Venerable Lord Pembroke calmly replied: “If the grade of kinship alone entitled him to the succession, Arthur would have the legitimate claim from his father, Geoffrey, your eldest brother. Nay, King, do not interrupt. Hear me out. We, the lords of England, recognized you as King after Richard’s death, though well aware that a nearer heir was living. But when we elevated you to the throne we took into consideration not alone the question of inheritance, but the welfare of England. The fearful struggle after the first Henry’s death, in which rivers of blood were shed, to decide who should wear the crown, is still fresh in the minds of the people. Civil war must not again devastate the country; and yet I most earnestly warn you to treat your nephew, Arthur of Brittany, with the consideration due to his rank, to honor him in knightly fashion, and to give him back his dukedom unimpaired. Promise me this, O King, and receive anew our loyal devotion. Do you endorse my proposal, noble lords?”
The convincing importance of his statement, as well as the imposing presence of Lord Pembroke, made a profound impression, and all raised their hands in assent.
John looked around the circle in a triumphant manner and said in a conciliatory tone: “I give the promise which you desire unconditionally, my loving and trusty followers. I am pained that you should have believed I would not deal with my nephew as becomes his rank, even without a promise.”
All were, or at least seemed to be, satisfied with the King’s statement. Salisbury, however, still was suspicious of John’s sincerity. He asked permission to visit the prisoner again. The King smilingly granted it, saying: “Go to him to-day, noble Earl, for you must leave with a detachment of troops in the morning.”
Salisbury made no objection to this, for he did not know that not only he, but all the nobles who had shown favor toward Arthur, would be sent away, and that the Duke would be left behind in the King’s power. He was detained so long by the King upon business matters and friendly pretences that little time was left for him to make the visit; but at last he got away, and hurried to the prison. The joy with which Arthur greeted him made it all the more difficult for the Earl to prepare him for the approaching separation. When the Duke learned the King’s intention, he lost his self-control and entreated Salisbury not to leave him. Vainly the Earl assured him that John had bound himself by a sacred promise that he would do nothing to harm his nephew. He clung to his only friend as he sought to tear himself away, crying out in utter despair, “My last hope departs with you, noble Salisbury.”
In great agitation Salisbury left the unfortunate youth, and the next day marched out of Mirabeau, filled with gloomy apprehensions and wishing that he had never entered it and taken Arthur prisoner.
In a few weeks the relations of those who had met in Mirabeau were radically changed. Queen Eleanor had to remain there alone, though very reluctantly, as she was detained by a severe illness. It seemed as if the sight of Arthur’s face had aroused the torments of conscience, for, from the day when she was forced to deliver him into John’s power she had grown weak and ill, both in body and mind. As soon as he could make the arrangements John left Mirabeau, taking his nephew with him. Though closely guarded, Arthur enjoyed considerable freedom on the road, and followed the army on horseback. But before they were out of Normandy the prisoner’s guards suddenly took him away in another direction from that of the army, and landed him in the castle of Falaise.
In that gloomy castle Arthur experienced all the hardships of imprisonment and passed his days in hopeless solitude. At the beginning of winter he was taken to Rouen and confined in a strong tower on the bank of the Seine. Though joyous and cheerful by nature, he lost all courage and hope, and fell into utter despair. His young days seemed like a dream, and as he recalled them he asked himself over and over again, “What has become of Alan?”
The time which seemed so long to Arthur was passed by Alan in almost constant toil and hardship. How many dangers, plots, and delays he had to overcome before he finally reached Paris! He entered upon his mission for Arthur at once, but it was soon apparent that the task was hopeless. Where could he look for advice and assistance? King Philip being far away with his army, Alan was powerless to carry out Arthur’s wishes, and yet the Princesses were expecting aid from him. He visited Abraham, who remained steadfast to the Duke; yet the Jew required time to raise the money and make inquiries just when Alan had to face new dangers at every turn. When Abraham learned from his relatives that Arthur had left Rouen, his alarm increased, for he feared the worst if he met John. The utmost despatch was now necessary, and Abraham showed his willingness to help Alan in his plans for the Duke’s rescue. “For,” said the Jew, “he has done me a great favor and has made an asylum for my people. But, alas, King John persecutes the children of Israel, and has sworn to extirpate our race.”
