CHAPTER XIV
.*
_*SYBIL'S CHOICE*_*.*
"'Gifts!' cried the friend. He took: and, holding it High towards the heavens, as though to meet his star, Exclaimed,--'This, too, I owe to thee, Giafar!'" LEIGH HUNT.
It came at last--neither sooner for my dreading it, nor later for my wishing it--Holy Cross Day, the coronation morning.
Guy and I reached the Holy City the night before, and took up our quarters with the holy Patriarch and his Lady Irene. We were just opposite the Palace. We could see lights flashing through the loop-holes, and now and then a shadow pass behind them. It was hard to know that that house held all that we loved, and we were the only ones that dared not enter it.
The Patriarch was most disagreeably loquacious. He told us every thing. He might have been cooking the banquet and broidering the robes, for all the minute details he seemed to know. The Queen, he told us, was to be arrayed in golden baudekyn, and the Lady Isabel in rose and silver. Both the Princesses would be present, attired in gold and blue. Poor little Agnes and Helena! How little they would understand of their mother's
## actions!
As little, perhaps, as any of us could understand of God's dealings in this matter!
The officers of state were to surround the throne, which was to be placed on the highest step of the choir; the nobles of the Council were to stand, in order according to the date of their creation, round the nave below.
Lady Irene was as silent as her lord was talkative. But at night, when she brought me up to the chamber she had prepared for me, she told me the one thing I did care to know. A place had been specially reserved for me, in the nave, immediately behind Guy; and the Lady Irene's own place was next to me.
"I am obliged to the Master of the Ceremonies," said I: for that was just where I wished to be.
"Nay," quietly said Lady Irene, as she took up her lamp; "the Damoiselle is obliged to the Lady Sybil."
Had Sybil thought of my fancy? What a strange compound she was!--attending to one's insignificant likings, yet crushing one's very heart to dust!
I did not sleep till very late, and I was aroused in the early morning by a flourish of trumpets, announcing that the grand day had dawned. I dressed myself, putting off my mourning for a suit of leaf-green baudekyn, for I knew that Guy would not be pleased if I wore any thing sombre, though it would have suited my feelings well enough. A golden under-tunic and kerchief, with my best coronet, were the remainder of my attire. I found Guy himself flashing in golden armour,[#] and wearing his beautiful embroidered surcoat, which Sybil herself wrought for him, with the arms of Lusignan.
[#] This phrase was used of steel armour ornamented with gold.
How could she bear to see that existing token of her own dead love? The surcoat had worn better than the heart.
We took our appointed places--Lady Irene, Guy, and I,--and watched the nobles arrive,--now an odd one, now half-a-dozen together. The Patriarch of course left us, as he was to officiate.
He told us last night that eighty out of every hundred felt no doubt at all that the Count of Tripoli would be the future King. (That Patriarch is the queerest mortal. It never seemed to enter his head that such information would not be highly entertaining to Guy and me.)
Now was the time to discern our enemies from our friends. Those who did notice us risked Court favour. But Messire de Montluc came all the way from the choir to salute us; and I felt a throb of gratitude to him in my heart. The Count of Edessa was not able to see us, and Count Raymond--O serpent, demon that he is!--looked straight at us, as if he had never met us before.
It was an additional pang, that the order of precedence placed Count Raymond the very next to Guy. I sincerely wished him at the other end of the nave, though it would have placed him close to the throne.
And now the important persons began to arrive. Lady Judith, in the quiet brown habit of her Order, stopped and scanned the groups all round, till her eyes reached us, and then she gave us a full smile, so rich in love and peace, that my heart throbbed with sympathy, and yet ached with envy.
Then came a lovely vision of rich rose and gleaming silver, which did _not_ look for us, and I felt that was Lady Isabel. And then two sweet little fairy forms in blue and gold, and I saw Guy crush his under-lip as his eyes fell upon his children.
Last came the Queen that was to be--a glorious ray of gold, four pages bearing her train, and her long fair hair, no less golden than her robes, streaming down them to her feet. She took her seat by Lady Isabel, on the velvet settle near the throne.
Then the Patriarch came forward into the midst of the church, to a faldstool set there: and announced in loud tones, that all the nobles of the Council of Sybil, shortly to be crowned Queen of Jerusalem, should come forward in rotation to the faldstool, and swear between his hands[#] to bear true and faithful allegiance, as to his King, to that one of them all whom it should please her to choose for her lord.
[#] Homage was always performed in this manner, the joined hands of the inferior, or oath-taker, being held between the hands of the superior lord, or person who administered the oath.
One by one, they came forward: but I saw only two. Count Raymond knelt down with an air of triumphant command, as though he felt himself King already: Guy with an aspect of the most perfect quietness, as if he were thinking how he could spare Sybil.
