, or shooting stones from the cross-bow, or they witnessed the performances of the Moorish jugglers and buffoons, who were very clever in their art. Then there were magnificent banquets in the Alcazar, the tables being covered with silver dishes filled with rare and highly-seasoned meats.

For two years the Infantes lived with their wives at Valencia in peace; but at the end of that time a misfortune happened, which caused them to break with their father-in-law, although it was no fault of his. The Cid had a very large and lively lion, which afforded him great amusement, and was kept in an iron house, which opened into a high court behind the Alcazar; three men had the charge of it, and it was their custom about mid-day to open the door of its house, and let it come into the court to eat its dinner, taking care before they left to fasten the door of the court securely.

The Cid used to dine in company every day, and after dinner he sometimes fell asleep, for he was getting old. One day a man came to him, and told him that many vessels had arrived before Valencia, having on board a great host of the Moors, and among them Bucar, the African king, who had sworn to revenge the death of his brother. When the Cid heard this he was very much pleased, for it was nearly three years since he had had a fight with the Moors. He had his bell rung as a sign that all the honourable men in the city should assemble, and when they came to Alcazar, and the Infantes were there too, he told them the news, and agreed with them as to the manner in which they should repel the advance of their foes. When this was done he went quietly to sleep, and Diego and Fernan, and the rest of the company sat playing at tables[9] and at chess.

It happened that the men who guarded the lion heard that the Moors had come, and rushed to the palace to see if the news were true, forgetting in their anxiety to close the door of the court behind them. And lo and behold! the lion, when it had dined right royally, and saw the door open, walked out of the court and straight into the great hall where all the company were assembled. It certainly was an alarming sight, and the people did not know what to do, fearing that the lion might be roused to fury and tear some of them to pieces. Diego and Fernan Gonzalez showed more terror and cowardice than all the rest, and Diego ran and hid himself under the Cid's chair, and very nearly died of fright in his undignified retreat, whilst Fernan rushed out of a gallery which led into a court where there was a winepress, and entering therein he tumbled among the lees, which served him quite right.

The others remained in the hall, and stood around the Cid to guard him while he slept. The noise of their talking, however, at last awakened him, and he saw how the lion came towards him and licked his hand, and he asked what it meant. And when the lion heard his voice, it stood quite quiet, and the Cid arose and took it by the neck as if it had been a hound, and made it go back to its iron house, calmly giving orders that it should be more strictly guarded in future.

When the Infantes came out of their hiding-places they must have felt very much ashamed, but they gave a very different version of the story to what had really happened. In the famous poem of the Cid, which contains a great deal of historic truth, Ruy Diaz forbears reproaching his sons-in-law for their cowardice. Be that as it may, they made the event a pretence for taking offence with him, as they were wicked and discontented men; they were tired of their wives, and thought that they ought to have wedded damsels of far higher rank than the daughters of the Cid. So they said that he had arranged that the lion should come out of its den only to put them to shame before all the hidalgos; and their uncle, Suero Gonzalez, wickedly advised them to ask Ruy Diaz to let them take their wives to their home in Carrion, that, once out of Valencia, they might do with them whatsoever they pleased.

In the meantime there was much noise in the city. Bucar had landed his forces, and arrived in a plain about a league from Valencia, which was called Quarto; and there the Cid gave him such a defeat that he was obliged to flee with his diminished army across the sea. Ruy Diaz was still kindly disposed towards his sons-in-law; and when the battle was over he thanked them for the share they had had in it, when they had really done nothing at all, and had only pretended to fight; such men were not worthy to have married the daughters of the Cid! Now they said that they had heard no news of their father and mother in Carrion since they left Castille; and they wanted to take their wives home, and tell their parents what honour they had attained to by marrying them. Doña Ximena had no faith in them, and she told her husband that they were not true-hearted; she was very loth to let her daughters go with them; nevertheless the Cid trusted them still, and one day Elvira and Sol set out from Valencia with the Infantes; their parents, and a great and valiant company going with them two leagues on the road to Castille. Before they started, Ruy Diaz gave them presents worthy of a king. First of all, he gave them a quantity of cloth of gold, silk, and wool, a hundred horses richly caparisoned, and a hundred mules with gorgeous trappings; then he gave them ten goblets of pure gold, and a hundred vases of silver besides quantities of silver in plate and shields. A hundred well-appointed knights were to accompany them into Castille; amongst whom were two very brave men, named Martin Pelaez and Pero Sanchez, whom the Cid held in great esteem. Last of all he gave the Infantes each a golden-hilted sword to defend their wives with; these two swords he prized very much, because he had won them from the Moors, and he had named them Colada and Tizona.

When it was time to part, Elvira and Sol took a sorrowful leave of their parents, and the Cid, as he turned away from them began to feel some misgivings in his heart, and to wonder if Ximena had really been right in her distrust. The Infantes, however, still promised to treat their wives with honour, and the cavalcade went on towards Castille. On the way they were entertained by a Moorish king, a vassal of the Cid's, who could not do enough to show his pleasure in welcoming them, and so far all was well, and they went through the valleys until they reached the oak forest of Torpes. When they arrived there the Infantes told all the knights to go forward, and said they would stay for a while in the forest. Elvira asked her husband Diego why they remained there alone; he replied that she should soon see. Then these wicked men took their wives by the hair and dragged them along until they came to the fountain of Torpes, and there they beat them with the leathern girths of their saddles until the blood flowed from their wounds. And they took from them all the costly jewels, and robes of silk and ermine Doña Ximena had given them, and went on their way, leaving the poor ladies half dead by themselves in the forest, where the wild beasts might have come and devoured them. Elvira and Sol startled the birds in the branches overhead by the piteous cries they uttered in their terror and pain; then, finding that no one came to their aid, they said their prayers very fervently, and sank fainting to the ground.

The cruel Infantes mounted their horses, and took the mules which had carried their wives, and said aloud as they went out of the forest, "Now we have done with the daughters of the Cid! We demeaned ourselves by marrying them, and we are avenged of the affront their father put upon us by letting loose the lion."

Felez Nuñoz, however, the nephew of the Cid, happened to pass that way, and he heard what the Infantes said. He would have punished them on the spot, but he feared they would return and perhaps kill their wives; so he went into the deep oak glades, and kept calling his cousins by their names until he found them. Then, in great sorrow to behold the terrible plight they were in, he gave them water to drink, and carried them to a part of the forest where they would be in greater safety, and made a soft couch for them of tender green leaves and grass, whereon they might rest, for they were utterly worn out.

The knights had gone on their way, and when they saw the Infantes coming towards them bringing with them the mules and the rich robes of their wives, they began to fear that some evil deed had been done, and they all crowded round them, taunting them with their cowardice, and threatening to fight them. The Infantes wanted to be rid of them all, and declared that if the knights would go back to the forest, they would find Elvira and Sol by the fountain there unharmed. So Martin Pelaez and Pero Sanchez, and all the bravest men in the company returned thither; but when Felez Nuñoz and his cousins heard their voices they were alarmed, thinking the Infantes were near; and they kept quite still, so that the knights could not find them, and returned, very angry, to pursue the cowardly brothers, feeling sure that some foul deed had been done. Diego and Fernan, however, were already beyond their pursuit,—craven-hearted men can fly fast, and the knights set out at once for the court of Don Alonzo, and told their king all that had happened.

Now the ladies in the forest at first had nothing to eat, and were very near dying of hunger, when, by good fortune Felez Nuñoz found his way to a village where he bought them food, and he kept them thus from starving for seven days; but could not make their misfortunes known to the Cid because he feared to leave them by themselves in the wild forest. At last he found in his village a worthy man in whose house the Cid had once lodged, and he brought two asses to the forest, and made the noble ladies mount them, and led them in safety to his own house, where his wife tended them kindly, rejoicing that she had them under her roof. Here they wrote a letter to their father, which Felez Nuñoz undertook to convey to him at Valencia. On the road thither he met Alvar Fanez and Pero Bermudez, who were going to the king with a present from Ruy Diaz, of two hundred horses he had won in his battle with Bucar, besides a number of swords and a hundred Moorish captives. These knights were enabled to give Don Alonzo a faithful account of all that had happened, and the king was very indignant at the wickedness of his vassals, and appointed a day, three months from the time, when he would hear the matter through, and give judgment in his Cortes at Toledo. And Alvar and Pero set out in search of the Cid's daughters, taking with them from Alonzo two mules, with saddles richly adorned with gold, and jewelled robes for the sisters, so that they might return to Valencia in the same attire they had worn when they started on their hapless journey. When they had found them at the good man's house, Pero went on to Valencia, and Alvar remained with the knights who had followed him to guard his cousins. The indignation and anger of the mighty Cid may be imagined when he heard how his children had been treated. Doña Ximena was more dead than alive, and she was thankful indeed when she had her dear daughters safe at home with her once more.

Great preparations were made for the day of trial. The walls of the palace, where judgment was to be given, were hung with cloth of gold, rich carpets were spread on the floor, and a great throne was placed in readiness for the king. The Cid left Hieronymo and Martin Pelaez in charge of his city, and set out betimes for Toledo with so great a host of followers that it looked like an army. When he drew near Alonzo came out to meet him, but he would not cross the Tagus that night, and had candles lighted in the church of Saint Servans on the shore, and kept a vigil there a great part of the night with his friends. And he ordered one of his hidalgos to set a beautiful ivory chair he had won from the Moors close beside the king's throne, and sent a hundred squires, each one an hidalgo, to stand around it all night to guard it, with swords hanging from their necks.

There were many people in Toledo who were friends of the Infantes of Carrion, and therefore ill-disposed towards the Cid, and they thought he was taking a great liberty in having his chair set beside the king's throne: but Alonzo honoured him, and he suffered it to remain.

It was a stately meeting; we are told that when the day came Ruy Diaz wore a tunic of gold tissue, and over that a red skin with points of gold; this he always wore, and on his head he had a coif of scarlet and gold: his long beard, which was getting white, was tied up with a cord.[10] When he came into the hall, the king and all the people stood up, except those who were on the side of the Infantes of Carrion.

Alonzo gave judgment against those wicked men, and made them give up the golden-hilted swords Colada and Tizona, which they did not indeed deserve to keep. But the Cid was not content when judgment was pronounced; he thought the dishonour was not yet wiped away, and he stood up and required that three knights should fight for his cause against three of Carrion.

When he said this the three brave knights named Martin Antolinez, Pero Bermudez, and Nuno Gustios, entreated him to let them fight on his side; and a terrible quarrel arose; the Infantes said many rude things of the Cid, and his haughty hidalgos would not suffer their insults to pass; they quarrelled and fought until the king could scarcely hear himself speak, and he rose from his seat and called the Alcaydes, and went to confer with them in a chamber apart, while the Cid and all the others remained in the hall. When he came back he sat down on his throne with great solemnity, and told the people to listen to the sentence, which decreed that a combat should take place three weeks from that day between the Infantes and their uncle Suero Gonzalez on the side of Carrion, and the three brave knights who were willing to fight for the Cid.

Ruy Diaz was now content; he rose from his seat and kissed the king's hand, and prayed that God might have him in His holy keeping for many good years, so that he might administer justice worthily, as he had done that day.

