^1 C3. OFCAIIFO« MMI >- . * My child ! my poor child ! God bless thee, and strength- en thee, in thy grief '' Confused, panic-stricken, I may say, by this un- looked-for incident, and by such words as these, I could not speak to him. " ' Bianca,' he continued, ' I must return to Kome this very day. His holiness the Pope, finding that his remonstrances are of no avail with the wretches who infest Home, and who rob the pilgrims and travellers repairing to the city, has placed them under excommu- nication, and has confided to me the command of some troops for the purpose of cutting them oif by the sword. It is a difficult and dangerous task ; it is one which is full of peril, not merely the peril of battle, which I can joyfully meet, but still greater, the peril of treachery, from which I cannot protect myself ; for I shall have to face soldiers in the field, and assassins in my chamber. The sword, the dagger, and the insidious gift of the poisoner alike await me ; because the foes of the Pontiff are villains who have no faith in God, no pity for man, and no mercy even for children. I tell thee this, my child, because there is the chance that this may be our last meeting on this earth. For myself I care not ; for if I should fall in such a contest as this, in battling for my God, my prince, and the church, then I look for my reward in heaven. But in such a case what is to be- come of thee i At once repair to the convent in which thou hast been educated, and there devote thyself to the service of heaven, there seek for that Spouse, who is all truth as He is all charity, with whom the heart-brokeu 34 THE POPE AXD THE EMPEROR. find repose, and from whom the heavily-laden receive relief. I say this to thee, because I know the state of thy heart ; I say this to thee, because if I return living to Viterbo, I forbid thee ever to mention to me the name of Eberhard, and if it be otherwise, then I say to thee as thou wouldst prize a father's blessing in this world, and in the next, think no more of the man.' " With these words, my father embraced me, and again quitted the castle." " Alas ! mother, your situation was as doleful and as dreadful then, as mine is now," observed Beatrice. " It was, my child ; but in this respect far different. I had no mother to advise me ; I had not even amongst my female attendants one like Agatha, to whom I could speak with the same confidence, and with the same re- liance on her good sense, as if she were a mother : they were all but the wives and daughters of ignorant serfs. I was alone — alone in the Castle of Viterbo — alone in the wide world, with my inexperience, and my affec- tions ; knowing nought of guilt myself, and never s\is- pecting it could be practised by another. " Beatrice, by your own grief at this moment, you can judge how sad was the state in which my father left me. The unavailing pangs of a vain sorrow are but rendered more bitter by their recapitulation, and I there- fore shall not dwell on mine. My days were days of dull despair, my nights, nights of sleepless anguish. So I remained for some weeks, until at length intelli- gence reached the village of Viterbo, that the robber- hordes of Italy had received assistance from some of the troops of the German Emperor, that both confed- erated together had defeated the Papal soldiers com- manded by my fiithcr, that in the conflict my father had THE ORATORY. 35 been slain, and that now the robber-bands, swelled into the greatness of an army, were laying waste the villages, and that a special body of them were, from revenge, marching upon Yiterbo for the purpose of destroying my father's castle, seizing upon his wealth, and carrying me away as their prize. " It was when the village was filled with lamentations at this intelligence, and when the few soldiers left by my father at the castle were preparing for a vigorous and desperate defence, that the well-known face and figure of Eberhard were seen approaching the walls. He came, accompanied by a priest, and demanded instant admission to my presence. '•' I was comforted ; but yet not glad to see him ; for my thoughts were engrossed by the direful tidings of my flither's death. Eberhard confirmed the truth of the rumors we had heard. He showed us that they were even worse than we had supposed ; that the con- vent to which m.y father had desired me to repair in case of his death, had been burned down by the robber- bands during the preceding night ; and he added that the main object those bands had in gaining possession of Viterbo was to seize upon me, in order that the daughter of the Pope's champion might be exposed to a dishonoring doom, worse than death itself : he repre- sented that the only chance of saving the lives of the iiihabitants of Viterbo, and of myself escaping, was by flying upon the instant with him — that as his ivife I might pass through the enemies' lines, when there would be no possibility of saving me as the daughter of Albani ; that for this purpose, in case my father's chaplain was absent, he had brought with him a priest ; and that he had provided himself with a warrant bearing the seal of 36 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR. the emperor, which even the rudest gang of footpads in Italy would not dare to disrespect. " It was under those circumstances of grief, of terror, and of sudden surprise — and urged, too, on all sides by the retainers of my father, who knew nothing of Eberhard, but that they had always seen him in the castle treated and acknowledged as my accepted lover, and my destined bridegroom, but I, who knew well, and remembered well my father's prohibition, did still violate that prohibition, and prepared for myself a life of endless sorrow, because of useless repentance ; for I became the wife of Eberhard — of your father." " Of my father ! " cried Beatrice, forgetting for the moment all her griefs, in the strange tale thus told by Bianca. "Of my father ; but you do not now call him Eberhard." "Ah, my child," said Bianca, " a parent's solemn prohibition can never be lightly violated. It is certain to bring sorrow in this world upon whomsoever is its transgressor, although repentance may much mitigate the tremendous punisliment that otherwise awaits it in the world to come." Bianca here wept for a few moments, and then pro- ceeded : — " It was in my father's castle of Viterbo, and with my father's prohibition in my ears, but by my father's chaplain, and not the priest that Eberhard had brought with him, that I was there hastily united to him, and then hurried away from Viterbo, to that dwelling-place on the Lago Maggiore where you were born. There he cherished me — there he cared for me — there surround- ed me with all the luxuries that wealth could command, or even caprice suggest. No lover could be more fond, no husband more attached to his bride ; and yet with THE ORATORY. 