At the same time, letters went to the French bishops and archbishops, to Philip Augustus, and to his chief vassals. The prelates were directed to help the legates make peace between Capet and Angevin, and to stir up clergy and laity to the Crusade. Philip was congratulated on his great increase in power, his affection for the Holy See, and the hatred which he had often shown for heresy. Now, so it was represented, his office compelled him to punish the murderers of the papal legate. He had once crusaded to Palestine. Now he ought again to serve the Church, more and more imperilled as she was by the heretics who were worse than Saracens (an epoch-making phrase). It was his duty to drive out Raymond, to take the land from the heretics, and to give it to good Catholics who would faithfully serve the Lord, “_under Philip’s happy suzerainty_.” Probably Innocent wished Philip to read between the pious lines the thought that vassals directly planted upon new lands by the King would be far more his creatures than those who held them by a long chain of inheritance. As usual with Innocent, the letter is a masterpiece of its kind. Meanwhile, Arnaut Amalric made haste to call a chapter general of the whole Cistercian order. That the murdered de Castelnau himself had been a Cistercian was an additional reason for his own order to see to it that their dead brother should not be forgotten and that the cause for which he had given his life should not be allowed to fail for want of champions. Their chapter-general, when assembled, voted unanimously to direct the whole energies of the order into preaching the Crusade, and forthwith throughout Christendom their monks set themselves to stir up the people. In all this, Arnaut Amalric surpassed himself. The “Chanson de la Crusade” makes him say, in words that echo a fierce (sometimes grotesque) rhetoric he may well have used: “Cry the indulgences throughout all the earth, even to Constantinople. Let him that will not crusade never more drink wine, never more, evening or morning, eat from a table decked with a table cloth (!), may he never more wear cloth of flax or of linen, and at his death let him be buried like a dog.” Innocent’s letters and the Cistercian’s hardly less passionate sermons had their effect. Enthusiasm rose. It was like the ominous cracking and groaning that sometimes follow the explosion of a heavy blasting charge at the base of a mountain, threatening a landslide, perhaps greater and more uncontrollable than those who set the train foresaw.