In the midst of all this, messengers arrived at the palace from the kings of Arragon and Navarre, demanding the daughters of the Cid in marriage for their sons, when the unhappy marriage they had made with the Infantes of Carrion should be dissolved. Ruy Diaz went back to Valencia in joy, and told the glad news to his wife; adding that they need have no fear now for their daughters' happiness, because the princes of Arragon and Navarre were known far and wide to be honourable men. The combat took place on the appointed day. The Cid lent Colada and Tizona to his knights, and Diego and Fernan Gonzalez, and their uncle Suero, were all three overcome and wounded in the presence of King Alonzo; and, they crept away in disgrace and were never seen more, and Carrion, after the death of Don Gonzalez, their father, went back to the crown of Castille.

When the three victorious knights returned safe and sound to Valencia, and made known there the result of the combat, the joy of the Cid was beyond all bounds, and as for Doña Ximena, and Elvira, and Sol, they would fain have kissed the feet of their valiant defenders. There was rejoicing in the city for eight days, and banquets were held every day, the silver dishes being filled with the flesh of many extraordinary animals, which were cooked in Spain for the first time, having been sent to the Cid with a number of rare and beautiful presents from the Soldan, or Sultan of Persia. The Soldan paid great court to Ruy Diaz, and made known to him how a vast army of Christians had come out to the East and lay before Jerusalem, hoping to conquer that city from the Saracens; and that was the first crusade which had been preached by Peter the Hermit, when William Rufus was reigning in England.

The Cid remained in peace at Valencia for five years, and kept the Moors so quiet that they no longer molested the Christians, but lived with them on friendly terms. At the end of this time news came suddenly that Bucar had stirred up all the chiefs in Barbary to cross the sea in revenge for the victory that Ruy Diaz had gained over him in the field of Quarto.

The Cid sent the Moors who dwelt in the city to the suburb of Alcudia, where he thought they had better remain until the affair was ended. His strength was failing fast; and one night, as he lay wakeful on his bed, his chamber was filled with a strange brightness and fragrance, and he had another wonderful vision, in which Saint Peter appeared to him, aged and white as snow, with a bunch of keys in his hand, and told him now to mind other things besides the coming of Bucar, for that in thirty days he should die, and yet by the help of Saint James he should conquer his foes after he was dead. When the vision disappeared the Cid was lost in wonder, but he felt greatly comforted; and early in the morning he called the hidalgos around him and told them what he had seen, and how they should conquer the Moors. The last day that he was able to rise from his bed he ordered the city gates to be shut, and repaired to the church of Saint Peter, where he spoke long and earnestly to the people assembled there, reminding them that, however great and honourable their estate in life might be, not one of them could escape death. Then he took leave of them all, and confessed his sins at the feet of Bishop Hieronymo. From that time until his death, seven days afterwards, he took no nourishment except a little myrrh and balsam stirred in rose water, such as was used to embalm the dead bodies of kings in the East, and had been sent among the gifts of the Soldan in a casket of gold. He bequeathed great riches to his knights, leaving a thousand marks of silver to those who had only served him one year, and he ordered four thousand poor persons to be clothed at his expense. On Sunday, the 25th of May, 1099, the Cid died, in the seventy-third year of his age. These were his dying words: "Lord Jesus Christ, Thine is the kingdom; Thou art above all kings and all nations, and all kings are at Thy command. I beseech Thee to pardon my sins, and let my soul enter the light that hath no end."

Three days after his death King Bucar came, and with him thirty-six kings or chiefs. It is said that fifteen thousand tents were pitched around Valencia. As all was quiet inside the city, the Africans thought that their enemy dared not come out against them.

Meanwhile the body of the Cid had been embalmed and fixed in a wooden frame upright upon Bavieca, and the frame being painted to represent armour, it looked really as if he were alive. A mournful procession went out at midnight from the gate towards Castille. First the banner of the Cid was carried, guarded by five hundred knights; then came one hundred more, around the body of their lord; and lastly, Ximena followed sorrowfully with all her company, and three hundred knights in the rear. By the time they had all passed out the summer night was spent, and it was broad daylight.

Alvar Funez now fell upon the Moors with the forces that remained in Valencia; and so great was the terror and uproar he caused that they fled towards the sea, leaving their riches for the spoils of the Christians. The Moors who had retired to the suburb saw the procession pass, and thought that their lord had gone forth alive. But when they entered the city from whence all the Spanish knights had gone, they marvelled at the strange silence in the streets, until they saw written on the walls in Arabic that the Cid Campeador was dead. From that day Valencia remained in the power of the Moors until it was won by King Jayme of Arragon, in the year 1238; but the city was always known by the name of "Valencia of the Cid."

The body of Ruy Diaz was placed in his ivory chair at the right of the altar of Saint Peter in the church of Cardeña. It was clothed in purple cloth which had been given to him by the Soldan, and remained thus more than ten years. When that time had passed it was buried in a vault beside the grave of Doña Ximena, who only survived him three years. And Bavieca, his favourite horse, was buried not far from his master, under some trees in front of the convent of Saint Peter of Cardeña.

FOOTNOTES:

[7] Like the Alhambra court in the Crystal Palace.

[8] Sol, Spanish for sun.

[9] Tablas, in the Spanish tables, probably the game of draughts.

[10] See Southey's "Chronicle."

LOUIS IX., KING OF FRANCE.

The good king Louis the Ninth, commonly called St. Louis, because he led so holy a life, was born at Poissy, in the year 1215, whilst his grandfather, Philip Augustus, was still on the throne of France. Poissy was a beautiful place, just as Fontainebleau is now, where the kings of France used to go and hunt, and enjoy the sweet fresh air; and the queens passed many happy days with their little children, away from the cares and the splendour of the court.

Louis was always of a meek and gentle disposition, truthful and upright. His mother, Blanche of Castille, watched over him tenderly herself, and took care to place around him as early as possible the holiest and most learned men in France, in the hope that through their influence he might grow up to be a good king. Blanche was a woman of great piety, and she was very clever and beautiful besides; she had many children, but although Louis was always her favourite amongst them all, she did not indulge him either in luxury or pleasure, and used often to say to him, "My son, I love you more than I can tell; yet I would rather see you lying dead at my feet than know you were guilty of a mortal sin."

Louis did indeed try earnestly to be good, and to remember the words of his mother; he was obedient to his instructors, and is said to have understood Latin well, and to have been versed in the works of the fathers of the Church, and in the history of the kings who reigned before him; and that was knowing a great deal, for the times he lived in were called "the dark ages," because so very little was learnt or known, especially in Europe. His amusements were hunting and fishing, and playing at chess, but he did not care for these as he cared for the services of the church, attending them daily with his little brothers, and loving the holy chants and hymns he heard there more than any songs of merriment.

Louis was only eleven years old when his father, King Louis the Eighth, died, after a reign of less than four years. He had then four brothers younger than himself—Robert, John, Alphonse, and Charles; and one little sister named Isabel. As he was so very young, his mother, Queen Blanche, governed his kingdom for him, and she had many troubles to contend with, on account of the quarrels and revolts of some of the most powerful nobles in the land. Several of these refused to attend the coronation of Louis, which took place at Rheims, after he had been knighted, according to the custom of the time, at Soissons. The ceremony was very solemn; Queen Blanche would not let it be made an occasion of rejoicing, because her heart was so full of sorrow for the death of her husband; and the day after she took Louis to Paris, and began at once to think what would be the best measures for securing his safety and the welfare of the country.

It was at the siege of Bellesme that Louis gained his first experience in war, when he was only twelve years of age. The Count de Bretagne, foremost of the rebellious nobles, had invaded the territory of the king, and was causing great misery to the country people by laying waste their land and destroying their villages. To chastise him, and bring him to obedience, Queen Blanche set off in the depth of winter with her son Louis and only a few followers, to lay siege to the Castle of Bellesme, where the count had first set up his standard of rebellion.

The snow lay deep on the ground, and icicles hung from the trees along the road-side: the cold was intense, and the march was difficult in the short winter days, but little Louis was as brave as he was gentle, and cared nothing for the cold and discomfort, nor did he tremble the least at the idea of the coming affray; his mother had taught him to endure manfully hardships and pain and fatigue, and to trust in God, whatever danger was at hand.

The Castle of Bellesme exists no longer; its ruins have long crumbled away: in those days it was a strong fortress, surrounded by thick walls flanked with towers. The Count of Bretagne was inside the castle with all the bravest of his men, and the queen's party made two assaults upon it in vain. The cold had numbed the energies of the knights and the soldiers in the camp, and they were very nearly frozen to death. Queen Blanche then published a decree which promised large rewards to all persons who should cut down the trees in the forests around, and bring the wood to the camp. The peasants were soon seen joyfully bringing the wood on their shoulders and in carts: enormous fires were kindled, and the warmth so quickly restored the spirits of the besiegers, that before two days had passed, the greater part of the fortification was thrown down, and the haughty Count de Bretagne, seeing no hope of succour, was obliged to surrender. Queen Blanche and her little son treated the garrison with great kindness when they came out; and a treaty was soon after made, by which it was agreed that Louis's brother John should marry, when he grew up, the daughter of the Count de Bretagne.

Whilst Louis was growing out of childhood, and striving day by day to become more holy in the sight of God, the rebellions of the nobles were continually breaking out afresh, and had to be put down by force of arms, or the crown would have lost much of its power. This chapter, however, is not to be a record of all the disturbances that occurred in France during the early part of the good king's reign, but rather a description of the events which brought to light most strikingly his piety, his courage, and his patience.

In the year 1233 Louis was persuaded by his mother to bestow his hand on Marguerite, daughter of Raymond Berenger, Count of Provence. Raymond had four daughters, and Marguerite was the most beautiful and talented of them all. Her sister Eleanor was married soon after to Henry the Third of England, and another sister, named Beatrice, to Louis's brother Charles, Count of Anjou.

The royal marriage was celebrated with great magnificence at Sens; and when Louis was twenty years of age he took the reins of government into his own hands: nevertheless Queen Blanche continued to influence him by her advice, and was obeyed by him until her death, on all occasions save one, as will be seen hereafter.

The peace of the country was not really established until the year 1239, when some of the quarrelsome nobles had gone on a crusade to the Holy Land. The enterprise did not succeed; the Christian army was entrapped and defeated by the Saracens, and Jerusalem became a possession of the Sultan of Egypt. The king was deeply grieved at the failure; he was always thinking of the miseries and oppressions the Christians were forced to endure in the East, and resolved to go and help them as soon as he could leave his country in prosperity. When the rumour of this was spread in Palestine, the sheik, or old man of the mountain, singled out the King of France for his victim, and despatched two of his assassins to Paris, thinking thus to put an end to all idea of a fresh crusade.

Having boasted, however, of his intended deed before some of the knights templars, he was told by them that if he put Louis to death, his brothers would certainly avenge the crime, and draw upon him the ill will of many nations besides France. The sheik now became as anxious to preserve the king's life as he had been to take it, and sent off in a great hurry two of his emirs to the court of France to warn Louis of his danger. The king received the intelligence calmly, and only instituted another company of guards, who were armed with maces of brass. But when the assassins could not be discovered, notwithstanding the marks by which the emirs declared they would be known, these men hastened to Marseilles, and luckily arrived there before the Arabs set foot on shore. When they had told them how the sheik had determined not to take the king's life, they conducted them to Paris, and all four were received with kindness by Louis, and went back to the East much impressed with the magnificence of the French court; for although the king loved neither luxury nor pleasure, his court was always kept up with dignity and splendour. The Sire de Joinville, who was twenty-two years in his company, tells us how, at a great festival held at Saumur, which was called a plenary court, the king wore a coat of blue samite, a species of satin, with overcoat and mantle of crimson samite, bordered with ermine, and strangely enough, a cotton cap on his head, which did not become him at all. His hair, which was fair, he wore short, according to the custom of the time. At this feast there were at least three thousand knights present, and so many robes of cloth of gold and of silk had never been seen before. King Louis, his brothers, and the King of Navarre sat at one table, Joinville himself carving for them; the queen mother and her ladies sat at another, and the archbishops and bishops at a third; and to guard the king's table stood three of the greatest barons in the land; and to guard them stood thirty knights, in garments of rich silken stuff; and these again had a retinue of the royal officers behind them.