When all the nobles were sworn, the Patriarch went back to the choir, and Sybil, rising, came and stood just before the throne. The coronation ceremony followed, but I was not sufficiently at ease to enter into it. There were prayers in sonorous Greek, and incense, and the holy mass, and I cannot properly tell what else. The last item was the actual setting of the crown--the crown of all the world--on the head of Sybil of Anjou.
And then came a gentle rush of intense expectation, as Sybil lifted the crown royal from her head, and prepared to descend the steps of the throne.
Her choice was to be made now.
Down the damask carpeting of the nave she came, very, very slowly: carrying the crown in both hands, the holy Patriarch following and swinging the holy censer behind her. Her eyes were cast down. It was evident that she knew perfectly well where he stood who was to wear that crown.
Slowly, slowly, all along the nave. Past one eligible noble after another, face after face gathering blankness as she went. At last she turned, ever so little, to the right.
I could bear no more. I covered my face with my mantle. Let who would gaze on me--let who would sneer! She was coming--no doubt any longer now--straight towards Count Raymond of Tripoli.
And never--with the faint flush in her cheeks, and the sweet, downcast eyes--had I seen her look so beautiful. And all at once, athwart my anger, my indignation, my sense of bitter wrong, came one fervent gush of that old, deep love, which had been mine for Sybil: and I felt as though I could have laid down my life that hour to save, not Guy, but her, from the dreadful consequences of her own folly,--from that man who had crushed Guy's heart as he might have crushed a moth.
Then came a dead hush, in which a butterfly's wing might almost have been heard to beat. Then, a low murmur, half assent, half dissent. Then, suddenly bursting forth, a cheer that went pealing to the roof, and died away in reverberations along the triforium. The choice was made.
And then--I had not dared to look up--I heard Sybil's voice. She was close, close beside me.
"Sir Guy de Lusignan," she said, "I choose thee as my lord, and as Lord of the land of Jerusalem; for--" and a slight quiver came into the triumphant, ringing voice--"whom God hath joined together, let not man put asunder!"
Then I looked up, and saw on my Guy's head the crown of the world, and in Sybil's dear eyes the tender, passionate love-light which she had locked out of them for months for love's own sake, and I knew her at last for the queen of women that she is.
And then----I heard somebody speak my name, and felt Lady Irene's arms close round me, and darkness came upon me, and I knew no more.
When I came to myself, I was lying in my own old chamber in the Palace, and beside me were old Marguerite fanning me with a handkerchief, and Lady Judith bending over me.
"Helena, darling,--all is well!" she said.
"Is all well?" I said, sadly, when I could speak. "It is well with Guy, and therefore all else matters little. But I wonder if I shall ever be forgiven?"
"By whom?" asked Lady Judith.
"God and Sybil," I answered in a low voice.
"Ask them both," she said softly. "Sybil is coming to thee, as soon as ever the banquet is over. And there is no need to wait to ask God."
"Did you guess, holy Mother, how it would end?"
"No, Helena," she answered with a smile. "I knew."
"All along?"
"Yes, from the first."
I lay still and thought.
"Dost thou marvel why I did not tell thee, dear, and perhaps think it cruel? Ask Sybil why she made me her sole confidante. I think thou wilt be satisfied when thou hast heard her reason. But though I did not guess Sybil's purpose,--" and she turned with a smile to Marguerite,--"here, I fancy, is one who did."
"Ay, very soon," said Margot quietly: "but not quite at first, Lady."
"Thou wicked old Marguerite!" cried I. "And never to tell me!"
"Suppose I had been mistaken," she replied. "Would my Damoiselle have thanked me for telling her then?"
I felt quite sufficiently restored to go down to the bower, though not able to bear the banquet. So Lady Judith and I went down. She told me all that had taken place after I fainted: how Messire de Montluc and Lady Irene had taken care of me; that the Patriarch had immediately bestowed the nuptial benediction upon Sybil and Guy, and had then anointed the King--(the King!)--that the Knights Templars had escorted the King and Queen to the banquet; and that after the banquet, homage was to be done by all the nobles. Guy and Sybil, therefore, were likely to be detained late.
Suddenly something climbed up on the settle, and I felt myself seized round the neck, and tumultuously caressed.
"Tantine! Tantine!--Come--good! Baba and Tantine--_both_ come. Good!--Oh, good!"
Of course I knew who that was, and alternated between returning the warm kisses, and entreating Agnes not to murder me by suffocation.
Then came a much calmer kiss on my brow, and I looked up at Eschine.
And then strolled in Messire Amaury, with his hands in the pockets of his haut-de chausses, talking to Messire de Montluc.
"But the strangest thing, you know"--that sagacious youth was observing--"the strangest thing--O Elaine, is that thee!--the strangest thing is that a mere simple, ignorant woman could have formed and carried out such a project. Surely some man must have given her the idea! I can hardly--Oh, _pure foy_!"
The last exclamation was due to a smart and sudden application of my right hand to the left ear of my respected brother. Messire de Montluc was convulsed with laughter.