37 all this, my child, I had ever before my conscience my father's prohibition, and I had ever present to my senses its daily punishment, for your father no longer called himself Eberhard — at the Lago Magglore he was only known by the designation of IMaufred." " What ! another name ! and that, too, not only dif- ferent from Eberhard, but also from that which he now bears, and which I alone remember to have heard him called," observed Beatrice, lost in astonishment at the dis- closures of Bianca. " Yes, yes, the marriage so hastily proposed, and so speedily accepted, has been followed by long years of mystery — the reason of which I cannot divine, and the motive for which I cannot solve. Had my husband," said Bianca, " been a peasant, and practised a deception upon me — the daughter of a noble — for the purpose of being married to him, still I must love him, as I do love him, despite of all this mysteiy ; for O, my child, believe me — that never yet did there live a better, a more kind, a more tender, or a more devoted husband than your father." These last words, and these last words only, were heard by a person, who did not enter the room by the door, but appeared to emerge from a dark alcove at the back of the speakers. The movement made by him in en- tering was heard by Bianca, who observed, though she did not appear to notice, that he had not passed through the doorway. « Alas ! " thought Bianca, " still another secret with which I was not before acquainted." She turned, however, suddenly round, and as if she were but continuing the discourse she had with her child, observed — 4 38 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR. " But here, Beatrice, is your father ." " Ah ! my father ! " shrieked Beatrice, as she fell fainting back upon the couch on which she had been resting. The man trembled — it might be with fear, or terror, upon finding that the name of ^'father " had excited something like horror, when expressed by the lips of his own — his only child ! For a moment that piercing shriek had unnerved him. He started back, and for an instant, there was what might be regarded as the wild glare of an infuriated maniac in his eyes ; but it passed speedily away, as he perceived that his child remained still insensible, and that all the thoughts and cares of his wife were devoted to the endeavor of restoring an- imation to the now seemingly lifeless Beatrice. This man, so strong in frame — so vigorous in years, whose sable locks and thick black beard were but inter- mingled with a few gray hairs, whose dark skin was flushed with the ruddy hue of health, and who appeared, with his high forehead, his finely-formed Grecian nose, well-rounded chin, and stalwart figure, a paladin of the army of Charlemagne, now knelt down upon the floor, and seizing the senseless hand of his child, he covered it with kisses, and wept — wept as if he were a poor, timid, weak, and helpless woman ! The cares bestowed by Bianca, and perchance, the warm tears shed by her father on her . hand, at length restored Beatrice to perfect consciousness of what was passing around her. " My child," said Bianca, *' you are now too agitated by the events of this day, to continue either your con- versation with me, or to discuss with your father the subject to wliich we were referring when he entered the THE ORATORY. 39 oratory. Betake yourself now to your bed. Good night, my child ; good night." *' Good night, dearest mother," said Beatrice, clasping her mother in her arms, and kissing her fervently on both cheeks. " Good night, father," said Beatrice, kiss- ing his hand, and without venturing, or perhaps wishing to look in his face, before she left the room. The father marked the distinction in his child's man- ner to himself and to her mother, and again a slight shiver passed through his frame. He walked up and down the room for a few minutes, and then, as if per- fect calmness had been restored to him, he said : " Of what, Bianca, were you and our child talking when I entered the room ? " " Of you, my husband, of myself, of herself. But may I speak to you on a subject that you have previous- ly forbidden me ? or shall our faithful Agatha, on whom no such prohibition is laid, be your informant ? " " Speak what you wish, Bianca — if it be good news, it will be more welcome from your lips than from any other's ; if it be bad, then the evil will be the less, for it vv'ill be told to me, in accents, to which I love at all times to listen." " Then, husband, I have to speak to you of Magnus." " Of Magnus ! Magnus ! what Magnus ? " asked her husband. " Of what Magnus ! Is it possible you can ask that question, when you prohibited either me or my daughter ever again to mention his name," said Bianca, surprised at the strange forgetfulness of her husband. " O, ay, I recollect now," said the man, smiling ; *' Magnus was the name of some pretty boy — a pretty page, or puny baron, that Beatrice saw, when she was a 40 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE. child, at the Lago Maggiore, and of "whom the little "wench spoke to me, one day, with all the enthusiasm of a love-sick maiden, although she could not then have been more than fourteen years of age. I forbade her to speak of him then, as I wished to frighten all such thoughts out of her head. I included you in that pro- hibition, as you too had seen him, and I was desirous that you should aid me in teaching her to forget him." " Then, husband, if you thought it desirable to laugh such thoughts out of Beatrice's head, you adopted the worst course you possibly could have taken. Your pro- hibition gave a permanency to ideas that might otherwise have been dissipated. But how came you to make*such a mistake about Magnus as to speak of him as a little page, or puny baron ? Know then the facts, as Agatha told them to me, previous to Beatrice visiting me in my oratory. This very day, Magnus, who chanced to be on the Aschaff, saw Beatrice in that favored nook on its banks, to which she is so fond of resorting — he there declared his love for her, and there avowed his intention to come here and demand from you her hand in marriage." " Arid what then is this INIagnus, who thus so confi- dently speaks of demanding, as if he were entitled to receive my daughter's hand in marriage ? " asked the husband of Bianca — and, as he did so, leaning with his right hand upon the altar-basement of the crucifix. " He is," answered Bianca, not noticing the agitation and the attitude of her husband. " He is," she said, " Magnus, Duke of Saxony ; and he spoke of bringing with him his guardian, Otho, Duke of Bavaria, and he speaks too of his attendants, and of his knights, and of — but good heavens ! husband, what is the matter Avith you ? Are you ill ? " THE ORATORY. 