During the whole time that the plenary courts were held, the king was obliged to dine in public, and it was an old custom, that before the dinner was ended, three heralds at arms, each with a rich cap in his hand, cried out three times, "Bounty of the most powerful King!" and then threw gold and silver to the people, so that the poor had their share of the rejoicing as well as the rich.

The king was seized with a dangerous illness at Pontoise in the year 1244. This was a very great sorrow for his people, since it was feared that he would die, and they joined in solemn processions all over the kingdom, and went to the churches to pray to the Almighty to restore him to health. Queen Blanche was the saddest of all, and passed her time between the sick chamber of her son, and the foot of the altar, where she knelt for hours in silent prayer.

When Louis felt that he was getting weaker, he sent for all the members of his household, and thanked them for their services; after which he recommended them to serve God with earnest and faithful hearts. Then he sank into a lethargy, which those who were watching by his bedside at first mistook for death. The lethargy lasted several days, and then the king gave signs of returning life. The first words he spoke after opening his eyes were these:—"By the grace of God the light of the East has shone upon me from the height of heaven, and recalled me from the dead." He summoned the Bishop of Paris to his presence, and required him to affix the cross to his shoulder, as a sign that he bound himself to go on the crusade.

The sorrow which had been forgotten when the king gave signs of recovery, now broke out afresh. The two queens, Blanche and Marguerite, threw themselves on their knees, and implored him with many tears not to go on the crusade; even the bishops, who stood by, tried to persuade him not to engage in so difficult an enterprise, but all in vain. Louis would take no nourishment until the cross was really fastened to his shoulder; and his people heard of the vow he had taken in gloom and regret, for they thought if he once set sail for the Holy Land, they would never see him again.

The king did not really recover until several months had passed, and then he wrote to the Christians in the East to tell them that he was coming to their aid. But it was a long time yet before he was able to set out, because he loved his people very dearly, and wanted to provide everything for their comfort and happiness during his absence, when his mother, Queen Blanche, was to rule over them in his stead. He persuaded the most turbulent of the nobles to go with him on the crusade, and when the best measures had been taken for securing the peace of the kingdom, he made known that he was ready to redress every injury he had offered, it being the custom then for all good crusaders to make their peace with God and man before they embarked in their enterprise.

Louis then went with his brothers, Robert of Artois and Charles of Anjou, to the church of Saint Denis to receive his pilgrim's scrip and staff, and the oriflamme, or sacred banner of Saint Denis. This was a banner of flame-coloured silk, which was always carried before the French armies on solemn occasions for the encouragement of the soldiers. The king, having requested all holy persons to pray that his undertaking might prove successful, came back to Paris, and heard mass at the great church of Notre Dame, and then went out of the city he was not to behold again for so long, followed by the clergy, the nobles, and multitudes of the common people.

The crimson and the samite, the gold-embroidered garments with the ermines, were now laid aside for a plain grey robe trimmed with grey and white fur. The trappings of the king's horses were no longer adorned with gold, but the steel of their harness was polished until it shone like silver. Louis computed before he left France how much his former luxuries had cost him yearly, and then caused the amount to be regularly distributed to the poor.

At Cluny, Queen Blanche bade her son a long sad farewell: it was the first time he had ever thwarted her wishes by refusing to give up the crusade, when she urged that a vow made in a time of extreme weakness was not binding. His young wife could not bring herself to part with him, and declared she would follow him to the end of the world.

When all was ready, the king, with his brothers Robert and Charles, Queen Marguerite, and the young Countess of Anjou, and a vast number of crusaders of all nations, embarked at Aigues-Mortes, a port on the Mediterranean, which had been constructed for the occasion. They took the direction of Cyprus, and the winds being favourable, all the vessels except one, which was unhappily shipwrecked, reached the island in safety. Here the crusaders remained during the winter. For two years before they arrived, the king's people had been bringing wine and various provisions for the army from the most fertile countries of Europe, and had laid up their store in the island. The tubs of wine they had piled one upon the other, until they looked like great barns; and the wheat and the barley lay in heaps in the fields, green on the outside, where the warm rains falling softly upon them had made them sprout. The crusaders found an abundant supply of food in Cyprus, without having recourse to their stores, and when in the spring they wanted to set out for Egypt, they took off the outer covering of the heaps, and saw the wheat and the barley beneath, as fresh as if it had just been cut.

The departure from the island was fixed for Ascension Day in the year 1249. The crusaders embarked towards evening at the port called Limesson, where they had landed. The vessels large and small amounted to 1,650, and were thronged with a vast assembly of people of all callings and nations, 2,800 of them being knights. The next day the king sent a sealed packet into every vessel, with orders for it to remain unopened until the fleet had set sail; the purport of this was that they should proceed direct to Damietta. The wind, however, blew against them, and forced them to return to the port; and when they had got out to sea again a few days after, a violent tempest arose from the side of Egypt, and scattered all the vessels. Louis himself was obliged to go back to the port of Limesson, and found on arriving there that his fleet was diminished by one hundred and twenty vessels, and that the number of knights was reduced to seven hundred! But he would not suffer the followers who remained to him to be cast down, and on Trinity Sunday they set sail once more, and although in continual dread of another storm, they went on their way safely, until a sailor who knew the coasts of Egypt, and served as a guide, warned them that they were before Damietta, the great stronghold of the Saracens in Egypt. All the other vessels now crowded around the one which bore the king, who stood up among his people calm and trustful, encouraging them to persevere for the love of God, and not to flinch in the moment of danger.

Saleh, the Sultan, was at some distance from Damietta; he was supposed to be dying, and had confided the care of his army to the emir Facardin. The Saracens had seen the sea covered with masts and sails by seven o'clock in the morning, and had rung the bell of their great mosque to spread the alarm in the city: the Christians heard the sound across the sea in the clear summer air. Facardin ordered four Corsair vessels to approach the fleet, but three of these ventured too near, and were overwhelmed by showers of stones from the larger vessels. The fourth went back to convey the tidings that the King of France had come with a number of foreign princes.

At mid-day the fleet of the Christians cast anchor in the roads of Damietta. The port was full of men-of-war, and the flat country of Egypt was covered with rich tents, whilst crowds of people on foot and on horse stood along the shore, sounding their twisted horns, and their great cymbals, two of which were a sufficient load for an elephant; and making, as the Sire de Joinville affirms, "a sound horrible to be heard!"

A council was held on board the king's vessel, at which it was resolved to land the next day, although only a portion of the fleet had as yet arrived in the roads; but Louis thought that delay would inspire fear, and perhaps afford the Saracens the opportunity of destroying his army by degrees. So when it got dark, the crusaders lighted a great number of torches, and kept watch all night; and they confessed their sins one to another, and prayed for those they loved, and had left behind in Europe; and as many as had quarrelled made friends, that they might be ready for death, if it should meet them in the struggle on the morrow.

At daybreak they lifted anchor, and sailed for the island of Giza, which was joined to Damietta by a bridge of boats across the river Nile. The king commanded his people to get down into the flat boats they had brought with them, because the large vessels could not approach the shore: the boat Joinville was in soon distanced the one which bore the Oriflamme, and was first to gain the land.

Suddenly the air was darkened by a flight of arrows from the bows of the Saracens. Louis, seeing this, gave orders for each man to disembark as he could, and jumped from his boat into the water, covered as he was by his armour, with his shield on his breast, and his sword in his hand. The water was deeper there than elsewhere, and he was immersed up to his shoulders, but the sight of the Oriflamme safely landed encouraged him in his efforts, and he got to the shore before any of the others. Although countless swords and pike points were aimed at him as he landed, the good king did not forget to kneel down for a moment on the sand, to thank the Almighty for having preserved him thus far; then, rising, he would have rushed on the Saracens at once and alone, if his knights, who were now gaining their footing on shore, had not prevented him.

All the rest now followed; Louis put his people in battle array as they landed, and ordered an attack to be made on some of the enemy's larger vessels. Before the day was ended the Christian army had driven the Saracens from the western shores of the Nile, and had got possession of the bridge of boats; they would have pursued their foes, but night coming on, the king sounded a retreat, and encamped on the ground he had conquered. Meanwhile the poor queen and the Countess of Anjou had been in terrible anxiety and distress when they watched from their vessel afar the multitudes rushing into the water, and could not tell whether their husbands were alive or drowned. And great must have been their joy when the news was conveyed to him that those they loved so dearly were safe on shore, and that their efforts, as yet, had been crowned with success.

Early the next morning, which was Sunday, the king was giving orders for the siege of Damietta, when two Christian captives came to the camp and told him that the city was deserted. The king could scarcely credit their words, and sent one of his knights to the spot to see if they were really true. The knight returned with the same account; the Saracens had gone back to Damietta in great distress the evening before, and on their arrival had heard that the Sultan was dead.

The rumour struck dismay into the heart of Facardin, and he only waited to put the Christian slaves who were in the city to death, and to burn the bazaars where the provisions were sold, and then he went out at the gates the same night with his army and the garrison; old men and women, children and sick persons following in the rear of the craven-hearted troops, until by daylight the whole city was deserted.

Damietta was now open to the Christians; they had only to cross the bridge of boats and enter its gates. The king in his thankfulness thought that he ought not to enter the city as a triumphant warrior, but humbly, and clad as a pilgrim; and he walked thither barefoot, followed by the King of Cyprus, who had joined the crusade, the patriarch of Jerusalem, the legate, and all the bishops and priests who had accompanied the army. A mosque, where the Saracens had worshipped, was hastily converted into a Christian church, and a solemn chant of thanksgiving ascended from its altar. The crusaders had indeed reason to be thankful because Damietta was so strong a place, protected by a double wall on the side of the Nile, and by a triple one on the side of the flat country. The king determined to remain there until the autumn, and thus avoid marching in the great heat, and the danger which his army would be exposed to from the rising of the Nile, for the river begins to rise in the month of June, and mounts higher and higher until September, overflowing the land along its course so that it looks like a great marsh, and the villages and trees appear like islands above the water. By November the fields are dry again and covered with a rich brown slime, and the people then begin to sow their corn. The soil being so fertile, in the winter months the valley of the Nile presents the appearance of a beautiful garden; indeed, the natives are obliged sometimes to mix sand with the loam, or the fruits and vegetables would grow and ripen too quickly.

When the water had risen to a certain height, the Saracens used to open their dykes with great solemnity and let it flow over the land; and it was remembered with sadness in the Christian camp how they had used it for the destruction of the crusading army in the enterprise which had failed only a few years before.

The queen and her sister, with their ladies in attendance, were lodged in one of the palaces in the city, and the pilgrims who had come in the hope of reaching Jerusalem in another; but the king remained in his tent outside with the army.

The crusaders soon began to suffer from the intense heat of the climate, and the flies and noxious insects which infested the camp.

