Part 4

The nobles and knights took an oath that they would stand by his son William and not let any one keep him from being duke of Normandy. Then Duke Robert sailed away and died during the long voyage.

William was away hunting in a Norman forest when his faithful fool (as they called a sort of clown kept by a king to amuse the court) broke in where he lay asleep and shouted, “Fly, or you will never leave here a living man!” The young duke jumped up, dressed in haste, and mounted his horse, riding through the forest in the moonlight and fording rivers till he came to the castle of a friend who was sure to be faithful to him. This knight and his three sons rode with William to his own castle.

It turned out that a number of the Norman lords who had taken the oath to satisfy Duke Robert were now declaring that they would not serve under the low-born grandson of a tanner. The fool had learned that they were plotting rebellion and the death of his young master.

William, who was now twenty years old, gathered an army of loyal knights and men, and waged fierce warfare against the traitors, who retreated within the walls of a Norman town. The young duke soon captured the town, and proved to these rebels, as well as to the men of the neighboring kingdom of France, that the grandson of a tanner might be a greater general than the son of a king. At the beginning of a great battle of brave knights against braver knights, a champion of heroic size came out from the ranks of the enemy and threw down his gauntlet, or glove, challenging any knight of Normandy to come and fight him with the sword. William himself took up the gauntlet, and drove his sword through an open place in the big knight’s armor, so that he fell from his horse dead.

Then, like the Philistines of old when David slew their giant, the Duke’s enemies fled in all directions. Many of them were slain in battle, others while running away were cut down by the battle-axes of Norman knights, and many more perished in the flooded river.

Those were brutal days, when people thought that whatever a great king or noble might do was all right if he only had the power to put it through. An example of such high-handed dealing is William’s conquest of England. He had once paid a visit to Edward the Confessor, the priestly king of England. The duke claimed, on his return to Normandy, that Edward had promised to leave the kingdom to him, as a relative. It happened that Harold, an English earl, was shipwrecked on the coast of Normandy. William seized Harold, shut him up in prison, and kept him there until he promised to do his best to make William King of England at the death of Edward.

Two years later, when Edward the Confessor died, it was found that in spite of his promise to William he had advised in his will that Harold be elected king by the witan, an assembly of English freemen. This body of men took the good old king’s advice, chose Harold king, and saw that he was crowned at once. Harold excused himself for breaking his word to William because King Edward had decided in his favor instead of William’s, and because the oath he had made had been forced from him while he was a prisoner.

William, however, was very angry when he heard that Harold had allowed himself to be crowned king of England. Getting together as large an army as he could in Normandy, he sailed across the Channel. In leaping ashore from his boat he tripped and fell forward with his hands upon the ground. Realizing that his soldiers would think this a bad sign, he clutched both hands full of earth, and rising he held them up, exclaiming, “See, I have taken possession of this land of England.”

The Normans took position in the village of Hastings. Harold went into camp on top of Senlac hill, now called Battle, about six miles from Hastings, and dug trenches around. Here a great battle began at four o’clock in the morning of the 14th of October, 1066. In advance of the Norman lines rode a knight in armor, bearing the duke’s colors, singing the Song of Roland, the great paladin in the army of Charlemagne, who had lived and fought nearly three hundred years before. It was a brave combat, with many knights and nobles on each side. The Norman found the Englishman a foeman worthy of his steel.

The Saxons, entrenched on Battle Hill, held their ground so well that William saw he could not gain the day unless he drew them away from that point of vantage. So he ordered a retreat, and the honest Saxons chased the flying Normans, expecting to catch and slay them. But to their great surprise, the Normans turned and fought harder than before. Harold was killed by an arrow shot into his eyes. The Saxon army, without a commander, was thrown into confusion, and thus the day was won by strategy. William, Duke of Normandy, became William the Conqueror of England.

No one now had a better claim to the throne of England than William; so, in the new Westminster Abbey, on Christmas Day, 1066, he was crowned, and took his proud place in history as William the First of England. He had to fight four years longer to break down all opposition from the northern counties. In rewarding the Norman knights and nobles who had helped him gain possession of England, the king gave them great estates scattered over the kingdom. William brought to the island many scholars and bishops, and did much to establish the Church of England. Though he had been rough and cruel, he was both shrewd and wise in proving his own rights and in strengthening his kingdom.

William ruled England with a strong hand for twenty-one years. He forbade the buying and selling of slaves; yet he reduced the Saxon farmers to serfs almost as low as slaves. He ordered a record like a census made, and a survey of the kingdom which was recorded in what is called the Domesday Book.