41 These latter words were addressed to one who did 3tOt hear. The hair of the misei'able man had risen upon his head in horror, as if each particular fibre of the in- sensate mass had been endowed with life — his teeth were set — his eyes, glassy and staring with terror, were fastened upon the ivory image of the Savior, which, in his rude, convulsive grasp, had been torn from the cross on which it had rested — and he stood thus facing it, and even looking defiance, and seeming to examine it, as if he could detect upon the fixed features a single line indicative of a triumph over him. It was an awful thing to behold this fiend-like outburst of living infuri- ated rage, and that inanimate semblance of meekness, of suffering, of patience, of agony, and of forgiveness. The man stood, as we might suppose, a deisperate, ago- nized demon, to stand defying the immovable Godhciid. He continued thus speechless, motionless, breathless, and then his rigid sinews relaxed — the figure of the Eedeemer fell from his grasp ; but was caught by the liands of Bianca, who reverently replaced it on the altar. He watched it, as it lay there, seemingly prostrate oe- fore him, and then exclaimed : " My God ! my God ! Thou hast abandoned me to perdition ! Must the punishment come in this world, as well as in the next ? Why afflict the innocent ? "Why break the heart of the sinless ? Why doom to destruction, and why drive to despair those who have never ofiended Thee ? My saint-like Bianca — and now too the virgin — martyr, Beatrice ! They too are doomed ! And, what ! O, misery and despair ! the wide world must hear of them and me. The Duke of Ba- varia comes to seek in marriage my daughter ! the daughter of — O, God ! if he should ever know whose 4* 42 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE. daughter he wished to wed — and why is all this ? it is — accursed be the day that witnessed it — and accursed be my lips that pronounced it — it is because of my vow — THE vow " And with these words, he rushed from the oratory, and rode out of the castle as if a demon had seized pos- session of him, and was bearing him off, despite of himself, to destruction. CHAPTER III, THE SERFS OF ASCHAFFENBURG. The morning following the events described in the preceding chapter was as fresh, as bright, as balmy, and as full of sweetness, as a May morning ever is in Fran- conia — earth, and air, and sky, and meadow land, and forest green, with the rippling AschafF, and the silvery Maine, all combined together to make the heart of man glad ; and if that heart were not thrilled by a contem- plation of the beauties of nature, it was because it had made for itself an abode for vice, or because it was a victim to the vices of others. In Aschaffenburg we have seen how, in the course of a few hours, one family was plunged into grief — and that apparently one endowed with all the blessings that this world can bestow upon her favorite children — how, despite of riches, and of health (and as far as two at least of them were concerned), of virtue and innocence, sorrow gnawed at their heart, and despair sat at their fireside. THE SERFS OF ASCHAFFENBURG. 43 Let US turn then, from the rich to the poor. It Is necessary that we shouki do so in pursuing the progress of our tale. Let us leave not merely the mansions where luxury abounds, but let us betake ourselves to a hamlet, where the inhabitants are so very poor, and the time in which they live is not yet twenty years beyond the first half of the eleventh century — that even the name of " freedom " is unknown to them. Let us en- treat our fair readers to accompany us to that very spot near which the charming town of Aschaffenburg is now situated. It is close to the place on which may be seen the confluence of the Aschaff and Maine. It is a hamlet of serfs, attached to the monastery which stands on the top of the high, steep hill that overlooks them, and that, with its thick walls and battlemented towers, seems at first sight to be a fortress — and so, in point of fact, for the purpose of defence, it is, as the times of which we treat, were such, that the wealth bestowed for the ser- vice of the church, and the benefit of the poor, was never so safely guarded as when it was known that there were good swords and strong partisans ready to repel its aggressors. For the present, however, there was no semblance of any such spoliating forrays ever having been made. The hamlet of the serfs was in the enjoyment of perfect peace. The men and the women who dwelt in it had now, for some hours, descended from the abbey chapel, •where they had all heard mass together — the men had then betaken themselves to the fields, or the forest, in pursuance of their daily occupations ; and the hamlet was alone occupied by women and children. The women were (what all women nowadays in country villages are not) well and comfortably clothed, although 4.i THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR. straw bonnets •svere then unknown, and cotton gowns an. invention reserved for future centuries. In their ruddy cheeks, and round, smooth faces, were afforded the best proofs that they had abundance of wholesome food ; while the shouts of laughter that arose from the playing groups of children showed that they at least were pre- served from the pangs and tortures which large cities and civilization have brought with them, in modern times, to unfed, uncared-for, or union-nurtured infancy. The serfs, the serfs' "svives, and the serfs' children, were perfectly aware that, if their harvests failed, the grana- ries of the monastery were well stocked, and that, as surely as the monks were provided with a repast, they would not be left destitute of a dinner. The serfs, too, were assured that