His majesty brought master mariners from other vessels who sent down divers to investigate the damage. Each reported a great length of keel missing. We think the timbers are out of joint, the mariners said, and they advised his majesty to board another ship because ours might fall apart. The king then consulted various lords including the archdeacon of Nicosia, chamberlain Pierre, Gilles le Brun who was Constable, Gervais d’Escraines, and myself, because he wished to know what we advised. We told him we thought it best to accept the advice of master seamen, for in worldly matters one should rely upon those with experience.
The king now turned to these master mariners. What would you do, he asked, if the vessel belonged to you and was freighted with your goods? Would you abandon her?
They replied in unison that indeed they would not, but would sooner risk drowning than spend four thousand livres on another ship.
Then, said the king, why should I quit her?
Sire, they answered, the stakes are not equivalent. Gold and silver may be weighed, whereas the lives of yourself, your queen, and your children may not.
I have listened to all opinions, said the king. Here is my judgment. Were I to board another vessel I would leave behind these hundreds of pilgrims, each of whom treasures his life as I do mine. Many would choose to land on Cyprus rather than subject themselves to a fitful sea. And these, perhaps, might never return to France. Therefore, he continued, he would not do such harm to his people but would entrust himself, his wife, and his children to the hands of the Lord.
In my opinion we had been tried enough, yet no more did we escape the sandbank than a fierce wind drove us toward the island. Anchors were tossed out to halt our progress but we drifted forward. We did not stop till the mariners had thrown out five anchors. Gilles le Brun and I lay miserably in the king’s chamber when the door opened and there was Queen Marguerite looking for her husband. She wanted him to vow that he would undertake a pilgrimage of some sort if we might be saved, mariners having told her they could promise nothing. I did not know where the king was, but I said there was one thing she herself might do. She might promise the Lord that if we got safely home she would commission a silver ship to the value of five marks in the name of the king, herself, and their children. For, said I, only last night when we hit the sandbank I vowed to Saint Nicholas that if he would preserve us I would walk barefoot from Joinville to his shrine at Varangeville. The queen replied that she would promise a silver ship worth five marks if I stood surety for Saint Nicholas. I answered that I would. Then off she went, but in a while came back to tell us that Saint Nicholas had listened, for the wind had fallen.
Now as the storm abated King Louis seated himself on the bulwarks and told me to sit at his feet. Seneschal, he began, our Lord has visibly manifested His strength in that with a single wind He might have drowned the king of France with his wife and children and all this company. The saints inform us that tribulation should be held as a warning, therefore we ought to look within ourselves to see how we have angered Him. And we should cast out whatever we find offensive, since otherwise He may smite us with death or some other calamity.
After a while he continued. You know, the saint addresses God in this manner. O Lord, why dost Thou intimidate us? Our end could not diminish Thee, nor could our deliverance enhance Thee. And therefore, Seneschal, admonitions arise out of God’s vast love for us, that we may perceive our deficiencies and purge ourselves of what He finds abhorrent.
Then his majesty was a long time silent.
Olivier de Termes, a valiant knight who distinguished himself in the Holy Land, disembarked at Cyprus because he nurtured a fear of drowning. Such were the difficulties of travel that almost two years would elapse before he saw France again, although he was a wealthy lord with money enough for passage. Lesser folk might well be condemned to life on that island. So it may be seen how the king spoke truly.
After we had taken aboard fresh water and provisions we departed Cyprus and came to the island of Lampedusa. Here we caught a great many rabbits. Also, we visited a deserted hermitage among the rocks and saw a garden that was laid out by these monks. A pleasant stream trickled through it. We walked down the slope and entered a grotto in which we found a lime-washed oratory with a red cross made of baked clay. In another grotto we saw the skeletons of two men who lay as though asleep, the bones of their hands folded on their ribs. They were laid toward the east like those consigned to earth.
Upon returning to our ship we learned that a seaman had deserted. Our captain thought he might have decided to become a hermit. We left three sacks of biscuit where he might find them and continued our voyage.