Alan advised with Abraham about every move he made, and finally decided to repair at once to the neighborhood of the Duke; then he arranged to meet Abraham in Rouen and decide what further steps were necessary in Arthur’s behalf.
The Duke’s only recreation was an occasional visit to the tower balcony, where—under the eye of his guard—he enjoyed walking, as well as the bracing winter air. A high parapet prevented him from looking down where the Seine flowed by and vessels were passing up and down the river, but he could hear the voices and songs of the sailors as he paced backward and forward. He endeavored to maintain a dignified bearing when in the presence of the witnesses of his misfortune, but his pale cheeks showed traces of the bitter tears he had shed in his solitude.
One morning he went to the balcony as usual with Hubert de Burgh, captain of the guard. The wind blew violently about the old tower, and as Arthur went out on the balcony to listen to the stir of the world below, Hubert, who was in a surly mood, sheltered himself near the entrance.
As Arthur listened to the songs of the sailors on the river below, why was it that his face suddenly lit up with joy and that his eyes flashed with delight? Fortunately Hubert could not see his face, as Arthur was standing with his back to him.
What was the melody to which he listened so eagerly? Surely it was Blondel’s song,[20]which the faithful minstrel once sung under the walls of the prison where Richard the Lion-hearted was confined, and which Arthur had often sung with Alan, little dreaming that he too would be a prisoner one day. If his ear did not deceive him it was Alan’s voice, only it was weaker and more tremulous than usual. And yet no other could sing the song like that. He longed to sing it in reply, but his guard, wondering why he stopped his walk so long, approached. The singer ceased as Arthur wiped his heated brow. Suddenly his handkerchief flew into the air. Arthur pretended to be catching it, but it fluttered high above the balcony and then sank downwards like a white dove.
“You have lost your handkerchief,” said the guard, “for it will either fall into the water or catch upon the walls.”
“It was very precious to me,” replied Arthur; “my mother embroidered it.” Thereupon he left the balcony. The handkerchief fell into the water and was picked up by a young sailor boy, who came there on a stone vessel the day before. It was this boy who had sung Blondel’s song. He took the wet handkerchief and looked at it with beaming eyes. Then he uttered a cry, not like that of a sailor, but like that with which the hunter calls his falcon.
On the following morning two weary female pilgrims arrived at the eastern gate of Rouen. When questioned by the guard, they showed letters to the Abbess of the Marien Convent, and were directed to the place. After kneeling in prayer for some time at the altar of the cathedral near by, they arose and went to the convent. As the elder pilgrim desired to present the letters in person, they were shown into the reception-room, where the Abbess awaited them behind a latticed door. Approaching it the pilgrim said, “Admit us, reverend mother.”
“Do you not know that only the King and the Princesses have that privilege?” replied the Abbess. Thereupon the two unveiled.
“I am Constance of Brittany,” said the elder.
“And I am Marie of France,” added the other in a low voice.
The Abbess bowed in great surprise and admitted the pair. “What seek you, gracious Princesses?” said she.
“We have vowed to tarry here in prayer until the Holy Mother of God answers our petition,” was the reply.
“And supposing the Holy One refuses?”
“Then we shall pray for a poor soul until our latest breath.”
“It is your right to command,” said the Abbess, conducting them to the interior of the cloister.
In that very hour an aged Jew came to the south gate of the city with a ragbag on his shoulder and a staff in his hand. He exhibited his passports to the gate-keepers, and although they gave him permission to leave Paris and go to Rouen on business, he was stopped and insulted upon every sort of pretext. He bore the raillery of the rough soldiers patiently and mutely, only protesting now and then, “My papers permit me to enter the city and seek lodgings with my friends.”
“But why are you in such a hurry, Jew?” said the captain. “Perhaps you have business with the King of England, who is coming to-night?”
The Jew shot a swift glance at the speaker and meekly replied, “A poor craftsman can have nothing to do with so fine a gentleman.”