The report of the sultan's death had been false. Saleh was still living, but almost at his last gasp; and finding he could not dictate to the King of France the hour when a battle should take place between them, he devised a sure method of annoyance by offering a reward of a besant of gold for every head of a Christian which should be brought to him. The Arabs or Bedouins undertook to perform this service. Clad only in the skins of wild beasts, they would suddenly appear in the camp, and vanish on their swift-footed horses as soon as they were seen. On dark nights they used to put their ear to the ground, as the Arabs do to this day, and listen if the night watch had gone its rounds before they began their dread work; and as there were always people sleeping on the outskirts of the camp, who had gone out in search of prey, scarcely a night passed but some heads were missing at daybreak. The king, to mislead them, ordered the night watch to be made by foot soldiers instead of horsemen, but it did not prevent the maurauders from coming, and at last the crusaders had to dig a deep trench all round the camp as a surer means of keeping them away.

Louis was anxiously awaiting the arrival of his brother Alphonse, Count of Poitou, Prince John being left in France to assist the queen-mother in the cares of the government. The Count came at last, bringing with him the wife of Robert of Artois. The time was wearing on, and a council was held to determine which way they should next proceed. Robert, who was as zealous in the crusade as Louis himself, but who had not his brother's patience and calmness of mind, strongly advised that they should pursue the road to Cairo, or Babylon, as it was then called, and so aim a blow at the whole dominion of the Sultan in Egypt. The king yielded to his wishes, and leaving the queen and the princesses in the city, with a sufficient number of guards to protect them, he set out from Damietta, although he was in weak health from the effects of the climate. The army crossed the bridge of boats, but it could only go slowly along; there were so many things, such as engines, arms, harness, and provisions, to be transported. The crusaders imagined that they were going to Babylon, the great city of the East, on the banks of the Euphrates; but the city they were approaching was only so named by some settlers from the Eastern Babylon, and was what is now called "Old Cairo," although in those days it was almost as great a place as Memphis, the ancient capital of Egypt. They were much astonished at the abundant vegetation on the shores of the Nile, and the treasures to be found even in its waters; for the Sire de Joinville tells us how the country people used to throw their nets into the river at evening, and take them up in the morning filled with cinnamon, aloes, ginger, rhubarb, and things of a like nature; the common belief being that these riches dropped from the trees in the garden of paradise, and were wafted up the river to their feet!

The Egyptian fleet was stationed at Massoura, a city nearly a third of the way between Damietta and Cairo. The sultan was now dead, but his widow would not let it be known until her son could arrive to take the government into his hands, for fear that the people should get discouraged.

The crusaders had not gone far from Damietta, when they found their passage barred by the Thanis, a branch of the Nile, the opposite shore of which was guarded by a body of five hundred Saracen horsemen. The Thanis was the river they had to cross; it was deep near its steep shores; there was no bridge, neither did they know of a ford, so they encamped on the ground which formed the extremity of the angle between the two rivers, only separated from the town of Massourah by the stream and a part of the plain. Their situation soon became very dangerous, because the Saracens were constantly attacking their side which was unprotected by the waters: the machines of the enemy, too, were better than their own, and poured upon them a continual volley of stones, darts, javelins, arrows, and heavy pieces of wood. Then at night the Saracens would throw upon them their terrible Greek fire, which appeared with a loud hissing noise, "like a fiery dragon flying through the air," and rendered the camp as light as day. The Saracens were more skilful in the art of making fireworks than the Europeans, and always employed them in warfare. The basis of the Greek fire was naphtha, a clear, thin mineral fluid, which is very inflammable, and burns with much smoke. When it came, the Christians would throw themselves down on the ground and hide their faces, and the king, whenever he heard it explode in the night, would rise in his bed and say, "Blessed Lord God, save my people!" and every night he would send round the camp to inquire who had been injured by it. Sometimes it was put out with vinegar and sand, but it usually occasioned great harm, not only to the people in the camp, but also to the machines.

The king, having tried in vain to construct a dyke, had now to think seriously of returning to Damietta, or of remaining in this corner between the rivers, surrounded by the enemy, and almost in total want of provisions. He was about to retreat, notwithstanding the sorrow and disappointment it cost him to give up the enterprise, when a Bedouin, who had abandoned the Saracens, came to the camp and said that he knew of a ford which the horsemen might pass, and would show it to them for the sum of five hundred besants of gold, but not until he had the money safe in his hand.

The king joyfully accepted his offer, and arranged that the Duke of Burgundy should be left with the infantry to guard the camp, whilst he, with his brothers and all the rest, should attempt the passage. The Count of Artois begged for the honour of passing first, and the king somewhat reluctantly granted him his request, on condition that he should not venture to fight until the whole army had assembled; he knew so well his brother's ardent spirit and rashness.

Before daybreak they all set out for the ford, with the Arab marching at their head, and went out of the straight road to avoid being seen by their foes. The Arab plunged into the water first of all, and as he knew the way perfectly it was not difficult for him to cross, but Robert of Artois did not find it so easy to effect a footing, the opposite shore being high and slippery from the richness of its soil. Next to him went the Templars, and then William, Earl of Salisbury, surnamed "Longue Epée," who had joined the crusade with two hundred English knights. Ah! little those brave men knew they were going to their death, and that of all who crossed in hope and ardour that morning, only enough should survive to come back and tell the tale!

The sight of the Arabs fleeing who guarded the ford, made Robert forget the oath he had sworn to his brother; he rushed after them in pursuit; the Emir Facardin coming out to ascertain the cause of alarm, was quickly surrounded and killed, and numbers of the Saracens, in dismay at the loss of their leader, left their camp to their foes, and retired in disorder to Massoura.

Meanwhile the king had passed the ford in his turn, with all the rest of the horsemen, and was greatly surprised that he did not find his brother and the advance guard waiting for him on the other side. Fearing some misfortune had happened, he told ten of his knights to go in search of Count Robert, and remind him that he was to attempt nothing until the whole army had assembled. After this he set out quickly in the direction of the Saracens; but what was his astonishment when he found that instead of being able to stand against them, he was surrounded by them on all sides, whilst the air was filled with their hideous cries, and the noise of their barbarous instruments! The Saracens, terror-stricken at first by the approach of the Christians, had now rallied in multitudes, and completely closed in the army of the crusaders between the river and the town of Massoura. The king, undismayed, prepared for immediate battle, although his knights and nobles tried to persuade him that it would be hopeless to combat so large a force. Just at that moment the constable Imbert de Beaujeu rode up to tell him that the Count of Artois was besieged in a house at Massoura, and would perish if succour did not arrive. The king sent a body of troops to his aid, and promised that he would soon be with him himself; and then he turned to his people and exhorted them to keep their ranks firm; and told them that the soldiers of Christ ought not to fear a set of miscreants like those who were crowding around them. The whole aspect of the king that day inspired courage; his face was calm, his eyes shone with a steadfast light; he had a helmet of gold on his head, which from his great height towered above the ranks of his army; his double-edged sword was so heavy, that to strike a blow with it, he had to grasp it with both hands.

The signal being given, the bravest of the crusaders rushed on the Saracens; others, less courageous, tried to regain the camp of the Duke of Burgundy, but were most of them drowned in the attempt. The king was sure to be found where the fight was the thickest, or where the weak were in want of succour; and once during the battle he was surrounded by six Saracens, who seized the bridle of his horse, and yet he freed himself by his own aid alone.

The Duke of Burgundy and his men heard the conflict going on from the opposite shore; they longed to fly to the king's assistance, but their very eagerness hindered them, and it was a long time before any of them could cross the river. When a body of the king's archers arrived on the plain, they found that Louis had maintained his ground, and that the battle of Massoura was won: yet, had it not been for the king's example, the day had been lost, so great was the fury and strength of the enemy.

Both Christians and Saracens were now utterly wearied out with fighting; the heat had been intense, and Louis, having waited for all the wounded who could be assembled, set out at sunset for the Saracen camp on the Thanis. His golden helmet oppressed him, and he was glad to accept from Joinville a casque of steel, which enabled him to breathe more freely. He had only gone a little way on the road when a prior of the knights hospitallers met him and asked if he knew where his brother was, the Count of Artois.

"Yes," replied the king, "I know that he is in heaven." And then he said that the Lord should be praised equally for what He gave and for what He withheld; and in the dark of the evening his tears began to flow, not only for his own sorrow, but for that of the young Countess of Artois, who had only come out to the East to bid her husband a last farewell.

For Robert indeed was slain; deaf to the remonstrances of the Grand Master of the Templars, an old man, whose advice had been well heeded, and to those of the Earl of Salisbury, he persisted in following the Saracens to Massoura, and had met there the fate he had drawn upon him by his untimely zeal and rashness. His brave companions perished with him, with the exception of the Grand Master, who lost an eye in the conflict, and one or two others; the Englishman who bore the standard wrapped it around him as he fell. And as the king appeared to have known beforehand what had happened, so it is said the mother of the Earl of Salisbury had a vision of her son ascending to heaven, with a crown of glory on his head, before she received the tidings of his death.

The king encamped that night close by the machines of the Saracens, and on the second day after the battle of Massoura, the struggle began afresh. The Saracens had taken the victory to themselves, and had sent the news of their supposed triumph to Cairo by their carrier pigeons. Bondocar, the chief, who had rallied the troops in Massoura appeared on the field in the coat of arms starred with lilies which Robert of Artois had worn. The Greek fire was poured forth incessantly from the front line of the Saracens as they came up in battle array; the king had the crupper of his horse covered with it once during the conflict, when he had gone to the rescue of his brother Charles, who was in danger. The Saracens were repulsed a second time, but the victory was dearly bought, so many men and horses being wounded, and the crusaders passed a dreary time before Massoura, whilst their provisions grew less and less; and it being Lent, they lost their strength by eating only roots, wheat, and fruit; fish they had in plenty at first, but to their horror they found out that they had fed on the dead bodies which the Saracens had thrown into the river. A pestilence broke out, and the camp was like one vast hospital. The king, in mistaken zeal, had caused the bodies to be taken out of the water, that those of the Christians might receive Christian burial, and helped to bury them himself. This only increased the unwholesomeness of the air, and at last Louis fell ill too. The crusaders now began to despair; the king had been as brave in misfortune as he had been on the battle-field, and had cheered the spirits of his followers: he visited the sick day and night, and sat beside the bedside of the dying, reminding them of their Saviour's love, and comforting many a poor soul with the hope of heaven. It is recorded how one of the lowliest of the army declared as he lay dying that he could not depart until he had seen the kind face of his master bending over him once more.

The Saracens having prevented the approach of the vessels that were coming to the camp with provisions, the king, as a last resource, offered to give up the city of Damietta to the Sultan Malek al Moadhem, if he would agree to restore Jerusalem to the Christians, the Counts of Poiton and Anjou remaining in Egypt as hostages.

The Sultan would have no other hostage but the king himself, and Louis would willingly have sacrificed himself for his people if his nobles had allowed him to do so. There was no alternative but to retreat to Damietta, and the army decamped one spring night in the dark, the old people and the sick and wounded being carried out first, and the king leaving the camp the last of all with the barons Gautier de Chatillon and Geoffray de Sardines. He was so weak and ill that he could hardly sit upright on his little Arab horse; yet he was the bravest among the brave in that troop which went slowly and sadly along in the dark, defending themselves as they could from the attacks of the Arabs, who had been bribed for the purpose of molesting them.

Geoffray de Sardines had to deal many a blow to keep the Saracens from his master, who soon became too feeble to lift his sword, and they were in the greater danger because the whole of the Egyptian army was behind them. At last they reached a little village, and the king, having fainted away, was carried into the first house they met with, whilst Chatillon stood outside in the street defending it until he fell mortally wounded.

When Louis had recovered a little, Philip de Montfort came to him, and told him that he had seen an emir, to whom he had been sent on a mission once before, and if he liked he would make a treaty with him on the terms desired by the Saracens.