It was terribly hard for the good, honest Anglo-Saxon people to see the Normans move into their homes and force them to work like slaves on the very places they themselves had owned. But the Normans had the power and the Saxons could not help themselves. For hundreds of years the Normans spoke the French language, and the Saxons, the English. The very names of the meats on your table at home are signs of the Norman Conquest, nearly nine hundred years ago. The animals in the pastures and stables of England were called by the names the Saxons gave them--as cow, calf, sheep, swine. But the meats of those animals when cooked and served upon the tables of the masters are still known by the Norman French names, as beef (Norman name for cow), veal (Norman for calf), mutton (Norman for sheep), pork (Norman for hog or swine). Milk is a Saxon word, but cream is from the French, because the Saxons had to milk the cows and drink only milk, while they served their Norman lords the cream.

The Norman traits of keenness, tact, and worldly wisdom have been mingling for many centuries with the honest, sturdy integrity of the Anglo-Saxons. Little by little, as the races grew together, the nobles became less haughty and cruel and the poorer people were lifted out of their poverty. But it took many centuries for men to learn the lesson that

“Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood.”

LION-HEARTED RICHARD AND WOLF-HEARTED JOHN

The great-grandson of William the Conqueror was Henry the Second of England, a great and powerful king. At his death, in 1189, he left two sons, Richard and John. As Richard was the older he was at once proclaimed king and duly crowned in Westminster Abbey. He was also Duke of Normandy, and thought this a greater honor than to be king of England.

About a hundred years before the time of Richard, great armies had begun to sail from several of the countries of western Europe to the Holy Land in Syria. The rock-hewn tomb of Jesus, near Jerusalem, was in possession of the followers of Mohammed--Turks, Arabs, and Saracens--who controlled the country. The Christian people of Europe thought it very wrong that the Saracens owned the Holy City of Jerusalem and could keep Christians from coming to worship at the tomb of their Lord. So throngs of soldiers went to the Holy Land to rescue the Holy Sepulchre, or tomb. The wars which they fought for this cause were known as the Crusades.

In the First Crusade, the Christian knights captured not only the Holy Sepulchre but also the city of Jerusalem. In the Second Crusade, about fifty years later, the crusaders were beaten back by the Saracens. Two years before Richard became king, the Mohammedans again captured Jerusalem and the sacred tomb.

Young King Richard was fired with a holy zeal to win back the Holy City and the Sepulchre, and, if possible, to find the cross upon which Jesus of Nazareth was crucified. This relic was believed to have been hidden by the Saracens.

King Richard made many sacrifices to raise money for a Third Crusade. His brother John was glad to have Richard go away on such a distant and dangerous mission, leaving the younger brother to rule over England during the king’s long absence. John was as cowardly as Richard was brave, and, down in his heart, he hoped the Turk would kill his brother so that he could have the throne. Because of the king’s knightly courage he was given the title of Richard Lion-heart. If John had been named for the animal he was most like, he would have been called John Wolf-heart.

Richard was joined by King Philip of France, and the two kings, with their armies and those of the Archduke of Austria, reached the Holy Land in due time. They attacked the walled city of Acre--called Akka by the Arabs--and captured it after a long, hard fight and the loss of many thousands of soldiers.

But Richard was as overbearing as he was brave. He ordered other kings and dukes about, and his manner was so masterful that he made Philip and the Archduke of Austria very angry. After several bitter quarrels, the king of France left Richard to fight on without him. The French king sailed away home with most of his army, and plotted with Prince John to injure the absent brother and make John King of England while Richard was still alive.

Many tales are told of the struggle between Richard, king of England, and Saladin, the sultan of the Saracens. For hundreds of years after Richard Lion-heart’s campaign in the Holy Land, Arab mothers would frighten their children by warning them that Richard would get them if they were not good. Sir Walter Scott’s great novels, “Ivanhoe” and “The Talisman,” are stories of life in England at this time, and of knightly tournaments which took place between Richard and Saladin during this Crusade.

While the Crusaders were trying to capture Ascalon, it became necessary for them to work like stone masons in rebuilding certain walls. Richard went to work with a royal will, and most of the nobles and knights followed his example. But the Archduke of Austria said he was the son neither of a carpenter nor of a mason, and flatly refused to help. This made King Richard so angry that he struck the Archduke a blow with his mailed fist and gave him a resounding kick with his heavy iron boot. With all his holy zeal to take the Holy City, Richard Lion-heart had not learned that “he that ruleth his spirit is better than he that taketh a city.” Then the Archduke and his Austrian army also left Richard to fight on alone with his few remaining soldiers.