“Who can tell?” provokingly answered the captain. “When princes are preparing to cross the seas there are fine bargains to be made with their followers.”
“Then let me enter and find out if I can make any of them.”
“The Jew snaps at such a chance like a fish at the bait,” said the captain with a sneer. “Now hurry, son of Israel.”
The Jew promptly availed himself of the opportunity, folded his papers, and passed through the partly open gate. A soldier of the watch hurried him on his way with a thrust of his lance shaft, and the spare figure soon disappeared among the crooked old streets. The Jew, who was Abraham, had at last accomplished his purpose. In the secret hiding-place of one of his own faith he could have interviews with all kinds of people, who passed in and out all day. Samples of wares were strewn about the tables; but these people, who were mostly knights or seamen, did not come to purchase. Among them was Alan, who late one evening found himself alone with Abraham.
“You know all now. I may not be able to help you further,” said Abraham. “But this is my plan: When King John comes into port, bringing the Duke with him, a second boat will follow, carrying the servants and baggage. The captain and crew have been won over. God knows at what price,” he added with a groan. “They will keep you until the harbor is reached. Then the King and his retinue, including Duke Arthur, will embark upon a large sea vessel, for the King will not allow him to be out of his sight until he safely lands him in England. The confusion of the night embarkation will allow you to approach unobserved, and you must improve the opportunity to separate the Duke from the others and get him to your boat. Have him concealed there, and leave as quickly as possible. It is the last faint possibility of escape, for no power can save him or get him out of the tower, now that John has control.”
“And where will the sailors in the little boat take us?” said Alan.
“They know all the coves and inlets of the coast—they often conceal themselves in them from the pirates,” said Abraham.
“God grant that we succeed! Arthur knows that I am near, and he will be in readiness for instant flight. This is the surety of it,” said Alan, pressing Arthur’s handkerchief to his lips.
“Farewell, brave youth,” said Abraham. “Do what your heart prompts. A truer one never beat under the sun. I shall leave Rouen early to-morrow morning and return to Paris that suspicion may not fall upon me and my people should your undertaking be discovered.”
They parted, and Alan returned to the vessel. His route led him past the ancient tower, which was not so quiet and dark as usual. Torches illuminated the gate and battlements, and lights shone in the windows; for King John had arrived, and the din of his soldiery could be heard even through the thick walls.
The report of the King’s approaching departure had attracted a great throng of spectators to the bank of the Seine, opposite the tower. They were curious to see the King, but more eager to see the Duke of Brittany, whose name was heard on every side. Vessels of moderate size could come close up to the gates on the water side, which closed the entrance to the tower. Two boats were in waiting some distance off. The smaller was fully manned, and loaded with chests and bales, ready for departure. The deck of the larger, which floated the royal ensign, was empty, the crew being below.
It was late when the signal for leaving was given. The gates were opened, torch-bearers advanced and lighted the stairs, which were flanked by two rows of halberdiers. Between them, knights, soldiers, and nobles, with the Duke in their midst, descended. Arthur stopped upon the stair an instant, looking about as if in search of some one, but he was quickly forced along to the gangway leading from the stairs to the boat. He and his guards had hardly stepped aboard when the King’s approach was announced. John immediately appeared, mounted the deck, and disappeared below. The rowers struck out, the sails filled, and the vessel moved to the middle of the stream. The boat with the baggage followed a little distance away from it. A dark figure rose from time to time in the bows, eagerly scrutinizing the King’s vessel. It was Alan in sailor’s dress, on the lookout for Arthur. The deck of the other vessel, however, remained empty for some time. It gleamed white in the light of the rising moon; its masts and sails were sharply outlined against the clear night sky, and only the monotonous plash of oars broke the stillness.