The king agreed to the plan; De Montfort went to the emir, and all would have been well if a sergeant belonging to the French army, thinking to save the king's life, had not cried out to the knights who were standing around, "Surrender, Sir Knights! the king commands you to do so!" The Christian warriors, believing that the king had really commanded them to give way, lay down their swords, and the emir, seeing they were all prisoners, said there was no further need of a treaty. Then cords and chains were thrown around them, and they were all conducted to Massoura.

The king was shut up in the house of a scribe; he was loaded with chains, and strictly watched, while the barons and knights were huddled together in a court which was open to the sky. King Louis was very unkindly treated by the Sultan at first; he was only allowed to have one attendant with him; this man, whose name was Isambert, nursed him tenderly, dressed him, and made his bread; and said afterwards that he had never heard his master utter one word of complaint or impatience during the whole time of his captivity. It was a marvel how Louis ever lived through his illness; his strength was almost spent; and at night, to add to his discomfort, he had nothing to cover him as he lay on his wretched bed but an old cloak, which a poor man had given him out of compassion in Massoura.

After a time, Malek al Moadhem, fearing the reproaches of the European nations, treated his captive more kindly; he had his chains removed and sent him his own physicians, and delicate food from his royal table, and to keep him warm he gave him two robes of black samite, trimmed and lined with fur, which were plentifully adorned with gold buttons. And best of all he allowed him to have his almoner and a priest with him, and something like joy came back to the poor king when the Saracens brought him one day his missal, or book of prayers, which he had lost and never thought to see again. And so, comforted and strengthened by prayer, Louis was not unhappy even within prison walls, away from all he loved, and waited patiently until the Almighty should see fit to make a way for him to regain his liberty.

And a way came at last: the sultan agreed to release him on condition of his giving up Damietta and paying a ransom of a million besants of gold. Louis agreed to the terms, but he said that the liberty of the King of France should not be bought with money, and that the gold should be paid for his people, and the city should be his own ransom. The sultan, struck with the spirit of his reply, reduced the sum he had asked by two hundred thousand besants, and a truce was concluded between the Christians and the Saracens of Egypt and Syria. It was arranged that half the ransom should be paid at once, and the other half as soon as the king should reach the port of Acre in Palestine, his brother Alphonse remaining in Egypt as hostage. Louis was then set at liberty; he had recovered from his illness through the skill of the Arabian physicians, and he repaired to Acre where the queen and the princesses had already arrived, having quitted Damietta a little while before. It was a joyful meeting, for Marguerite had been very unhappy through all those long sad months at Damietta, not only on account of the miseries of the crusaders, but also from the constant fear of falling into the hands of the Saracens herself. And a little son who was born to her there received the name of "Tristan," in memory of the sorrows she had endured.

Louis did not return to France at once, but remained some time at Acre, in the hope of inducing the Christian powers to enter into a league for the recovery of the Holy Land, and it was not until the news of his mother's death reached him, and his presence was required in his country, that he bade farewell to the East, where he had bravely striven for so much, and yet had gained so little.

The king was received with great joy by his people on his return to France, but they were less happy when they saw the cross still on his shoulder, as a sign that he meant to engage in another crusade when the truce should have expired. As soon as he arrived he occupied himself in making good laws for his country, and was so greatly famed for his justice that other sovereigns were glad to benefit by his example. His laws against evil-doers were very severe; no murderer or thief dared abide in Paris, and merchants and tradesmen who gave false measures were punished with extreme rigour. The king used often to sit beneath an oak in the Bois de Vincennes, or on a carpet spread in a garden, to hear the complaints and grievances of the common people, and to administer justice to them. He had always been charitable from his earliest years: a hundred and twenty poor persons were maintained in his house, and three poor old men, besides those who were crippled and lame, dined with him every day at his own table; the king would cut their bread and meat for them, and pour out their wine, and would serve them before he ate anything himself. And beyond this, he gave large sums to hospitals, religious houses, and colleges, and succoured widows and poor ladies and gentlemen, and all those who by reason of age or illness could no longer work for their living.

The good king used to employ the morning with the affairs of the state; he dined at mid-day, and after dinner his readers would come to him, and he read the Bible with interpreters, or the works of the fathers of the church: sometimes, instead of reading, he would converse with good and learned men, who always found a welcome at his court. In the evening, before he retired to rest, he used to assemble his children around him, and hear them repeat their prayers and the tasks they had learned during the day. Then he would tell them of the deeds of good emperors and kings, and of the fate that generally befel those who were idle, or careless of the happiness of their subjects. At midnight he would rise from his bed to attend Matins, and so afraid was he of being asleep when any of the church services began, that he had candles lighted which only burnt a certain time, that his servants might not fail to awaken him as soon as they were spent. His brothers used to share with him works of charity and holy offices. When Baldwin II., Emperor of Constantinople, sent him as a gift the Crown of Thorns supposed to be the one worn by our blessed Saviour, and part of the word of the True Cross on which He died, in return for the aid Louis had afforded him when he was in great need, we read how the king received the sacred relics in the deepest humility, and bareheaded and barefoot carried the Crown of Thorns with his brother Robert of Artois to the church of Notre-Dame. It was to form a shrine for these relics that Louis built the beautiful Sainte Chapelle in Paris. Again, we read how, when a new hospital was completed, the king carried in the first bed himself, with his son-in-law, the King of Navarre, whilst his brothers conveyed the remainder of the sick people into the wards. The whole family were united in deeds of love and compassion. There was no office too lowly for Louis to perform; no person, however mean and wretched, who had not a place in his heart. And if we except the harsh laws he made against the Jews through his zeal for the Christian faith, no sovereign ever showed more mercy and justice towards his people.

One Good Friday, when the king was going his rounds to all the churches in Paris, according to his custom, he saw on the other side of the way a leper who was shunned by every person he met. The king immediately crossed over the muddy road and gave the poor man some money, and kissed his hand to show that he loved him, although he was despised and avoided by all others. The king never resumed his costly robes after his return from the Holy Land, but wore dark-coloured garments of cloth and silk, and instead of handsome furs he only wore the skins of hares, rabbits, and squirrels, that he might have the more money to spare for his charities.

In the summer of the year 1270 the Christians set out once more from the port of Aigues-Mortes on the seventh and last crusade. Bondocar had become a very powerful sovereign, and the Saracens were making so great progress in the East, that all Christian princes became alarmed, and were urged by the Pope to hasten to the relief of Palestine.

The Crusaders, with Louis and three of his sons at their head, directed their course this time to Tunis, hoping by gaining possession of that city to cut off all communication between the Saracens of the East, and those of Morocco and Spain.

As soon as they arrived before Tunis the enemy came in sight, as if they were going to attack the camp, and then retired. Just as they were vanishing in the distance two Spanish slaves came and told the king that the Lord of Tunis had arrested all who were Christians amongst his troops, and intended to cut off their heads directly the march should begin upon Tunis. The next night three Saracens appeared before the advance guard of the Christians, and touching their turbans in token of respect, made known by signs that they demanded baptism.

The king did not know what to think of the matter, and ordered them to be guarded in a tent; and a little while after a hundred more appeared, making the same signs. Whilst they were amusing the soldiers by their odd gestures, other Saracens rushed unexpectedly upon the camp, and after killing many of the Christians, ran away before they could be captured. The army thought to revenge the affront on the three men, but they began to shed tears, and one of them declared that a captain of more than two thousand men like himself wanted to ruin him by treachery, and if the king would send one of the two others to the camp of the Saracens, the whole army would pass over to the Christians. The king did not dare to trust him, and thought it wisest to send them all away, for fear he should be guilty of shedding innocent blood. As the Crusaders were making a very deep ditch the next day all around the camp, the entire body of the Saracens came in sight, spreading from the sea on one side, to the country on the other. They meant to surround the army, but Louis rushing out upon them, a skirmish ensued, and when a few of their number were slain, all the rest took flight. Thus they kept on harassing and dodging the army; the Christian warriors had no peace with them; and if ever they took off their armour they had to put it on again directly for some fresh alarm, although the Saracens never ventured to give them battle.

Louis was desirous of waiting before Tunis until the arrival of his brother Charles, now king over Sicily; and he prepared meanwhile by sea and land for the siege of the city, which was very strongly fortified. The delay proved the source of misfortune; the Christians had worse evils to contend with than those occasioned by the Saracens. The heat was intense, and the reflection from the sunlit mountains caused a dazzling light which almost blinded their eyes. When the wind blew it came loaded with burning sand, and the plague broke out on the coast. Then the Crusaders drooped one by one; the young Count de Nevers, the son whom Louis loved best of all, was seized with the sickness and died, and on the day of his death the good Saint Louis fell ill himself. When he felt that he should never rise from his bed again, he set all his earthly affairs in order, and gave good advice to his children, telling them always to love one another, and maintain the peace of their country. For the rest of the time he lived he prayed in patience, and praised God for all that had befallen him throughout his life; and one night he uttered the word "Jerusalem," adding, "Let us go to Jerusalem." It was to the heavenly Jerusalem the king was going, the eternal city, where all weeping and sorrow and trouble should be hushed for ever. Before he died he prayed long and earnestly for his people, that they might be delivered from their enemies, and last of all, with peace in his face, he lifted up his eyes to heaven and said, "Lord, I will enter into Thy house; I will adore Thee in Thy holy temple, and I will glorify Thy name."

When Charles of Anjou arrived at Tunis a little while after the king had ceased to breathe, he was surprised to find that the camp was all silent, and that no one had come to meet him on the shore. And hastening to the royal tent, the sight that greeted him was the dead body of his brother clad in a hair shirt, and stretched on a bed of ashes; for thus had Louis, in his humility, desired to die. Charles shed many tears, and kissed the feet of his dead brother again and again, and the whole camp was filled with sorrowful faces, so dearly had the good king been loved by his followers.

Louis, having reigned over France for nearly forty-four years, left the kingdom to his eldest son Philip, who carried on the crusade for a while with the other princes, and defeated the Saracens on several occasions. By November, however, all the French Crusaders had quitted the East, and Philip occupied himself in the affairs of his own country. His father wrote him some instructions, which he was to read after his death, and which have been carefully preserved. The following maxims were amongst those they contained:—

"Dear son, the first thing I teach thee is to set thy heart to love God, for without Him none can be saved.

"If God send thee adversity, receive it with patience, and thank the Lord for it, and think that thou hast deserved it, and that it will turn to thy profit. If He give thee prosperity, thank Him for it humbly, so as not to lose by pride or otherwise what ought to render thee better; for one ought not to abuse the gifts of God."

"Be kind and charitable to the poor, the weak, and those who are in trouble, and aid them according to thy power."

"Maintain the good customs of thy country, and destroy the bad ones. Only have in thy company prudent and unambitious men. Flee and avoid the company of the wicked."

"Listen willingly to the word of God, and keep it in thy heart. Let no one be so bold as to speak a word which might lead to sin in thy presence."

GUSTAVUS VASA, KING OF SWEDEN.

There was once a princess named Margaret, daughter of Waldemar, King of Denmark, who on her father's death married Haquin, king of Norway. When her husband died she reigned over Norway alone; and when her son Olaus died she reigned over Denmark too. Margaret governed her people well, but she dearly loved power, and was not content with the countries she already possessed; so she went to war with her near neighbours, the Swedes, and defeated and captured Albert, their king. Margaret kept him in prison seven years, and then only released him when he had agreed to give up his crown as the price of his liberty. In the year 1397 a great meeting of the States General of the three countries was held at a place called Calmar, and there it was settled that Denmark, Sweden, and Norway, should all be governed by one sovereign. After Margaret's death the Swedes were very unhappy for many years, because they were so sorely oppressed by the Danes: they did not submit tamely, and a long series of troubles and wars ensued.