all they had to do Mas to provide the monastery with that certain quantity of produce from their lands, which they had stipulated to give, and all the surplus was their own — to change it if they liked into coin, or into golden ornaments for their wives, or rich garments for their daughters. They had not " free- dom," to be sure ; but then they knew not want, nor cold, nor hunger, nor poverty ; and, we grieve to add, that, as far as they thought on the subject (which was but little) they did not even desire to be " free men ; " for they existed at a period of the world's history when their enjoyment of the blessings of this life, and the preservation of life itself were both far more secure for him, who could, as a serf, claim the protection of the Lord Abbot of Aschaffenburg monastery as his " mas- ter," than he who was poor, and, at the same time, *' free" and " friendless." We must not marvel then if the hamlet of serfs, at such a time, and upon a fine morning, in the month of THE SERFS OF ASCHAFFENBURG. 45 May, was a scene of quiet happiness, and of contented toil, nor — that it should become a spectacle of joyous and bustling preparation when the serfs' wives and chil- dren remarked that the venerable Meginherr, their lord and abbot, was hobbling down the hill, evidently with the intention of paying them a visit. The moment this news got abroad, there was a fresh ablution of hands and of faces, and detachments of girls brought in, as prisoners of war, the struggling urchins, whose "plays" had rendered another scrubbing of theii- rosy features indispensable. The Abbot Meginherr vras now in his eightieth year. Of these eighty years, seventy had been passed in the monastery at the top of the hill, and the remaining, or rather the preceding ten, as a child in the very hamlet in which he now walked ; for Meginherr had been the son of a serf. Having distinguished himself as a pupil in the monastery school by his abilities, and proving himself, by his piety, fitted for the priesthood, he had received his freedom from the former abbot, and then entering into holy orders, had served in all the offices of the monastery, until he was at last elected as its abbot. He had known the grandsires and the grandames of every man, woman, and child in Aschaffeuburg, and therefore he, in the truest and purest sense of the word, regarded them all as " his children " — as his children to whom good food and good clothing should in the first place be supplied — as his children for whose edu- cation he should provide, and for whose spiritual welfare he should be solicitous, because he believed himself to be responsible to God for the immortal soul of every one amongst them. A profound scholar, a great divine, and in the days of his vigor, an almost inspired preacher, he 46 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR. knew not, and thought not of any other place in the universe but Aschaffenburg, and the dependencies on its monastery. To him Aschaffenburg was every thing, for there was his allotted place in this world, and upon it he riveted his whole mind, and bestowed all his mental gifts ; and labored, by all his acts, to show how a Chris- tian should prepare to die. This good old man now entered the serfs' hamlet, and as he passed along, women and children knelt down to receive his blessing. He proceeded onward, until he came to a large tree in the middle of the high road, be- neath the spreading branches of which the serf-carpenter had constructed a species of rough, rustic arm chair, in which Meginherr seated himself. It was a favorite seat with him, and when he had been dead and gone many a year, was still regarded by the simple serfs with great reverence — as a species of relic of one, whom they be- lieved to be a saint in heaven. In this rude chair, the Abbot Meginherr seated him- self, and there he remained silent for a few minutes, ex- hausted by the toil of his walk, before he addressed a word to the persons by whom he was accompanied — these wei'e the prior of the monastery, two lay brothers, and a tall man wearing the white, coarse robe of a pil- grim. The Abbot Meginherr threw his cowl back from his head as he seated himself; but the prior, the lay brothers, and the pilgrim, all had their faces concealed by their deep hoods. " Stranger," said the abbot, first addressing himself to the pilgrim, " dost thou require at this moment, food, refreshment, or spiritual consolation ? " " No, good father, I requii'e nought pressingly from thee — I can wait thy leisure." THE SERFS OF ASCHAFFENBURG. 4T " Pardon me, for not asking thee the question before ; but an old man's tongue is not more nimble than his limbs, and these are such a weary burden, that I have scarcely strength to drag them along. I cannot speak when I am afoot, and having met thee on my path, I brought thee here, because it is the first place in which I could put the question to thee." " I thank thee, father," answered the pilgrim, " for thy kindness ; but what I have to say to thee can be as well told to-morrow as to-dav." " Then in that case I shall make thee, meanwhile, witness of a joyful sight. Halloa ! where is my grand- nephew — the little flaxen-haired Meginherr? Come hither, sirrah ! Now, look at that urchin. Sir Pilgrim. Are not his cheeks shamefully red — and mark you how the rogue smiles. He is not more than eight years of age, and I grieve to say it, that he can say his pater, and ave, and credo in Latin, as perfectly as if he were a bishop — and sure I am, more acceptably to heaven, than if he were an abbot. See — the rogue's cheeks are becoming more disgracefully red than they were be- fore, because I praise him. Come hither, child, and kiss your poor old kinsman. And now, boy, take all the children of the village with you to the forest, and these two good brothers, who have got with them an enor- mous basket filled with snow-white new bread, and fresh butter, and jars of cream, and more dates, and plums, and dried grapes, than you and all your companions can devour between this and sunset. Away then with ye, boys and girls, all to the forest — but mind, I shall ex- pect that one portion of your play shall be to gather the sweet wild flowers, and weave them into garlands, that you may bring them to the abbey church in the morn- 48 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR. ing, and place them on the altar of the Virgin — • I shall look upon every one of them as your little prayers