Next we came to Pantalaria in the midst of the sea. Queen Marguerite wished to obtain fruit for her children, but his majesty was reluctant to put men ashore because the inhabitants of this island were Saracen. At last he consented and despatched three galleys, telling the captains they should not loiter but quickly rejoin the fleet. They pulled ahead in the direction of a small harbor. We did not see them when we passed by so we thought they must have been captured. Our seamen advised his majesty not to wait, pointing out that we were between Sicily and Tunis, kingdoms that did not love us. Give us leave to sail on and by dawn we shall pass through this strait, said they with anxious looks. His majesty refused to listen. He said he would not leave his people in Saracen hands and make no effort to rescue them. Turn your sails, he ordered, so that we may attack.
Now the queen became distraught and cried aloud that it was all her doing. Yet even as sails were rigged to catch a landward breeze we observed the galleys pulling toward us. When they got near the king asked why they dawdled and they answered that six young gentlemen of Paris had wandered about the gardens eating fruit and nobody could persuade them to leave. We could not abandon them, said the mariners, so it is not our fault. His majesty ordered these six young men put in a longboat, which is the place for cutthroats and thieves, whereat they threw up their hands and began to howl, imploring him to show mercy, saying they would be disgraced the rest of their lives. The queen and all of us joined this lament but nothing would dissuade King Louis from his purpose. Into the longboat they went and there they sat till we got to land, wretched and terrified by waves dashing in their faces. Yet his majesty was right, since by their greediness to eat fruit they had made us turn about and delayed us.
Before we made port one of the queen’s attendants after seeing her mistress to bed quite foolishly set the queen’s kerchief near a candle. Then she went to the cabin where women slept. In due time the candle burned low, touched the kerchief, and flames spread to a cloth protecting her majesty’s garments. I was told the queen hopped naked out of bed, tossed the kerchief overboard and extinguished the fire while our six cutthroats in the longboat began to shout. I myself, hearing some alarm, opened my eyes and there was her majesty’s kerchief flaming lightly on the sea. If Saint Nicholas or another patron watched over us I could not guess, yet I think we were but moments from lighting up the sea in all directions.
One morning a wealthy gentleman of Provence, Lord Dragonet, lay sleeping on his ship, which sailed a league ahead of us. Early sun wakened him so he called a squire to cloak the porthole. The boy, finding he could not manage it from inside the cabin, climbed outside. His foot slipped and without any sound he vanished. My Lord Dragonet’s ship being small and no dinghy to retrieve the squire, he was left behind. Several aboard the king’s ship noticed an object fall in the sea but took it for a cask or tub since the boy did not wave his arms nor struggle to save himself. One of our galleys fished him up and delivered him to us for inspection. I asked the boy why he did nothing to preserve his life and he said he did not think it necessary because he commended himself to our Lady of Vauvert who came to his aid by holding him up till the galley arrived. When we got home I had this miracle pictured in my chapel and on the stained glass windows at Blécourt.
After ten weeks at sea we reached port two leagues from the castle of Hyères. Queen Marguerite and
the counselors thought we should disembark, but his majesty declared he would not leave ship until we came to Aigues-Mortes. Nor could anyone persuade him otherwise. Our ship had two rudders attached so we could turn right or left as easily as a ploughhorse can be guided and the king beckoned to me while seated on one of the tillers.
Seneschal, give me your opinion, he said. What do you think of disembarking at this place?
I replied that it seemed a good idea, since if we did not we might emulate Madame de Bourbon who would not get off here but insisted on going to Aigues-Mortes, which through contrary wind took six weeks.
His majesty summoned the council and repeated what I had said. Everyone urged him to disembark, pointing out that by continuing to Aigues-Mortes he would further imperil his wife and children. At last he consented, which enormously relieved the queen.
While preparations were being made for our journey overland here came the abbot of Cluny with two excellent mounts, presenting them to the royal couple. Next day he reappeared. I did not hear what was said, but I observed the king listen attentively. Later I asked if I might speak my mind and he gave me leave. I should like to know, I said, if you granted the abbot a favorable hearing because of these two fine palfreys. The king thought a while. At last he replied that, in fact, he did.
Sire, I continued, do you know my purpose?
The king told me to go on.