When Gustavus Vasa, the great hero of the North, was born in the year 1490, Sweden had in some measure freed itself from the Danish yoke, and was governed by Sten Sture, a Swede, who had the title of Adminstrator. Sture was a man of firm and upright character, who had never suffered the Danes to triumph over him, although they were always trying to regain full power over his country, and had made a solemn vow with the Russians to subdue it entirely.

Gustavus Erickson, commonly called Gustavus Vasa, was born at the Castle of Lindholm, near Stockholm. His father, Erick Johannson, was descended from the royal houses of Vasa and Sture, both of which came from the Old Norwegian kings, and were connected with many of the royal families of Europe. They had always been renowned for their love of freedom, their steadfast spirit, and their valour. Sten Sture had given to Erick Johannson a beautiful estate, called Castle-holm, and the Island of Aland, in the Gulf of Bothnia. He loved to have him with him at his court, and took charge of his little son Gustavus, because he wanted to see him grow up worthy of his royal birth, and to teach him to love his unhappy country with all his heart; hoping that he might one day restore to it the freedom it had enjoyed before it was overcome by the ambitious Northern queen.

The boy was brought up simply and without luxury; he ate coarse food, and learned to hunt, and was allowed to climb about the mountains around Lindholm as much as he liked, so that he grew very strong, and could endure great fatigue without a murmur, whilst he thoroughly enjoyed his sports and his liberty in the keen, fresh air. When John, the reigning king of Denmark came in State to visit Sture at Stockholm, he was struck by the spirited bearing, and free, open nature of Gustavus; and fearing that when he was older he might prove the source of danger to himself, he asked Sture to let him take care of him, and bring him up at the Danish court. Sture, however, wisely declined his offer, and sent the child to Aland to be out of danger, and watched over him until his death, when Svante Sture governed Sweden in his place. Gustavus was treated with great kindness by the new Administrator, who loved peace, and only suffered good men to be around him, thus making his Court a school for all knightly virtues. Gustavus remained with him until he was eighteen, and then went to Upsal to attend a school which had been founded there by the elder Sture. A story is told of him which shows how deeply the teaching of his friend had taken root in his heart. In one of the divisions of the school he was accustomed to read the classics with a Dane, who once happened to let fall some remarks against Sweden. In a moment, the Swedish youth drew his sword, plunged it through the book which was open before him, and rushed out of the place, never to return to it again. For all this, he was very happy at Upsal, and they were merry days when a flock of students, in their red gowns, rushed out of the city gates to enjoy a holiday in the open country beyond. Gustavus studied with great diligence, and was more learned than most of the other noble youths of his time, for in general they were quite content if they knew how to handle their weapons, and cared very little for learning out of books. Gustavus made himself perfect in all knightly accomplishments, and could play on several musical instruments, which were all kept long afterwards, hung up in the Castle of Stockholm, in remembrance of the happy days of his youth. He never touched them after he had once given his whole thought to the rescue of his country, but I dare say, when his great work was done, and Sweden was free and happy once more, and he looked at them as they hung on the walls, he seemed to hear all the old tunes which had gladdened his youth, and thought kindly of the companions of his early years, who had many of them died, or passed out of his sight.

Gustavus was tall, slender, and fairhaired; his countenance was open and expressed kindness; his temper was cheerful, and his courage could never be daunted: he had a wonderful memory to the very last hours of his life. When he had been in Upsal six years he came back to the Court of Stockholm, where he went on with his studies, and lived until he was twenty-five years of age, beloved by his friends, and esteemed by all for his upright conduct.

In the meantime a change had taken place in the affairs of Denmark. King John was dead, and his son Christiern the Second had come to the throne. The new king suffered himself to be advised by his mother-in-law Sigbritt, a spiteful and meddling Dutchwoman; and he began his reign with many unjust actions towards the Swedes, which provoked them to fight once more for their freedom. Sten Sture the younger had succeeded his father Svante; he resolved to free his country from the bondage of Denmark, and he spoke earnest words in the Council House.

"We must be firm," he said. "We must offer up our blood, and show the people who come after us, how dear to us was our freedom, rather than sit still with a weight upon our shoulders, which crushes us to the ground."

And very soon the war began. King Christiern came himself to the scene of action, and lay siege to Stockholm. Sture and Gustavus Erickson, who bore the banner of Sweden, gained two victories over the Danes; the king was in danger, being nearly surrounded by his enemies, and was obliged to think of returning to his own country. He made it appear as if he wished for peace, and agreed to meet Sture in order to treat for terms, provided hostages were sent to his quarters in the persons of Gustavus and five Swedish statesmen of high rank. It was arranged that when these hostages reached his vessel at a place called Krongshamm, he should present himself in the quarters of Sture, and that when he returned to his vessel the Swedes should be free to depart.

Although it was well known that the promises of Christiern were not to be trusted, the six hostages set out in a boat with a crew of twelve men, but they had hardly got half-way when a Danish vessel, having a hundred men on board, met them, and closed their path. The captain told them that the king wished to meet them at a place called Elfsnabbe, where he had some important matters to discuss with them. Gustavus replied with spirit that they had simply come as hostages, and had no power to transact business; they would therefore either await the king at Krongshamm or return at once to their own quarters.

The Swedes soon found, however, that it was of no use to resist, and they were forced on board the Danish vessel, and thus conveyed to the king. The tyrant rejoiced that he had Gustavus Vasa, the most dreaded of his enemies in his power, and without taking any heed of his promise, sailed with his booty to Denmark as quickly as he could. The people of Sweden were very sorrowful, and angry too when they knew Gustavus had been thus captured, for his brave conduct and his success had already made them hope that better days were in store for them. Sture also was grieved at Christiern's breach of faith—the more so that he had been too generous to suspect him of such deceit—and only a short time before, when the king had been brought very low by sickness and famine, had sent him succour, and cared for him as if he had been his warmest friend instead of his most bitter foe.

When the Swedes arrived in Denmark they were shut up in the citadel of Copenhagen, and it was decided that they should be put to death at once. Only, as they had been guilty of no crime, it was not easy to find a pretence for passing sentence upon them. Whilst their fate was pending, Sigbritt urged the king to spare their lives, saying, that so long as he had them in his power, he could impose upon the Swedes laws more and more severe, with the threat of putting their countrymen to instant death if they did not obey them. Christiern, as usual, followed the advice of his mother-in-law, which for once proved the source of blessing to Sweden, and Gustavus and his companions were only shut up in prison.

Gustavus had a kinsman at Copenhagen of the name of Banner, who was much attached to him, and feared that if he lived solely under the eye of the tyrant he would be exposed to many insults. So he prevailed with Christiern to let him keep him in his castle of Calloë, a strong fortress in Denmark, and made himself a surety for him to the amount of six thousand dollars.

In the early part of the year 1520 Christiern declared war. The Swedes were prepared to resist him, for the peasants had come down from the mountains, and had flocked to the standard of Sture until the army was increased to the number of 10,000 men. The cause of the king of Denmark was strongly favoured by the Pope and Trolle, Archbishop of Upsal, who were both very angry because the Protestant faith was daily gaining ground in Sweden. Trolle came of an ancient house, only second in rank and dignity to that of Sture, and a long standing quarrel between these two houses served at the present moment to widen the breach between them.

The Swedes fought bravely, but they were soon overcome, and in a battle at Bogisund, Sture received a wound in the head, of which he died a few days after. The state of the country now seemed hopeless; its regular army only numbered 500 men; those who had crowded its ranks when the war began were brave-hearted men, eager to defend the right, but they were not trained and skilful soldiers. Sture dead, and Gustavus Vasa in prison, there was neither ruler in the land nor leader in strife. The Swedes began indeed to be disheartened; a few of the bravest clung to the hope that a fresh attempt might yet be made to resist the tyrant's power; some, less hopeful, thought it best to lay down their swords and submit; others again, said that they would rather die first. Sture's widow, Christina—herself of royal birth—and a woman of great spirit, came forward to revenge her husband's death, and to implore the Swedes not to desert the cause of freedom. She sent her little son Nil Sture to Dantzig to be out of danger, and went to Stockholm, where she made the people swear rather to bury themselves beneath the ruins of the city, than become the slaves of the Danish king.

For a short time a little gleam of hope broke over the land, but Christiern feeling assured that he could not really call himself King of Sweden until he had Stockholm in his power, resolved to come in person with a great fleet and besiege the capital.

In the meantime Gustavus was sorrowing for the troubles of his fatherland, and his face was clouded and sad when he followed his kinsman Banner to the gay festivals of the Danish court, and heard people tell how the king had triumphed over his countrymen, and was bending by degrees their proud spirit. He was heartily tired, too, of his prison, although he was guarded less strictly now than he had been at first, and was allowed to wander about by himself within one mile of the castle. During his lonely walks he revolved many plans in his mind, and at last one morning at sunrise he put on the disguise of a peasant, and made his escape from Calloë. The first day he wandered about a part of the country unknown to him, and the next day at noon he reached the town of Flensburg, where he feared he should have been betrayed. But outside the town, for his good fortune, he found a number of Saxon merchants who had been buying oxen in Jutland, and were on their way back to Germany; without much trouble he entered their service, and thus got safely out of Denmark.

In the September of the year 1519 he came to the free city of Lubeck, where he made himself known at the Council House, and asked to be received as a guest, secure from the tyranny of the Danish king. Soon after he arrived, Banner came in search of him. He was very angry with Gustavus for having escaped out of his hands, and exposed him to the king's wrath, and wanted him to return with him to Denmark. Gustavus promised to refund the six thousand dollars Banner would be obliged to forfeit, but it was not likely that he would agree to go back to his gloomy prison. So he remained some months at Lubeck, and heard there of the death of Sture and the defeat of his countrymen. It was at this time, when Martin Luther, the great Reformer, came to visit the city of Lubeck, that Gustavus Vasa declared himself a convert to the Protestant faith.

The Council at last promised to assist him with men and money, and granted him a merchant's vessel in which he reached the coast of Sweden towards the end of May in the year 1520. As he approached Stockholm, he found its haven filled by the Danish fleet, and not caring to show himself yet, he landed at a promontory a short distance from Calmar. Stockholm was now possessed by the Danes, King Christiern had taken up his abode in one of the palaces, and Christina had been forced to retire to the castle, which was strongly guarded, and still held out against the Danes. Gustavus entered the city secretly and found his way to the castle, where he was welcomed and received with great honour by Sture's widow. He then went to the market place, and made himself known to the people who had assembled there in crowds, and he told them what a disgrace it was for them to be in bondage to Christiern. The people listened in silence and hung their heads; it seemed as if all spirit had been crushed within them. So Gustavus went back to the castle to see if he could arouse a better feeling there, but the German soldiers who were employed to guard it broke out into fury at the very idea of fighting, they were so utterly tired of all the misery of war, and they would have murdered Gustavus on the spot if Christina had not been there to protect him.