for her intercession during this day, and to-morrow, and all the days of your lives. Away, jNIeginherr — away, boys — away, girls — away to the forest — have a merry day of it — be good, and you will be happy — away ! away !" " Away ! away ! to the forest " were the words that now rang sharply through the air, as they came forth, in the shrill, chirping joyous tones of childhood. " Away ! away ! to the forest " were repeated in the deep base of the two lay brothers, as they hurried after the galloping groups of children, and scarcely able to disguise the joy they felt, in thinking of the happy day before them — that of promoting the sports of the chil- dren, and of protecting them from the possibihty of any accident occurring to them. The Abbot Meginherr listened with intense delight to those joyous sounds. He smiled to see the children laugh, and his eyes filled with tears of pleasure, when their merry, and to him most musical, huzzas ! reached his ears. He turned his head in the direction which the children were taking, and in that attitude he re- mained as long as he could detect a single sound from the infantine band that had so lately clustered around him. While he was thus occupied, there advanced towards where he sat, a tall, thin man, whose skin seemed to be, from constant exposure to the weather, of the same tex- ture and hue as tanned leather. This man's garments were composed of a leathern jerkin, over which were fastened, as if they were a robe, the skins of two wolves strongly stitched together, and confined at the waist by THE SERFS OF ASCHAFFEXBURG. 49 a broad belt of leather, from which depended a short sword and a scrip, and iir which was fastened a dagger ; whilst at his back was a quiver of arrows, and in his right hand a stout bow. His feet were garnished with sandals, but he wore nothing on his head to protect him from the inclemency of the seasons. He advanced towards the abbot, for the purpose of addressing him, when he was intercepted by the prior, who said to him : " Well, Bernhard, what brings thee, at this time of day, idling in the hamlet, M'hen it is thy duty to be in the forest ? Dost thou too wish to waste our means in playing the truant ? " " No, vSir Prior, I am no idler. My lord, the abbot, never called me so. I come hither, because I have been performing ray duty as a forester." " I do not understand thee, Bernhard. How can thy duty in the forest bring thee here ? " " Because, Sir Prior, I have seen strange things in the forest ; the knowledge of which I do not think should be confined to myself." " Ho ! some idle tale, I warrant — some flimsy excuse which may impose upon the weakness of a poor, old, doting man." " I am, Sir Prior, the serf of the lord abbot — not thine. He shall judge my actions ; and, if he is as harsh as thou art, I shall willingly submit to his sen- tence. It will, I know, be that of a father, who may, however kindly disposed, yet mistakenly, severely punish his child. With thy permission I shall sj^eak to the abbot." So answered the sturdy forester to the prior, and then advancing to where the abbot still sat, he knelt down, and kissing his hand, said — 5 50 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR. *' Father Abbot, thy blessing upon thy unworthy child." " God bless thee, Bernhard," replied the abbot, lay- ing his hand upon the head of his serf ; " for thou hast ever been a good and faithful servant. What news from the forest, my son ? " " Strange news. Father Abbot," said Bernhard, stand- ing up ; " strange and curious news. Last night, whilst I was on the watch in the forest — I saw — descending from a tree — the beech tree, the branches of which overhang the Aschaff — you know the place I speak of, father ? " " I do, my son — proceed." " I saw there a man descending from the beech tree — I thought he was a thief, who had come to steal some of our venison, father, and I therefore kept a sharp eye upon him. That which appeared very strange to me, however, was that though his jerkin was of green, it was of the richest make ; and what was still more curi- ous, his face was blackened. He seemed to me to be waiting for some person. In that conjecture I was cor- rect. In a short time one dressed precisely as himself, and also with blackened face, joined him. They spoke a few words ; but what they said I could not hear, and then proceeded together to the creek, where a boat was in waiting for them. That boat I could perceive was manned by ten men, and no sooner had these strangers entered it, than it was rowed rapidly away, and soon disappeared from my sight. I have looked carefully round the forest this morning — I can find no traces of any snares having been set. Whatever has brought these strangers so near to the monastery, it certainly is not (and that I am sure of) in pursuit of game. 1 deemed THE SEEPS OP ASCHAPPENBURG. 51 it then to be my duty to come here and tell thee what I had seen." ''Thou didst quite right, my child. Nay, it would have been wrong in thee to have concealed from me the knowledge of these things. They are, in truth, strange — passing strange — I cannot divine what they signify. What think you of them. Sir Prior ? " " I think, good father, that our watchful forester has fallen asleep, that he has had a strange dream, and that instead of stopping in the dull forest all this day, he has come to the hamlet to amuse us, and — himself, by narrating his vision," was the sarcastic answer of the prior. "As I am a living and a walking man at this mo- ment, so was I living and walking all last night in the forest, and saw all the things which I have this moment stated," said Bernhard. " What thinkest thou. Sir Pilgrim ? " asked the abbot. " One like thee, who has seen many strange lands, must better judge of such a wondrous tale than I can." " I think," replied the pilgrim, " that the forester has told the truth. I think the Intelligence he gives may be turned to good account ; for those he has seen may be preparing not to despoil the monastery of a few deer, but its altars of their richest ornaments ; and if I might venture to advise thee, I would say that not a moment should be lost In putting the monastery in a state of defence. These may be spies from a hostile army." " But we have no Intelligence of any foes .being in our land. This is Franconia, and not Saxony. AVe all love and obey King Henry here ; and we have not, like the Saxons, tumultuous serfs, who say they are freemen; nor