"Well done, Damoiselle Elaine! You regard the honour of your sex."
"The next time thou speakest contemptuously of women," said I, "look first whether any overhear thee."
"Trust me, I will make sure of my sister Elaine," said Amaury, still rubbing his ear. "On my word, Lynette, thou art a spitfire!"
One after another kept coming, and all expressing pleasure in seeing me. I could not help wondering whether all of them would have been quite so pleased to see Elaine de Lusignan, if she had not been the King's sister. Lady Judith and Eschine would, I believed. Nor do I think it would have made the least difference to Agnes. Considerations of that kind do not begin to affect us till we are over three years old.
But time wore on, and Sybil was not released from her regal duties; and the strain which both body and mind had had to sustain told upon me, and I began to feel very tired. Lady Judith noticed it.
"Dear Helena," she said, "do put that white face to bed. Sybil will come to thee."
"I have no right to ask it of her," I said huskily.
"Dost thou think she will wait till thou hast?"
I was beginning to remonstrate that it would not be respectful, when Lady Judith put her arm round me, and said laughingly--"Sir Amaury, help me to carry this wilful child to bed."
"Fair Mother, I dare not for all the gold in Palestine," said my slanderous brother. "My ear has not done stinging yet."
"Am I wilful?" said I. "Well, then I will do as I am told.--As to thee, Amaury, thou hast just thy desert."
"Then I am a very ill-deserving man," responded he.
Lady Judith and Eschine both came with me to my chamber, and the latter helped me to undress. I had but just doffed my super-tunic, however, when a slight sound made me turn round towards the door, and I saw Sybil,--Sybil, still in her coronation robes, coming towards me with both hands held out, as she had done that last sad time we met. I threw myself on the ground before her, and tried to kiss the hem of her golden robe. But she would not let me.
"No, no, my darling, no!"
And she stooped and drew me into her arms, and kissed me as if we had never disagreed,--as if I had never uttered one of those bitter words which it now made my cheeks burn even to remember.
I could only sob out,--"Forgive me!"
"Dear little sister, forgive thee for loving Guy?"
"No, no!" I said, "but for not loving--for misunderstanding, and slandering, and tormenting thee!"
"Nay, dearest Helena!" she said, at once tenderly and playfully,--"Thou didst not slander me. It was that other Sybil with whom thou wert so angry,--the Sybil who was not true to her lord, and was about to forsake him. And I am sure she deserved every word. But that was not I, Helena."
"But how my words must have tortured thee!"
"Not in one light, dear. It was a rich ray of hope and comfort, to know, through all my pain, how true the dear little sister was to Guy,--what a comfort she was likely to be to him,--that whoever forsook him, his Lynette would never do it. Now finish thine undressing. There is one other thing I want to say to thee, but let me see thee lying at rest first."
She sat down on the settle, just as she was, while Bertrade finished undressing me. Then they all said "Good night," and left me alone with Sybil.
"Helena, darling!" she said, as she sat beside me, my hand clasped in hers,--"this one thing I wish thee to know. I could not spare thee this pain. If the faintest idea of my project had ever occurred to Count Raymond,--though it had been but the shadow of a shade,--it would have been fatal. Had he guessed it, I could never have carried it out.[#] And he has eyes like a lynx, and ears like a hare. And, little sister,--thy face talks! Thou couldst not, try as thou wouldst, have kept that knowledge out of thine eyes. And the Count would have read it there, with as little trouble as thou wouldst see a picture. The only chance, therefore, to preserve my crown for my lord, and him for me, was to leave him and thee in ignorance. Trust me, it cost me more than it did you!"
[#] The extraordinary item of this series of incidents (which are historical) is, that Count Raymond did not guess it.
Ah! had she not said that once before,--"Trust me!" And I had not trusted her. Yet how well she deserved it!
I hardly know what I sobbed out. I only know that I was fully and undeservedly forgiven, that I was loved through all my mistrust and unworthiness and cruel anger,--and that Sybil knew how I loved her.
Then she left me to rest.
But as I lay there in the darkness, a thought came to me, which seemed to light up the dark wilderness of my life,--as though a lamp had been suddenly flashed into a hidden chamber.
What if it be just so with God?
And it seemed to me as if He stood there, at the summit of that ladder which Monseigneur Saint Jacob was permitted to behold: and He looked down on me, with a look tenderer and sweeter even than Sybil's; and He held forth His hands to me, as she had done, but in these there were the prints of the cruel nails,--and He said--
"Elaine, I could not spare thee this pain. If I had done, in the end it would have been worse for thee. Look upon My hands and My feet, and see if I spared Myself, and, remembering that this was for thy sake, say whether, if it had been possible, I would not have spared thee!"