If, said I, officials of the realm who have sworn to dispense justice are permitted to accept gifts you may be sure they will listen favorably, even as yourself. Accordingly, Sire, I would urge you when we return to prohibit all benefaction.
The king summoned his counselors and repeated what I had said. All made haste to agree that my advice was sound, yet one or two looked at me without pleasure.
Another sort of cleric, Brother Hugues, a Franciscan much esteemed, was known to be in the vicinity of Hyères. The king sent for him to come and preach. We saw him approaching a long way off, which is to say we judged by the crowd following somebody that we must be watching Brother Hugues.
My lords, there are too many monks at court, said this Franciscan when he addressed us. Indeed, I count myself one too many. And these monks have no hope of salvation unless Holy Scriptures lie, which could not be. For we know that just as a fish cannot live away from water, so a monk cannot live outside his cloister. If any would maintain that the court of King Louis is a cloister I respond that it must be the largest ever seen, extending as it does from coast to coast. If they protest they live in utmost austerity for the good of their souls I answer that they feast on meat and drink sparkling wine. Had they stayed in their cells they would not enjoy such ease and comfort.
Thus did he begin with very harsh words. He told us he had read, along with the Bible, numerous works that help to clarify it, but he had not in any book learnt of dominions usurped or lost when claims of truth and justice were respected. Now take heed, said Brother Hugues to his majesty. Upon your return, take heed to govern equitably that you may deserve God’s love and that so long as you live He shall not withdraw your patrimony.
Afterward I said we should try to keep Brother Hugues. King Louis said that already he had asked the friar to stay, but he would not. Then, taking me by the hand, his majesty suggested that both of us go and urge Brother Hugues to relent. This seemed a good idea. Our petition had no effect. I further beseeched him to stay with us, at least while the king was in Provence. The Franciscan took this badly.
God will love me better, he said, if I am elsewhere than the king’s court.
One day only would he stay with us. Next day he left. I have heard that he lies entombed at Marseille where his bones work miracles.
When it was time to continue our journey we descended from the castle afoot because the hill was quite steep. The king lost patience with his old squire Ponce over some trifling matter and scolded him. I thought this unwarranted. Sire, I began, you should forgive Ponce much, considering that he has served not only yourself but your father and grandfather.
Seneschal, the king replied, my grandfather Philip advised me that we should value servants according to merit. By forgiving Ponce we subject ourselves to his ineptitude. That being so, it is we who serve the servant. Further, King Philip advised me that he is not fit to rule who cannot reprove as well as praise.
And I, hearing these words, discovered I was given much to think about.
We passed through the city of Aix where the husk of Mary Magdalene is said to lie entombed. There is a cave in a rock where she lived seventeen years as an anchoress and we went to look at it. Next we proceeded to Beaucaire, at which point I took leave of his majesty. I went to see my niece, the Dauphine de Vienne. I also went to see my uncle, the Comte de Chalon. And separately, because they were much at odds, I visited his son, the Comte de Bourgogne. After that I traveled to Joinville from which I had long been absent.
Presently here came a little silver ship from her majesty, not to the value of five marks but one hundred livres. On deck stood figures of the king, the queen herself, with three children, all most wondrously fashioned of silver. So were little mariners wrought from silver, the mast, the rudder, cordage, all silver, and sails neatly sewn with silver thread. I, for my part, walked barefoot to the shrine of Saint Nicholas at Varangeville to requite his custody and saw Queen Marguerite’s ship placed in his chapel.
Some time afterward I rejoined the king at Soissons where he greeted me with such warmth that people whispered. Seeing him now among familiar vanities I thought how much was changed. He had lost his taste for beaver and squirrel fur, ermine, scarlet fabric, gilded stirrups, and the like. His garment now was gray wool, the covering of his bed lambskin or deerskin. At table he did not request special meats but ate what he was given, deprived himself of tender morsels, and did not salt his soup. Wine he tempered with water, more or less according to the wine, and drank from a glass goblet. Once on Cyprus he asked why I put no water to the wine. I said it was the physicians’ doing for they told me I had a thick head and cold belly, hence it was not in me to get drunk. He answered that my physicians deceived me. If you do not learn to water the wine until you are old, he said, you will suffer gouts and stomach complaints. Moreover, if when you are old you drink it neat you will get drunk, which is a passing foul thing.