Theassassination of Arthur
Theassassination of Arthur
But when the city was left behind and the vessel was gliding along between the deserted banks of the rushing river, two figures appeared on deck and gradually proceeded to the stern, which was clearly visible to Alan. He could see it was the King and Arthur engaged in conversation, and could even distinctly hear some of their words. Arthur was in modest attire, and his short mantle was carelessly worn. King John was dressed in a broad dark cloak which left one arm free, and wore a fur-trimmed cap. The speakers stood some distance apart, but as the conversation continually grew louder, it was perfectly audible to Alan. The familiar sound of Arthur’s voice deeply touched his heart, and he eagerly listened to its tones. Suddenly he heard the King’s questioning voice full of sullen rage, and Arthur’s loud, firm reply to him, “Never, never!” At the same time he saw the Duke with upturned face raise his hands to heaven in a supplicating manner. As Arthur stood thus, facing the King with unprotected breast, the latter sprang at him. A dagger gleamed in his hand, and like a flash he drove the blade into the Duke’s heart. A dreadful cry followed, and was repeated by the echo of another voice. The King lifted the weapon and pierced his victim a second time. The dying youth staggered to the edge of the vessel and fell into the river. The King looked searchingly over the side and then flung the dagger into the stream.
Forgetting all caution, Alan leaned over in his boat, watching with horror-stricken eyes the crimsoned water in the wake of the King’s vessel. A golden ringlet rose and glistened in the moonlight for an instant; then the waves closed over it, and it disappeared.
Proudly sailed the vessel bearing the King to its haven. Sunk and forever lost in the waters of the Seine was the Duke of Brittany.[21]
King John murdered his nephew at night, unseen, as he supposed, by any human eye, and yet he was at once harassed by constant fear. He did not draw an easy breath until he landed upon the English coast and stood upon soil which had not been stained by his bloody deed. Almost as soon as the King’s vessel arrived, rumor was busy, however, and hinted of the crime John had committed. Although the people submissively obeyed him, they looked upon him with suspicion, and at last accusations were made openly.
When John assembled the lords and peers for the first time, the venerable Pembroke, their mouth-piece, asked the King this question: “Where is Arthur, son of Geoffrey, the noble scion of the Plantagenets?”
The cowardly and conscience-stricken King sought to evade a reply, but he was besieged with a storm of demands and accusations, and Pembroke reproached both himself and his friends because they had left Arthur in the cruel hands of his uncle.
The King at last answered in a rage: “The peers must first prove the act before they condemn me.” An instant’s silence ensued, for they could not provide the proofs; and John looked with insolent scorn at the embarrassed nobles. But before the King could follow up his opportunity, a herald entered the hall, announcing that an unknown knight, attended by squires and heralds, had brought a message for the King from Philip Augustus of France. It was an unfortunate time to receive the commission, but he did not dare to refuse audience to Philip’s ambassador.
Preceded by a herald carrying a roll of parchment in his hand, with the royal seal appended, a knight in full black armor entered the hall. John was greatly agitated as he saw him approaching, and was still more alarmed when the knight raised his visor and displayed the stern features of a youthful face. It seemed to him for an instant that Arthur stood there to accuse him.
The stranger bowed haughtily to the King, and with exceeding courtesy to the nobles, and then spoke: “In the name and by the authority of King Philip of France I summon you, John Plantagenet of Anjou, before the tribunal of your sovereign lord at Paris, to answer for the murder of your nephew, Duke Arthur of Brittany.”
John stamped his foot with rage. “This is most presumptuous,” he roared. “It will be time for Philip to sit in judgment on me when he has found some one to accuse me.”
“Here I stand, Knight Alan of Mordant, from Brittany, as your accuser,” said Alan. “I saw you commit the murder, and am ready to prove all the circumstances. Do you doubt my testimony?” he asked, as he saw John make a gesture of contempt. “Well then, behold this dagger.” Alan drew the weapon from his cloak and held it toward the King. “Do you recognize your name and arms on the blade? It may well be rusty, for it has not only lain in the waters of the Seine three days, but also has been bathed in Arthur’s blood. Do you deny it, King John? Do you shake your fist at me? If so, I will maintain the truth of my accusation by my knightly honor, and here I cast my glove into the circle of these noble knights. I summon him to mortal combat who will deny my accusation.”
Alan threw down his glove and replaced the dagger in his cloak. The King looked around the circle of his gallant knights almost supplicatingly, but he saw only gloomy and lowering faces, and no one moved to take the glove from the floor. There was universal silence until the King summoned the herald, who took the glove into his keeping.
