God Wills It! Part 28

Tell no tale of this to Lord Richard. He has troubles enough."

CHAPTER XIX

HOW RICHARD TOOK THE CROSS

With the dawn that twenty-sixth day of November a great mult.i.tude was pouring through the gates of Clermont. A bleak wind was whistling from the north, mist banks hung heavy on the eastern hills, veiling the sun; but no one had turned back. A silent crowd, speaking in whispers; but all manner of persons were in it--seigneur and peasant, monk and bishop, graybeard and child, lord's lady and serf's wife,--all headed for the great square. Richard, with Duke G.o.dfrey and Renard of Toul, fought their way through the throng; for what counted feudal rank that day! They came on a richly dressed lady, who struggled onward, dragging a bright-eyed little boy of four.

"Help, kind cavaliers!" came her appeal. "In the press my husband has been swept from me."

The three sprang to aid. She was a sweet-faced lady, reminding Richard of Mary Kurkuas. "And who may your husband be?" he asked, setting the lad on his own firm shoulder.

"He is Sir Tescelinde de Fontaines of Burgundy," answered she, "and I am the Lady Alethe. We wished our little Bernard here should say when he grew old, 'I heard the Holy Father when he sent the knights to Jerusalem.'"

"And he shall see and hear him, by St. Michael!" cried Richard, little knowing that his stout shoulder bore him whom the world in threescore years would hail as the sainted Bernard of Clairvaux. The boy stared around with great sober eyes, looking wisely forth after the manner of children.

"Yes," repeated Richard, while G.o.dfrey and Renard cleared a way to the very centre of the square, right under the rude pulpit set for the occasion. There was a high stone cross standing in front of the platform, and Richard seated his burden on one of its long arms. "Now, my little lord," cried he, "you shall be under the Pope's own eye, and your mother shall sit on the coping below and watch you."

"You are a good man!" declared the child, impulsively, stretching out his little fat arms.

"Ah!" replied Richard, half wistfully, as his glance lit on Louis, who had struggled to the front, "would that all might say likewise!"

Richard looked about. The ground rose a little around the pulpit; he could see a great way,--faces as far as the eye could reach, velvet caps and bare heads, women's bright veils and monkish cowls, silver-plated helmets of great lords, iron casques of men-at-arms,--who might number them? Pennoned lances tossed above the mult.i.tude, banners from every roof and dark street whipped the keen wind. Each window opening on the wide square was crowded with faces.

The Norman did not see a certain, dark-visaged hunchback, who strove to thrust himself through the throng to a station beside him. For when G.o.dfrey's sharp eyes and frown fell on the rascal, he vanished instantly in the press. But Longsword waited, while men climbed the trees about and perched like birds on the branches, and still the mult.i.tude pressed thicker and thicker; more helmets, more lances, more bright veils and brilliant scarfs. Would the people come forever? Yet all was wondrously silent; no clamor, no rude pressure; each took post and waited, and listened to the beating of his own heart.

"The Pope is in the cathedral. He is praying for the special presence of the Holy Ghost," went the low whisper from lip to lip. And the mult.i.tude stood thus a long time, many with heads bowed in prayer. The chill wind began to die away as the sun mounted. Richard could see rifts in the heavy cloud banks. The shadow over the arena lifted little by little. Why was it that every breath seemed alive with spirits unseen? that the sigh of the flagging wind seemed the rustle of angels' wings? that he, and all others, half expected to see bright-robed hosts and a snow-white dove descending from the dark cathedral tower? More waiting; little Bernard began to stir on his hard seat. He was weary looking at the crowd. His mother touched him.

"Be quiet, dear child, bow your head, and say your 'Our Father'; the Holy Spirit is very near to us just now."

