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Thieves and Burners A Night's Experiences, "about," Winding up of Mr. Green's Doing a Countryman, Adventures. A Scene Underground, Night in the Tombs, ModelArtists in dishabille SATURDAY NIGHT. The Weekly Holiday, The Old Woman's Basket The Markets, and Dilemma, Washington Market, Catharine Market, The Poor. THE CITY The Station House, The "Tombs," The Battery Loafers, AT DAYLIGHT. The Daylight, Market Horning, Sunri$t, and fkreicM. J^tm Dork: DEWITT & DAVENPORT, TRIBUNE BUILDINGS. I860. -tef, '*>*■■ ■•^t>.&i,„^^t^' v*-*".!;; THE v|0 A*^^ MONK KNIGHT or ST. JOHN. ^ STaie of tl)e €ru5a^e0. BT MAJOR RICHARDSON, KNIOBT OF ST. FEROIKAND, AUTHOR OK "ECARTE," " W A C ;; S T A ," ETC. NEW YORK: DEWITT AND DAVENPORT, TKIBCNK BCILDIHG8. 1850. ? ^„ "r^ 1'/ 'i: «*• «• >■ .-ifk ■» ■' - % H g •»* ■r / i ■ 't ^'^■t.?* " Entered Mcording to the Act of Congreu, in the year 1BS0« By dew ITT & DAVENPORT, In the Clerk's Office of tbe District Court of the United States, fur the Southern District of New York. >•' :t'' ..^.>^^ THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. w^ ^ *■ >>''' CHAPTER I. ^ . INTRODUCTORY. Rkturnino from San Sehastian in the autumn of 1837, by the way of San Juan de Luz, Bayonne and Bordeaux, and being desirous of visiting Auvergne, where I had heard there was an old chateau, connected with which was some wild traditionary tale, I determined to gratify the strong curiosity 1 felt, personally, to inform myself if there really was any good foundation for a story which had been related to me by an elderly French gentleman in the latter charming town. Having at my disposal plenty of that commodity which belongs to idle men — leisure — I sent on my baggage by diligence to Amiens, merely reserving a change of linen, &c., which was carefiilly stowed away in my light knapsack. Thus equipped, with my gun on my shoulder, and with a bottle of the host cogniac the Hotel de Lille could afford, stuck in one of the ample side-pockets of my shooting jacket, I set forth m route. It is need- less to fatigue the reader with the details of the journey, therefore, I will at once introduce him to the old garde chasse, who, in the absence of his Seigneur, and indeed in that of every other member of the household, seemed to combine in his person all the offices usual to the establishment, for with the exception of a little shoeless gar^on who attended to the cows, and a couple of Spanish pointers, nearl ■» old as their master, there was nothing bearing life to be seen about the 4' j.;o. When, following the course of the 1 arrow Dordogne, I reached the venerable pile, which was situated about three leagues from Clermont, and bordering upon a forest that swept semicircularly round its wings towards the front, I found the sun-burnt garde chasse seated on the bank of a streamlet, which ran outside the grass-covered elevation that denoted the once existence of a battlement, and arranging the flint of his gun — his two old dogs crouching meanwhile at his feet — evidently watching his movements and anticipating sport. Here was the very man for my purpose, and engaged in the manner in which I most could have desired to have seen him. The freemasonry of the gun is not a bad letter of introduction. Good morning, brother sportsman," S 1 said, approaching him, for the THE MONK KNIOHT OF ST. JOHN. low growling of his doga had told him th»t a stranger was near. He looked up, and I touched my cap tu him in salutation. *' Ah ! pardieu, Monsieur," he exclaimed in his own tongue — that in which I had addressed him ; " I am very glad to sec you. I was thinking what dull work it would be without a companion, and hero yon are, all equipped, as if St. Peter himself had sent you from Heaven to my aid. We shall have '-'A capital sport, sir ; few people venture here to disturl) the birds, and 1 ^.. ^■*>4;.. THE iMONK KNIO)lT OK ST. JOHN. I was not Horry tluit Coco ui that monunit started a covey of partridgcH, for 1 felt titat I had been imprudent in tliua tulkin^^ of other timn gnncrul muttert. 1 N.aid no inure. Our sport ihronj^liout the day was fair — the iiardy garde rhasse bugging twenty brace, and niyHolf sixteen and a liiilf. More tlian onco he liad com- plained of a return of liin rhcumatiBni, and I had prevKiliMJ upon iiim occa- sionally to rcHt, and as often to restore hiinwlf from my brandy flask, liy this time, we were the best friends in the world, and when we had returiuid home, literally laden with our game, nothing would induce the old man to part with so good a cumaradc until the morning. This was exactly what I had desired, and although 1 pretended that 1 had no time to spare, but must be in Clermont that night, I yielded, with what gratification it may be presumed, to his proposal, to give me the only bed- room that was kept in any sort of repair, yet which coittained the nuptial bed, preserved as a sort of heir-loom, of the first Baron de Boiscourt, who had served in Palestine. About nine o'clock, our supper of partridges and home-made bread, mois- tened on my part by the very indifferent eau de vie of the gai'tk rhasse having been dispatched, and a pipe smoked, the old man conducted me to my dormitory. The chateau was, as has been represented, very old indeed. The outside being built of stone, had borne the ravages of age pretty well, but it was evident that the interior had many and many a time bt^eu re- newed. One end Of the foundation had evidently sunk, for there was an inclination in that direction which threatened to overthrow it altogether, were it not for the support of strong oaken props placed at the gable-end. The wide staircase that conducted from the lower apartments where we had supped, (indeed, we had taken our meal where we had cooked it — in the kitchen) — was crazy and worm-eaten, the balustrades gone, and the footing, consequently, anything but secure. Arrived at the first landing, we passed along a corridor of some extent, and then, turning abruptly to the left, entered what had the appearance of having been a salon, at the end of which was a shorter corridor, or passage, opening into a large bed-room — the same alluded to by the garde chasse. The oil lamp, which the latter carried in his hand, did not throw much light upon surrounding objects. Everything wore a sombre look, and was unin- viting enough. The high ebony bedstead, which had evidently once been richly carved, exhibited but faint traces of the sculptor's chisel. One of its broken legs had been replaced by another of mahogany, while the bed itself, though far more modern, did not exhibit the moat tempting appearance. It needed no great penetration to see that the whole was a relic of by-gone centuries. The large and tall-backed chairs, of ebony also, were much in the same con- dition, and the floors of those rooms, like all others in the chateau, being paved with the rude tiles that were in general use in France in the eleventh century, were in many parts crumbling to decay. There was little of the ornamental in the arrangements of those apartments, and the only things that attracted my attention were a large ebony crucifix, and a group of three figures — tall as life, beautifully carved, in high relief, and, with clasped hands, grouped round a figure of Cupid, bearing a torch in his right hand. A 1 *i •.KS. W i M > \ - ..- '^-p*;*' ^> THF. MONK KNIOHT ON f>T. lOHV. *■•• Tli») «iH' wa.-t a I't'iuJili' I'l luuliltf M/.r. t)i>aiitt('iillv toriru'd — tht' .wcoii'l a kiii({lil-crii«fidtr in Iiim war ilrt'MS — ;iiiii lli,' third .1 vi'ry rail and lyiiuiu'lrically tuniiud, thdii^li lailiir liriivy warrior, who-ii' (-(wttiiuif, and partifuiarly iho croHN cut |iroiain(nitly nii hin \vt\ hr» hiMl.Mtrad and llit- daiii|t wall, Ictt im: no room to doiilit thai tho rumor wius corrcc-t. I ;i.skfd, with as iiiurli iiidiHeri'iioo as (could iisMunu', whom the tahlcau was meant to represent, olwervinir at the same limn that its a^c iiiUHt ho ncHrlv coeval with that ol' the cliateau. The gmiJi (hnxsc, who hail holpcd himsolf. as I intended he should, from my cogiiiao Wtle, until lie hiMviine cominiinicativ(>, was now hy no in«>an9 disposed to tacittmiity. '• Ah, Monsieur," he said, '• there \s a curious story ahout tiiesc ligurea. They rcpreneiit the Haroness, who is said to have been the best, the kindest- hearted, and the most beautiful woman of her day in nil Franco — tiie Raroii, her liusband, and Ah,;fli, that does one good," as he returned the brandy flask, which was now nearly empty : " why. Monsieur, you see, as my family have from generation to generation been in the service of the Barons de Boiscourt, [ seldom open my \\^ about these things, not that I think there is much harm in the story as it goes, but people don't all think alike, and one does not care to have remarks made." "Well, but surely— " " Yes, Monsieur, I know what you would say — you think that I might make an exception in your favor. Well, camaradc, 1 think so too, fgr you are an honest fellow. Hut, look you, several people have tried to pump me Oil the subject before: They never could succeed, for I always pretend to know nothing of the rumor which, they say, has got abroad about the doings of old in the chateau." '• You do know them, then. Well, my friend, since I have had the good fortune to please you, do gratify me so far as to relate the circumstances." " Diantre, it i» too long a story for me to tell, but if you give me your word— ^«i de gentilhomme — that you will never speak of it while there is one of the family of de Boiscourt living, I will put you in possession of some papers which I found secreted in a small tin case, inserted in the right leg of the figure of the Baron." " Found secreted in his leg ! — How came it there'" " Placed tliere, pardieu, I suppose, by himself, aa the present young Baron, who, entre nous, is a great rou^, and prefers Paris to living here on his rentes, declares. I found it, it is now nearly five years, while dusting and cleaning the figures, and gave it to him. He eagerly opened the case, ;., V ■■■^^, Mi,w*iCri^HW«ft«Mifa.« THE MONK KNfOHT Of ST. JOHN. thinking that it might contain money or jewels ; but nothing l)ul written papflrs, which ttie excluaion of the air iiad preserved, were to be seen." " Bah, Picard," he said pettishly, at\<>r reading a few linos, " those ;ire nothing but fusty old i)archmenta — old as the time of the Crusade itself. It is a sort nf history, I believe, of these wooden imager. Here, put them back into ihe case, and uke care of them. If I have nothing else to amuse me, when next I visit this old rat-trap of a chateau, I will look over them." " And they are there now?" I said eagerly. "Where else should they be?" was the reply of the garde chaise- If Monsieur will assist me in turning down this heavy tripod, I will soon pro- duce them." The weight of three full length figures in ebony was by no means trifling ; however, with some effort, having in view, as we had, the avoidance of all injury to the figures, we turned them sideways on a blanket which Picard placed on the brick floor. A large cork was removed from the foot he had indicated, and the tin case drawn fbrth. The figures were suffered to remain in their recumbent position, the garde chasse deeming it unnecessary to restore them to their proper position until the following morning, by which time I said I should have concluded my examination of the manuscript . "u4A, fa, camarade, you are all right now, but recollect, /ot de gentilhomtne, no babbling the secrets of the family, while one of them lives. Votre tman la dessus." I took his hand in aifirmation of the pledge. " Depend upon it," 1 said, '* I will keep my promise to the letter. While a Baron de Boiscourt livee, the knowledge of what those papers contain shall never escape me." *' Dame! I know well that you are a man of honor; but," he continued, " I must trim your lamp with a little more oil. It bums dimly, and wants renewing. I must leave you in the dark, while I go down for a aupply." Burning with curiosity to open the case and read its contents, and yet dreading that I never should make out the quaint old French of that day, I awaited with some impatience the re-appearance of the garde chasse, who at length came m, not only with the lamp newly trimmed, but with a supply of oil, in case I should require it before I had completed the deciphering of the parchment. Having properly disposed the lamp near the head of the bed, and lighted another which he had had the precaution to bring with him, Picard shook me by the hand with a " Good night, sir hunter ;" and withdrew. heh to myself, I was not long in undressing, for my eagerness to open the manuscript was great. I removed the lid of the box — examined a few pages, and found to my great joy that there was no difficulty in making them out, although there was an idiom which makes me prefer rendering it in my own language, retaining the original only in the few letters that are introduced. As I stepped impatiently into bed, the old timbers groaned until I thought the whole would come to pieces. Happily they did not, for I would not for worlds have been instrumental in destroying that relic of departed loveliness •—the resting-place which, centuries before, had received the beautiful limbs 'tr ..3«<' !»''' ■ /: • V" ^ f 1 8 THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. of the woman, whose faultless image was, even then, lying in shadow a few paces beyond me. The first words I read on the first scroll of parchment were these : " Who- ever may condemn, while reading these pages, knows not his own heart. Man is the creature of circumstances. What I have done I repent not of Be wise also, and make not evil where none exists." Then came the story, which is vividly impressed upon my memory, and, in substance, was as follows : — CHAPTER II. ' .