The preoccupation of his mind was to lead and guide men heavenward. He charged Vincent de Beauvais, author of Speculum, to provide moral and religious instruction for princes, knights, ministers, and others resident at court. He himself composed Enseignement, that pious text regarding the duty of a Christian king. Each night he summoned his children before they went to bed and spoke with them about good emperors and good kings. He caused them to memorize the Hours of Our Lady.
He caused Muslim children from the Orient to be educated at Royaumont abbey. Similarly, with gifts he persuaded many Jews to accept baptism. Little enough did he like Jews. Their very presence on earth disturbed him. With much difficulty did counselors persuade him to let Jews go about their affairs because they were shrewd at commerce, thus benefiting the realm. He once told me how a debate was scheduled between Christians and Jews at the monastery of Cluny. There was present some injured knight who asked permission to speak. So he got up, leaning on his crutch, and asked to confront the wisest Jew. To this Jew he put one question.
Do you believe that Blessed Mary, who was virgin, bore God in her womb and gave birth to Him?
The Jew answered that he believed no such thing. Then said the knight, you are a fool to enter her church and her house since you neither love her nor believe in her. Whereat he lifted his crutch and fetched the Jew a blow on the skull so he dropped to the floor. Then did all the Jews run away. Now came the abbot to reproach this knight and said he had been foolish. Nay, it had been foolish of you to hatch this, replied the knight, for if it continued there would be many good Christians deceived by the wicked argument of Jews.
His majesty told me he agreed with the knight, and none but a learned cleric should presume to argue with Jews.
Persecution of Cathari and Albigenses, which marked his father’s reign, had much abated when he came to manhood. Nevertheless, when His Holiness Gregory proposed to root them out through inquisition King Louis thought it advisable. With his mother Queen Blanche, zealous as himself, they defrayed the cost. And the king with his mother provided guards for these inquisitors, who were much hated. Heretic, apostate, recreant Catholic, no matter. Few escaped the net. It is good, his majesty said, to thrust a sword as far as it will go into the belly of whosoever vilifies or abandons the faith of our Lord. Nor would any at court dispute him since confiscation of heretic property tended to the king’s advantage.
He told me how certain men of Albi approached the count of Montfort, requesting him to come see the body of our Lord that manifested itself as flesh and blood. You that are faithless, the count replied, you go and see it. For myself, I believe in what the Holy Church teaches us concerning the Sacrament. And do you know my reward for accepting the word of God and His saints? I shall wear a finer crown in heaven than any I might have worn on earth. King Louis thought this a very fine reply.
As surely as did Godfrey de Bouillon he considered himself God’s advocate. Nor would he hesitate to punish unruly tongues. A goldsmith was heard to use vile words, so the king had him bound to a ladder in drawers and shirt, pig guts and harslet wound round and round his neck up to his nose. And here a blasphemous Parisian whose lips the king ordered seared with glowing red iron. He said he would quite willingly have himself branded if every oath were banished from the realm. I never did hear him swear by God, by the mother of Christ, nor by any saint. Never did he cite the devil, unless that name could rightfully be mentioned. Devil take it! How often we hear such turn of speech, which is sinful because we have no right to maledict what the Lord God has created. On my faith and deed, foul words at Joinville castle merited a blow. Yet that is by the way.
During summer his majesty liked to go and sit in the forest of Vincennes. There, resting his back against an oak, he would listen to complaints or whatever related to his subjects. They would come and talk without hindrance. Or he might enter the gardens of Paris wearing a plain wool tunic and sleeveless surcoat, his hair neatly combed but without a quoif, and white swansdown hat, black taffeta cape about his shoulders. There on a carpet we would seat ourselves around him. And he would pat the ground, addressing me. Seneschal, you sit here. At first I equivocated. My lord, I said, I dare not sit so close. But he would have it no other way and my garment touching his.
Sickness followed him like a tiresome guest. Fever, chills, his skin mottled red. While battling the English in a noxious marsh near Saintonge he contracted some disease that almost cost his life. Mortification he inflicted upon himself for the sake of our Lord further weakened him. When