He now saw that his only safety would be at the head of an army: the Danes were all ready to besiege the castle, and it was therefore no longer a place to shelter him; but the moment for action was not yet come, and he roamed about in the country around Stockholm in disguise, now in the forests and now in the fields, hiding by day and travelling by night, and mingling sometimes with the Danes for the purpose of gaining news. And on Sundays, when the peasants were in the churches, he would stand amongst them, and try to cheer them by telling them that happier days were in store for them when they should be free once more. Still the people did not care to listen: they said that so long as they obeyed the King of Denmark, they had salt and herrings in plenty; what more did they want? And sometimes when Gustavus had turned away from them they would shoot after him with their arrows. Such was the abject state they had been brought to by long-continued insult and oppression. Besides this Christiern had spies in all parts, and had set a heavy price upon the head of Gustavus, and threatened all persons who should attempt to conceal him with the punishment of death.

After escaping from many dangers, he came through Ludermannland to the house of Joachim Brahe, a noble councillor of Sweden, who had married his sister Margaret. The meeting between brother and sister was full of joy, and Gustavus hoped that Brahe would have been prevailed upon to take up arms in the defence of his country, but the prudent statesman was not to be enticed. Christiern, whose presence had for a time been required in Denmark, was now on his way to Stockholm, and Brahe was one of the guests invited thither to behold the crown of Sweden placed upon his head. He could see nothing but rashness and certain failure in the project of taking up arms against so powerful a foe. Gustavus, therefore, bade his sister farewell with a heavy heart, and went on his way once more, and after wandering about some time longer in disguise, he retired to a country house at Rafnäes, which belonged to his father, to think over in solitude what was best to be done.

King Christiern arrived in Stockholm with his wife, leaving Sigbritt to manage the affairs of Denmark. With the help of the Pope, and the Archbishop of Upsal, he had himself declared heir to the Swedish throne before an immense concourse of people, and was crowned in their presence. Before this he promised to release all captives, and conferred many marks of royal favour upon the chief men of Stockholm. The first days after he was crowned were given up to knightly sports, and feasting, and merriment. But before three days had passed, the king's cruel temper got the better of him, and he withdrew from the scene of rejoicing to a secret council chamber, where he sat thinking over the best means of getting rid of the bishops and senators, and all men of high estate in Sweden, that his own position on the throne might be quite secure.

Soon it appeared as if a shadow of gloom had fallen over the city, where all had been noisy mirth: the castle was suddenly filled with prisoners; bishops and statesmen were alike consigned to its dark dungeons; in all the market places scaffolds were erected; and the unhappy captives were told that they must die.

The 8th of November in the year 1520 was the day on which the fearful deed began, a deed never equalled in horror in the annals of Swedish history. Early in the dark morning all the gates of the city were shut to prevent anybody from taking flight, and making the affair known in the country beyond. Every new comer was let in, but no one was allowed to go out. The streets were guarded, and field-pieces were placed upon the great market place, levelled towards the people. The way from the castle to the market was lined with Danish soldiers; trumpeters rode about the streets and proclaimed that all persons were to retire to their houses; and close their doors on pain of death. But the common people were horror-struck at these preparations they dared to disobey the king's orders, and crowded together to see what would happen next.

Towards noon the castle gates were opened, and bishops and nobles, councillors and burgomasters, were led between executioners and common soldiers to the appointed place on the market, just in front of the Council House. The bishops were clad in their sacred robes, the councillors had not had time to take off the dress they wore in council. Oh what a sad procession it was, as they came slowly along, with erect heads and a proud and calm demeanour worthy of their race! Sobs and murmurs were heard amongst the crowd; the roughest of the soldiers and headsmen were touched with pity and respect as these innocent men, most of them grey-headed, walked to their death. As soon as they reached the market place, a speech was made to the mob in which it was declared that the king was deeply grieved to be obliged to have recourse to such severe measures, but that he felt himself bound to punish the Swedes for the offence they had given to the Pope by becoming Protestants. And thus he made the terrible crime he was about to commit even worse, by his falsehood!

One of the bishops, an aged man, then declared his innocence, and asked that a clergyman might be allowed to attend himself and his companions in their last moments; but his request was refused, and a noise was made to prevent his words from being heard by the people. Then the headsmen began their dread work; the fourth victim was Erick Johannson the father of Gustavus. In a little time the market place was filled with dead bodies and the streets streamed with blood. Some of the mob, roused to a state of frenzy by the dreadful spectacle, made an attempt to rescue those of the doomed ones who were yet living, but they were cut down by the soldiers who had received orders to quell any outbreak on the part of the common people with the punishment of death. Escape was not to be thought of, because the gates of the city were always kept closed; the frightened people crept into cellars and corners. And when the king heard that they had hidden themselves, he caused a decree of pardon to be read, so that many of them came out believing it to be true, and only fell into the trap he had thus artfully laid for them.

Ninety-four Swedes fell the first day. For two days and two nights the corpses lay on the market place, and the cattle and the fowls strayed amongst them. To add to the horror the king caused the dead bodies of Sture the younger and his son Sten to be disinterred and thrown amongst the murdered to be buried with them.

Sture's widow, Christina, did not escape the king's wrath; she was summoned to his presence and condemned to die, but some persons present asked the tyrant to spare her life, and she was only sentenced to be imprisoned for the rest of her days.

In other parts of Sweden deeds equally cruel were enacted. Numbers of the peasants were deprived each of a leg and a hand, and, thus maimed, they were supposed to be able to till the land although they could not possibly fight. For these acts of cruelty and oppression Christiern the Second justly gained the title of the Wicked, and his own people soon began to hate him as much as the Swedes hated him for all the evil he had done.

In the meantime Gustavus was sought for in vain. He was still in his hiding-place at Rafnäes, sending out his peasants now and then to collect news. And one sad day a grey-haired man came to the neighbouring castle of Gripsholm which belonged to Joachim Brahe. It was Brahe's steward; he had followed his master to Stockholm, and had witnessed his unhappy fate. The old man could not speak for crying, and could only make known by signs the terrible events that had happened. Soon after, a peasant came by, and told the same story. And Gustavus sat in the lonely house, sorrowing for his father and his friends, and many of his kindred besides; yet although he was forsaken by all, and surrounded as it were by enemies, he would not give up hope, but only longed the more to succour his unhappy country. So one day he packed up all the money and valuable things he possessed, and taking them with him, left Rafnäes on horseback with the idea of persuading the brave people of Dalecarlia to stand by him in the struggle for freedom.

This province, which was the scene of his adventures for some time, is bordered on its western side by Norway: the mountain ridge which divides the sources of its two rivers Dalef from Lake Fämund in that country rises to between three and four thousand feet above the level of the sea. Dalecarlia abounds in rivers and lakes; the winters there are long and severe; corn will not grow, and the tender bark of the pine trees is mixed with the scanty supply of rye or barley of which the people make their bread. Wolves and bears frequent the forests, and fish is plentiful in all the lakes, except in those near Fahlun, now the capital of the province, where the vapours for ever rising out of the great copper mine there, drive away to a distance birds, beasts, and fishes, and destroy, all verdure in the country around. Fahlun lies in a wide valley between two lakes; the mine is a vast abyss, and is worked open to the sky, and besides copper produces gold, silver, vitriol, ochre, and brimstone. The natives of Darlecarlia are hardy from the nature of their climate; they have always been very brave, trusting in their own strength, and having very little intercourse with the other people of Sweden. At the time Gustavus was amongst them they were so simple in their manners that the noblemen could scarcely be distinguished from the peasants. There was not a town then in the whole province, the people clustered together in villages, which were divided into parishes. Some of these lay along the rivers and lakes, others were hidden among the mountains, and were only to be approached by the steepest and most difficult of paths.

Gustavus took with him as he supposed the most faithful of all his servants, but the cowardly man thought the fortunes of his master much too insecure to be followed, and contrived to get away from him with the valuable things it had been his duty to carry. Gustavus soon found out his treachery, and pursued him until his horse could go no farther; then, being in great danger himself, he was obliged to leave the horse and the few things he had with him on the road and run for very life. Thus, without friends or money, clad in a coarse peasant's frock, he wandered about the dark pine forests and the mountains, only occasionally finding a roof to shelter his head from the inclement winter nights, or food to satisfy his sharp hunger. Still he never despaired, but trusted that God would let him live until he should have given back to his country the happiness it had lost for so long.

On the last day of November he arrived at Fahlun, and there he cut his hair short, and put on a round hat, such as the Dalecarlians wore, and a rough woollen vest, and set out with an axe on his shoulder in search of work. In a little time he found employment in the mines of Fahlun, by which he earned barely enough for his support; and finding that the noxious vapours and the closeness of the mines impaired his health, he left them, and wandered farther until he came to the house of a rich man named Andres Fehrson. Here he was hired as a farm-labourer, and set to work in the barns. The other farm-servants soon began to watch the new comer with interest. In their intercourse with him they soon found that he was not quite like one of themselves; he had been observed, too, to wear a rich silken handkerchief, beneath his woollen vest, and they suspected that he was some nobleman in disguise. Reports of this reached the ears of Fehrson, and he desired that the stranger should come to him. The very moment he saw him he recognised him as a fellow student in the school at Upsal, but although he was very glad to see his old comrade again, he dared not keep so dangerous a person in his house, and he urged him to go higher up the mountains and not to stay too long a time in one place. Gustavus was therefore obliged to set out on his wearisome travels once more: the winter had set in with all its rigour, the lakes and rivers were frozen, and as he was crossing some ice between Wika and Torsanga, a part of it gave way, and he fell up to his shoulders in the water, and was very nearly drowned. However, he managed to clamber out, and he found his way to a cottage, where some kind peasants gave him food and shelter, and afterwards brought him to the country house of Arendt Fehrson, a relation of Andres, who had served under Gustavus in the war with the Danes.

This man appeared to receive him with respect and courtesy, but soon after his arrival he rode swiftly to one of his friends to tell him of the prize concealed in his house, and to ask him to join him in making the affair known to the king;—for it will be remembered that a heavy price had been set upon the head of Gustavus—and the man who would have been base enough to betray him would have reaped great gain to himself. This friend was too honourable to listen to such a proposal, and Fehrson, enraged at his refusal, went to another of his friends, an officer in the Danish service, who had fewer scruples. Fehrson passed the evening at his house in feasting and drinking, and it was planned between them that he should return home the next morning, accompanied by twenty men, and seize the fugitive by force.

But Barbro Stigsdotter, the wife of Fehrson, had guessed the treachery of her husband, for she had seen him ride past his own house as he came from Magno Wilson, and take the road which led to the officer's dwelling. Touched with pity, she warned Gustavus of his danger, and kindly provided him with a horse and sledge, so that he might fly at once.

Gustavus was very thankful to avail himself of the means of escape, and was soon flitting over the snow in his sledge beneath the starry sky in search of another place of refuge. The next morning, when Arendt Fehrson arrived with his twenty men, he was told that his guest had been missing since the evening before, and that no one knew whither he was gone.

Gustavus at last reached the house of a true friend, a Swedish pastor, who helped him with good advice during the eight days he remained with him, and strengthened him in his resolve to arouse the Dalecarlians. But he dared not stay longer in this part of the country, because Arendt Fehrson had already spread the report of his being alive; and the pastor drove him to the village of Isale, where he was received into the cottage of an honest peasant named Swen Nilson, who did him good and faithful service.

One day when Gustavus was standing in the cottage, clad in his peasant's garb, which was beginning to be the worse for wear, a body of Danish soldiers employed to track the fugitive, rushed in, breathless and anxious, and asked if a young nobleman, a well known traitor to the king, were not concealed about the place. Nilson answered, No; and his wife, to remove suspicion, gave Gustavus a sharp blow with a long wooden spoon, and scolded him loudly for standing idle instead of going to work in the barn with the others. Gustavus took the hint, and hastened out of the cottage, thus escaping from his pursuers, who did not for one moment suppose that the general of the Swedish army, and the descendant of kings, was concealed beneath so humble a disguise.