I cannot tell whether I was dreaming or awake. But I crept to the foot of the ladder, and I said to Him who stood above it--
"Fair Father, Jesu Christ, I put myself in Thy mercy.[#] I see now that I was foolish and ignorant. It was not that Thou wert cruel. It was not that Thou didst not care. Thou dost care. At every pang that rent my heart, Thine heart was touched too. Forgive me, for Sybil has done, and I have sinned more against Thee than against her. Teach me in future to give up my will, and to wish only to do Thine."
[#] A rebel, who returned to his allegiance unconditionally, was said to "put himself in the King's mercy."
I am afraid it was a very poor prayer. There was no Angelus nor Confiteor--not even an Ave in it. Yet was it all a dream, that a voice said to me, "Thy sins are forgiven thee: go in peace"? And I sank into dreamless sleep the next instant.
It is all settled now. Next week, I shall be professed of Lady Judith's Order,--an Order which will just suit my wants, since the nuns have no abbess over them, are bound only by terminable vows, and (with assent of the community) may dwell where they think fit, even in their own homes if need be.
Lady Judith thinks that she can easily obtain leave for me to dwell with Monseigneur, as she will kindly represent it to the Order that he is now an old man, and has no wife nor unmarried daughter to care for him but me.
I think he is my first duty now. And I know he will be so glad, so glad!
It will be hard to part with Guy and Sybil. But I think that is where the Lord is leading me,--home to Lusignan; and I do wish to follow His leading, not my own.
Old Marguerite startled me very much last night.
"Damoiselle," she said, "the cross is shining out at last."
"Where, Margot?" said I, rather puzzled.
"Where I have so longed to see it," she said, "on my darling's brow. Ah, the good God has not brought her through the fire for nothing! Where there used to be pride and mirth in her eyes, there is peace. He will let His old servant depart now, for it was all she had to live for."
But I can never, never do without her! Oh, I do hope the good God will not take dear old Marguerite. Why, I am only just beginning to understand and value her. But I think I am learning, very slowly,--Oh, I am so slow and stupid!--that real happiness lies not in having my way, but in being satisfied with His,--not in trying to make myself happy, but in trying to please Him. I am constantly fancying that I have so learned this lesson that I shall never forget it again. And then, within an hour, I find myself acting as though I had never heard of it.
And I see, too, what I never understood before.--that it is only by taking our Lord's yoke upon us, and becoming meek and lowly in heart, that we can find rest to our souls. Eschine's deep humility is the source of her calm endurance. Pride is not peace; it is its antidote. In Christ we have peace,--first through the purchase of His blood, and secondly, in growing like Him, which is, to grow in love and lowliness, and to lose ourselves in Him.
I think I never before saw the loveliness of humility. And I am sure I never saw the fair beauty of Eschine's character and life. Oh, how far she rises above me! And to think that I once looked down upon her--dismissed her with a careless word of scorn, as having "nothing in her"--when the truth was that I was too low down to see her in reality.
Oh, how much the good God has had, and will have, to forgive and bear with me!
I am now only just beginning to understand Him. But that is a lesson which I may go on learning and enjoying for ever. And how happy it will be, if we all gather together in His halls above,--Guy, and Sybil, and me, and old Marguerite, and Lady Judith, and Monseigneur, and Eschine, and the little children, and all,--never again to hear Paynim cry nor woman's wail,--safe for ever, in the banquet-hall of God.
At home again at last!
How strangely glad they all seem to see me! I do not think I ever knew how they all loved me. I have lived for myself, and a little for Guy. Now, with His grace, I fain would live for God, and in Him for every one.
We sat round the centre fire last night in the old hall,--I close to Monseigneur, with his hand upon my shoulder, now and then removed to stroke my hair--and we had all so much to say that it made us very silent. It was Alix who spoke first.
"Elaine," she said, "I want to give a name to my baby girl that shall mean 'truth' or 'fidelity.' And I do not like any of the French names that have those meanings; they are not pretty. Tell me the words for them in the tongue of the Holy Land."
I did not answer that the Court language of Jerusalem was the Langue d'Oc, and that Alix would be no better off for knowing. A rush of feeling came over me, and I let it dictate my reply. And that was only--
*"Sybil."*
*HISTORICAL APPENDIX.*
*I. GUY DE LUSIGNAN*
The history of Guy and Sybil, after the story leaves them, is a sad one. Raymond Count of Tripoli, who had fancied himself sure of the crown matrimonial, never forgave either. He immediately entered into a secret alliance with Saladin, by which he promised to betray Guy into his hands in the next battle. On the fourth of July, 1187, Tripoli, who was standard-bearer, so behaved himself in battle that the King was taken prisoner. Sybil, in conjunction with the Patriarch Heraclius, held Jerusalem until the second of October, when she gave up the city to Saladin on terms including liberty of ransom to all who could afford it. The Queen now retired to Ascalon, within whose fortified walls she and her little daughters remained until 1189, when Guy's ransom was effected on the hard terms that Sybil should capitulate at Ascalon, that Guy should abdicate, and that he should go beyond sea. Guy, who had been kept in chains a whole year at Damascus, consulted the clergy as to the necessity of keeping faith with Saladin. They were all of the Roman, but unscriptural opinion, that no faith need be kept with a Paynim. Instead of abdicating and going abroad, Guy, with Sybil and the children, marched to Acre, which he invested, with a hundred thousand men who had flocked to his standard. The Queen and Princesses were lodged at Turon, looking towards the sea. In 1190 King Philippe of France arrived before Acre, and on June 10, 1191, King Richard Coeur-de-Lion; and at last, on July 12, Saladin gave up the city to the allied forces. But the pestilence had been very rife during the siege. Baldwin Archbishop of Canterbury, and numbers of French and English nobles, died in the camp: and among others the hero-Queen, Sybil of Anjou, and her two fragile children.