-I -&; During the reign of chivalry in Palestine, it was no uncommon circum- stance for the warmest attachments to be formed among the knights and warriors engaged in that sanguinary struggle. Many a Pylades had his Orestes. Many a Damon his Pythias. They fought side by side — ate to- gether — slept in the same tent, and, in the hour of danger, were ever ready HT OF ST. .!0H\. I The pulsss of the Monk swelled visibly, his jwlc and noble face l>ecame for a moment suffuaed with ii deep flush, but quickly recovering his self- possession, he said, with his wonted calmness: " Believe ine, do Boiscourt, this could never be. Firstly, 1 could never prove false to ray vows of chastity, even at such a price; for think you," he added with sudden energy, while his eyes were lighted up with an un wonted fire, " that I have listened unmoved to the tale of her superhuman loveliness, as told by yourself? No, my friend — no, ray generous, noble de Boiscourt, tempt me not. 1 am a priest, it is true, yet am I but a man. Even to see her now would be to seal the downfall of my honor; but wherefore," he resumed, after a pause, '* do I talk thus; I have, as you say, •aved your life, my friend, for the fourth time. You were surrounded by Qumbers, and notwithstanding all your valor — notwithstanding that your good battle-axe had hewn down seven of your assailants, you must indeed have perished against such fearful odds, had not fortune — fortune do 1 term it? — had not instinct — friendship — the desire to preserve to her chaste love llie lord of your noble lady, whose image, de Boiscourt, you have painted as a thing of light and life, led me to your rescue." '• Proceed," said the gay and reckless Knight, pleased with the avowal that the heart, hitherto so insensible to the fascinations of women, should thus have been reached through the imagination, by the idol of his own soul. " You do not then include my Ernestina in that almost detestation with which you regard women in general?" " Dear de Boiscourt," answered the Monk solemnly, as he raised his tall figure to its full height, " you know that I do not; I have just now told you that 1 do not. But tempt me not further, I entreat you. Do not bring images before my eyes, which I dare not — ought not to think of. Let me regard the Lady Ernestina as a daughter of grace and charity — as a Madonna of the church, rather than as a mere daughter of earth." " How charmingly she would look in the coarse garb of a Sister of Charity," pursued de Boiscourt, " only fancy her as such in a cloister, Abdallah. Her graceful carriage — her noble and voluptuous figure — masses of hair of the darkest brown, through which the eager comb can scarcely find its way, falling over shoulders of polished alabaster, and terminating only mid-leg ; eyes of the deepest, softest |)lue, surmounted by marked brows of ilie same dark shade, and long eye-lashes which mock the glossiness of the raven's wing. A Grecian nose, most delicately formed— lips of coral that have stolen all their fragrance from the honeysuckle and the rose — teeth polished and dazzling as the ivory — two sweet dimples on her downy choek. which ever show themselves when those coral lips divide to blazon forth the gems wiihin — these, with a moulded arm, and hand, and foot — " " De Boiscouri — dear de Boiscourt," interrupted the Monk, trembling, and with the paleness of agony depicted on his countenance^" is this your friendship for mo '" •' Fancy all thnse," continued the Baron, with a certain degree of fierce- ness, as he felt his blood to glow at the recollection of hut wife's beauty, and presemg, at the same time, heavily on the shoulder of the monk — " &ncy ^ THK MONK KNir.HT Ob ST. JOHN. 11 these — fancy a bosom moulded by the hand of love, on which a divinity might well desire to repose his head." Tiie breast of Abdallah heaved — liis brow was knitted — his features were fixed in an expression almost of despair. " Think of these — fancy all her host of charms concealed beneath the sanc- tified dress and air of a Sister of (Charity, and inhabiting the same cloister with yourself." " What then !" said Abdallah, with an effort at composure : " the cloister well merits the self-sacrifice of earth's fairest daughters at the monastic shrine." " Tell me then," he asked, seriously, '-since you will not break that fool- ish vow by espousing Ernestina in the event of my fall, promise me, at least, that you will clothe her in some such garb, and place her in a cloister near your own." *' Should she desire it, certainly," replied the monk ; " but what reason is there to think that such will be her determination." " Because, should I fall — and I have a vague presentiment that I shall — I am satisfied Ernestina will be nowhere so happy as near yourself." " Near me !" and the Monk started. " Even 80, Abdallah ; you shall hear what she writes. The courier who arrived yesterday in the camp from France, brought me this letter from Au- vergne." So saying, he took from a small trunk ihat lay in the corner of the tent, a long scroll of parchment, which, after having removed the string, he read to the Monk, dwelling especially on those passages which related immediately to himself. — Thus the Lady Epestina wrote : " But though I pine and languish for my lord's return, as one whose lips have simply tasted of the cup of bliss, whjch has now, for three long years been absent from my touch, it is my great delight to think of my lord and of his noble friend, the warrior Monk, Abdallah. Indeed, my lord, you must not be jealous, but it is not so certain to me of which I think the most — you, whose dear life has been so often saved by him — three times, I think, you write — or him who has been the means of preserving you to my earnest love and tenderness. Right glad am I that you are bosom friends ; but my lord should not, as he says he does, so often speak my charms upon his holy ear, nor his great manliness on mine. ' You say he is brave, and learned, and of such majesty of mien as well may rank him with the kings of men — of much mildness, benevolence, sobriety, chastity : the latter virtue doth become him greatly ; therefore, dear lord, do not, I pray, bring strong disorder to his soul by such relation of my charms as may make him hate me for bringing down his thoughts from God. besides, my lord, you make me too much think of him, and deem it pity that one so noble, of such esteem in all his manliness, should ever wear the monkish cowl. To you I frankly speak my thoughts, for such sweet confidence has been our golden bond of love, that I were indeed most guilty, were the heart that beats only for its lord alone, to hide one feeling from him. Thus, then, I must confess, these high descrip- tions of your friend Abdallah have made me so much think of him — so raised him in my lore — that love which doth become a wife to feel for him who thrice has saved her husband's life." — \\ i ! 12 THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. "What will she write when she learns that you have, for the fourth time, . done me that good office," said the Baron, interrupting himself. " That," continued he, reading, " were he, in the event of my dear lordu falling on the fields of Palestine, to throw away the cowl and seek in these arms the sweet remembrance of his friend, and full reward for all his length- ened years of continence, most gladly and at fitting moment, would I meet my lord's desire. But this will never be. First, because Abdallah's giant arm will never shield my dear lord's life ; and next, because his love for God is such, that Ernestina's charms, if ten times richer than my lord is pleased to paint them, were far too weak to wean him thence." " Heavens, de Boiscourt!" exclaimed the Monk, grinding his teeth, and exhibiting other evidences of strong excitement, " would you destroy my peace of mind everlastingly ? Alas ! that letter has done it.'* " Thus, she continues, pursued the Knight, who took a deep but not un- friendly delight in the confusion of his friend, whom he loved with the most unbounded tenderness — " In such, is it prudent in my lord to assail his high virtue by placing before his imagination, each separate beauty of a woman, whom the stern monastic vow forbids his ever knowing as a wife, or is it more prudent that my lord sho Id, by such descriptions as he gives of the majesty, courage, and bearing ..f his noble friend, inspire in the bosom of his wife, thoughts and images of the future which never can be realized? I write these things in humble deference to my lord's opinion ; but if it be his will and plsasure, as he says it is, to keep the glowing picture of those charms ever before the memory ofhimwhomhe wishes to succeed him in the nuptial rite, let him also say, that she who is thus described, loves Ab- dallah with a love only less than that she bears her wedded lord, and blesses him in nightly prayer, when in the solitude of stillness her thoughts but lire in Palestine, even as a holy monk, superior to the frailties of humanity, and as an unconquerable warrior, who has saved to her ardent love the dear lord of her loving soul, whom to press once more within her circling arms she languishes and dies." The Monk's lip quivered— his face was ashy pale— and there was evidently a deep struggle at his heart. " De Boiscourt," he said solemnly, rising from his seat, " this is enough. I am undone ; for, by the holy One above I swear," and he raised his arm on high, while his whole person dilated itself to the utmost, " that come what will, your wife shall be my wife." It ( !, * •t^-,, THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 13 CHAPTER III Originally of Moorish origin, and abducted in infancy by the Maltese, Abdallah, or the Monk Knight, as he was ever called in Palestine, had been coiTipelied, by his Christian captors, to abandon his religion and adopt the cowl. For more than thirty years he had exercised all the austerities of the monastic life, and this had given to his countenance that benignity of expression which has been remarked, and which had grown out of the care- ful tutoring of his passions. About that period, however, Jerusalem having been tiireatened by Saladin, Abdallah, who, although suflered to retain his name, had become as fervent a worshipper of Christ as he had once been of Mahomet, feeling within him a sort of divine inspiration to follow that course in which his services might be more actively employed in defence of the true faith, entreated and obtained permission to -forsake the scene of his seclusion, and attach himself to the Knights of St. John, the strictest of the religious orders then embarked in that contest. Here, while he distinguished himself by the prowess of his arm. ren- dering himself remarkable as one of the most formidable combatants who used the battle-axe and the scimetar, he practised all those austerities in which he had been brought up, and particularly and scrupulously adhered to that vow of chastity which he had pronounced on passing the threshold of the Church. This, considering the laxity of morals of the age — the temp- tations offered — tlie opportunity continually presented, was no slight mani- festation of the strength of will which had thus subjected the flesh of the man to a penance that could have been little less than torture ; for often amid that fierce struggle had he seen the Saracen wife — the Saracen maiden violated before his eyes, or, yielding herself up a trembling victim to her conqueror — all her rich beauties exposed to the gaze of a licentious soldiery — appearing to share with him the raptures he compelled. It was on an occasion of this kind, that, after a trial of his virtue, under which one of less strength of mind, less confirmed in principle, had surely fallen, that he first became acquainted with the Baron de Boiscourt — an ac(i ;aintance that rapidly ripening into friendship, had now bound their hearts together in the closest ties of confidence, and led, as we have seen, to the wild desire entertained by the latter, that Abdallah should, after his death, espouse his wife. Often had he pictured to himself the overwhelming ardor with which, when pillowed on his Ernestina's bosom, the Monk would exhale his soul, while she, already disposed to receive him as her husband, when her first lord should be no more, would respond to the more than human joy, with that voluptuousness of abandonment which was so natural to her, and in a spirit of deep gratitude, and endearing love for him who had thus been careful to send her such a successor to the nuptial bed. Returning from a successful foray near Jerusalem, one evening about sunset, the Monk Knight of St. John, fatigued with the exertions of the day — for he had with his own good right arm slaughtered many a Saracen — had given ' (. 