The Deeds of God | Page 8

and I alone
think: never had so many noble men exposed their own bodies to so
much suffering for a purely spiritual benefit.
Furthermore, he bends over backwards to defend aristocrats towards
whom other historians of the First Crusade were far less sympathetic.
Guibert's description of the count of Normandy, for example, shows
remarkable moral flexibility:
It would hardly be right to remain silent about Robert, Count of
Normandy, whose bodily indulgences, weakness of will, prodigality
with money, gourmandising, indolence, and lechery were expiated by
the perseverance and heroism that he vigorously displayed in the army
of the Lord. His inborn compassion was naturally so great that he did
not permit vengeance to be taken against those who had plotted to
betray him and had been sentenced to death, and if something did
happen to them, he wept for their misfortune. He was bold in battle,
although adeptness at foul trickery, with which we know many men
befouled themselves, should not be praised, unless provoked by
unspeakable acts. For these and for similar things he should now be
forgiven, since God has punished him in this world, where he now
languishes in jail, deprived of all his honors.
His defense of Stephen of Blois also shows a remarkably complex
tolerance and sensitivity towards aristocratic failure:
At that time, Count Stephen of Blois, formerly man of great discretion
and wisdom, who had been chosen as leader by the entire army, said
that he was suffering from a painful illness, and, before the army had
broken into Antioch, Stephen made his way to a certain small town,
which was called Alexandriola. When the city had been captured and
was again under siege, and he learned that the Christian leaders were in
dire straits, Stephen, either unable or unwilling, delayed sending them
aid, although they were awaiting his help. When he heard that an army
of Turks had set up camp before the city walls, he rode shrewdly to the
mountains and observed the amount the enemy had brought. When he
saw the fields covered with innumerable tents, in understandably
human fashion he retreated, judging that no mortal power could help
those shut up in the city. A man of the utmost probity, energetic,
pre-eminent in his love of truth, thinking himself unable to bring help

to them, certain that they would die, as all the evidence indicated, he
decided to protect himself, thinking that he would incur no shame by
saving himself for a opportune moment.
Guibert concludes his defense of Stephen's questionable behavior with
a skillful use of counter-attack:
And I certainly think that his flight (if, however, it should be called a
flight, since the count was certainly ill), after which the dishonorable
act was rectified by martyrdom, was superior to the return of those who,
persevering in their pursuit of foul pleasure, descended into the depths
of criminal behavior. Who could claim that count Stephen and Hugh
the Great, who had always been honorable, because they had seemed to
retreat for this reason, were comparable to those who had steadfastly
behaved badly?
One of the functions of the panegyric he composes for martyred
Crusader is to make Guibert's own rank clear, present, and significant:
We have heard of many who, captured by the pagans and ordered to
deny the sacraments of faith, preferred to expose their heads to the
sword than to betray the Christian faith in which they had been
instructed. Among them I shall select one, knight and an aristocrat, but
more illustrious for his character than all others of his family or social
class I have ever known. From the time he was a child I knew him, and
I watched his fine disposition develop. Moreover, he and I came from
the same region, and his parents held benefices from my parents, and
owed them homage, and we grew up together, and his whole life and
development were an open book to me.
He is a spokesman not only for aristocrats, but for the French, in spite
of his emphasis on per Deum in his title, regularly emphasizing,
throughout his text, the significance and superiority of the French
contribution. At the end of Book One, Guibert insists that Bohemund,
the major military figure in his history, was really French:
Since his family was from Normandy, a part of France, and since he
had obtained the hand of the daughter of the king of the French, he
might be very well be considered a Frank.
In Book Three, when the Franks win a significant victory, Guibert
insists that the defeated Turks and the victorious Franks have not
merely common but noble ancestors, thereby melding his two political
commitments:

But perhaps someone may object, arguing that the enemy forces were
merely peasants, scum herded together from everywhere. Certainly the
Franks