Notwithstanding his discomfiture, John craftily made a bold move to stem the tide of his fast failing cause. Turning to Alan, he said, “If we, as is likely, shall refuse to recognize the summons of Philip of France, what then?”
“In that case,” said Alan, “King Philip will declare you, John of England, dispossessed of all your property and fiefs on French soil, and will immediately appropriate them.”
“Let him attempt it!” shouted John in thundering tones. “Hear you, my lords and knights! Philip may execute this summons, but he will not strike me. He will strike at England and England’s greatness. It is Philip’s purpose to wrest from us the country which is the birthplace of our ancestors, the land whence sprang our knighthood, majestic Normandy, beautiful Anjou and Maine. That is the explanation of all his virtuous anger over the death of the boy Arthur. What is that boy’s life, what is my own life, provided England’s greatness remain unimpaired? Which one of you, my knights, will hesitate when he is called upon to fight for English honor and English possessions?”
John looked around the assembly confident of victory, took the summons, tore it in two, and threw the pieces on the floor. “There is the answer you shall take to Philip of France, Knight Mordant, and you may leave England in three days. For that length of time you have the privileges of an ambassador.”
With a firm step John left the hall, and the nobles followed him with unsettled convictions.
The English army invaded France again, only to meet with defeat. England lost both fame and possessions: Philip wrested the latter from her. The entire population of Brittany rushed to arms after Arthur’s murder, and drove the enemy out of their country. Alan, their leader, continually roused them to resistance and incited them to avenge their murdered Duke. He would not tolerate any foreign ruler, and encouraged all classes to maintain their independence both against England and France. He demonstrated his patriotism and achieved victory, but at the cost of his life in defence of his fatherland.
Arthur was avenged. The contempt of all England, worse even than death to bear, was visited upon John when he returned from France. Detested by his subjects, mistrusted by the nobles, shamefully begging help from the Pope to keep his throne, his life came to an end in an era of turbulence. His lords, joining hands with the commons, extorted from him that important concession of rights, Magna Charta,[22]and compelled this execrable despot to lay the foundations of the greatness of the English people. Old and worn out with sickness, believing himself poisoned, racked with remorse, harassed by rebellious leaders, John died in the midst of an insurrection.
The derisive epithet, “John Lackland,” has branded him in history as a spurious and cruel sovereign. The figure of Arthur of Brittany, glorified in poetry, beautified with the immortal lustre of youth, stands out brightly against the dark background of those bloody days.[23]
The following is a chronological statement of the principal events treated of in this volume:
LIFE STORIES FOR YOUNG PEOPLETranslated from the German byGeorge P. Upton20 Volumes ReadyBeethovenMozartBachHaydnMaid of OrleansThe Little DauphinMarie Antoinette’s YouthFrederick the GreatMaria TheresaArnold of WinkelriedWilliam of OrangeBarbarossaWilliam TellThe Swiss HeroesHerman and ThusneldaUndineGudrunThe NibelungsThe Frithiof SagaThe Duke of BrittanyEach, illustrated, 60 cents netA. C. McCLURG & CO., CHICAGO
LIFE STORIES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE
Translated from the German byGeorge P. Upton
20 Volumes Ready
Each, illustrated, 60 cents netA. C. McCLURG & CO., CHICAGO
[1]Geoffrey was born September 23, 1158, and died August 19, 1186. He married Constance of Brittany.[2]Henry II was the first king of England of the house of Plantagenet. Outside of England he possessed Normandy and the suzerainty of Brittany, which he inherited from the Norman kings; Anjou and Maine from his father, and by marriage with Eleanor, Poitou, Guienne, and Gascony.[3]This is one version of the manner in which Geoffrey came to his death. The generally accepted historical version is that he was killed at a tournament in Paris.[4]Duke Arthur of Brittany was born at Nantes, France, March 29, 1187, and was killed at Rouen, April 3, 1203. According to the author of this story, he was murdered on shipboard by King John, his uncle, because he refused to waive his lawful claim to the throne of England. History fails to make an authoritative statement of the manner of the young hero’s death, but it is unanimously conceded that John procured his assassination, if he did not commit the deed himself.