14 THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 'I I the rein to his noble war-horee, and was pursuing his way leisurely to the camp, when his ear was suddenly arrested by the screams of women and the clattering of arms. Turning his steed in the direction of the sound, he entered a small forest of sycamores, and had not penetrated more than twenty yards, when he beheld a sight that almost petrified, and for a moment rendered him undecided whether to advance or to retire. Within a belt, formed by the sycamore also, was a large open space of about thirty feet in diameter, covered with a carpet of grass, which, shaded from the sun's beams, had preserved all its original freshness, and was, withal, so thick and velvety, that even the tread of several heavy-footed combatants, engaged in deadly strife, could not be heard. At the edge of this open space lay, with disheveled hair, clothes nearly torn from their backs, limbs unconsciously exposed, and uttering sobs that proved the violence of the unholy lust of those who had placed them in that condition, two beautiful young Saracen women — for maidens, under the circumstances, they could scarcely be called. But the eye of the warrior stayed not to linger on these, but was, as it were, irresistibly led to, and fascinated by the principal figure in this most extraordinary scene. At a few paces from the group just described, and bound, standing on naked feet, to one of the sycamores that formed the inner belt, even as Andromeda to her rock, was a third woman, of the most surpassing loveliness, whose carriage and high bearing were manifestly those of a woman of superior rank. Not a vestige of a garment was upon her, and the efforts she had made to conceal the shame with which she was oppressed by the cruel exposure of her divine beauty, were such as iu show that the pang she endured at this violation of her modesty, could not have been exceeded by anything resulting from personal outrage. By loosening the cords which bound her arms, she had managed to throw her jewelled turban to the ground, and thus by untying the knot which confined her dark hair, to part and bring down its magnificent volume, over shoulders that had been formed by the god of voluptuousness himself. Her whole figure, in short, was of exquisite proportion, and without giving himself time to analyse features which it was easy to perceive were beautiful, the monk felt his heart to swell with strange and undefinable emotions, as his eye, fascinated and involuntarily riveted by the sight, feasted almost un- consciously on the voluptuous contour of the matchless form these rude ravishers had evidently brought there as their common prey. Angry with himself for thus gazing — unreasonably indignant at the beau- tiful Saracen for thus carrying a strange and unaccountable trouble to his senses, Abdallah turned furiously upon the combatants. They were six in number, equally opposed, and consisted all of inferior men-at-arms. Blows rained heavily upon their gambesons, but as yet no injury had been done, ,vhen, like an avalanche, the steed of Abdallah, furiously spurred by his rider, came tumbling over them, upsetting three to the ground. " Villains!" he thundered, " what do you herel what means this ravish- ment, this most unchristian and sacrilegious tumult?" " Nay, Sir Knight," answered one of the uninjured men who appeared to be the leader of the party, '• we took these women in the foray. These two, pointing to their victims, we have shared amongst us, and as there is some 4^- '§\ I i v.: iMM I THE MONK KNIGHT OF sT. JOHN. 15 difficulty in the m:itt*T of precedence with the other, we were even now de- • ciding by battle who first should possess so sweet a creature. There was not much difficulty in the beginning, but wc had no sooner undrest and bound her as you see, when the devil seemed to take possession of the whole of us, and we came at once to loggerheads." " Unheard-of infamy — six of yo\) burning with accursed lust for one help- less woman. Shame, shame u[Kiii you ! You bring disgrace upon the very name of Crusader. Ah ! how can our holy cause expect to prosper when men — fiends like these are the instruments upon which we depend for its ac- complishment? Unbind that lady, miscreant — unbind her quickly — restore her garments — robe all these women, and see that you conduct them safely to the first Saracen outpost. But, mark me : if I but hear that you have failed to obey my order, or commit aught of violence more, then, by St. John, you shall die. Whom serve ye ?'' " The noble Baron de Boiscourt,'* was the sullen reply. " Then take heed of it," cautioned the knight as, not venturing to turn his eyes in the direction of the bound Saracen women, he wheeled round his horse, and galloped from the scene of meditated murder and partially accom- plished lust. He had not, however, ridden a hundred yards beyond the inner belief sycamores, when it suddenly occurred to him that, freed from the re- straint of his presence, the villains might, in the certainty of his ignorance of the ultimate fate of the women, carry out their original diabolical design. Thoroughly impressed, as he now became with this idea, he walked his steed c^iutiously back, and had again nearly reached the area he had so recently quitted, when a succession of shrieks met his ear so piercing, and yet so full of melancholy, that his whole frame thrilled with indignant emotion. He dashed forward anticipating the worst, and soon beheld a sight that stirred up his spirit to the fiercest anger. The beautiful Saracen had been unbound, but was totally naked as before, f'lose to the spot where she had stood was a small mound-like acclivity covered with rich soft grass, on which she lay extended sobbing violently, and with her black and luxuriant hair floating over her neck and bosom, and held down by her delicate hands. Poor was the defence. Two men were even then in the act of forcing back her arms, while two others held down her moulded and polishetl feet. The man to whom the Monk Knight had addressed himself, had doffed his gambeson, and the deepest conceutfation of savage and unpitying lust gloated in the flushed cheeks and fiery eyes of all the others, who, like himself, had thrown away their skull-caps. The brute, with long, coarse black locks, overshadowing w countenance, in which sen- suality was strongly depicted, iiad recommenced his brutal assault upon the now utterly defenceless victim, with the most palpable recklessness of consequences, and regardless of her reneweu .-.cieanis and vain eilbrts to re- lease iierself, when suddenly a sharp smooth sound met his ear, and then two heads fell under his very eyes to the ground, saturating not only liis own hideous face, but slightly sprinkling the bosom of his victim with their blood. But guilty passion, when once excited to its utmost pitch, hrus no tear. 'I'lie ruffian knew, without seeing him, that the knight was returned. Ho was sensible that tin ghastly heads lying before him had been sacrificed * I >^1 1 1 -« 16 THE MONK KNIGHT OF sT. JOHN. ' 4»y liis scimetar — that his own turn would be next — that he must die. Whj he had not yet been slain lie could not tell, but if he could only fully satisfy his desire before he died, then were death to him a thing of no moment. Fired to madness by her charms, he redoubled his efforts — another minute and the struggling and deeply flushed woman was lost, when, as she uttered a last scream, calling on Heaven for assistance, she felt his loathsome weight suddenly removed, heard a distant crash, blended with a groan of agony, and then exhausted with her emotions, closed her eyes languidly, and lay for some moments as if dead. The timely succour she hid received, the sounds she had heard, had l)een in truth the work of the Monk Knight. For a few minutes after striking off the heads of the associates of the ravisher, he had gazed on the strange scene before him with the most indescribable emotions, but no sooner had the last agonizing cry of the Saracen captive reached his ear, than recovering his self-possession, Abdallah seized the violater by his garments with one hand, and the back of his bushy hair with the other, then, raising him with great force until be brought him to a level with his own chest, he hurled him with violence against ihe trunk of a large sycamore tree, a few ])aces from him, and dashed out his brains. What a scene was thus presented ! On either side of the insensible and naked Saracen, lay the bleeding heads and bodies of tho.se whose office it had been to prevent successful resistance to the designs of their leader. A little l)eyond that was the corpse of the wretch himself, and farther on in the back ground, and now in the act of slowly rising and resuming their garments, which lay near them, were the tv,o young girls, whose shrieks of agony had tirst drawn the attention of the Mcmk to the spot. Never had his blood circulated more quickly in his veins. Oppres.sed with a sense of suftocation, he unbuckled his helmet, and threw it upon the sward, disclosing in ilie act the whole of his manly, noble and benevolent features. Then, addressing the girls in the Moorish language, he bade them gather up the clothes of their mistress, and hasten to cover her. The sound of her own language in that spot, seemed to arouse the Saracen lady from her stupor. She slowly opened her eyes, raised herself upon her elbows, and, shuddering at the sight of the blood which every- where encompasssed her, gained her feet, and approaching with tottering steps lh9 bewildered and pallid Monk, threw herself upon his harnessed chest, and. ns far as lii^ great height would permit, clasped her beautiful arms round his neck. Startled by the act, Abdallah drew suddenly back. "■ Woman, leave me," he cried, in the Moorish tongue , " ^ have saved you from the pollution of the body ; let not the pollution of vhe soul be my reward. Slaves," he iui peratively exclaimed to the other rtomen, " do my bidding. Approach, and clothe your mistress." The attendants, now habited in the light costume in which they had been dru^ired at early morning from their beds, not knowing whether they should not b ; subjected to a repetition of the previous outrage, approached trem- blinfrly to execute his will, when, bowing herself humbly, and with an air of deep dejection, their mistress withdrew a fv?w paces, her beautiful mm THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. IT of jeii uld air [ful countenance expreiwing deep sorrow and mortification, that the fervent offering of her heart's gratitude should thus have been rejected. There was more danger to the virtue of the Monk in this retiring and moileat act. than if .siie had overwhelmed him with caresses. IIw heirt now smote him for his seeming cruelty to one who appeared destined to suffer. His interest, at each moment, became more and more awakened in her favor. Insensibly his feelings assumed a tumultuous character. Wild thoughts, with lightning speed, flashed through his mind, and threatened him with mastery. His brain was dizzy with the contemplation of the glowing and suppliant beauty belbre iiim. Kur the tirst time his monastic vows wore forgotten. He saw and confessed the majesty of Uod in one of the most perfect of His creatures. The whole of the strange scene which had so recently occurred, came forcibly again to his memory ; he saw but the woman. She was the talisman which enchained his soul. He made a move- ment with trembling steps, when, suddenly, the image of the devil, grinning fiendishly and exultingly, seemed to him to interpose itself. A moment ho paused, but the temptation was beyond his sorely tried strength to resist; another moment, and he was lust, when, suddenly, the sounds of a hor.'^e's hoofis near at hand recalled him to himself CHAPTER IV. Turning suddenly to behold the intruder, Abdallah saw issuing from the body of the wood into the enclosure, a knight, whose costume, and the particu- lar plume he wore in his helmet, proved to be a noble of France, one, more- over, whom he had, though a personal stranger to him, frequently remarked for his gallant bearing in the field, as well as for the enthusiaslic ardor with which he entered on every enterprise of peril. " Ha!" exclaimed the new-comer, as he dismounted, and, like Abdallah, unbuckled his helmet, and dashed it on the soft green turf: " what a charming scene of love and murder have we here ' — What '. a knight of St. John, with his sword nearly stained to the hilt in blood! a knight of the most holy order — the most strict in virtue of our array, and alone, and with a naked and beautiful daughter of Mahomet, after having evidently cut the throats of the.se varlets. Ha! by my faith, what do I behold ! Hy the Holy Virgin bt.l they are my own followers. There i.s that libidinous wretch Thibaud, with the little brains he ever possessed dashed into a jelly ; Sancerre, Guillaume, Benoit, Prudhomme, Fredain, their heads all bodiless, and their features looking little less horrible in death, than they did in life. Pray, Sir Knight," and he looked and smiled courteously as he spoke ; " am 1 right in connecting that dripping falchion with those headless rascals of mine? But, before I question further, permit me to ask if that very charming infidel, whose gract.s of person a good deal remind me of a certain fair one I have left in Auvergne, is your especial 2 '"■y V4IJ 18 THK MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. ;i»v ^ .. '* k"* • i . captive ? If she be, then, by 8t. Paul, but those sly Knif^htii of 8t. John are, albeit their vows of continence, not bud jud^reH of tho Hex. Ha!" At that moment the subject of his remark, who had now boon partially dressed by her women, attracted by tho soiiiid of a now voice, lookc<] up, and with so tender and anxious an expression of nountoniuico, thiit tho youii^ Knight, suddenly intorruptiuK himsf^lf llow tu her side, and fullin)? on one knee, Heized and imprinted a kiss upon her small and delicately formed hand. So soothing; was this act of kindness and interest to tho oppreshtyl soul of the unhappy woman, that, with (rencrous impulse, sin; threw hersidf this time with more success upon the shoulder of the handsome Knij^ht, and shedding tears of joy and gratitude, suflored his arm to encircle her, until their beating hearts seemed to grow together ; then, when the paroxysm of her feeling had passed away, she raist^d her head, smiled upon him, and amuseHN. 19 ot ro- und •• 1 acc^^pl and iickiiowl(!djri' the |iln\ >T. JOHN. '^l i.i I ac«!n ln»ly tliall lidp iMil'ore me, and Iter hiind-maideriit mu«l walk the (jnntlo paw w»* lake." " Hill iiKirk limy army tliuniHelvcn in tbf driiss "I' tliost' riiHiuim, returned thi' Monk. " Should wo Rntor the ciimp with them in tlinir own attire, not oiilv Mhoiild we siillt'r in our ri)|)iitalioii, hiil there would l»e dan^fur to thein- ■I'lvcs. Tlif lifcatiouM soidiory would (|uickly hoar them from our night." , ♦' You say tm\\i, ajjniii, my Houndly-iudjjiiiy: friend," replied tl»c Hnron. " "Twa-s yiiiins till- la.