Raymond of Tripoli was dead also. He died in his sleep, unabsolved; and evidence of his having formally apostatized to Mahometanism was found after his death.
After thus taking "last leave of all he loved," Guy--brave, rash, impetuous Guy--appears to have become almost reckless. Of course, by right, Sybil was succeeded by her sister Isabel; but Guy still clung to his title of King, and the privileges appurtenant to it, and disputed with Conrado of Monferrato, the husband of Isabel, the right to the customs of the port of Acre. Conrado was an extremely quarrelsome man, and Guy's opposition seems to have been personally directed to him; for on his death (which of course Guy and Coeur-de-Lion were accused of forwarding) Guy readily acknowledged Isabel and her third husband, on condition of receiving the island of Cyprus as compensation for all his claims. King Richard had sold Cyprus to the Templars, but he coolly took it from them, and gave it to Guy, who, being apparently more honest of the two, paid a hundred thousand crowns to the Templars as compensation. This is the last that we hear of Guy de Lusignan, except the mere date of his death, which occurred, according to different authorities, from one to four years after the cession of Cyprus.
Few historical characters have had less justice done them by modern writers, than Guy de Lusignan and Sybil his wife. In the first place, Guy is accused of having, in 1167-8, assassinated Patrick Earl of Salisbury, in returning from a pilgrimage to Saint Iago de Compostella. King Henry II., we are told, was greatly enraged, and banished Guy from Poitou, whereupon he assumed the cross, and set out for the Holy Land. Now the truth is that in 1167-8, it is scarcely possible that Guy could be above ten years old. Either it was another Guy de Lusignan, or the outrage was committed by persons of whom the child Guy was the nominal head. But all the circumstances tend to show that Guy's arrival in the Holy Land was little, if at all, before 1180, and that at that time he was a very young man.
We next find Guy accused of such boundless ambition, that he not only induced King Baldwin IV. to put all the affairs of the kingdom into his hands, but even to promise him the succession after his death. But when Baldwin had bestowed upon Guy his sister and heir presumptive, Sybil, how could he either promise him the succession or lawfully deprive him of it? The reversion of the crown was hers. Baldwin did her a cruel injustice, and committed an illegal act, when he passed her over, and abdicated in favour of her infant son.
Then, on the death of Baldwin V., we are actually told that Sybil, urged by her ambitious husband, _usurped_ the crown. Usurped it from whom? Surely not from her own daughters!--surely not from her younger sister! Matthew of Westminster distinctly remarks that "there was none to succeed but his mother Sybilla." Sybil merely took back her own property, of which she had been unjustly deprived.
Again, with respect to her action at her coronation, poor Sybil comes in again for her share of blame. She had no business, we are assured, to choose Guy, who had already proved himself an unsatisfactory governor; and in the interest of the kingdom, she ought to have married some one else. In other words, she ought to have committed sin in the interest of her subjects!
Lastly, a wholesale charge of poisoning is brought against both Guy and Sybil. Probabilities are thrown overboard. They are accused of poisoning young Baldwin V.; and Guy is charged with the murder of his wife and children, though their death entirely destroyed his claim to the royal title. The truth is, that in the twelfth century, any death not easily to be accounted for was always set down to poison: and the nearest relatives, totally irrespective of character, were always suspected of having administered it. Men of Guy's disposition,--impulsive, rash, and generous even to a fault, loving and self-sacrificing,--are not usually in the habit of murdering those they love best: and considered merely from a political point of view, the simultaneous deaths of Sybil and her children were the worst calamities which could have fallen upon Guy.
*II. THE ROYAL FAMILY OF JERUSALEM.*
Melisende, Queen of Jerusalem, eldest of the four daughters of Baldwin II., and Morsise of Armenia, _succeeded_ her father in 1131, and _died in_ 1141 or 1144. She _married_--
Foulques V., Count of Anjou; _married_ 1128; _died_ at Acre, by accident, November, 1142. [He had previously been married to Ermengarde of Maine, by whom he had four children,--Geoffrey Plantagenet; Helie Count of Maine; Sybil, Countess of Flanders; and Alice, Crown Princess of England.]