rebellious nobles, who will not permit themselves to 52 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR. be governed as the king chooses ; nor have ^ve yet heard of a Franconian bishop presuming to speak, hke the proud prelate of Halberstadt, of the rights and hb- erties of the church, as opposed to the privileges and prerogatives of the sovereign. Why then should we be apprehensive of danger ? " asked the prior. *' For the same reason that the hen in the farm yard is apprehensive for the safety of her chickens, when she beholds the kite permitted, with impunity, to rifle the dovecot," was the reply of the pilgrim. " Ye may con- sider yourselves safe, because ye have not been attacked ; but calculate not upon the duration of any such safety, if it is dependent upon the opinion of those disposed to do evil, and who may regard you, not as strong, but so weak as to be contemptible. Ye may not have been oppressed as Saxony has been, because it may have been believed that your oppression was practicable at any moment. If ye would secure yourselves from dan- ger, prove that you have the power of punishing those who do you wrong." " The advice you give. Sir Pilgrim," said the abbot, " is that of an honest, a wise, and a brave man, and it shall be followed by me. Hasten, then, my dear brother and prior, to the monastery ; summon instantly all our armed retainers to our aid ; see that the walls be manned. We have provision enough within our granaries, and our foes shall find — but God forbid that we have any ! that the old walls, and the brave hearts of the monks and laymen in Aschaffenburg monastery can withstand not only a vigorous assault, but a lengthened siege. Go, Sir Prior — go at once, and heaven's blessing go with thee." " I go. Father Abbot," replied the prior, muttering THE SERFS OF ASCHAFFENBUEG. 53 as he "went, " more wasteful and useless expenditure ! What a consumption of our choice wine and our best viands upon these military retainers, as long as they garrison our monastery ! And then, there is the loss of money upon military preparations ! — money — money ! — and / want it all — all — all. A plague upon this pilgrim — a plague too upon this old, undying abbot — spendthrift and wastepurse as he is ! " With such thoughts in his mind, rather than Avith such expressions in his mouth, the prior hastened up the hill towards the monastery. The old abbot smiled, and thought to himself — " A good man — a very good man is our prior ; but too anxious for the mere temporal prosperity of the monastery. He is moved to that by an excellent mo- tive, doubtless. Ah, yes ! despite his rough nature, he is a truly pious man ; and when he shall have to look upon all here as his children, as I do, I have little doubt he will be an excellent and even compassionate father to them. I was not as careful a prior as he is, and I am sure he will be a better abbot than I am. But I pray your pardon. Sir Pilgrim, for not being more attentive to thee. Thou seest how my time has been occupied by the various matters pertaining to my happi- ness, and the discharge of my duty as abbot. What, may I ask thee, is the last shrine thou hast visited ? " " The last shrine, Father Abbot, that I visited, is the greatest upon this earth — it is the land which may be regarded as all one shrine ; for its soil, its waters, its hills, its groves, and its city, Avcre the scenes of the birth, life, labors, sufferings, death, and resurrection of our Savior." *' What ! then, thou hast been in the Holy Land ? " 5* 54 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR. " I have, father." '' O, happy — thrice happy man ! And, O, how our temporal attachments chng to us ! I would inquu-e of thee if in thy pilgrimage thou didst encounter a monk of mine, — a good youth he was, — Lambert, the monk of Aschaffenburg ? " asked the abbot, eagerly. " I did, father," said the pilgrim ; " he is living — he is well — and may be daily expected home. I knew him well, father ; and have often heard him express his anxious desire to return, in the hope he may see you li\'ing and strong, and that you may, in your goodness, pronounce your pardon upon him for presuming to pro- ceed on his pilgrimage without having first obtained your blessing." " Alas, poor Lambert ! " said the old abbot, bursting into tears, " I have prayed daily for him since he de- parted. And now, good pilgrim, I pray of you, should I die before Lambert does return — that I accept through your lips his expressed intention of asking for my for- giveness ; and that I now declare him absolved from the sin of disobedience — that I not only pardon him, but bestow upon him the kiss of peace, and pronounce a special blessing upon him. All this you Avill say to him, in case it should not please God, that I again see him in the body," " All this shall, if life be spared to me, be told to Lambert," said the pilgrim. " Wilt thou," continued the abbot, " to this favor add another ? Wilt thou not only pardon but gratify an old man's curiosity, who, until now, has never spokeu with any one who has visited Jerusalem ? " " Most Avillingly, father," reiilied the pilgrim ; *' and as I believe it will increase thy pleasure if there be THE RESCUE AXD RECAPTURE. 55 Other listeners than thyself, thou canst, if thou "n^ishest it, have all the women in the hamlet around thee to hear the tale." " Thanks," joyously exclaimed the abbot — "a thou- sand thanks, good pilgrim — thou dost indeed know the secret of the old abbot's heart — that he can have no real pleasure in this world, if it is not partaken by his children. All the women — sayest thou ? Nay, we we will have all the men of the hamlet too. Sound, honest Bernhard, thy horn — give forth the notes, by which the men may know they are on the instant to return to the hamlet." Bernhard readily complied with such a command. The discordant notes of the horn speedily wakened up from their toil all the serfs ; and in a few minutes after- wards they were to be seen running on all sides towards the place of their abode. Each man, as he arrived, knelt before the abbot, and received his benediction. Meanwhile the women had brousrht out stools and benches, and tables ; and there, seated around the abbot and the pilgrim, they patiently waited to hear, not " the latest news," but the first news that had ever been brought directly to them from Palestine. CHAPTER IV. THE RESCUE AND RECAPTURE. It was a goodly sight to look upon — the face of