«ik to slay those wrelehe.s : he it nuiio to strip th«m of the (Turli Ihry hiive diHjjracpd." So sayiiiu- '"' approaehed the fast-HtitrnniiiK hodi«8 of hm mPii, and 8»'l«ct- intf Iwo of iha HinalleMi in form ami slatiire, proceeded to divrHt thoni of their eliitiiing. The youiijf .Sariicen fjirU, while (•linking round their ininlreiw, had watched the whole of the oe«urronees, from the moment of the last arrival of Ahdaliah, with the mo.it intense, interest, and they now shrank haek iilfriphlcd, as the youn^^er knight ijave them to understand, hy siffns, that they w(>re to plaeo the bloody dresses of their raviahers over their own. They did not seem to'compreheiid what was meant, until the Monk explained to them, in hrief terms, that the step they were now taking was neecnsary to their preservation from further oiitrafje. " .And how mean yon to dispose of the lady ^" asked the Monk, perceiving that his frienil had finished stripping the lM>die.H. " Her ffarments will surely be ohsrrvcd. and what may not such a sight produce amon^; our turbulent men at arms '" " Here is her safeguard," answered the Baron, K>'ily> '^ ''" unstrapped from the back of his hiuh-peaked saddle an ample cloak of rich dark velvet, and threw it around the voluptuous and nearly naked form of the trembling Saracen. " Beneath this, and with one of those head-pieces thrown over the turban, I defy Satan himself to recojfni7,e that which he seems to have sent for the temptation of us all. It must he confessed," he pursued, in an under tone, and halt sif,'hing, '" that rascal Thibaud was not without some shadow of excuse for what he did." "Tiii.s will do," daid the Monk, as the attendants, who had previously retired to the skirt of the wood, to cover themselves with a clothin|r which they abhorred, now appeared timidly before him, " but the gambesons must l>e borne by them also. Thoy will suffer a little beneath the unusual weight, it is true, but better that than a repetition of what has already befallen them. Nay, more than this ; they must bear the weapons of the dead. None then will take them for other than your own men-at-arms." IJoth knights had now replaced their helmets. The younger raised him- self into the saddle, and sat ready to receive his fair burden, over whose turbaned brow had been placed the head-piece of the very man from whose fierce and indomitable lust she had been so opportunely rescued by Abdallah. She stood at the horse's head, wrapped in the cloak, and looked upwards in supplication, as though she feared the rider would go without her. " Raise her to my saddle-bow," said the latter, addressing the Monk— " raise her gently to hor seat. Now that the cloak is removed, there i» plenty ofToom for both in the hollow of the saddle." THK MONK KNKiHT OK ^T. JOHN. 21 " \nil mu.il I luueh hor," iiiiinixirml the Monk : " iiiiiMt thcat; humia coiiie ir. <()»itact with ht-r I'onn'" " By mv faith," Muid ile lioiHCuiirt, iHUKhiii)^ i>iitri|;ht, "hut I know no other inutiiiH Itv wliu li she can uf\ then', unlftMH, iiidrrd, yuii ciin Innd hnr the winfTs ot'tUitli ^ iii>t her in htir IliKht." With ;i vJoltMit ctforl :it i^ouipoHurc, AlMlalliih |ilii<;*!il lioth Ihh |iu1inH nndur ih<^ arms ot ilic Siini<; Huddli;. 'I'h)' cloak had purtcd in front wliile in lliP act of doiiiff ao, and as hu drew away liis handn rapidly, n iv. ulinoHt with a foeliii^ •>* loathing, thoy hruHliml li|;litly a^ainHt her ma^nitU'iMit, nnooiiHnrd, and Klowiuu lioHoin ; institictivoly, and without being wnmihlo of the act, the Monk promiutl that ht'auty wildly in hit) tifiii- blinif hands : hut no sooner had li<* done so, than he feltont; of thi>ui irrasped, and n fervent kiss of gratitude imprinted on it hy lips that were uioiitt and fragrant as the very dews that were fast gathering around theui. Fated Abdallah! Who shall rob the touch of what it once hiut known, racking the brain with such wild fever of recollection, that to repeat the maddening act, the sternest monk that ever tore his flesh with thongs, would forfeit all of hope hereat\er. That touch was thine, Alxlallnh ! What lir.st thy much-bewildered eye had seen, thy monkish hand caressed. 'I'nie, hut for a moment; but in that moment tho\i hadst lived a life of kiu)wled i ■•i.i my inner tent — give her of Cyprus wine, and those figs of Ascalon, whidi melt like liquid amber in the mouth. Nay, Rudolph, fie — fix not thoae blue and earnest eyes upon her thus, for see how the blood mantles on her cheek — else how will you ever find calmness to array her — as array her you must — in one of your plainest battle-suits. Nay, look not surprised, my Rudolph. 'Tis even so. At dawn we must away again ; this lady as my page. Yet say to none on earth that the ripened beauty of a glowing infidel has past the portal of a Christian knight ; still less, that a holy monk of the austere bro- therhood of St. John — henceforth, mark you, boy, your master's plighted friend — has lent his aid and sanction to conduct her here." " Your word is law — all of secresy is mine, my gracious lord," replied the youth earnestly, yet coloring deeply as he saw the eyes of the beautiful Saracen turned upon him with a tenderness of expression which denoted curiosity and interest, that one so youthful, so delicate, should be found amid the hosts of battle, and a sharer in all those scenes of blood, which, under the garb of religion, were even then devastating the fair soil of Pales- tine. She seemed to say to herself, " Ah, if he has a mother — if he has sisters, how must they bewail his absence, and count the days until his return !" "If the lady will permit me," said the blnshing boy, with a hesitating manner, as be oflTered her his hand, to conduct her to the inner tent. Evidently not comprehending the motive of this action, the Saracen held out her own hand, took his, and affectionately pressed it as a mother would that of her son. Abdallah explained to her, in Moorish, that afler having taken a few hours repose on the couch whither the boy would lead her, she was to be induct- ed in one of his suits, as a better means of security in her departure from the camp. , With a look expressive of deep gratitude, the beautiful woman caught, at the same moment, the hand of the Monk and that of the younger Knight, and pressing them gracefully to her bosom, sought to demonstrate, by that act, the deep sense she entertained of ail that had been done for her. She then, conducted by Rudolph, withdrew into the remoter part of the capacious tent. " Fail not, boy, when you have disposed of your charge," said the light- hearted de Boiscourt, "to bring us lights, food> and a couple of flasks of Cyprus wine ; and, hear me, youngster," he added, smiling, " the tempta- tion to linger is strong, but be not too tardy in lulling her to sleep." " Is not that strange language to use to so mere a child V questioned the Monk Knight, somewhat reproachAilly, when they were alone. The Baron smiled. " There is little to be said or taught to Rudolph," he replied gaily. He has ever been the pet of such noble Saracen dames as the fortune of battle has thrown into our hando ; and, by my faith, he is not one to neglect improving an occasion." Abdallah raised his eyes in astonishment. " So young, so beautiful, and yet so hardened in sin!" he ejaculated. " Of a verity, the Christian camp has that within its limits, that well may lead us to despair of the eventual success of our cause. No !" he continued, emphatically, " I prophecy that, «J f V^ m. THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 90 notwithstanding all the blood that ha.s been shed — all that will be shed for the extinction of Moslemism, and the propagation of the true faith, we shall never firmly establish the cross in Palestine. Heaven chooses not such agents to accomplish its ends. Murder, rapine and unholy lust are not the means by which its will is to be effected. Mark my words, Sir Baron !" and the usually calm and benignant expression of his noble countenance be- came clouded as he spoke — " either a strange revolution must take place in the moral condition of the Crusaders, or we shall return to Europe with ignominy and disgrace. Not all the virtue of the holy Urban himself can avert this." '• You speak like an oracle, my noble Monk," returned the Baron, se- riously. " By my troth, but I half incline myself to believe that your pre- diction will prove correct. It must l>e confessed that, with the trifling difference in their favor, that they have almost a new wife for every month in the year these infidel dogs beat us hollow in the practice of morality." " And their plurality of wives," remarked the Monk, gravely, " is, you know, permitted by their religion ; therefore there is no infringement of a moral law." "What a delicious idea !" resumed the gay and imaginative Baron — " that of being nursed in the lap of so many loves — the dark, the fair — the short, the tall — the voluptuous, the graceful — the tender, the impassioned. By my troth, had I not espoused the most beautiful, the most enchanting woman in the whole world — one who has no equal but in heaven — I could find it in my heart to embrace Moslemism, and take my fill of their Houris both here and hereafter. Ha! that graceless boy ' Did you hear 1" The young Knight had been interrupted in his remarks by sounds that seemed to him to partake of the mixed character of murmurs and sighs, several times gently repeated, firom the interior of the tent. " What mean you ?" asked Abdallah, with an air of surprise ; " I heard nothing." " I was deceived," continued de Boiscourt, not desir'ng that the attention of his new and severe friend should be directed to what he had involuntarily noticed aloud. " Rudolph, you have forgotten the wine." In the course of a few seconds, the page made his appearance with a lamp newly trimmed, and a small basket, containing some cold refreshments, fruits, and a couple of osier-covered flasks of Cyprus wine, which he deposited on the low table at which the friends were already seated. His face was flushed. The Baron, without making any remark, looked at him attentively. This caused the boy to blush even more. " How fares your charge, my Ganymede V inquired the young Knight, playfully, and in a tone designed to set the boy at his ease. **«kie «aolipa*-^n my.iwBd's couch," answered Rudolph, "and in the ample cloak in which she came." " You have not, then, habited her in her page's attire? Did your young heart fail you in the attempt ?" " I signed to her that I was ready to assist her," returned the still blush- ing boy, " bot^e, in the same manner, gave me to understand that she would sleep first, and change afterwards." I fii M 'ip 'I » se THt; MOVK U'N'ii.lir dl'- roHV. " Did you give her wine .'" punsiKMl the iJaroii, nmlicioimly. •• i am surt- of her having t:isu>(l the grapn. fcr I tli<)iii»ht her lips iniirUen'»\v. Ahilallah had lutl imticed anything particular in the matter. " I gave what my lord desired," said tiie Page, with a deprecating look and manner. " Dear Rudolph," resuined the young Knight, '■ drink of my eup and re- tire — you have need of rest — your cheek hetrays the excitement of fatigue and long watching, and you know you must he up hetimcs. When the hour is near I shall call you. Disturb not the stranger lady until then ; but, lest she should require aught in the intervening hours, spread my lion's skin near the couch, and place yourself at her side." While draining off the wine, the boy looked at the Knight, as though he. did not quite understand him. " Good night, sweet Rudolph,'' said the latter, taking and pressing his hand. " Make the most of the few hours that are given you," he added, significantly. " Myself and this holy Knight will keep watch for the dawn." Again the eye of the page caught that of the Barou. The expression brought him at once to his knees. He kissed the hand that was extended to him, and again rising, with a countenance radiant with expression, retired to his humble couch. • ■■- CHAPTER VI, It wanted about an hour of dawn. The Baron and Abdallah, who never refused his wine in moderation, had finished the two flasks brought in by the page, and the latter, overcome not more by the fatigues of the day, than by the violent but concealed passion, over which, however, he had finally gained the victory, was reclining in his seat, calmly, but profoundly asleep. The hour, the opportunity, were tempting. A gentle and voluptuous feeling suddenly stole over the heart of de Boiscourt. He knew where Rudolph was. He had heard the same subdued sighs and murmurs since the return of the beautiful boy, and now he adopted a wild resolution. Cautiously he approached the curtain which divided the two portions of the tent. A lamp was burning faintly in the distance, the light evidently screened, but still there was sufficient to throvM*to foll-^«3fw»f-*fc* novctU objects around. The lion's skin was spread out upon the floor, but there was no one extended on it. He raised his glance to the couch beyond, and beheld, as lie had expected to see, the blooming youth pillowed on the bosom of his charge. The outline of their forms was distinctly marked. She was robed simply in the white tunic she had resumed in the morning, but this, disordered and loose, only heightened the effect of her powerful beauty. "^K. TIW. IVIONK KNIOIIT ON 87. JOHN. 27 Her attitude; wxs one of perfect abandonment. Her long, thick, dark hait was unconfined. One moulded arm waa thrown, with the protecting fund" meas of a mother, around tiie neck of the boy, and while her rich, ripe, red lipc were poutingly pressed to his, the other was thrown carelessly over hia bock. They were perfectly motionless. The group was worthyof the chisel «rthe sculptor. The Baron dropped the curtain he had partially raised, and retired a step or two, intending to call out to the page from the seat he had just quitted, at Um>, side of the Monk. But when he reflected that the sound of his voice would awaken Abdallah, he again advanced, passed into the inner tent, and ta4))>ing the boy on the shoulder, caused him to spring, with something like terror, from the arms that still fondly encircled him. '■' Rudolph, " said his master, gently, " go forth instantly to the tent of my friend, the Monk Knight of St. John, which you will find at the extreme comer of the north-east division of the encampment. There is another and smaller one beside it. At the entrance of the latter, you will see two steeds all ready for mounting, and held by the drowsy retainer of the Knight. You know the fiery Beloeil well ; he is one of them. You will mount him ami lead the other.'' " And when I have brought the horses, my lord?" inquiringly remarked tbe boy. *' You will tarry silently at the door of my tent until we join you." " And the lady 1" ventured the page, with some hesitation. " Who is to robe her for the journey, my lord ?" *' That shall be my care, considerate Rudolph," replied the Baron archly, as he patted his head affectionately. " First point me out the clothes you in- tend for her. Ah, there ! 