_Issue of Queen Melisende_:--
1. Baldwin III, _born_ 1129, _died_ Feb., 1162, without issue. _Married_--
Theodora Comnena, daughter of Isaac I., Emperor of the East
2. Amaury I., _born_ 1132-6; _died_ July 11, 1173. _Married_--
(A) Agnes de Courtenay, daughter of Josceline, Count of Edessa: _divorced_.
(B) MARIA COMNENA, daughter or niece of Manuel I., Emperor of the East: living 1190. [Character imaginary.]
_Issue of Amaury I. By Agnes_:--
1. BALDWIN IV., the Leper; _born_ 1158; _abdicated_ 1183; _d._ March 16, 1185. Never married.
2. SYBIL I., _crowned_ Sept., 1186; _died_ at Acre, during the siege, 1190. [Character historical] _Married_--
(A) Guglielmo, Marquis of Monferrato: _died_ 1180.
(B) GUY DE LUSIGNAN: _mar._ 1183; _died_ September (Fabyan) 1193 (ib.) 1194 (Moreri, Woodward and Coates Chron. Cycl.) 1195 (Roger de Hoveden) 1196 (Anderson). [Character historical]
_By Maria_:--
3. ISABEL I. [Character historical] _Married_--
(A) HOMFROY DE TOURS: _mar. circ._ 1183; _divorced_ 1190; _died_ 1199. [The legality of the divorce was very doubtful, and caused many subsequent counter-claims to the throne.]
(B) Conrado, Marquis of Monferrato, Count of Tyre: _mar._ 1190; _assassinated_ at Tyre, Apr. 27, 1192.
(C) Henri, Count of Champagne: _mar._ 1193, _died_ at Acre, by accident, 1196-7.
(D) AMAURY DE LUSIGNAN, brother of Guy: _mar._ 1197, _d._ 1205. [Character imaginary.]
_Issue of Sybil I. By Guglielmo_:--
1. BALDWIN V., _born_ 1180, _crowned_ Nov. 20, 1183; _died_ at Acre, 1186. [Character imaginary.]
_By Guy_:--
2, 3. DAUGHTERS, died with mother, during siege of Acre, 1190. [Some writers ascribe four daughters to Sybil.]
_Issue of Isabel I. By Conrado_:--
1. Marie, or Violante, I. Married--
Jean de Brienne, third son of Erard II. Count of Brienne, and Agnes de Montbeliard; Emperor of the East, 1233; _died_ Mar. 21, 1237.
_By Henri_:--
2. Alix I., _died cir._ 1246. Married--
(A) HUGUES DE LUSIGNAN, son of Amaury de Lusignan and Eschine d'Ibellin: _died_ 1219.
(B) Bohemond IV., Prince of Antioch: _divorced_.
(C) Raoul, Count of Soissons: _died circ._ 1246.
3. Philippa, _mar._ 1214, Erard de Brienne, Lord of Rameru; living 1247.
_By Amaury_:--
4. Sybil, _mar._ Leon I., King of Armenia.
5. Robert, Abbot of St. Michael
6. Amaury, _died_ young.
_Issue of Marie I_.
Violante, _mar._ at Brindisi, 1223-5, Friedrich II., Emperor of Germany: _died_ 1228-9.
From this marriage the Emperors of Germany and Austria derive the empty title of Kings of Jerusalem. They have no right to it, since the posterity of Violante became extinct in the second generation. The Kings of Italy, on the contrary, have a right to the title, being descendants of Anna of Cyprus, the heir general of Alix I.
*III. HOUSE OF LUSIGNAN.*
It will be perceived from the following table, that in the story, the three Williams, sons of Count Geoffrey, have been made into one; and that the sisters, Alix and Elaine, are fictitious characters.
The House of Lusignan begins about A.D. 900, with Hugues I., surnamed _Le Veneur_. Eighth in descent from him we find--
Hugues VIII., died 1164. _Married_--
Bourgogne, daughter of Geoffroy de Rancon.
_Issue_:--
1. Hugues IX, _died_ 1206. _Married_--
Mahaud, daughter of Wulgrain III., Count of Angouleme.
2. GEOFFROY, COUNT DE LA MARCHE, living 1210. [Character imaginary.] _Married_--
(A) Eustacie de Chabot.
(B) Clemence, daughter of Hugues Viscount de Chatelherault. [Character imaginary.]
_Issue of Hugues IX. and Mahaud_:--
Hugues X., le Brun: _killed_ at Massoura, 1249. _Married_--
Isabelle, Countess of Angouleme, and widow of John King of England; _mar._ 1217-21; _died_ 1246.
[From this marriage sprang the House of Valence, Earls of Pembroke, famous in English history.]