What Richard had found hard enough with the help of the king of France and the Archduke of Austria was impossible without them. But Lion-heart was not only a very brave man but a fine general. He defeated the army of Saladin in a great battle at Arsuf and twice led the Christian forces within a few miles of Jerusalem. Quarrels among the crusaders however made it impossible to continue the war. King Richard also received bad news from home, that his brother John was plotting against him aided by King Philip of France. So he and Saladin made a truce to stop fighting for three years, three months, three weeks, and three days. Then the brave king of England started for home. Richard sent his army the long way round by water, while he and a few knights, disguised as pilgrims, tried to go the short way by land, across Austria and Germany. In spite of his disguise, Richard was recognized by an Austrian soldier. When the Archduke heard that Richard was crossing his dukedom, he sent soldiers at once to capture the king who had insulted him.

Richard was a prisoner in a great castle for two years. A story is told of a young troubadour, or wandering minstrel, who started out to find his royal master by playing a lute and singing songs of love and hymns of the Crusaders. After months of wandering, he sang under a castle wall a favorite song of Richard’s, and heard, to his great joy, a deep bass voice within the German fortress joining in the hymn. He well knew that the voice was none other than Richard Lion-heart’s. Saying nothing, he hurried away and told some English friends where their lost king was. They rushed to Richard’s rescue and paid the Emperor of Germany, who was over the Archduke in rank and power, a royal ransom to have their brave king set free.

When Philip of France heard that Richard was out of prison, he sent word to John, who had been making believe that his brother the king was dead, “Take care of yourself. The devil has broke loose!” When Richard reached London, John pretended to be very glad to receive his dear brother back as from the dead.

Richard reigned only a few years after that, for he was killed in one of his wars with Philip of France. While he was as brave as a lion, Richard was also as fierce and cruel as the king of beasts. He was not a good man as people to-day regard manhood, but he was much better than his cowardly brother John, who became king after Richard’s death.

JOAN OF ARC AND THE LILIES OF FRANCE

Five hundred years ago a little French peasant girl was working outside the stone hut where her father’s large family lived, when she heard, or thought she heard, a voice saying to her, “Joan, be a good child; go often to church.”

This Joan of Arc was so kind-hearted and so thoughtful for others that her friends made fun of her and said she was not like other girls; and her parents feared that she was growing too good to live. But Joan only wondered and smiled, said her prayers, and went often to church. When she was twelve or thirteen, she began to see visions and hear what she called “the Voices,” saying over and over, “Joan, trust in God; for there is great sorrow in the kingdom of France.”

“It must be St. Catherine and St. Margaret,” Joan said to herself, as she sat spinning for hours at a time. What was the sorrow in France, and how could _she_ make things better just by being good? She even doubted whether the visions she had seen and the Voices she had heard were anything but her own half-waking dreams.

One day she overheard the parish priest of Domremy, where she lived, telling of the troubles of France. For almost a hundred years the kings of England had claimed and fought for the right to rule over France, and lately, under their soldier king, Henry the Fifth, had defeated the French and driven their armies into the southern part of their own land. Henry the Fifth had died, but his son still claimed the French throne; and the French prince, or Dauphin, as he was called, had not been crowned king, because the English held the city of Rheims, where all French kings were crowned. The English armies were pushing southward to lay siege to the French city of Orleans.

Joan heard the good priest and her father and mother sighing over the sad day that had come when foreigners were fighting to make slaves of the French people. And the dear Dauphin whom God had given them for their king was now flying from place to place before the armies of England.

After that day the Voices grew more earnest and definite. “Go to the governor,” they urged her; “go and ask him to give you soldiers, and send you to the help of the king.” Poor little Joan’s heart sank within her, and she protested, “I am only a young girl. I don’t know how to ride or to fight. They will only laugh at me.” But the Voices kept on insisting, “Go! go! go! and we will help you save France.”

Joan told her parents what the Voices were telling her to do. Her father laughed and threatened to punish her if he heard any more of such talk, and her mother was afraid her strange little daughter was going to die. Joan’s brothers and sisters made fun of her and asked if she wished to marry the Dauphin and be Queen of France.

But Joan had a kind uncle who loved and sympathized with her. Her mother let her go to visit Uncle Durant, hoping her poor little girl might forget the Voices. When Joan told her uncle what she kept seeing and hearing, he promised to help her all he could. So he went with his anxious little niece to the governor of that part of France, and stood by her as she told the great man about the Voices, and repeated the latest command they had given her for him:

“Send and tell the Dauphin to wait, and not offer battle to his enemies; because God will give him help before the middle of Lent. The kingdom belongs not to the Dauphin, but to my Lord; but my Lord wishes that the Dauphin shall be king and hold it in trust. In spite of his enemies he shall be king of France, and I will lead him to be crowned.”

