There were multitudes without order, there were kings without
authority, there were leaders more fit to follow than to head the van.
And always, when he had preached and breathed fire through the dry
stubble of men's parched hopes, till the flame was broad and high and
resistless, there came to him, in the solitude wherein he found no
rest, the deadly memory of the Hermit's blasted host, overtaken,
overcome, crushed to a heap of bones in one wild battle with the Seljuk
horde.
Many a time he told himself that Peter had been no soldier, that
stronger and wiser men had won what he had failed even to see, and that
the memories of Godfrey's fearful wrath, of Raymond's brave wisdom, and
of Tancred's knightly deeds were more than half another victory gained.
Yet always, too, in his deep intuition of men's limits, he felt that
the soldiers of his day were not those great knights who had humbled
the Emperor of the East and taught a lesson of fear to Kilidj Arslan,
and who had grasped the flowers of Syria and Palestine with iron hands.
It was indeed God's will that a great host should go forth again, but
neither Bernard nor any other man could surely tell that in the will of
Heaven there was victory too. The first to win or die must always and
ever be the first alone; those who come after them imitate them, profit
by them, or find ruin sown in the ravaged track of conquest; do what
they may, believe as they can, be their faith ever so high and pure,
they can never feel the splendid exultation of the soul that has found
out some godlike and untried deed to do.
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