that venerable, white-haired, feeble, octogenarian abbot, as 56 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR. he sat in his rustic chair, shaded from the warm sun- shine by the branches of the wide-spreading tree, and gazing upon the faces of his contented dependants, •whose eyes were hghted up with love and reverence for him, and whose Hvely, noiseless attitudes demon- strated with what intense curiosity they awaited the tidings of that holy land, of which they had so often heard before, but never until now had hoped to see one by whom it had been visited. * " My children," said the abbot, " before this good pilgrim begins the narrative, I wish you to bear in mind, that you are to be no losers, by so readily coming round me at my call. You are here in obedience to me ; and therefore I intend, when I return to the monastery, to have it notified that you are all to be accounted as hav- ing done an entire day's work for me, and you must each obtain the full reward for it. No thanks, — no thanks, my dear children, but say at your prayers to- night one additional ave on behalf of a weak and err- ing old man, who must speedily be removed from amongst you. And now. Sir Pilgrim, proceed with your narration of the pilgrimage to Jerusalem." " I believe. Father Abbot," said the pilgrim, " that there never was, since the first days that the blessed Boniface brought from England to Germany the glad tidings of salvation, such a magnificent sight beheld as that which the City of Mayence and its environs pre- sented in the autumn of the year 10G4." The pilgrim's tale was here abruptly brought to a close, by loud, piercing shrieks that came from out of the depths of the forest, -which, though distant, were so expressive of fear and horror, that the stoutest heart quailed at their sound. THE EESCUE AND RECAPTURE. 6T The serfs started to their feet with terror, and looked in each other's faces, affrighted to find upon all the same expression of vague apprehension and dismay. " Good Lord protect us ! " said the Abbot Meginherr, who was the first to speak ; " what can be the meaning of all this ! " " It means," said the pilgrim, " that some scandalous outrage is committing, — that here, as elsewhere, the strong arm is oppressing the weak, — that brutal ruf- fianism, combined with power, is glutting its will in the agonies of its victims* I know the sounds well — I have often heard them before, and never did they reach my ear, that I did not thank my God that I was a Christian, a man, and a soldier. But this is not a time for surmises, but for deeds. Away, ye serfs, to your huts — seize your swords, or if you have not swords, any thing that has an edge and a point, for the head and heart of a villain. And you, Bernhard — you who can track the wolf, and front him boldly too, now hie thee to the forest, and bring us speedily intelli- gence where we may fight for virtue, and against vil- lany ; and should the opportunity offer, hesitate not to bring us back the head of a human wolf." " No blood — no blood — I will have no blood of man shed, by serf of mine," said the Abbot .Meginherr. " No, father," answered the pilgrim, and assuming, in such a conjuncture as this, that which had plainly been his ancient habit of command in warfare ; " no — not a single drop — not as much as an angry cat's claw would elicit from the chubby finger of a wanton, playsome urchin ; except it be in defence of Christianity, the church, innocence, or morality — of the wives, the chil- dren, and the homes of yoiu* serfs. But, if the serpent 68 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR. "will attack you, and the wild beast fly at you — I care not whether he wear mottled skua, or iron-shelled jer- kin, or appear before me with head of shaggy hair, or shining helmet — excuse me, father, if, in my own de- fence and yours — I maim or massacre him outright." " Sir Pilgrim," said the abbot, " I perceive that thou art a soldier ; and if, as thou sayest, my peaceful people are unjustly attacked, I intrust their defence to thee. In the absence of my knights, I give to thee, on this occasion, the command over my serfs. God grant that I may have only to admire thy courage, without having to witness thy prowess ! " Such was the prayer of the Abbot Meginherr : but it was not destined to be fulfilled ; for, whilst he spoke, and even before the forester, Bernhard, could have pro- ceeded a bowshot distance from the pilgrim, there was witnessed a scence which held abbot, and pilgrim, and Bernhard breathless. Issuing out of the forest, and pushing her fleet and light-limbed palfrey up the steep hill towards the mon- astery, a young female appeared. She was followed by about twenty horsemen — all dressed in green, and all wearing helmets, undecorated with plumage or orna- ment of any description, but glistening as if they were composed of molten silver — all had light spears, shields, and short swords ; and the horses that they rode seemed to have been selected more from their speed than their strength. As long as the pursuers and the pursued were upon the level soil, the latter, cither from the superior speed of her palfrey, or her better knowl- edge of the ground, had the advantage ; but of those advantages she was manifestly deprived when she began to ascend the acclivity. THE RESCUE AND RECAPTUEE. 59 " The female, whoever she is, is seeking sanctuary in the monastery," observed the abbot. " She is seeking protection for her innocence against ruffian violence," remarked the pilgrim ; " but that, her steed will never win for her. Her fate is inevitable. I know not who she may be ; but I can tell her destiny." " Then thou art a magician ! " remarked Bernhard, shrinking back from the side of the pilgrim, to which he had returned. " No, Bernhard ; but I am a man who has eyes to see, and ears to hear with, and who can reason upon what I both see and hear. I know these men by their helmets — they are the horsemen of Worms — those who call themselves the body-guards of King Henry — the panders to his vices, and the ready instruments of all his passions. This female, although I cannot recognize at this distance a feature in her face, is, I can tell thee, young and beautiful — as young, but not, I am sure, as beautiful as her of whom those golden-shaded hairs re- mind me — and she has had the misfortune of being seen and admired by King Henry himself, or by one of his myrmidons, and they are now in pursuit of her to capture