'tis well. And now gp; but as you move through tke tent, mark well," and he looked significantly, " that you do not awaken the Monk. He sleeps fatigued, and must not be disturbed." As the page passed through the curtain, the Baron followed him with his eye to see if he in any way attracted the attention of the sleeper. His tread was subdued, and he gained the entrance of the tent without disturbing Ab- dallah . What a volcano of passion was now at the heart of de Boiscourt. He hack at the side of the beautiful Saracen. Her breathing was deep— impassion- ed ; it carried consciousness of the presence of one who could call forth its more generous impulses. Gradually he stole an arm around her moulded form — ooR hand pressed her polished and heaving bosom, which absolutely bounded beneath his first touch ; the other madly weaved and clenched itself in her lang and clustering hair. Ah I where was the Lady Ernestina^ Even then, strange as it may seem to the novice in the wild imaginings of the human keart, she was uppermost in the thoughts of the fiery and voluptuous de Bois- eourt — the fondly-cherished husband cf her long-widowed love. The rich and parted lips of the Saracen met his, and a thousand fires consumed their ■ouls. He stopped the murmured sighs of guilty transport she would have altered, and the intensity of bliss was upon their willing hearts. Ah, how different that voluptuous woman now from what she had been a few hours earlier, when subject to the will of the brutal Thtbaud. ** Tjove, love — divine and mystic love — thou richest, rarest attribute of w(»- ( 28 THE MONK KNtGHT Or ST. JOHN. •I f 1 ^ man, who can resist thy enthralmentH, when presented in such a shape!" muttered de Boiscourt fiercely, through his closed teeth : — " Ernestina, my beloved Ernestina, forgive the adoring husband who thinks only of thee while in the arms of one of whom Mahomet alone is worthy — sweet, sweet Ernestina, receive my soul." Guilty, guilty de Boiscourt ' — doubly guilty in this, that thou hadst not only violated the sanctity of hospitality, but forfeited thy implied pledge tu thy friend — that holy warrior Monk, whose very presence under thy knightly roof, gave tenfold sin unto the deed ; and yet thy wrong was not without a stem, reproving but pitying witness. Lost in the wild tumult of their excited feelings, the guilty pair thought not of Abdallah, who had awakened from his restless and uneasy slumber, and finding the young Knight absent from his side, could not doubt, novice even as he was, that the ardent and impetuous youth had weakly yielded to the sorcery of the beauty of the infidel. But if so, where was Rudolph ? Surely some remnant of shame would prevent him from availing himself of her evident partiality for him, in presence of the boy. To assure himself that his surmise was incorrect, and that the sounds proceeded merely from cause.s connected with her change of raiment, he slowly approached the curtain. (lently he raised one corner, and stood almost transfixed with confusion at what he beheld. There was now no doubting the evidence of his sense?. Rudolph was nowhere to be seen, but on the broad velvet couch, and faintly revealed in the dim light which burned in the distance, he saw the lady and the Knight fast locked in each other's arms. Abdallah felt the blood to ebb and flow within his veins with a violence that threatened to destroy him. Quickly he dropped the curtain, pressed his hands to his aching hrow, and sank upon his knees, praying silently, but fiervently, that some dreadful scourge might not fall upon the Christian camp, as a punishment for so great a sin. Somewhat relieved by this prayer, he rose, moved back to the seat he had just left, and mused deeply. For the first time, the veil had fallen from before his eyes, the sealed book of God's holiest mystery had been fully opened to him. An hour had passed away since the handsome de Boiscourt first entered that more retired portion of his tent. The Saracen had risen, and having with his assistance completed her page's toilet, and now lingered for the signal of departure. The young Knight, after bestowing upon her the most passionate caresses, sought to rejoin his friend, who he was apprehensive might awaken and remark his absence. Before leaving, however, he poured out and offered to her a small tankard of Cyprus wine, and some deliciously perfumed grapes, to cool the fever of excitement in her veins, and to strengthen her for her journey. She merely tasted of these, and as he turned to leave her, put them aside, and sank upon her knees at his feet. Her arms embraced his legs. Her head was bowed down, and her loose and luxuriant hair completely enveloped his feet. She shed a torrent of tears, and deep sobs came from her bosom. When she had given full vent to these, she pointed to the dress in wh!'*h she had been habited, and gave him to comprehend, by signs not to be mi^-.dken, that she wou!ri j^ia-Jy retain the garb, and serve him as a page forever. The heart of Ute Baroi> wa,^ full of emotion, but 4 THE MONK KNIOHT Ol-' ST. JOHN. 29 alas, this could not be done. Had he not made the acquaintance of the Monk, and exchanged with him vowa of eternal confidence and friendship, his warm and generous heart never couhl have withstood the appeal, and running all risks to himself, he would have joyfully yielded to her proposal. But as it Wfis, and after the pledge which had been given — (he little suspecte*! that the Monk was cognizant of its violation) — it was impossible that, without i^If-dcgiadation as a Christian knight, he could retain, even as his page, an infidel, whose very presence was an outrage upon the holy principles and feelings of the noble-mindod and confiding Monk of St. John. Still, full of tender sympathy for her, he raised her gently up, and by an- Kwering signs, gave hor to understand that this was impossible — that painful as it must prove to both, they must part. He, however, took a brilliant ring from his finger, and, after carrying it to his lips, placed it on her beautiful hand. Gratified by this act, she at once followed his example, (for, in the anxiety of their gross and brutal lust for her, the ruffians who har off, and th(! cause of her thus appearing in tlte disjruise of a f Ihristian pagt;. Quickly lie dismounted from his liiirh-ineltled Arahian, and advanced and .sainted licr wnhthe respect due to her position, 'rin- Moslem c;\ptain l(K)k lier from the protecting arm of De Boiseourt, and placed iicr on his own charger, he himself walking at her side until he had nfjoined his parly. The knights, with heavy iuid oppressed feelings, made their parting olieisance, and then turning their chargers' lieads, slowly and in silence retraced their steps to. the Christian camp. , CHAPTER VII. In order that the lax state of morals among the Crusaders, such as has been partially illustrated in the preceding pages, may be more distinctly comprehended by those ignoriint of the semi-barbarous manners of the times, it may not be irrelevant to devote a few pages to the condition of society, as it existed both in Europe and in Palestine, during the eleventh and twelfth centuries. The picture is a startling one, and few will rise from the perusal without a deep sentiment of shame, that the avowed advancement of Chris- tianity should have been prostituted to purposes the most vile, actions more than levelling with the brutes themselves. Nay, we will even go farther, and pronounce that the conduct of ninety-nine out of every hundred of the Crusaders so completely unhumanized their nature, that the only marvel is, how the Omnipotent God should have sullered his holy name and will to be desecrated by their fiendish manner of enforcing his Gospel, and thus, as it were, redticing his purity and overawing majesty to tiio mere condition of a Juggernaut, at whose bloody shritie whole hecatombs of human victims were to be sacrificed. If there an! men, even at this day, who, although siurning the charge of infidelity with generous disdain, have d'fiiculty in believing in that creed which thf^ armed masses of Chri.slendom went forth to propagate with fire and sword, and which was not even then ; nitted to prosper, it is be<'ause of the obvious truth, that such agency never found favor with the Great God of the Universe. Had it ever been intended that the one faith alone should pervade the; world, wlr.it more favorable opportunity than was then aflbrded? Patience, suflliring, endurance, piety, humiliation, in the proper acceptation of these several terms, would have marked the progress of the Christian arms, ('hastily, sobriety, meelness, would have been their watchwords, and thus the after progre.-* of Christianity would haye been assured. /J % ? 32 THK MONK KNIOHT OV ST. JOHN. / 'i v; ^ Posterity would Imv*- bclievuvl in the result ; iluiy would lu»c sieon in it the directing; linger (it'(iiod. Tho iiiiudH ut' imtii would liuvu Lniun inipreitncd with the ))eaiity, the Huldiinity, ;iiui the truth of :i Hyxtein wliich whs doonied to be workerdes f Did He will that the Cross, even v.lien planted on the walls t THK MONK KNIiiM OF ST. }0 H. 33 of Jerusalem, should suporeede fhn P/re»c«nt ' Did He condes- onfim *he divinity of him who woa called hm Son, by ronveyiiii' m ak.ibly to t\\e world, in thti overthrow of. the power of Mahomet, ihin ' i» wrt« ilv; true Memiah, h«)for<> whom all men wore to b^-nd th»! kne«^ W'M tm Not only Joriimili'm jnd the wholn of PaleHtme wa8 coiiquored, it ..^ ir.u . biii only that greater i^hame might come upon the cauae of Christ, by its final forced relinquishment. U there no evident m thi.s' There is. Had it been the will of the MoHt High tlul the doctrine.s of the (Jroapel should iTOvern the universe, the time, cprtaiiily, would have been then. F'ight cen- tiiriea have roHod by sinoe that erusade wa.-* commenced. F» there one MuHHulman the loss^ But this la apart from the moraln of those ('hristian jmoplo, who were so anxioiiH, liko the (jhurchmRn of the present day, to teach what they so inUiHercutly practice That the grossest immorality should have prevailed m Europe, will readily enough bo understood by thnse who are at all conversant with the habits of every class of that society, of which it haa been recorded: — "The clergy were as licontioua as the laity. Tho chiefs as immoral as the people." Hut that women, many of them of high social degree, should have abandone'l themselves to these excesses, with the mere brutal impulse of the animal, while absent on a pilgrimage, which it might have been imagined would have guarded them in the hour of severest trial, is one of those paradoxes and contradictions in human naturu, which strike the mind not only with astonishment but with humiliation. Sharing in the first instance that spirit of fanaticism whidi was so deeply imbued in the men, nothing could deter them from encountering, in an equal degree, the hardships, privations, and vicissitudes of the long journey to Palestine. Ail were animated by the same zeul — the same fervent belief that the Holy Sepulchre was the goal to which they were to bend tht-ir steps, there to receive the reward of all their sufferings at ihe foot of the Cross. And yet, what does history relate of these people, who, instead of enduring with humility, and in sackcloth, aud ashes, the trials with which God had thought proper to visit them, could thus guiltily conduct themselves ^ " All the distresses of the Crusaders," says a modern auther,* borrowing from ancient writers, and in reference to their sutTerings at Antioch, " were nothing before the walls compared with the horrors they suffered now that they wen; in possession of the city. Misery levelled all natural as well as artificial distinctions. The courage of the warrior — the pride of the noble- ,p;i„ — the dignified virtue of the matron, and the retired bashfulness of the maid — all were reduced to the level of the ignoble and vicious, by the crav- ings of unsatisfied and increasing hunger." Such was the future — the painful, humiliating future ; and yet these poor, misguided fanatics, religiously believed that the merciful God of all Nature was thus leading them to conquest ! What strange infatuation ' What blind credulity ! Then again, shortly after their liberation from this scourge, "Discord m * MiUi. # yTl>'"»- li .." I IJ I1 '-«*•• i-*^ 84 THE MONK KNIOHT OF 8T. JOHN. prevailed amongf the prince*, and they evtiii aeaitted their people in rapine uful thcf'.. Public justice did not restrain private injury, and tlie will of every man was his law." Later, at the siege of Murra, "they were soon ri'dni'cd Id thfir old resources of dog'H flesh, and hutnaii carcasses. Tiicy broke 0{>en the tombs of the Mussulmans, ripped up the bellies of the d«Ml for gold, and then dressed and eat the fragments of flesh." Nay. even before the walln of Jerusalem, when it miglit have been ima- gined the religiouh fanaticism of their hearts would have taught ihont virtuo and restraint, " misery." says the same writer, " had produced disorder and crime, and the clergy complained that in the short space of a month, the character of the f-hristian soldier before .lerusaleip had become as immoral as it had been during the long and ]iainful siege of Antioch. Superstition wan u» active as vice. At the moment when, during a terrible assault, all appeared lost, a knight was seen on Mount Olivet