_Issue of Count Geoffroy and Eustacie_:--
1. GUILLAUME, surnamed _a la grande dent_, _died_ issueless before 1250. _Married_--
UMBERGE, daughter of the Viscount de Limoges. [Character imaginary.]
2. GUILLAUME, Lord of Mairevant. _Married_--
[Unknown.]
3. GUILLAUME de Valence, _died_ 1170.
4. GUY, Count of Jaffa and Ascalon: _crowned_ King of Jerusalem, Sept. 1186; _died Sept._, 1193-6. [See the previous article.]
5. AMAURY, _died_ 1205. _Married_--
(A) ESCHINE, daughter of Beaudouin d'Ibellin, Lord of Rames; _died_ 1193. [Character imaginary.]
(B) ISABEL I., Queen of Jerusalem. [See last article.]
6. RAOUL d'Issoudun, _d._ 1218-9. _Married_, before Aug. 31, 1199.
Alice, Countess of Eu: living Sept. 19, 1119.
_Issue of Guillaume Lord of Mairevant_:--
1. VALENCE, _mar._ Hugues, Lord of Parthenay.
2. Elise, or Aline, _mar._ Bartholome, Lord de La Haye.
_Issue of Amaury and Eschine_:--
1. GUY, _died_ young.
2. Jean, _died_ young.
3. HUGUES, _died_ 1219. _Married_--
Alix I., Queen of Jerusalem. [See last article]
4. Bourgogne, _mar._ Gaultier de Montbelliard.
5. HELOISE, _mar._ (1) Eudes de Dampierre; (2) Rupin, Prince of Antioch.
[For issue of Amaury and Queen Isabel, see last article.]
*TITLES.*
Society was divided in the twelfth century into four ranks only,--nobles, clergy, bourgeoisie, and villeins. Two of these,--nobles and villeins--were kept as distinct as caste ever kept classes in India, though of course with some differences of detail. All titled persons, knights, and landed proprietors, belonged to the nobility. The clergy were recruited from nobility and bourgeoisie--rarely from the villein class. The bourgeoisie were free men, without land, and usually with some trade or profession; and were despised by the nobles, as men who had lifted themselves above their station, and presumed to vie with their betters. The villeins were always serfs, saleable with the land on which they lived, bound to the service of its owner, disposable at his pleasure, and esteemed by him very little superior to cattle. Education was restricted to clergy and noble women, with a few exceptions among the male nobility; but as a rule, a lay gentleman who could read a book, or write anything beyond his signature, was rarely to be seen.
No kind of title was bestowed in addressing any but nobles and clergy. The bourgeois was merely Richard Haberdasher, John the Clerk, or William by the Brook--(whence come Clark and Brook as surnames)--the villein was barely Hodge or Robin, without any further designation unless necessary, when the master's name was added. Such a term as Ralph Walter-Servant (namely, Ralph, servant of Walter) is not uncommon on mediaeval rolls.
The clergy, as is still the case in Romish countries, were addressed as Father; and those who had not graduated at the Universities were termed Sir, with the surname--"Sir Green," or "Sir Dickson." It is doubtful, however, whether this last item stretches so far back as the twelfth century. "Dan," the epithet of Chaucer, certainly does not.
The names bestowed on the nobles consisted of three for the men, and two for the women. (French, it must be remembered, was the language of England as well as of France at this time. Only villeins spoke English.) The lowest epithet was "Sieur" (gentleman), which was applied to untitled landed proprietors. The next, "Sire" or "Messire" (Sir) was the title of the knights; and the King was addressed as Sire only because he was the chief knight in the realm. The highest, "Seigneur" (Lord) was applied to royalty, peers, and all nobles in authority, especially those possessing territorial power. The ladies, married and single, were addressed as "Dame" and "Damoiselle." The English version of the last title, damsel, was used of the young nobility of both sexes.
Among themselves, nobles addressed their relatives by the title of relationship, with the epithet "bel" prefixed--which, when English began to be spoken by the higher classes, was translated "fair." "Fair Father," "Fair Brother," sound very odd to modern ears: but for centuries they were the usual appellations in a noble family, both in England and in France. They were not, however, used between husband and wife, who always ceremoniously termed each other Monseigneur and Madame.
It was only natural--and is what we ourselves do to this day--that our ancestors should address God in prayer by those terms which in their eyes were the highest titles of honour. In this light, though "Majesty" is peculiar to Spain, yet "Seigneur," "Messire," and "Bel Pere," obtained currency in most civilised countries. The first we have retained: and though we have degraded "Lord" into the title of our lesser nobility, we still use it as the special epithet of Deity. It is only custom which has made the other names sound strange to our ears. We no longer prefix "fair" to "Father" when we address the human relative; and it has also become unusual to transfer it to the divine Father. "Sir God" would shock us. But in our ancestors' eyes it was the most reverent and honourable of all titles, which was the reason why they chose it. Even so late as the fifteenth century, the Maid of Orleans never spoke of God by any other term than "Messire."