Always he would look to see that his paupers had been fed and he sent money to distribute. If minstrels with viols came to entertain at supper he would not allow grace to be said until they finished singing. Only then did he rise and the priests stood before him to give thanks. If some Franciscan spoke of a book the king might enjoy hearing he would ask that it not be read, saying there could be nothing more satisfactory at table than good discourse.
Often at night he got up from bed to pray. Then the queen would rise and drape a cloak about his shoulders lest he catch cold. She told her confessor that the king seldom noticed. I think he discussed with her the possibility of abdication so that he might become a monk. Wisely she explained that by maintaining peace in the realm he would be more useful to God. I know that when writing privately to friends he called himself Louis of Poissy, referring to the little town where he was baptized. If some wondered that he disdained a royal signature he reminded them how kings are transitory.
Once I disputed Master Robert of Sorbon as to the qualities of a prud’homme, who is brave in body and the loyal servant of Christ. His majesty listened. At length he said he would dearly love that name. For, said he, it is so fine a thing that merely to pronounce the word prud’homme does fill up the mouth agreeably.
Bishop Guy d’Auxerre rebuked King Louis, saying that in his majesty’s hands the honor of Christendom declined because no man stood in fear of excommunication. Therefore, said Bishop Guy, we require you to command your bailiffs and your sergeants to compel those who have been excommunicate for one year and one day to conciliate the Church.
Right willingly, his majesty answered, provided I am given knowledge of each case to see for myself if the j
udgment was appropriate.
Thereupon the prelates, having consulted, informed King Louis they would not divulge such information because it did not fall within his jurisdiction. Then, said his majesty, would he do likewise and withhold from them such knowledge as fell within his province, nor would he compel excommunicates to seek absolution. For if I did, he told them, it would be contrary to the law of God and every principle of justice.
Shrewdly did he administer the realm. He approved Étienne Boileau for the office of provost. And this deputy so upheld his task that scarce a cutthroat or thief ventured across the street. Most embraced the gibbet. Silver, gold, noble lineage, salvage of any sort, nothing availed to skip the noose. Also, his majesty issued a lengthy ordinance framing a more constant state in which he reserved to himself for public benefaction the authority to emend, adapt, construe, or disavow, according to his judgment. Thus the king’s domain improved. Things fetched twice their previous value.
Yet here came a messenger from Germany with a letter to the court. And this messenger when he got back to Germany was asked if by chance he saw King Louis. He answered, mockingly, that he had seen a wretched papelard with a hood on his shoulder like a cleric. So did he interpret this exemplary king. Truly, there is error in our thought if what we meet does not meet our expectation.
We got word from the Dominican emissary, William of Ruybroek, who departed Acre in the year of our Lord 1253 with Friar Bartholomew of Cremona. They went looking for the Mongol prince, Sartuq, whom we thought had converted to Christianity. Friar William returned to Antioch on the twenty-ninth day of June in the year 1256, his head perched safely atop his neck, which is more than might be expected. From Antioch he proceeded to Acre and there composed his report to King Louis. We had difficulty believing what we heard as Friar William’s account was read, so rare did the journey sound, so uncommon, as if these brothers traveled to the lip of the world. We wondered if we listened to some ancient myth. From Acre they rode to Constantinople, employing an interpreter named Homo Dei, and bought a slave boy called Nicolaus. Also in the party was a certain Gosset of whom Friar William wrote little. Across the Black Sea they went to a Venetian trading post. Thence by oxcart, wearing the garments Mongols wear, which is to say boots lined with felt and a sheepskin pelisse and a hood made of fur, encouraged by rumors of Christians ahead. At night they camped beside a small fire built with dung and cooked a bit of meat. They observed wild asses and numerous other animals on the plain. At the court of Batu, grandson of Genghis Khan, Nicolaus and Gosset were detained, for what purpose is not clear. With no companion save Homo Dei these monks were escorted to the camp of Mangu Khan. Here on the doorstep of a savage they folded their hands and sang joyfully, since it was Christmastide everywhere.
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