Front. Gustavus Vasa in the Swedish peasant's hut.—p. [100]

After this Swen Nilson had the courage to drive his guest in a cart loaded with straw to Rättwik. It was a dangerous journey: the Danish soldiers guarded all the passes and bridges, and some of them plunged their weapons into the straw, and wounded Gustavus severely in the leg as he lay covered up at the bottom of the cart. He bore the pain in silence, but unfortunately the blood dripped from the wound through the cart, and would have betrayed the fact that he lay hidden there, had not Nilson thought of cutting open the heel of his horse, so that the blood appeared to be trickling from that. Happily the hurt was not dangerous, and the moment after it was bound up on his arrival at Rättwik, Gustavus went to the church, where a great crowd of people had assembled, and without making himself known, he told them of the horrible cruelty of the King of Denmark, and how Sweden would never be free unless they roused themselves, as their brave ancestors would have done, to shake off the shameful bondage.

The peasants listened in horror, they were moved by his words, and said they would take up arms as soon as they could find out how their neighbours were disposed in the matter. Gustavus thought he had gained something, and went on joyfully to Mora, the largest and most populous parish in the valley. The news of his coming got spread abroad, and the Danish governor, who dwelt in the strong castle of Westeras, began to tremble; he knew that the inhabitants of the valleys, if once aroused, could make themselves very terrible. So he doubled the heavy price already set upon the head of Gustavus, and told the people around that none of the deeds reported to be done at Stockholm had really been carried out, and that Christiern was a most kind and merciful sovereign!

It was Christmas-time when Gustavus arrived in Mora: the peasants had come down from their distant mountain homes to make merry with their friends in the valley, and one day he went up to the top of a hill, and spoke to a vast concourse of people, who had followed him out of curiosity. Here again some of the peasants were touched by his words; their eyes filled with tears, and they signified by their shouts and cheers that they were willing to aid him. But others were of a different mind; they did not want to go to war; the nobles had hitherto been chiefly the objects of the king's cruelty, and they thought that they should be left in peace themselves. They were very near fetching their weapons, and chasing the speaker by force from the spot. A turn of good fortune, however, came to Gustavus whilst he was still at Mora.

A party of a hundred Danes, having heard that he was there in the hope of rousing the peasants, rushed suddenly upon the place, making the air resound with their wild cries, and threatening to put every one they met to the sword if he were not given up. The peaceful people of Mora were unused to be thus disturbed, and they hastened to ring the church-bells, which were only rung when some great danger was at hand. The wind carried the sound of the bells to the neighbouring villages, and in a little while some thousand armed peasants were seen pouring into Mora. They stormed the great walled-in court around the pastor's house, where the Danes (alarmed in their turn) had taken refuge, broke down its gates with heavy wooden stakes, and only spared the lives of the soldiers on condition that they should not attempt to lay hands on Gustavus. This was the first time that arms had been taken up in his cause: it was a feeling of honour that prompted the Dalecarlian peasants to defend him, because they said that they should have been ashamed if any one demanding their help had been taken by force from amongst them.

Gustavus, thankful to his preservers, now quitted Mora, and took his way towards the western valleys, so that he might conceal himself in the wilder parts of the country, if the fury of his pursuers increased. Many Swedish nobles had already fled thither, and they came out of their hiding-places, and met together in the valley. And there came to Mora an old man named Lars Olosson, who had always been faithful to his country, and another brave man came from the forest, and entreated the people to take up arms. The peasants now saw that they were in earnest, and they hastened to seek for Gustavus, fearing that he might already have passed the boundary and entered Norway. But Swedish messengers can go on their errands very quickly, because all through their nine months of dreary winter the peasants wear long sliding-shoes, which enable them to flit over the snow with almost the speed of an arrow. These shoes are very strange looking things; they are long, narrow pieces of fir-wood, the one worn on the right foot being three feet in length, and that on the left foot seven. The messengers found Gustavus in a parish called Lima, and he was joyful indeed when he came back to Mora, and saw that two hundred peasants were ready to follow him at once. Their numbers soon increased, and he divided them into little companies, which had their headquarters, so that they could all fight in unity: they were hardy, long-lived men, and could be quite content to live upon coarse meal stirred in water, or a little bread made of the bark of the trees if they could get no better food. And Gustavus still went up the steep mountain paths from cottage to cottage, and from one country house to another to try and persuade the people to help him, and before the ice had melted on the rivers and lakes the number of his followers had increased to several thousand. He chose sixteen of the youngest and bravest for his bodyguard, and maintained strict discipline amongst his men, although he was greatly beloved by them for his kindness of heart.

The first attempt they made was on the strong castle of the Governor of the Koppar Mountain, which they captured, together with the stores of provisions it contained. Amongst these was a large chest full of money, which Gustavus divided amongst his followers, and another day they captured some pieces of silk, which they made into banners, but they had neither powder nor balls as yet.

Now that Gustavus had so large an army he wanted to begin the war by a bold stroke, and he drew off towards Westeras, the governor of the strong fortress there, being at the time absent in Stockholm. Here he gained a great victory over the Danes, which prepared the way to future success, but the manner in which a great part of his army rejoiced over the triumph they had won, was not at all to his taste. It happened thus: some of his troops had gone on in advance, and after a desperate struggle got possession of the place, whilst Gustavus was still in the forest with the rear of his army. After the affray they found some huge casks of wine and brandy, which they carried off to the Council House, and foolishly regaled themselves with until they all fell to quarrelling, or were heavy with sleep. The greatest disorder prevailed; the Danes took advantage of the tumult to renew the attack; and would have recovered the fortress had not Gustavus appeared with the rest of the army. He was very angry indeed with his men, and had to fight hard to drive back the Danes, so that a great number of soldiers were killed on either side; and when the battle was over he caused the hoops to be removed from the casks of wine that remained, and let it all flow away on the ground in sight of his whole army. This was in the month of May in the year 1521, when the short Swedish spring was changing to summer, and the land, having cast off its mantle of snow, looked fresh, and green, and full of hope. In the northern climes the flowers bloom, and the leaves come back to the trees very quickly, and a few weeks sunshine is sufficient to ripen the barley and the rye, or the corn, in the places where it will grow.

After the battle of Westeras the peasants armed themselves in the plains of Sweden; the nobles headed them, and many officers deserted from the Viceroy whom King Christiern had left in Stockholm to manage the affairs of the State. The Viceroy and Trolle were friends; they soon began to be greatly alarmed; but they could get no succour from Denmark because the people there disliked them so much, and were getting so tired of the evil doings of their king. Many battles were fought, and the Swedes were not always successful, but at last Gustavus got possession of Stockholm after having besieged it three times; and a happy day came, when he entered the capital surrounded by senators, officers, and the first nobles in the land, and repaired to the great church, where—kneeling at the foot of the altar,—he thanked the Almighty aloud, for having preserved him through so many dangers, and granted him success. And then he went to the palace, where he wept for those whom he had loved very dearly, and now missed on this day of his triumph. Not only had his father and his brother-in-law perished in the massacre at Stockholm, but his mother Cecilia, and two of his sisters, had been cruelly put to death during the siege. It is said that if the siege had been raised their lives would have been spared, but these brave women knew in that case their country would have been lost, and they were content to die for its sake.

In the year 1523 the Danes would not have Christiern to reign over them any longer, and made his uncle Frederic, Duke of Holstein, king in his stead. Christiern was forced to leave the country, and retired into Flanders, with his wife and children. When Sigbritt had to leave the royal palace, she did not dare venture out of it, even in disguise, and was carried to the vessel destined to receive her concealed in a large chest.

The Swedes, full of gratitude and love for their preserver, wanted him to be crowned King of Sweden. Gustavus, however, refused this honour, and governed the country for some time as administrator. But as the years went on and it was in danger from the plots made by the Roman Catholics and the friends of Christiern, he yielded to the wishes of the people, and in June, 1527, was solemnly crowned King of Sweden under the title of Gustavus the First. He had long forgiven all the offences that had been offered him, whilst he remembered every little act of kindness that had been shown him when he was wandering about, a wretched fugitive, in hourly danger of his life. During the thirty-three years he reigned his great care was to make his subjects happy, and he was fully employed in setting his country in order, after the misery it had suffered for so many years. It was Gustavus who settled the Protestant faith throughout the land, and Luther, and Melancthon, and other great Protestant divines, used frequently to visit his court. He wished to inspire his people with a taste for arts and sciences, and encouraged learning by inviting studious and clever men to Stockholm: printing had been already introduced into Sweden about the year 1483, when Sten Sture the Elder founded the famous School or University at Stockholm. The king employed his peasants in working fresh mines and salt springs; he caused hops to be grown in Sweden, so that the iron sent out yearly in exchange for that produce might be kept in the country, and prove the source of comfort and wealth. Any merchant or tradesman convicted of dishonesty was punished with extreme rigour, and the bad laws were done away with, and good ones ordained in their place. The palace was open to all who demanded audience, when the king was ever ready to hear complaints, or to give advice. He thought the Bible the best of all books, and grounded his actions on its holy precepts; and the Swedes were so happy under his just and merciful rule that they always cried when he went abroad, "Long live Gustavus, the best loved of kings!" Soon after he came to the throne he married Catherine, daughter of the Duke of Magnus, whose sister had just espoused the Crown Prince of Denmark. Catherine died young, and Gustavus next married Margaret, daughter of an ancient senator, the Governor of East Gothnia: this lady was amiable and beautiful, and made her husband and her children very happy. The king used to tell his children not to be proud of their high estate, saying, "One man is as good as another, and when the play is over we are all equal;" meaning, when the life of trial upon earth was ended. The only approach to vanity in his character was to be seen in his love for magnificent apparel; but this was quite an excusable fault, when it is remembered how content he was to wear the coarse peasant's dress in the days of his misfortunes.

At the last assembly he convoked at Stockholm in the year 1560, he was led into the Senate House, where his four sons, Erick, John, Magnus, and Charles, and all the orders in the kingdom were assembled. He then caused his will to be read, and made his children swear to obey it. Erick was declared successor to the throne; John, possessor of Finland; Magnus of Eastern Gothnia; and Charles of Sudermania. In a few earnest words he urged his people to obey his successor and to preserve the greatest unity among themselves; since on that would depend their strength and their freedom: he said also, that if he had ever done any good, thanks for it were to be ascribed to God alone, and implored pardon for all the faults he had committed.

Very soon after this he died, leaving a name which is still cherished in the heart of every Swede; for he was called not only the king, but the father and the instructor of his people. It must not be thought that his long reign was free from care, since he had constantly to preserve himself from the attempts that were made by the friends of Christiern to take his power from him.

When he came to the throne he found the country laid waste by the ravages of war, and its people almost without hope. He left Sweden free and happy, an army ready to march at a moment's notice, and a treasury full of money; indeed, it is said, that after his death a great vaulted chamber was found so full of silver that the door of it could scarcely be opened.

Gustavus never forgot that he owed his success to the brave Dalecarlians; and his watch word, when about to engage on any expedition attended with danger, was always, "God and the Swedish peasants!"

BERTRAND DU GUESCLIN,

THE HERO OF CHIVALRY.

About the year 1320 Bertrand du Guesclin was born in the castle of La Motte Bron, which stood in a picturesque part of Bretagne, about six leagues from the city of Rennes. His father, Reynauld du Guesclin, was a brave and loyal knight, who served God truly, and was very kind to the poor, giving them a great part of his substance, although he was not at all rich himself.