waving his glittering fliield as a sign to the soldiers that they should rally and return to the charge. (.Jodfrey* and Eustace cried to the army that St, George was come to tlieir succor. The languishing spirit of enthusiasm was roused, and the Crusaders returned to the battle with pristine animation. Fatigue and disa- bility vanished ; the weary and the wounded were no longer distinguishable from the vigorous and activo : the princes, the columns of the army, led the way, and their example awoke the most timid to gallant and noble daring. Nor were the women to be restrained from the fight : they were everywhere to be seen supporting and relieving their fainting friends. In the space of an hour the barbacaii was broken down, and Godfrey's tower rested against the iimer wall. Changing the duties of the general for those of the soldier, the Duke of Lorraine fought with his bow. At the hour when the Saviour of the world had been crucified, a soldier, named Latoldus of Tournay, leap- ed upon the fortification ; his brother Englebert followed, and Godfrey was the third Christian who stood as a conqueror on the ramparts of Jerusalem. The glorious ensign of the Cross streamed from its walls. The Mussulmans fought fur awhile, and then fled to their temDles,and submitted their necks to slaughter. Such was the carnage in the mosque of Omar, that the muti- lated carcases were hurried by the torrents of blood into the court ; dissevered arinci and hands floated into the current that carried them into contact with bodies to which they had not belonged. Ten thousand people were mur- dered in this sanctuary. It was not only the headless and lacerated trunks which shocked the sight, but the figures of the victors themselves reeking with the blood of their slaughtered enemies. No place of refuge remained to the vanquished, so indiscriminately did the insatiable fanaticism of the conquerors disregard both .supplication and resistance. Some were slain, i^ome were tlirown from ilie tops of churches and the citadel. The syna- pogucs were set on fire, and the Jews perished in the flames." Thus it will be seen that, led away by their frantic etilhusiasm, the Chris- tian women were foremo.st in these scenes of blood. The historians of that epoch do not say whether they bore an active part in the murder of the un- Xv Th« V\Ae de Bouillun. 1 % # « THK MONK KNIIJHT |', that they v\liii hud |ir*'vi(iuHly iiiud«m((|uaintuii<'i> vviili vic-o 111 ail itH pliUHiH, would i'e«'l little citiriiiuhrliiin in wiiHliiiiK away thuir aiiiM in ihu hlotid of the infidel, whoan Hiicntiue they d uicd wiiiild bo moHt arreptKble to (Jod. Very diffi'rt'iit wa» ihf ronduut of he ladi»« ol' Uoeinend'H caiiip, who, aci'oi'diii^r to Allifrt ot Aix, mi wein^ i.ic uiii^eiiHiii^ I'liry with which the 'I'urka were deuliiiK d*>alh to all a^tett, and both t'nxM, at the terri- ble Imttle of Doriilwuiii, i;I(iIIumI theiiiHf Ivch in tlitiir niont In oming ^arnientB, and 8trov(! to diHplay tlmir chariiiM lo the heot advantage, liir the piir|ioM< of ubtaiiiiiiK the durance of the liart'iii rather than tht; i^rave. Ueniiible women ! Ill order to show that the iiiHtitutiini of chivalry itttelf hud a favorable influence on society, and in fXtir|)Htiii^r the prevailing; ^rrosoncHH of the a|;e, we cannot do better than (|uote the ooiudiidin^ reiiiarkti of another hi^rhly |iu|iular and indefatigable writer, who iH not lightly read in the luMtory and habit!! of the middle ageu. " Remarking these inHtanccH," he saya, in ullusion to the exemplary con- duct of the order in Kiiropc, " and seeing what tht.> s|)irit of chivalry could produce in ila perfection, we may judge what the society of tli;it day would have been without it: wc may trace truly the etiect it had in civilizing the world, and we may comprehend the noble legacy it left to after years. Had chivalry not existed, all the vices which we behold in thai period of the world's history would have been immensely increased ; for there would have been no counteracting excitement. The immoralitv of those times would have l)een a thousand degrees more gross, tor passion would have wanted the only principle of refinement : the ferocity of the brave would have shown itself in darker scenes of bloodshed, for no courtesy would have tempered it with gentleness. . . . " Hecause knights were superstitious, it was supposed that superstition was a part of knighthood ; but this was not the case. I'he tendency of the order was to purify and refine, and the civilization thereby given to the world ill general ultimately produced its ellect, in doing away superstition. The libertinism of society in the Middle Ages has also been wrongly attributed to knighthood, and thus the most beneficial institutions are too often con- founded with the vices that spring up around them. " In common with all human institutions, chivalry presents anew aspect in every page of the book of history. .Sometimes it is severe and stern — some- times light and gay — but the qualities ol valor, courtesy, and enthusiasm, shine out at every period of its existence."' And concluding our chapter with this somewhat iimlihued extract from the 'jifted author of the History of Chivalry,* we resume our narrative. ' JHinoa. '! J. Vv » « w«-<^^if%a^- 96 THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. CHAPTER Vlll. At the period at which the events recorded in the preceding chapters took place, Jerusalem had heen in possession of the f -rusaders upwards of eighty years. Godfrey de Bouillon, one of the mo.st victorious of the Christian knights, had. immediately after its capture, been, by general .icclamation, chosen as its king ; but he did not survive his elevation to this high dignity more than a year. All sorts of infamy had, in the meantime, been perpe- trated by the various chiefs of the invading crosses, who had partitioned among themselves the fairer fields of Palestine, until their acts of aggression and injustice became the means of waking up the slumbering energies of the yet untiredSaladin, who, seized with a holy zeal, and guided by an honorable ambition, re.solved to accomplish no le.ss an undertaking than the re-conqne.st of the disputed city, which he was now rapidly approaching. The day following that on which de Boiscourt and the Monk Knight had 80 warmly di.scussed the surpassing l)eauty. and the opening iiiterc.M in the latter of the I.ady Ernestina, was that fixed upon for the attack of the Saracen masses then laying siege to Tiberias, near .Terusalem, and composed of fifty tliousand horse, and nearly two hundred thousand fooot. " What hoi Rudolph "' exclaimed the happy Knight, springing from his couch, fully an liour before dawn. " T'p, uj), and 1)0 doing ' There is brave work cut out for us this day, and the sluggard must not lose his share of the glory. But fill me first a full goblet of my favorite Cyprus wine, and then for my armor. .Terusalem, the Holy City, won by the good swords and battle-axes of Godfrey, of Eustace, and of Baldwin, must be saved thi« day. Art ready for such a glorious fight, boy?" " Wiierever my lord leads, there Rudolph shall surely follow, even if it b«i unto the tent of Saladin him.self." replied the youth, rising <]uickly. and trimming the dull and nearly wasted lamp ; " but had I my choice,"' he added archly. " when once there, I should not be sorry to be detained a temporary prisoner, and lM)und with silken cords, by our, at least, of his seraglio." "Ah, you young epicure I Better indeed is that .slight frame fitted «or the blandishments of Venus, than the more iron duties of Mar». But thai reminds me — you say that wherever I lead, you will follow, flave T not, in my turn, followed where you have led ' Nay, answer me, dear boy. In me you will fiiul no jealous rival. Ah I never mind — that burning blush suffii-iently t«>lls the tale." The brow of the boy was suffused with crimson, as lowering his beautiful eyes, he handed the wine without making any audible reply to the question of his Lord. " Here is to your pretty Saracen mother, and to my own adored Emea- tina," continued the Knight, as he drained off the goblet to within an inch or two of the bottom, and then offered it to the page. '• Drink to them both, dear Rudolph ; it may be the last time we shall pledge them in this life." " All honor to the dear I>ady Ernestina, and every blessing on the sweet mother you have given me," said the youth, as, with still flushed cheek anJ ,*• THi: Mii\K rtNiGHT Of ST. JOHN. 37 dilating eye, he tiiiislifd ilio (.'ontcnii? ol the jroblet. .Ah, that she were, indeed, my niothei "' " What I ail iiitidel lor your mother, lludolph !' exclaimed the Knight. " Christian or infidel, what matter^" murmured the boy. " Is she not, my lord, the beautiful creation of the same Cud' Alas! 1 have never known a motiier'siove — I never was pillowed on a mother's bosom until " " 1 understand you," interrupted the Knight, gently pressing his hand. " Rudolph, henceforth you are my younger brother in love, but now, further time to speak of this is denied. Quick — my armor." " I obey,"" said the boy, with deep and fervent expression ; " and may that armor guard from all liarm, the noblest — pardon me, my lord, I must speak it out, or my bosom will burst — the most generous heart that ever beat under a warrior's corselet.' The Barnn caught and pressed him to his heart, imprinted a kiss on his hot but open brow, and then bade him to his task. In a few moments, both were equipped. The armor of the Knigiit con- sisted of a hauberk covering the whole of his person. It was of double chain mail, and formed of a hood-piece connected with a jacket with sleeves, and terminating in breeches, stockings, and shoes. To these, were added gaunt- lets, all of ti.e same material. His head was moreover covered with the skull-cap tisually worn by the knights before entering into battle. His war helmet was of burnished scales, and ornamented with a magnificent crest, on which were emblazoned the baronial arms. A surcoat of costly fur, on which also appeared the arms of his family, was thrown loosely over his closely-fitting hauberk, thus depriving the figure of the almost spectre-like appearance otherwise given to it by the chain mail. " Go, Rudolph, to the tent of the Monk," enjoined the Baron, when the page, after donning his own light armor, had gathered together the Knight's helmet, battle-axe, banner and shield " bid him here if he has time, and is already equipped." Soon after the boy had departed on his mission, the trampling of steeds was heard, and as the Baron moved forward, he met at the entrance one of his men-at-arms, fully equipped, and leading his war-horse, as well as the lighter gelding of Rudolph. He who generally acted as his groom, announced that the camp was already in motion, and the retainers of the young French knight forming even then their battle-array, which only the presence of their leader was wanting to complete. "Good, good, Coeur-de-Fer," remarked the Baron, "you fellows are always anxious to be the first in a fight, but I find no such haste to get out of it;" then patting the neck of his battle-steed, who, seemingly conscious of the duty required of him, pricked his ears, pawed the earth, and neighed most lustily — "Hast fed them well, Coeur-de-Fer? They will require all they can get before night- fall, or much I mistake the character of the leader against whom we wield our battle-axes this day." "Diantre! true enough, most noble Knight," returned the man. "The Infidels are in clouds, they say, under the very walls of Tiberias, and as Monsigneur states, we shall have hot work enough before the dew falls :i>-:iin, to moisten the lips of both horses and men : but you have only to order ' I In ; .1 i( h ■Vnt V ♦ 4r l^"** •«*' ■ -•'— i^ m 38 \$ THK MOVK KMGHT OV r-,T. JOHN. i 'I (^oeur-de-Fer to dn :i lliiii;i and it is fioiio. The horses have been well ted, lor luckily il is not now, an in the early days, when our aiieestora came to Palestine. Then knights were oblitjed to oat their own chargers — the brave animals thai had carried them throunh many a hard light, to prevert them- selves iVom starving, and were made to look contemptilile in the (syes of the enemy, by having their baggage carried on the back-s of dogs and pigs. Pardieu ! the followers of the cross live more luxuriously now. Saladin, that scourge who threatens the Holy City, has not yet been long enough in arms to put \is to that stretch." This long speech, rather unusual at that period, in its familiarity of tone, but which the generous Knight did not, from his regard for the man, whom he considered one of the most attached and faithful of his followers, like to frown down, was now interrupted by the arrival of Rudolph, who, taking charge of the fiery and well conditioned steeds, afforded Coeur-de-Fer no fur- ther excuse for remaining. He accordingly departed to rejoin the body of the force. " Well, Rudolph, what says Abdallah '" asked the young French Baron as they prepared to mount. *' Will he be here anon, or do we lake him up on our way to the advance, where I know his comrades, the valiant Knights of St. John, closely watch the motions of Saladin and his host'" " The Monk Abdallah, my lord, is not to be found in the encampment, where he rested last night. He set forth alone and armed, long before the dawn, and has, doubtless, now gained the position occupied by the Knights of St. John. They who bore me the.se tidings, state that us soon as he seated himself in his saddle, he buried his long and heavy spurs in the flanks of his noble charger, and passed out of the encampment with the rapidity of the wind.'" "Indeed !" said deBoiscourt, whose countenance had been gradually falling during this short recital, for he really felt deep disappointment at his heart ; " this is strange — but it is well, Rudolph, that you have stated this before leaving the tent. Another goblet — a full goblet of Cyprus wine : it will drown thought, and I do not wish to think to-day." Rudoli)h, sad himself, because he saw that the unannounced departure of the Monk-Knight had given pain, he knew not wherefore, to his noble mas- ter, silently laid down the arms he was about to gird about him, and opened and offered the wine. The Baron drained its contents at a draught, and as. he did so, his charger whinnying, half turned his head, and cast his eye upon the sparkling licjuid, as if anxious to share it with him. " By the Saints I a good thought," exclaimed the Knight, whose annoy- ance had somewhat excited him : " another flask, dear Rudolph. Both horse and rider must outdo themselves this day. There — that will do. Hold Beloeil steadily by the head, while I cause him to revel in the luxury of the gods ; but stay— you are not tall enough, boy. Give me the bridle, and I myself will do it." Seizing the mouthpiece with his left hand, he held up the head of the horse with such a strong grasp, that he easily introduced into his throat the neck of the flask, which was nearly emptied before he withdrew it. The effect was soon evident — the eye of the glossy black steed beamed with in- .'