At last--slowly the great central portal of the cathedral opened. They could hear the low, sweet strains of the processional streaming out from the long nave; the doors swung wider; and forth in slow procession came priests and prelates in snow-white linen, two by two, the bishops crowned with white mitres, and around them floated a pale haze as the faint breeze bore onward the smoke from a score of censers swinging in the acolytes' hands, as they marched beside. But before all, in a cope where princely gems were blazing, marched the grave and stately Adhemar of Monteil, Lord Bishop of Puy, and in his hands, held on high, a great crucifix of gold and ivory. And as the white-robed company advanced the mult.i.tude could hear them singing the n.o.ble sequence of St. Notker:--

"The grace of the Holy Ghost be present with us, And make our hearts a dwelling-place to itself; And expel from them all spiritual wickedness!"

While the procession advanced, the people gave way to right and left before it; and a great swaying and murmur began to run through them, waxing more and more when, at the end, the clear voices sang:--

"Thyself, by bestowing on the apostles of Christ a gift immortal and unheard of from all ages, Hast made this day glorious."

"Verily the Holy Spirit is not far from us," said Duke G.o.dfrey, softly, as the last strains rang out. Still more prelates, more priests; forth came Dalmace, archbishop of Narbonne, William, bishop of Orange, Matfred of Beziers, Peter, abbot of Aniane, and a hundred great churchmen more. Then, last of all, with his cardinals all about him, and a heavy cross of crystal carried aloft, came the Vicar of G.o.d on earth. Richard beheld the glowing whiteness of the bands of his pallium, whereon black crosses were embroidered; the jewels flashing on the cope and its golden clasp; the gold on his mitre higher than all the rest. He could see the face of the pontiff, pale, wrapt, spiritual, looking not at the mighty crowd about, that was beginning to sink to its knees, but up into the heavens, as though beyond the dun clouds he had vision of fairer heavens and fairer earth. Then the chanting clerics sang again, and advanced more boldly. And as they moved, two knights striding at either side of the Pope raised lances, and shook out long banners of white silk, upon each a blood-red cross.

Loud and joyful now was the singing:--

"The Royal Banners forward go; The Cross shines forth with mystic glow; Where He in flesh, our flesh who made, Our sentence bore, our ransom paid.

"O Tree of beauty! Tree of light!

O Tree with royal purple dight!

Elect on whose triumphal breast, Those holy limbs should find their rest!"

Louder the singing. As the people gave way, the prelates and priests stood at either side, while the Pope ascended the pulpit, at his side Peter the Hermit. First spoke Peter. The little monk was eloquent as never before. He told the familiar tale of the woes of the Jerusalem Christians, so that not a soul was untouched by mortal pang. At times it seemed the mult.i.tude must break forth; but no sound came: only a swaying and sobbing as from ten thousand hearts. Then a long silence, when he ceased. It was so still, all could hear the gentle wind crooning over the tree-tops, and when a little child began to wail, its cry was hushed--affrighted at its own clamor.

Then stood forth the Pope. And if it had been silent before, there was deeper silence now. The very wind grew still, and every breath was bated. Far and wide over that mighty throng the pontiff threw his voice, clear as a trumpet, yet musical and soulful. His words were not in the stately Latin, but in the sweet familiar Languedoc, and entered men's hearts like live coals from off the altar.

"Nation of France: nation whose boast it is you are the elect of G.o.d, glorious in your faith and love of Holy Church, you I address. For you have heard and your souls are torn with the sorrows wrought at Jerusalem by that race so hateful to G.o.d. You have heard, and I know well what moves within your hearts. Shall I repeat the words of this holy hermit? Shall I tell how churches are beaten down, or--Christ forbid--become temples of the accursed worship? Shall I tell how Christians have bathed the very altars in their blood; how your brethren have chosen martyrdom, rather than deny Christ's name? O Holy Cross of Christ, verily thy dumb wood must cry out, nay, the stones break silence if the Christians of the West harden their hearts and will not hear; if no sword flashes forth in vengeance, no army hastes to succor the Sacred City."

And Urban had gone no further when there was again a swaying, throbbing, sobbing in the crowd. For an instant the Pope's voice was drowned, not by outcry, but by one vast murmur. He beckoned; there was silence, then higher rose his voice.

