Pilgrimage was often a lucrative business as well as a pious performance. In the intervals of his visits to the sacred places the European sojourner plied his calling as a tradesman; the Franks held a market before the Church of St. Mary; the Venetians, Genoese, and Pisans had stores in Jerusalem and the coast cities of Phenicia. The courtiers of Europe dressed in the rich stuffs sent from Asia, and drank the wine of Gaza. A great traffic was done in relics. The pilgrim returned having in his wallet the credited bones of martyrs, bits of stone from sacred sites, splinters from furniture and shreds of garments made holy by association with the saints. These were sold to the wealthy and to churches, and their value augmented from year to year by reason of the fables which grew about them.
In more generous minds the passion for pilgrimage was fed by the desire for increased knowledge. Travel was the only compensation for the lack of books. One became measurably learned by visiting, while going to and returning from Palestine, such cities as Constantinople or Alexandria, to say nothing of the enlightening intercourse with one’s fellow-Europeans while passing through their lands.
Mere love of change and adventure also led many to take the staff. If in our advanced civilization men cannot entirely divest themselves of the nomadic habit, but tramp and tourist are everywhere, we need not be surprised at the numbers of those who indulged this passion in days when home life was exceedingly monotonous and its entertainment as meagre.
But the chief incentive to pilgrimage was doubtless the supposed merit of treading the very footprints of our Lord. Not only was forgiveness of sins secured by kneeling on the site of Calvary, but to die en route was to fall in the open gateway of heaven, one’s travel-soiled shirt becoming a shroud which would honor the hands of angels convoying the redeemed soul to the blissful abodes. Great criminals thus penanced their crimes. Frotmonde, the murderer, his brow marked with ashes and his clothes cut after the fashion of a winding-sheet, tramped the streets of Jerusalem, the desert of Arabia, and homeward along the North African coast, only to be commanded by Pope Benedict III. to repeat his penance on even a larger scale, after which he was received as a saint. Foulques of Anjou, who had brought his brother to death in a dungeon, found that three such journeys were necessary to wear away the guilt-mark from his conscience. Robert of Normandy, the father of William the Conqueror, as penance for crime walked barefoot the entire distance, accompanied by many knights and barons. When Cencius assaulted Pope Hildebrand, the pontiff uttered these words: “Thy injuries against myself I freely pardon. Thy sins against God, against His mother, His apostles, and His whole church, must be expiated. Go on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem.”
We are thus prepared to appreciate the incentive to the crusades which men of all classes found in the speech of Pope Urban at Clermont, in inaugurating the movement: “Take ye, then, the road to Jerusalem for the remission of sins, and depart assured of the imperishable glory which awaits you in the kingdom of heaven.”
Othman, the founder of the Ottoman dynasty of Turks, once had a dream in which he saw all the leaves of the world-shading tree shaped like cimeters and turning their points towards Constantinople. This he interpreted into a prophecy and command for the capture of that city. Similarly we may conceive the various conditions and sentiments of Europe in the eleventh century, which have been described in our previous chapters, as directing the way to Jerusalem. Subsequent events, however, prove that, unlike Othman’s leaves, the Christian incentives to the crusades were not directed by the breath of Heaven.
THE STORY OF THE CRUSADES.
CHAPTER IX.
THE SUMMONS—PETER THE HERMIT—POPE URBAN—POPULAR EXCITEMENT.
It has been customary to attribute the actual initiation of the crusades to the fiery eloquence of Peter the Hermit. This man was a native of Picardy, and was possessed of a spirit as restless as the seas that washed the shores of that northern province of France. He at one time seems to have followed the life of a soldier, but his ardent mind demanded higher entertainment than the gossip of camps and exploits of the field. The pursuit of letters, in an age so barren of literary resources, soon wearied him. Ecclesiastical duties seemed also a dreary routine. Like many of the nobler spirits of his day, he deserted the world and in the seclusion of his own thoughts sought communion with Heaven. His mind, unfurnished with information of the actual world, filled itself with visions. From ecstatic solitude he emerged at times to sway the masses with the eloquence of a second John the Baptist. According to tradition, he made the pilgrimage to Palestine, the sight of whose holy places inflamed his spiritual zeal, while the atrocities perpetrated upon his fellow-Christians by the Turks rent his heart. Together with Simeon, the venerable Patriarch of Jerusalem, he wept over the desolation of Zion. He there conceived the sublime purpose of rousing all Europe to take up arms against the common enemy. One day, while praying before the Holy Sepulchre, he heard the voice of Christ saying, “Peter, arise! hasten to proclaim the tribulations of My people.” Bearing a letter from the patriarch, he went to Rome and summoned Pope Urban II., as the Vicegerent of Jesus, to listen to this new evangel from the ascended Lord. Urban perceived in the monk’s fervor the signs of the will of Heaven, and commissioned him to proclaim it to the nations of Europe.
It is unfortunate for the romance of this part of Peter’s life that it is unconfirmed by any contemporary records. Anna Comnena, the Greek annalist, who lived in Peter’s day, declares that, while he started upon the pilgrimage, he did not reach Jerusalem.