!■/, # .•4- * '. \ •■:. t-J**#- jr! THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN'. 39 creased fire, and he champed his bit, and pawed with a restleaaness he had never before manifested. Rudolph, in the meanwhile, who seldom anticipated a hard day's work without making due preparation for contingencies, thrust into one of two pairs of small panniers with which the cruppers of his saddle was provided, a couple of bottles of the same wine emptied into tin flasks made for the purpose, and well stopped up ; and into the other, the morning food, of which the Baron had not yet tasted. This done, he held the bridle of the Knight's charger until he mounted, and then vaulting lightly into his own saddle, rode into the tent, and took from a table near the entrance, on which they lay, the spare armor and weapons, and escutcheon of the Lord of Auvergne. They then pursued their way to the heart of the encampment, where his retainers — a numerous, bold, and imposing force — were already drawn up as Coeur-de-Fer , had stated. The order to march was soon afterwards given, and the whole of the Christian force moved forward with alacrity, under their several ban- ners to encounter their hated enemies, then waiting for them near the lake of Tiberias. The young Baron de Boiscourt, followed by the gentle Rudolph, whom we have seen he loved with exceeding tenderness, even while compelled by the customs of the order to treat him with a certain reserve in public, rode some yards in advance of his inferior knights, who, in their turn, took the lead of the men-at-arms. His charger, inspirited by the unusual Are that had been communicated to his blood, was with difficulty restrained by the accus- tomed hand of his rider, and manifested his impatience by spurning far behind him, the parched and sandy earth which annoyed his fetlocks with its heat, even at that early hour. The occupation thus afforded to de Boiscourt, in a measure distracted his mind from the unpleasant reflections to which the tidings of Abdallah's strange and unexplained disappearance had given rise, but finally they forced themselves upon him with a pertinacity no outward influence could prevent, while the additional wine he had taken, with a view to drown recollection, seemed to have produced the contrary effect of rendering it more vivid and distinct. In spite of his efforts to rally his spirits and treat the matter lightly, his heart was deeply afflicted, for he feared that a senti- ment inimical to the close friendship which had hitherto existed between them, and arising from their conversation of the preceding day, had been the cause of his singular conduct. He was well aware of the holiness and purity of life which the Monk had constantly preserved in the midst of the strongest temptations by which the flesh could be beset ; and it was there- fore natural to infer that his mind would recoil from further association with one who, instead of fortifying him in his virtuous resolution, had used 80 much diligence to undermine it. The Baron was deeply grieved at this, not through any wrong he himself found in what he had done, but because of its efl^ct upon him he so well loved, and that at a moment when he had believed him to have been irresist- ibly won to his dearest hopes. Nor must the reader of the nineteenth cen- tuiy feel surprised at the sentiments which governed the heart of civilized man in the twelfth. The looseness of moral feeling — the indulgence of every appetite peculiar to that age, have already been alluded to ; so much so, in- '^'^^.': % •jA -*"S V ' * . I f "^ 40 THE MONK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. deed, that it has been aaeerted by the oW chroniclere " that there wae not one chaste woman in Palestine," and that, in the belter circles of society, •* it was scarcely possible for a child tu know its own father, neither was it ex- pected of him." No wonder, then, that amid such universal corruption, a generous and ardent nature, like that of de Boiscourt, should seek indulgence, not in the groesness of sensuality which governed the mass, but in that re- fined and tender voluptuousness which lives in the soul rather than in the senses. He loved, he adored his Ernestina, with all the intensity of his glowing heart. He regarded Abdallah with a feeling that rose far above friendship ; he looked upon him as something more than human ; and no serf of his own flowery land ever yielded up tlie person of his bride to the Lord of the domain, with one-thousandth part of the joy with which he would have warmed the soul of the majestic Monk towards his beautiful beloved. His whole care, therefore, was to instil, and feed in each an overwhelming passion for the other. Only the evening before, he had been happy in the thought of his eventual sucC/Css — for the agitation shown by the Monk — the fiery language he had used — the final determination he had expressed, seemed to announce the existence of a passion nursed in solitude, which no consider- ation, human or priestly, could restrain from fulfilment. Where vice was 80 {H-evalent, mere libertinism so tolerated, there could be neither heart nor feeling to lend to passion that which alone could dignify and render it what it is — the greatest gift — the most exquisite proof of the boundless love of the great God of the Universe. De Boiscourt was not a mere sensualist, iu llie vulgar acceptation of the term. Women, whose lives were grossly dis.soiute from habit — and there were but few at that day who were not — could yield him no pleasure in their embrace ; and although we have seen him abandoned to the fullest im- petuosity of passionate endearment while exposed tu the seductive beauty of the captive Saracen, there was mingled in his devotion to her a delicacy, an earnestness and warmth of feeling, which he had never known in the arms of any but his own Ernestina. He was, in act, perhaps one of the strictest of the Knights of the Holy Land — the Templars and the Order of St. John always excepted ; but in proportion as he was insensible to the grosser ap- petites of the animal, he yielded up his soul to the most enchanting images of what passion might, and what his peculiar creed told him it should be. Regarding his Ernestina and Abdallah as he did, his imagination revelled in the thought of what they might be to each other, and that without, in the slightest degree, impairing the fervor of love of the one, or the warmth and sincerity of friendship of the other, for hims«; ■^•"'^jBr'si*^ *? -X 42 Till' MONK KNI(;i;T 01' ST. JOHN. € ™ i' and not until tliey had fjaiiieil the farther extremity of the plain, did lie fiiiaiiy halt his masses to receive them. Tiien eommenced the most fearful earnafre. Like fiends, the adverse S([iiadrons foil upon each other ; and the slai'trl'ter on both sides was so great that, over the whole space occupied hy the iwo armies, the sands were saturated and discolored with the blood of men and of horses. Shouts, which rent tiie air, as if ten thousand devils had broken loose from their confinement, marked the onslaught of the Christians, faint- ing from exhaustion, thirst, and heat, while their equally enthusiastic, but fresher foes, answered to their furious cries of hatred and vengeance, by the ear-piercing clang of their trumpets and atabals. Death and desolation marked the hand-to-hand encounter of the two hosts, and men stood aghast at tJie vastness of the cruelty of their own prowess — of their own deeds of blood. *' Christ and the Cross" was the battle-cry of one party — " Mahomet and the Crescent" that of the other ; and if the true faith were to have been measured and acknowledged by the standard of blood shed by each army that day, it would have been difficult to decide to whom the palm of ascendancy should have l>cen awarded. Clouds of dust, raised by the hoofs of the steeds of the ^ warriors, and by the struggling feet of men in their last agony, hid from both ' armies the sunlight of heaven, and formed a hot and floating veil which glis- tened in countless millions of atoms, over their devoted heads, adding to the fearful sense of suffocation they otherwise endured So deadly was the fight — so confounded the melfe of horse and foot — of knights and men-at-arms —that acts of individual prowess were scarcely distinguished from their very multiplicity. It was one general slaughter-field of man, created in God's fashion, and mercilessly cut down by his fellow-man, who looked eagerly at the streams of blood that flowed around him, as if he would have slaked in it the burning thirst wbich dried up the juices of his body, and gave him a foretaste of the torments of the damned. The whole of that fearful day, the tide of battle ceased not to r\ge, yet without manifest advantage to either host. The Christians made the most stupendous efl^orts to reach the wells, which lay close behind the forces of Saladin, fighting with a ferocity which had not been surpassed in their con- quest of Jerusalem itself, and throwing themselves madly upon the lances of •heir enemies, to force a passage to the coveted water. But the Saracen leader knew too well his advantage. While his own troops entered fresh into the conflict, he had marked with satisfaction, the tottering advance of aeir foes, sustained only by their indomitable zeal, and he had made his disposi- tions accordingly. He had seen them covered, choked with the sands they had traversed, and, with parched throats, reeling from the accumulation of suflfering to which they had been exposed. To preserve the living wall of his army, which formed the only barrier interposed between the Christians and the wells, which would have aflbrded them new energy and strength, had been his chief object, and gap after gap was filled up, the moment a point of attack had been forced. Night came on, and still the object of the Christians was unattained. Foiled, dispirited, they slowly retired and took up a po- sition where a cluster of high and precipitous rocks promised them security from .^ -^-tse during the night, but here their sufTerings were unabated. Water there was none, and to add to the tortures they endured, the hot ■*?■ } ^:\ If' W '-.x:::^B '-i\ THK MONK KNIGHT OK ST. lOH.N. 43 Syrian night-air was rendered more intensely arid by fires which had been applied by the Saracens to various parts of a wood in close contiguity to their temporary encampment. ^ Nearly at the head of that tired and sleepless host, sat a helmeted knight, with his back reposing against a flat and projecting rock. His armor and rich surcoat of fur were covered with blood and dust, formed into a thick paste, so thickly streaked upon them, that it was difTicult to tell the original color of either. Close a„ his side was a page holding two steeds, covered with dust also ; one, with his jaded head drooping to the ground, and with languid and half-closed eyes, attesting the excess of fatigue and priva- tion which he had undergone. The second and larger animal cxhibitfed no sucii signs of weakness. He champed his bit and pricked his ears un- ceasingly, as if impatient to be let loose again upon the coarse he had so recently run. The page himself was overcome by drowsiness, and, ever and anon, dropped his head upon his chest heavily, but was almost instantly re- called to himself, as the fiery steed tossed up his head at intervals, and drew the bridle, with a strong, quick jerk, through his bent arm. " Poor boy," remarked the Knight, in a low tone of commiseration — " if you can sleep amid this terrible drought, great must be your fatigue, indeed. But, wherefore should I wonder that it is so. Few of the men of Auvergne have followed me to-day more closely than yourself. Sleep, dear boy, sleep >> The waking of to-morrow will be a terrible one." As he thus spoke, the generous Knight slipped the bridle of his own im- patient steed from the arm of the page and inserted it within his own. The effect on the tired youth was instantaneous. The other horse was too mo- tionless to disquiet him, and when the boy's head again sank upon his chest, he profoundly slept. De Boiscourt — for it was indeed that gallant and noble-hearted knight who had taken up his position at the head of his surviving retainers, waiting for the dawn — sat for some moments with his arms folded across his chest, and indulging in the same painful train of thought which had caused him so much melancholy reflection in the morning. Suddenly, the pricking of the ears, and the whinnying of Belteil, in a tone which seemed to indicate the pre eence of some familiar acquaintance, caught his attention, and caused him to turn his eyes in the direction in which he now first heard the fiiint tramp- \ ling of horse's feet. As the object drew nearer to him, the outline of a mounted knight was dimly visible, and then, as it appro;iched, nearer the heart of the Baron beat quickly, happily, impatiently — for there was no mis- taking that majestic horseman. It was Abdallah, fully equipped in his warrior's garb. Starting up from the ground on which he sat, de Boiscourt advanced to meet him, leading Belceil by the bridle, and with a sentiment of almost fear at his heart, lest he should be disappointed in the manner of his reception. Deep was his joy, however, when the latter, dismounting slowly from his war-horse, embraced him with all the ardor of their usual friendship. They then approached the spot which the Baron had just left, and turning the angle of the rock, seated themselves a tew yards from Rudolph, who now hidden from view, still profoundly slept. The Knights held their own - > m I ,/ H % 1: -'? w M 4' 44 THE MONK KNIOHT ('!