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."