"O saintly spirits of Charlemagne, and of Louis his pious son, scourges of Saracens, why do ye sleep? Awake; awake; tell your children of France that holy war is theirs! O souls of the martyrs, long at rest, awake, awake; stir the cold hearts of these Christians that I may not speak in vain! O Holy Tomb of Our Lord, and thou Calvary, where the price for all our sins was paid, speak forth the sorrows of Christ's servants to these hard Western hearts. Kindle our hearts, O Lord, and grant Thine own spirit, that I may speak as becometh Thee and Thy Holy City--Jerusalem!

"Sweet children in Christ, hear the cry of that city; hear the cry of those holy fields where trod the Son of G.o.d; hear the moan of the Christian virgins torn to captivity by paynim hands; hear the cry to G.o.d of ten thousand souls whose blood smokes to heaven! How long! O Lord, how long! When will come vengeance on the oppressor!"--Again the mult.i.tude were quaking,--a deep roar springing from a myriad throats, and hands were on hilts, and pennons shook madly. But Urban dropped his voice, and again commanded silence.

"Wherefore has G.o.d suffered this? Does He take pleasure in the woes of His children? Is He glad when unbelievers pollute His altars, hew in pieces His holy bishops, and cry, 'See how helpless is your crucified Lord!' Ah, sweet children, look into your own hearts, and search if you are meet instruments to do His pleasure. Let us weep, let us weep over Jerusalem! Let us weep, let us weep over our own sins, for each one of us has more than the hairs of his head; and in the sight of G.o.d none is worthy even to behold the Holy City from afar; and if not worthy of the earthly city, how much less of the heavenly! All, all have sinned in G.o.d's pure sight. I see cavaliers, sworn defenders of Holy Church; your hands are red with Christian blood wantonly shed. I see great prelates, touched with the sacred chrism,--unworthy shepherds of Christ's sheep; you are stained with pride, hypocrisy, l.u.s.t of power. I see men and women of mean estate; selfishness, l.u.s.t, unholy hate, are strong within you. All, all have sinned!"

And now strong men were kneeling and groaning, "No more!"--were stretching out their arms to heaven, and moaning, "Mercy! mercy!" and here one man and there another was crying out that he had committed some direful deed, calling on all around to pray G.o.d with him for pardon. But Urban kept on.

"Be of good cheer, sweet children; your sins are great, but greater is the mercy of G.o.d. For I stand before you clothed with power from on high. Mine are the keys of heaven and earth and h.e.l.l. And I say to you, despite your sins, you are forgiven. Shed no bootless tears; for deeds, not tears, to-day avail. The heritage of the Lord is wasted; the Queen of cities groans in chains--who, who will spring to her release?

"Warriors who own the name of Christ, you I address,--you, who have slain wickedly in unholy war, rejoice! A holy war awaits! You who have sped fellow-Christians to death, rejoice! G.o.d will give you to trample down the alien! Draw forth the sword of the Maccabees, and go forward.

To him who lives, G.o.d will give the spoils of the heathen for an inheritance; him who dies, Christ Jesus will confess before his Father. Draw forth the sword, Christians of France! Draw forth, and let it flush red in the unbelievers' blood! For this is the Lord's doing, and he who enters upon it, casting out all hate for his brother from his heart, and with the love of Christ strong within, is purged of all sin, be it however great, and his name is written in the book of life!"--A mighty din was rising, but Urban's voice swelled above it all. "_Soldiers of h.e.l.l, become soldiers of the living G.o.d!_" was his cry, facing straight upon Richard; "lands, fame, home, friends, love,--put them all by; remember the wounds of Christ, the moans of Jerusalem; for now again Christ says to you, 'He who loveth father and mother more than me is not worthy of me; if any man will come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me--" No more; for there rose a thunder as when storm-driven billows break upon the beach.

"G.o.d wills it!" From Richard's lips it had sprung, all unbidden.