THE END
* * * * * * * *
*Stories of English Life.*
*BY EMILY S. HOLT.*
A.D. 597
I. Imogen: A TALE OF THE EARLY BRITISH CHURCH.
A.D. 1066
II. Behind the Veil: A STORY OF THE NORMAN CONQUEST.
A.D. 1159
III. One Snowy Night; OR, LONG AGO AT OXFORD.
A.D. 1189
IV. Lady Sybil's Choice: A TALE OF THE CRUSADES.
A.D. 1214
V. Earl Hubert's Daughter; OR, THE POLISHING OF THE PEARL.
A.D. 1325
VI. In all Time of our Tribulation: THE STORY OF PIERS GAVESTONE.
A.D. 1350
VII. The White Lady of Hazelwood: THE WARRIOR COUNTESS OF MONTFORT.
A.D. 1352
VIII. Countess Maud; OR, THE CHANGES OF THE WORLD.
A.D. 1360
IX. In Convent Walls: THE STORY OF THE DESPENSERS.
A.D. 1377
X. John De Wycliffe, AND WHAT HE DID FOR ENGLAND.
A.D. 1384
XI. The Lord Mayor: A TALK OF LONDON IN 1384.
A.D. 1390
XII. Under One Sceptre: THE STORY OF THE LORD OF THE MARCHES
A.D. 1400
XIII. The White Rose of Langley; OR, THE STORY OF CONSTANCE LE DESPENSER.
A.D. 1400
XIV. Mistress Margery: A TALE OF THE LOLLARDS.
A.D. 1400
XV. Margery's Son; OR, UNTIL HE FIND IT.
A.D. 1470
XVI. Red and White; OR, THE WARS OF THE ROSES.
A.D. 1480
XVII. The Tangled Web: A TALE OF THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY.
A.D. 1515
XVIII. The Harvest of Yesterday: A TALE OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY.
A.D. 1530
XIX. Lettice Eden; OR, THE LAMPS OF EARTH AND THE LIGHTS OF HEAVEN.
A.D. 1535
XX. Isoult Barry of Wynscote: A TALE OF TUDOR TIMES.
A.D. 1544
XXI. Through the Storm; OR, THE LORD'S PRISONERS.
A.D. 1555
XXII. Robin Tremayne: A TALE OF THE MARIAN PERSECUTION.
A.D. 1556
XXIII. All's Well; OR, ALICE'S VICTORY.
A.D. 1556
XXIV. The King's Daughters. HOW TWO GIRLS KEPT THE FAITH.
A.D. 1569
XXV. Sister Rose; OR, THE EVE OF ST. BARTHOLOMEW.
A.D. 1579
XXVI. Joyce Morrell's Harvest: A STORY OF THE REIGN OF ELIZABETH.
A.D. 1588
XXVII. Clare Avery: A STORY OF THE SPANISH ARMADA.
A.D. 1605
XXVIII. It Might Have Been: THE STORY OF GUNPOWDER PLOT.
A.D. 1635
XXIX. Minster Lovel: A STORY OF THE DAYS OF LAUD.
A.D. 1662
XXX. Wearyholme; A STORY OF THE RESTORATION.
A.D. 1712
XXXI. The Maiden's Lodge; OR, THE DAYS OF QUEEN ANNE.
A.D. 1745
XXXII. Out in the Forty-five; OR, DUNCAN KEITH'S VOW.
A.D. 1750
XXXIII. Ashcliffe Hall: A TALE OF THE LAST CENTURY.
XXXIV. A.D. 1556
For the Master's Sake; OR, THE DAYS OF QUEEN MARY.
A.D. 1345
The Well in the Desert. AN OLD LEGEND.
XXXV. A.D. 1559
All for the Best; OR, BERNARD GILPIN'S MOTTO.
A.D. 1560
At the Grene Griffin: A TALE OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY.
XXXVI. A.D. 1270
Our Little Lady; OR, SIX HUNDRED YEARS AGO
A.D. 1652
Gold that Glitters; OR, THE MISTAKES OF JENNY LAVENDER.
XXXVII. A.D. 1290
A Forgotten Hero: THE STORY OF ROGER DE MORTIMER.
A.D. 1266
Princess Adelaide: A STORY OF THE SIEGE OF KENILWORTH.
XXXVIII. 1ST CENTURY.
The Slave Girl of Pompeii.
2ND CENTURY.
The Way of the Cross. TALES OF THE EARLY CHURCH
A.D. 870 to 1580
XXXIX. Lights in the Darkness: BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
A.D. 1873
XL. Verena. SAFE PATHS AND SLIPPERY BYE-WAYS. A Story of To-day.
LONDON: JOHN F. SHAW AND CO.,
48 PATERNOSTER ROW.