■ M. JOHN. horses, which, with nrntiial recofrnition, licked cacli others head and neck, and otherwise wxined nearly as glad as their riders at the reunion. "Deareet Abdallah,'' observed the Baron, when they had exchanged the first warm evidences of their friendship. " If you knew what I had suffered from your leaving the camp, without apprising me of your intention, you .,y never would have pained me thus. Ah ! I never knew until this day, that friendship can fee! as keenly in its disappointment as love. What caused your abrupt departure'"' "The explanation is .soon given."" returned the Monk, whose countenance, ciilm and dignified as usual, was strongly reflected m the moonligiit. — " But, dear de Boiscourt, the fatigue of this terrible day has so cloven my tongue to my parched palate, that I must be brief in words. That," he pursued, "was a master-stroke of Saladin, in forcing us to traverse the plain, instead of harrassing the Moslem ranks by coming to ua. Had the sage advice of the Count of Tripoli found the weight it deserved, that false move of the Christians would never have been made, and the Holy City of the Cross would not at this hour stand imperilled." " Imperilled !" returned the Baron, " and wherefore imperilled, Abdallah' " Will not to-morrow's stm go down upon a field of carnage, moistened more with Moslem than with Christian blood 1 Will not the banners of the % Cross float over theae very wells the Saracen has so stubbornly withheld from us this day, and which, when gained, will flow like manna to the sick sonl, giving new strength and confidence to the Christian host. In a word, shall we not, to-morrow, revenge i.^ partial discomfiture of to-day ' Y'es — by the Cross, we shall I" " Nay, dear de Boiscourt," replied the Monk, with solemnity ; " your generous and enterprising soul renders you more sanguine than the gloomy aspect of our afiairs would seem to justify. Alas! I feel not thus confident. Well do 1 know that all that zeal and heroism can afl!'ectwill be essayed, but we cannot war against nature — '* ' " Ah ! say you so," quickly interrupted the Baron, his mind still engrossed by the one sole subject in which he took delight ; " you admit, then, the im- possibility of man warring against nature." " Yes ;" answered the Monk, hoarsely — almost fiercely — as he pressed ,^ unconsciously, with iron grasp, the hand of the Baron. " I admit it even in the sense in which you mean it ; but" — he resumed, ai\er a short pause, in his usually composed manner — " that was not what I would have stated here. I meant to convey that the Christian forces, worn out by fatigue, and half maddened by the agonizing stings of thirst, cannot hope successfully to contend against an enemy nearly double in number, and even now, while I speak, perhaps, cooling their parched frames from those very wells they have so carefully guarded, and to fill my helmet from which, before enter- ing into battle, I would almost consent to lose my shield-arm. De Boiscourt," pursued the Monk, sadly, " if even I, who have, in accordance with the strict duties of my order, lived a life of privation — of constant and unflinching war against the flesh— feel thus, what must not be the eflfect upon the mass who have not been taught the fortitude to bear? But I can no more," he con- i f ^ fl ^. THK MONK KNKiHT Or" »T. JOHN. 45 eluded faintly, '• my lips almost refuse to do their office, so parched are they, so deficient in moiature is my tongue." •'Oh, Abdallah! but stay — Rudolph, boy, awake- some hither imme- diately," and de Boiscourl started to his feet. Roused by the sound of his master's voice, the boy dropped the reins of his palfrey, and advanced, rubbinp his eyes, to the spot whence the voice proceeded, but when, on turning the angle of thewock, he beheld him not alone, but in company with the Monk, iht^ joy of his young heart could not bf' suppressed, and throwing himself on his knees, he plactxl his arms round Abdallah's neck, shed a paroxysm of tears, and utlere; the panniers of their contents, for ht! held n|) one of the flasks to the light of the moon, as if with the view to aa certain the quality of its qtatents. CHAPTER X. ; I That sight was sufficient to arouse all the energies of the gentle boy. The fear of losing one drop of the precious wine, caused him to utter a loud and startling shout, as he rushed determinedly towards the evidctii purloiner of his treasure. Surprised at the interruption, the latter dropped the hand which held the flask, and advanced to confront the intruder. As he stood face to face with him, he recognized the hard features of Cceur-de- Fer. | " Ha ! is that you, then? I thought that some unknown knave had stolen my little Blondin, but now, I see, it is you. He slept, the cunning rascal, while Beloeil was near him, but the moment my lord, seeing me fatigued with holding both, led him round the angle of the rock, near'which we lay, and therefore out of his sight, he thought his companion was gone. Coming this way you met him. Was it not so, Coeur-de-Fer. Ah, my good fellow, how much I have to thank you for. You have saved my lord's life." " Indeed ! young Master Rudolph, and how is that, pray ?" asked the man- at arms, composedly, as he proceeded to unscrew the metal stopper of the flask, which, however, swollen with moisture as it was, resisted all his eflbrts. " Hold ! Coeur-de-Fer, you surely do not mean to rob my lord of his pro- perty,"' remarked the page, eagerly and angrily. Consider that the Baron and his friend, the Monk Knight, Abdallah, are even at thi.^ moment panting like Dives from thirst, and waiting to cool their scorched palates from that flask." " Indeed," again sneered the man ; " are you sincere in what you say, Master Rudolph." " What I say, Coeur-de-Fer, is most true," returned the boy, in some mea- sure discouitiged at the man's insolence of tone. " And who sufl^ers the most in his thirst i" demanded the fellow, coolly. " the Baron or the Monk ?" " Oh ! the Monk," returned the Page, replying to his question, purely from a desire to gain the object he had in view. •' He is almost speechless from thirst." " Ha ! that is well ! exclaimed Coeur-de-Fer, " let him thirst and be damned in his thirst. The thought will render my own draught the sweeter. It will revenge the death of the brave Thibaud, and of his comrades. Be- sides, child, necessity knows no law of right— none of the mfitm ijiid tiniin I. * TlIK MONK KNKiHT OK ST. .lOHN. 47 nonfteiifcp I've liwijil spciik tif in the iiioimstery of Aiivt-renr. TC tin; Huron is KiifforiiiK from lliirMt, I ;nu vtry sorry lor him, Init, pnrdini, 1 liiivc the suiue complaint myscll, uixl tK't'ore I j^ivc ii)) the jjhosl, I would fUin ticklo my palate wilh wiial hat* never yet passed lip of mine since 1 left onr Iteaulifnl poutli — some of ilrti tempt infj-lookmjf ('y[)rnM wnie, with which I have more than once seeti you jjarnish these hampers. As for the Monk," ho continued, savagely, " let him die." " .\nd wherefore this most unchristian bitterness agaiuHt the pious Monk," returned the youth, in acrentH that wen; intended to soothe the rough ('omr- de-Fer into a change of purpose. " What can he have done to provoke your anger !" "Pious Monk ' said you'" retorted the man-at-arms, furiously: "piety like Ills be dannied. Pretty piety, truly, to cut oil" half a dozen .sorvunls ot the true (Jod. uieri'ly liecau.se iliey ra'ished a few infulel women, aiul therefore did honor to the accursed of Christ and of his followers. Look you here. Master Hudolph, 1 know whiil I speak about. 1 was one of a parly of six, who, under 'riiihaud, ;il)(iul two vears ajjo, took tliree Sara(;en women prisoners apd carri('d them into a wood a.>< our prize and spoil. Well, two of them wore alre.uly .sacrificed, and Thibaud ua.s about overcoming the scruples of the third, (who was the mi.-iress, an»l the ino.-t beautiful of them,) v^-hen the devil .must make hia ajipearance in the shape of this Monk, who, v'ith ad many blows of his tlaahiiif; scimeler. lopjied olF the heads of my five com- panions, and luil satisfied wilh this, took 'riiibaud up in his hands as thoujjh he had lu-en no heavier than a shadow, and dashed his l)rains out against the very tree, where 1. on hearing; the Monk come up, had hidden myself, and from behind which I had witnessed the whole scene. Pnrdini ! had he waited until Thibaud had finished his little bit of love nuiking, 1 could have forgiven his killinjf liiiii afterwards, but not then. It disappointed Thibaud — it disajipointed me, aiul 1 liav(! hated him most cordially ever since." "Villain!" mutteri-d the [laife ; a thousand vecollectious connected with that circumstance rushing upon his memory. " Vou were then one of that ruffian party, and '..< lord, in ignorance of this, has ever since retained you in his confidence!" " Aiul why not. Master Rudolph ' Has not the confidence been well repaid ' Have I not always done my duty both in camp as in the field — as well as his ^rroom and forager, as his man-at-arms ? I have no enmity against the Baron, lM)y ; he has always been kind to me, but I never looked upon that cnrstnl Monk-Knight, without feeling a sensation of hate, as in fancy I feel his sharp scimeter across my own neck." " But ycm will give me up my flask, C(Eur-de-Fer," continued the youth, in an insinuating tone ; " you know my loru .anguishes ; let us not waste the time in fuiiher parley" " Yes ; ' returned the man fiercely, "and the Monk languishes. Let him in imagination slake his thirst in the blood of Thibaud and his fellow victims, and tell my lord, that though men have eaten each other to stay their appetite before this, I only drink his wine. And this, not because J regard him less, but because 1 love myself more Tlimk not," he added, with sar- i\ % ^' i ^-' TMK MClNK KMCiltr OK hT. JOHN. :^ casm, " th;itl liavp pjisord almost half the i)ij;lil in watching for my prize, to Burremlor it thus ca»ily at your prayiii).', Ma.Mcr UiuUtlpli. Say to the Duron, that to-morrow I shall bt- prepared to lay down my life in hattlp for the (tom.1. hut liiat I cannot yifld liiui this. Ah ' how sweet will he the quaffinjr "• 'he delicious slull" het'ore I die. SijH, Hudolph, for old aajuaiiit- ancc sake, will I give you from the flask, to cool your burninjj tongue." " Kuniaii I" sluiuted the hoy. .stampiii^; hi-^ foot violently on the ground, "you tiien stole the horse, and he did not slvay to you. Out uiioii your m tended regard for me. Hut dare to taste of that liquor, and your blood be upon your own head." " Hal do you ihroalen. young sir — a [luiiy thing like you, to use sucli language to the strongest man-at-arms in the Baron's force' 'i'hia may do for (la.scony hut not in Auvergne. fiy my troth !" he added, furiously, '" un- less, you put a bridle on your pert tongue, 1 will slay and hurl your carcase behiiul these rocks for the vulture to feast upon at hi8 leisure." " Ciod defend the right!" cried the l)oy, as he saw that C.'oeur-de-Fer was gradually loosening the stopper which had at length been moved; then, utter- ing de Hoiscourt's name in a loud and piercing key, he sprang like a young tiger upon him, and clenched his hand around his neck with a force of which he had never believed himself capable. Astonished, enraged, and nearly half-throttled, the man was compelled to drop the flask, in order to have the free use of his hands. Furious with pain, he sliook the boy so violently, that he, in turn, was driven from his hold, when Coeur-de-Fer, grasping both arms in his iron clutch, tore them asunder from his throat, and dashed him heavily to the ground. " Young fool !" he nmtlered hoarsely, as he stooped over him, " you have provoked your own fate. There must be no one to tell of this hereafter." With one hand he felt the light armor of the page, fiercely struggling to free himself, for an opening through which he might direct the point of the short rude dagger, which he had unsheathed, and now held aloft in iiis right hand. "Hal ha! ha! caitiff!" laughed Rudolph, bitterly — almost hysterically, " do you experience that tingling sensation in your neck now? just fancy that, like Thibaud, you feel the sharp scimeler of the Monk-Knight ; or, the very moment when you feel your purpose about to be accomplished " " Damned be the Monk — may his soul burn in " His spei'i'li was ali. ;itly closed — or if the word " hell" came from hi3 lips, It must have been uttered in too low a voice to be heard. The blow had taken off the arm at the shoulder, and apparently extinguished life. It was a singular coincidence, as the younger knight afterwards remarked, that the same arm and the same scimeter, but at a different epoch of time, should have pimished the last ot the band that had carried on their lustful orgies in the heart of the sycamore wood. It was Alniallah, who, aroused by he first piercing cry of the boy had, with de Boiscourt, flown to his rescu N and guided by the sounds of struggle between the unequal combatants, trace 1 their way without dilRculty to the spot. The younger knight lead- ing thei" steel's wis a little in Uie rear, but Abdallah, who at a glance had observed the condition of affairs, fearing that the tramp of their (c : niight THK MONK K.VIOIIT OK >T. lOMN. 49 precipitatfi the (NitiiHlroplii' lin Moiiiflii lo avoid, iiK.tionrd lo Itirt friend i.i re- main stationary, while ho Htolo cantioiif