G.o.dfrey had caught it--Hildebrand's battle-cry. And as if the shout had reached high heaven, that instant the dun clouds parted. The sun streamed on naked swords and tossing lances innumerable; the flashing of the brightness was terrible as celestial light.

"G.o.d wills it!"

Every tongue had caught the cry. It swelled forth, unbidden, the voicings of the pa.s.sion in ten thousand b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The sun glanced on the crystal cross in the Pope's hand: those who saw were dazzled, and looked away.

"Yes," cried Urban, across the sea of quivering steel, "G.o.d sends His own sign from on high. Truly, thus 'G.o.d wills it!' To-day is fulfilled the Saviour's promise, that where His faithful are He will be. He it is that has put these words in your hearts; choose them as battle-cry; for on your side will be the G.o.d of battles, and at His will you shall trample down the unbeliever."

Then Urban raised on high the fire-bathed cross. "See," cried he once more, his voice rising above the swelling din, "Christ Himself issues from the tomb, and gives to you this cross. It shall be the sign lifted among the nations which is to gather together the outcasts of Israel. Wear it upon your shoulders, upon your b.r.e.a.s.t.s; let it shine upon your arms, surety of victory or palm of martyrdom; unceasing reminder that as Christ died for you, so ought you to die for Him and His glory!"

Again rose the clamor, and until they chanted his death-ma.s.s Richard forgot not that hour. One wild cry went up, the scope of heaven shook, the earth quaked; and now the shout was, "The Cross! the Cross! to Jerusalem!" The swords danced more madly, and little Bernard rose from his seat, tossed his tiny fists in the air, and joined the mighty cry.

Louis de Valmont, who had stood opposite Richard all the time, and drunk in each word, ran out before all men, flung his mailed arms round Longsword's neck and kissed him, while tears streamed down his face.

"O sweet brother," cried the Auvergner, all melted, "I too have sinned greatly in G.o.d's sight. I cannot go to Jerusalem with hate upon my soul. I forgive the death of Gilbert; pray that Our Lord may forgive me!"

The other men who had nursed unholy wrath one to the other began to embrace, and to beg for pardon; and many more kneeling stretched up their arms, calling heaven to witness they would shed no more Christian blood till the Holy City was redeemed. Urban stood upon the platform, silent, and looking out upon the throng with a smile that the beholders thought was not of this world. But when the surgings of the mult.i.tude were a little stayed, the Pope again beckoned, and there was great silence. Then Cardinal Gregory came forward, and all knelt and beat their b.r.e.a.s.t.s, repeating the _Confiteor_.

"I have sinned exceedingly in thought, word, and deed, through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault," repeated the thousands; "therefore I beseech the blessed Mary, ever Virgin, the blessed Michael, the archangel, the blessed John the Baptist, the Holy Apostles, Peter and Paul, and all the saints to pray to the Lord Our G.o.d for me."

Then when every casqued head was bowed low, the Cardinal proclaimed in a voice which the most distant might hear, "To as many as shall from pure love of Christ take the cross to go for the deliverance of Jerusalem, the same I do absolve from all their sins, and declare them spotless and perfect, in sight of G.o.d the Father, G.o.d the Son, and G.o.d the Holy Ghost. Amen!" And the words fell on Richard's soul like water on fevered lips. Another great cry, "The Cross! the Cross!" and the thousands surged with one impulse toward the pulpit, demanding the sacred token at the pontiff's own hands. And nigh foremost was Richard; not first, for Bishop Adhemar of Puy, his heart burning with holy fire, was already kneeling before the Pope, and Urban was pinning a red-cloth cross upon his shoulder. But Richard had sprung upon the platform and was next.

The Pope smiled when he saw his mighty frame and sinews of iron--a direful foe of the infidels!

"Father, Holy Father, do you not know me?" cried Richard.

"I do not, sweet son," said Urban, pinning fast the cross.

"I am that lad Richard who stood by Pope Gregory's bedside; but I have greatly sinned."