And nothing shows better the reality and healthiness of the religion of those brave knights than their cheerful and open countenance, their thorough enjoyment of all the good things of this life, their freedom in thought and speech. You never catch Joinville canting, or with an expression of blank solemnity. When his ship was surrounded by the galleys of the Sultan, and when they held a council as to whether they should surrender themselves to the Sultan’s fleet or to his army on shore, one of his servants objected to all surrender. “Let us all be killed,” he said to Joinville, “and then we shall all go straight to Paradise.” His advice, however, was not followed, because, as Joinville says, “we did not believe it.” If we bear in mind that Joinville’s History was written after Louis has been raised to the rank of a saint, his way of speaking of the King, though always respectful, strikes us, nevertheless, as it must have struck his contemporaries, as sometimes very plain and familiar. It is well known that an attempt was actually made by the notorious Jesuit, le Père Hardouin, to prove Joinville’s work as spurious, or, at all events, as full of interpolations, inserted by the enemies of the Church. It was an attempt which thoroughly failed, and which was too dangerous to be repeated; but, on reading Joinville after reading the life and miracles of St. Louis, one can easily understand that the soldier’s account of the brave King was not quite palatable or welcome to the authors of the legends of the royal saint. At the time when the King’s bones had begun to work wretched miracles, the following story could hardly have sounded respectful: “When the King was at Acre,” Joinville writes, “some pilgrims on their way to Jerusalem wished to see him. Joinville went to the King, and said, ‘Sire, there is a crowd of people who have asked me to show them the royal saint, though _I_ have no wish as yet to kiss your bones.’ The King laughed loud, and asked me to bring the people.” In the thick of the battle, in which Joinville received five wounds and his horse fifteen, and when death seemed almost certain, Joinville tells us that the good Count of Soissons rode up to him and chaffed him, saying, “Let those dogs loose, for, _par la quoife Dieu_,”—as he always used to swear,—“we shall still talk of this day in the rooms of our ladies.”