“And who is your lord?” demanded the governor with a sneer. “The King of Heaven,” said Joan of Arc proudly. The governor, who was a rough military man, laughed loud and long at the faith of the little peasant girl in a white cap, red petticoat, and wooden shoes. Instead of doing as she asked, he told her uncle to give her a good whipping, to beat the foolishness out of her head, and send her home to her father.

Baffled and discouraged, Joan went home with her uncle. But the Voices kept saying in her ears, “Go! go!” Back to the governor she went, but he treated her as badly as before. Then they found another man to whom she told her story and added, “God in Heaven has told me to go to the Dauphin; with His help I must do it, even if I have to go on my knees.” This friendly gentleman was deeply touched by her earnest words.

The people in the country who knew and believed in Joan of Arc pleaded with the men of influence in the neighborhood, and it was at last arranged that Joan should go and tell her story to the young king of France. To see if God were guiding her, as she claimed, the king changed places with a noble in his court; but instead of going up to the pretended king who sat in the seat of honor, Joan walked straight to the prince, where he stood behind some men of the court.

It is easy to believe what we will. The Dauphin listened to the burning words of the peasant girl with the pure,

Madonna-like face. After she had won the king’s approval it was not so hard for Joan to go on obeying the Voices. Dressed in a suit of armor which shone like silver, she led a French army to the relief of Orleans. She carried everywhere a beautiful white banner, embroidered with lilies.

The English laughed at that silly girl trying to be a man, and called her insulting names; but Joan did not mind, for she felt safe under the protection of the saints in heaven. One day, in an attack upon a fort held by the English, the Maid, as the French army now called her, was wounded in the foot; but she would not stop fighting. She mounted her horse again and led the charge as though nothing had happened. The English then thought she was a witch--that is, a woman working for the devil.

In another battle an arrow was shot clear through her shoulder so that the barb stuck out five inches. Then the enemy raised a shout of triumph. “The Maid can be wounded and killed,” they yelled. “She is not a witch, so we are not afraid of her.” But one of Joan’s company pulled out the arrow and she led them fiercely in the assault. The English soldiers were frightened, for in those days every one believed in witches. Joan drove the enemy from one place to another until all the south country was cleared of the English forces. Then the Maid of Orleans, as she was now called, led the king, with his court and the French army, to the old city of Rheims, where he was crowned, with great joy and splendor, as Charles the Seventh.

The Maid had put the lilies on her banner as the symbol of purity and of God’s love and care over France. The French lily, or fleur-de-lys, has been the emblem of France through all the centuries since the days of Joan of Arc, the Maid of Orleans.

Now the Maid, who had done all that the Voices had commanded, was ready to return home to spin and to tend the sheep on the hills of Domremy; but weak-hearted King Charles begged her to stay long enough to drive all the English out of France.

Against her wish, Joan yielded. While fighting outside the walls of a town not far from Paris, she was surrounded by armed men of the enemy. By mistake or through fear, some French people shut the gate in such haste that the Maid was left outside fighting a dozen soldiers single-handed. She was captured and put in a dark, damp prison. Here the poor girl, then only nineteen, was frightened and tortured to make her sign a paper confessing that she was a wicked witch, and that all she had done was by the help of the devil.

After waiting a long time in vain for the ungrateful prince, whom she had made king of France, to come and save her with his army, or to pay a large sum of money to ransom her, she was compelled to stand an unjust trial during which she was many times abused and insulted. This wicked trial was conducted by a false bishop, who condemned that sweet, heroic young girl to be burned at the stake in the market-place of Rouen on the 24th of May, 1431.

Twenty-five years after her death the Pope reversed the decision of the corrupt bishop. In 1920, nearly five hundred years after the Maid was burned to death, high and holy men in the ancient Church to which she belonged took the great step of declaring Joan of Arc, the peasant girl of Domremy, one of the noble army of martyrs in the communion of saints.

FOUR LEADERS IN THE OLD WORLD

SHAKESPEARE, THE GREATEST MAKER OF PLAYS

Perhaps there is no one who has done so much for the world, yet about whose life so little is known, as William Shakespeare. His father was a farmer and market man, and his mother was Mary Arden, a prosperous farmer’s daughter. The father was so highly respected that he was made high bailiff, or mayor, of Stratford-upon-Avon, where the Shakespeare family lived.

It was one of the father’s duties to give out licenses to players or actors who went from town to town performing their plays. Sometimes they gave their shows out of doors; and when theaters were built they were galleries around a space of ground. The people who paid the most stood or sat in the galleries and the poor people saw the play from the ground, called the pit. Strolling players were looked upon in those days almost as tramps are to-day. They had to have licenses like street bands nowadays. They often gave their shows in a town square and took up a collection for their pay.