ABOUT the middle of the eleventh century, feudalism was rampant. That great system, having rescued Europe from chaos and anarchy, was rapidly attaining its complete development. Feudal laws decided claims; feudal customs regulated society; feudal castles, defended by rampart and moat, crowned every height; and feudal magnates, wearing chain mail, bestriding mettled steeds, and attended by mounted spearmen, rode about imposing awe alike on mitred priests and crowned kings, on peasants occupied with tillage and burghers engaged in trade.
At that period, when feudal chiefs exercised an influence which enabled them to defy kings and oppress people, Eustace, Count of Bouillon, was one of the great nobles of Europe. From his ancestor Eustace inherited power and authority; and by marriage with the heiress of Lorraine, he greatly added to his wealth and importance. The designation of Count, as understood in modern days, of course conveys no idea of the grandeur of such a man. The Count of almost every French province maintained a state which threw royalty into the shade. When at peace, his board was surrounded by seneschals, cupbearers, and pages, falconers and minstrels. When at war, his banner was attended by knights, squires, and grooms, vavasours and varlets.
Among those who fed at the board and rode under the banner of the Count of Bouillon, was a young man who could hardly have failed to attract notice. He was a native of Amiens; and his name was Peter. Some said he was of patrician origin; but nature had denied him noble features and a noble presence. In truth, his face was plain even to ugliness, and his stature was so short, that contemporaries called him "little Peter." But he was gifted with a quick intellect and wondrous eloquence. When he spoke, his eye brightened with the fire of genius; and his enthusiasm was such that he carried away the feelings of listeners in spite of their judgment.
At the opening of his career, Peter, in pursuit of happiness, determined on a dash at matrimony, and wedded a lady of the family of Roussy. The marriage, however, would seem to have been contracted without any excessive degree of prudence. The bride was old and apparently as unattractive as the bridegroom was eccentric; and domestic feuds were doubtless the consequence. In any case, Peter, growing weary of his plain spouse's company, began to look wistfully toward those religious houses, situated in pleasant places and shaded by stately trees, where holy men, dedicated to God's service, kept alive the flame of ancient learning, and dispensed befitting charities to the indigent and poor. Ere long, he found himself a widower, gave way to his restless mood, threw aside his steel cap and coat of mail, and broke the ties that bound him to a world with which he could not sympathise.
But Peter had been born with a spirit which, until satisfied with some mighty achievement, could not know repose. His brain was quite as restless under the monk's hood, as it had been under the warrior's basnet. Every day his existence was troubled with regrets. The errors of youth and the absurdities of manhood remained in his memory, and perpetually presented themselves to his mind's eye in their worst colors. Having sought, without finding, rest in the cloister, Peter, tired of monastic as he had tired of military life; and assuming the garb of an anchorite, he passed his days and nights in meditation, fasting, and prayer. Whenever seen by accident, he appeared in the weeds of a "solitary," and soon became known as "the Hermit."
Notwithstanding mortifications of the body, Peter's soul remained unsatisfied. Penance and devotional exercises were of no avail in dispelling restlessness of spirit. Memory brought back the past; and imagination conjured up a future. In his silent cell he still felt a craving for excitement; and as enthusiasm, favored by solitude, elevated his soul above facts and circumstances, he surrounded himself with visions, which convinced him that he was designed by Heaven to accomplish something great.
While Peter, in his solitary cell, thus gave way to enthusiasm, Christians every year assumed "the scallop shell and sandal schoon," and made pilgrimages to the East. An especial virtue was supposed to attach to the Holy Land; and persons of all ranks, with an idea of atoning for their sins, were in the habit of repairing to pray at the Holy Sepulchre. Even in this life, a man derived advantages from having made the pilgrimage; and his departure and return were celebrated with religious ceremonies. Ere setting forth, he was presented by priests with a staff, a scrip, and a gown, marked with the cross, sprinkled with holy water, and ceremoniously accompanied to the boundaries of his parish. If the pilgrim returned, he was regarded with a mysterious veneration; and, after presenting a palm branch to the priest to be deposited on the altar, he acquired the reputation of extraordinary sanctity and the privileges which accompany such a reputation.
About the year 1094, Peter the Hermit resolved upon an expedition to Jerusalem. With a brain on fire, and in a mood the reverse of serene, he prepared to fulfill his pious purpose; and set out from his native town. Princes, peers, and prelates had trodden the path he pursued. They, however, had died by the way, or returned merely to boast of having seen the Holy City. Peter, as he left Amiens, with no defence but the sign of the cross, and no guide but his sanguine spirit, and journeyed from place to place, faring as he best could, and causing surprise by his excited manner and eccentric gestures, probably indulged in anticipations of far different results from his adventure. Men, who granted him hospitality and asked his prayers in requital, little dreamt what great idea was occupying his mind and agitating his frame. They would have wondered had they been told what influence the odd-looking pilgrim was to have on the destinies of Europe and of Asia.
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From John G. Edgar
The Crusades and the Crusaders, 1860