[5]Rennes, capital of Ille-et-Vilaine, France, was the capital of ancient Brittany.[6]Philip Augustus, King of France, was born in 1165, and died in 1223. He was the son of Louis VII, and was noted for his banishment of the Jews, his participation in the Third Crusade with Richard the Lion-hearted, and the crusade against the Albigenses.[7]“The King left only two legitimate sons,—Richard, who succeeded him, and John, who inherited no territory, though his father had often intended to leave him a part of his extensive dominion. He was thence commonly denominated ‘Lackland.’”—Hume.[8]Henry the Second, King of England, died July 6, 1189. In the last year of his reign he was confronted with the rebellion of his sons Richard and John, in which they were assisted by Philip Augustus of France.[9]Geoffrey, the father of Arthur, had been concerned in a previous rebellion against his father, instigated, like that of Richard and John, by Queen Eleanor.[10]This was the Third Crusade (1189-92), which was led by Frederick Barbarossa of Germany (see the volume “Barbarossa” in this series), Richard the Lion-hearted of England, and Philip Augustus of France. They failed to recover Jerusalem, which had been recaptured by the Mussulmans in 1187.[11]Richard the First, surnamed the Lion-hearted, was born September 8, 1157, and was the third son of Henry the Second. He was killed in a war with Philip Augustus of France, John’s ally.[12]The author’s chronology is at fault in this connection. Godfrey of Bouillon was a leader in the First Crusade, and died at Jerusalem in 1100, before the period of this story.[13]Acre, in Palestine, was captured by the Crusaders in 1191, and Ascalon in 1153. The latter city was the birthplace of Herod the First.[14]Henry the Sixth, born in 1165, was the son of Barbarossa, whom he succeeded as King of Germany in 1190.[15]Trifels was an imperial fortress in the Rhine Palatinate, near Annweiler, which was the resort of mediæval emperors. Only its ruins remain.[16]The Louvre, now one of the world’s famous art museums, was a castle of the kings of France from the thirteenth century, and the chief royal palace until Versailles was built by Louis the Fourteenth. Most of the interior has been occupied as a museum since 1793.[17]Marie of France was the daughter of Philip Augustus.[18]Montjoie is the name of a hill near Paris where Saint Denis was murdered. In tournaments “Montjoie” was the cry of the French heralds; and “Montjoie St. Denis” was the French battle-cry.[19]Compiègne is a town in the Department of Oise, France, and is famous for the royal palace rebuilt by Louis the Fifteenth. Napoleon the First greatly enriched its interior.[20]Blondel was atrouvère, or minstrel, who accompanied Richard the Lion-hearted, and is said to have discovered him when he was imprisoned by singing a song under the King’s tower, to which Richard responded.[21]Hume accepts the following account of the murder as the most reliable: “John first removed him to the castle of Rouen; and coming in a boat, during the night time, to that place, commanded Arthur to be brought forth to him. The young prince, aware of his danger, and now more subdued by the continuance of his misfortunes and by the approach of death, threw himself on his knees before his uncle and begged for mercy; but the barbarous tyrant, making no reply, stabbed him with his own hands, and, fastening a stone to the dead body, threw it into the Seine.”[22]Magna Charta, the charter of English liberties, signed by John and his barons at Runnymede, June 15, 1215.[23]Hume says of John: “Cowardice, inactivity, folly, levity, licentiousness, ingratitude, treachery, tyranny, and cruelty,—all these qualities appear too evidently in the several incidents of his life to give us room to suspect that the disagreeable picture has been anywise overcharged by the prejudices of the ancient historians.”
[1]Geoffrey was born September 23, 1158, and died August 19, 1186. He married Constance of Brittany.
[2]Henry II was the first king of England of the house of Plantagenet. Outside of England he possessed Normandy and the suzerainty of Brittany, which he inherited from the Norman kings; Anjou and Maine from his father, and by marriage with Eleanor, Poitou, Guienne, and Gascony.
[3]This is one version of the manner in which Geoffrey came to his death. The generally accepted historical version is that he was killed at a tournament in Paris.
[4]Duke Arthur of Brittany was born at Nantes, France, March 29, 1187, and was killed at Rouen, April 3, 1203. According to the author of this story, he was murdered on shipboard by King John, his uncle, because he refused to waive his lawful claim to the throne of England. History fails to make an authoritative statement of the manner of the young hero’s death, but it is unanimously conceded that John procured his assassination, if he did not commit the deed himself.
[5]Rennes, capital of Ille-et-Vilaine, France, was the capital of ancient Brittany.
[6]Philip Augustus, King of France, was born in 1165, and died in 1223. He was the son of Louis VII, and was noted for his banishment of the Jews, his participation in the Third Crusade with Richard the Lion-hearted, and the crusade against the Albigenses.
[7]“The King left only two legitimate sons,—Richard, who succeeded him, and John, who inherited no territory, though his father had often intended to leave him a part of his extensive dominion. He was thence commonly denominated ‘Lackland.’”—Hume.
[8]Henry the Second, King of England, died July 6, 1189. In the last year of his reign he was confronted with the rebellion of his sons Richard and John, in which they were assisted by Philip Augustus of France.
[9]Geoffrey, the father of Arthur, had been concerned in a previous rebellion against his father, instigated, like that of Richard and John, by Queen Eleanor.
[10]This was the Third Crusade (1189-92), which was led by Frederick Barbarossa of Germany (see the volume “Barbarossa” in this series), Richard the Lion-hearted of England, and Philip Augustus of France. They failed to recover Jerusalem, which had been recaptured by the Mussulmans in 1187.
[11]Richard the First, surnamed the Lion-hearted, was born September 8, 1157, and was the third son of Henry the Second. He was killed in a war with Philip Augustus of France, John’s ally.
[12]The author’s chronology is at fault in this connection. Godfrey of Bouillon was a leader in the First Crusade, and died at Jerusalem in 1100, before the period of this story.
[13]Acre, in Palestine, was captured by the Crusaders in 1191, and Ascalon in 1153. The latter city was the birthplace of Herod the First.
[14]Henry the Sixth, born in 1165, was the son of Barbarossa, whom he succeeded as King of Germany in 1190.
[15]Trifels was an imperial fortress in the Rhine Palatinate, near Annweiler, which was the resort of mediæval emperors. Only its ruins remain.
[16]The Louvre, now one of the world’s famous art museums, was a castle of the kings of France from the thirteenth century, and the chief royal palace until Versailles was built by Louis the Fourteenth. Most of the interior has been occupied as a museum since 1793.
[17]Marie of France was the daughter of Philip Augustus.
[18]Montjoie is the name of a hill near Paris where Saint Denis was murdered. In tournaments “Montjoie” was the cry of the French heralds; and “Montjoie St. Denis” was the French battle-cry.
[19]Compiègne is a town in the Department of Oise, France, and is famous for the royal palace rebuilt by Louis the Fifteenth. Napoleon the First greatly enriched its interior.
[20]Blondel was atrouvère, or minstrel, who accompanied Richard the Lion-hearted, and is said to have discovered him when he was imprisoned by singing a song under the King’s tower, to which Richard responded.
[21]Hume accepts the following account of the murder as the most reliable: “John first removed him to the castle of Rouen; and coming in a boat, during the night time, to that place, commanded Arthur to be brought forth to him. The young prince, aware of his danger, and now more subdued by the continuance of his misfortunes and by the approach of death, threw himself on his knees before his uncle and begged for mercy; but the barbarous tyrant, making no reply, stabbed him with his own hands, and, fastening a stone to the dead body, threw it into the Seine.”
[22]Magna Charta, the charter of English liberties, signed by John and his barons at Runnymede, June 15, 1215.
[23]Hume says of John: “Cowardice, inactivity, folly, levity, licentiousness, ingratitude, treachery, tyranny, and cruelty,—all these qualities appear too evidently in the several incidents of his life to give us room to suspect that the disagreeable picture has been anywise overcharged by the prejudices of the ancient historians.”