a new victim for his brutality. But see — it is as I told you — they are before and behind her ! And O ! — look ! she stops her steed in despair — and now, — good heavens ! she is fainting — she will be killed by falling' from her horse ! Alas ! alas ! that such deeds should be done in the face of day — and that heaven can permit them, since man has neither the strength to prevent, nor the power to punish them," " Thou art wrong, Sir Pilgrim," said Bernhard, " the lady has not fallen to the earth ; she has been caught by two of the horsemen. And now, see, they have all 60 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR. clus^jered in a body around her ; they are, I suppose, consulting what they will do. They will not bring her to the monastery, that is certain ; for the heads of all are turned away from it — and see, they are now guiding her in this direction. Observe them now arranging themselves like a squadron, four abreast ; and as sure as I am a forester, they are conveying their captive hither- wards, and will march her straight through the hamlet." " And wherefore through the hamlet, Bernhard ? Can they hope to be received here as friends ? " inquired the pilgrim. " No, no," answered the forester. " We know nought here of the citizens of Worms, of their pranks, or their crimes ; but they conduct her through this hamlet be- cause it is the straight road to the river, where, if thou wilt turn thy eyes, thou niayest perceive there are sev- eral strange boats now lying." " Poor creature ! poor innocent and unoffending vic- tim ! " exclaimed the pilgrim. " But one last, desperate effort can be made on thy behalf. Have I thy permis- sion. Father Abbot, to make it, and to save thy territory from the reproach that so scandalous an outrage as this can be committed upon it, with impunity ? " " Thou hast my full permission, sanction, and authori- ty," said the abbot. " To rescue virtue from the fangs of vice is a duty imposed upon every Christian, and to shrink from performing it is to be guilty of a grievous sin. Whilst then thou usest the arm of the flesh, I will contend for thee by prayer — humble prayer, that God may be pleased to reward thy valor with victory — and that thy virtue may be crowned with glory both in this world and the next." And so saying the feeble old man arose — knelt down THE KESCUE AND RECAPTURE. 61 before the chair on which he had previously been sitting — detached his crucifix from his girdle, and placing it erect before him on the chair, and clasped between his two hands, he was soon so lost in prayer and meditation, that every circumstance that subsequently occurred was alike unheard and unregarded by him. '' Bernhard," said the pilgrim, " on thy coolness and steadiness, I place my main reliance for success in the coming struggle. Hast thou a quick eye and a firm nerve ? " " Since I was a boy, I never yet missed what I aimed at. I can wait for the wolf until he is within two yards of me," was the brief answer of Bernhard. " That is well," said the pilgrim, " and now mark what I say to thee. Let this body of horsemen come within twenty yards of thee. There," said he, pointing to a hut which advanced some distance into the road, and, with a projecting buttress upon the outer side, made the path at that spot more narrow and confined than in any other portion of the hamlet. " There — when the horseman, who rides in the centre of the group, and on the right hand of the female, reaches that spot, take aim at him, at whatever thou likest best, heart, visage, or helmet, but let it be such an aim as that thy arrow will be sure to unhorse him — do this when thou hearest me say, * the Lord have mercy on thy soul ' — count then three, slowly to thyself, and let thy arrow go. What- ever else occur, get thou quickly by my side, draw thy stout sword, fixncy thou hast not men before thee, but wild beasts, for they are wild beasts, and cut them down as quickly as thou canst ; be s-ure that the more of their blood thou sheddest, the less of foul crimes wilt thou leave upon the fair face of God's earth." 6 62 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE. Bernliard disappeared from the side of the pilgrim, who saw himself now surrounded by all the men and women of the hamlet. " Women," said the pilgrim, " fly ye out of the ham- let. You can do no good here, and may occasion much harm, if the rude soldiers, who are about to pass here, should see your fair faces. It might cause you to be torn away from father, mother, husband, brother, lover, or children. Should you hear the sounds of a combat, do not appear, until there is no other cry coming forth than the sad wailing of wounded men. Then there ye will be wanted, and then only your presence can be use- ful to friend or foe. Away, then, and hide yourselves, where best you can, fi-om the sight of a ribald soldiery." These orders were obeyed. The pilgrim then looked to see how his new soldiers were arrayed. He found that a few had swords, others hatchets, others forks, others spears, others reaping hooks, and that two or three stout young fellows had brought out ploughshares. These men he planted, some behind the walls of the projecting houses, so as not to be visible to the horse- men when advancing from the opposite side of the ham- let ; and others he placed in the houses out of view, and to all he gave his commands, in these few brief words : "My brave men of Aschaffenburg, I am sorry to place such stout soldiers as you are out of the view of an enemy, but the truth is, that badly equipped as you are, a thousand of you could not withstand, for two minutes, the solid charge of twenty experienced horse- men, armed with spears. Our only chance with them is for you to attack them unexpectedly from all sides, back and front, sides and rear ; but mind, not a man of you is to stir until you see one of their men unhoised. THE RESCUE AND RECAPTURE. 63 The moment that occurs, rush at them ; do not try to strike a man of them in the breast, for there you will only be liammering or probing at a cuirass ; aim as well as you can at tlieu' faces, and if you are not tall enough for that, then at their stomachs, and if you cannot do that, try and hamstring their horses. You are not to strike a blow until you see one horseman down ; but the instant you see that, then stab, hackle, cut, and slash away at them until you get them all down. And now away, for they are fast approaching us." The ready, lightsome, cheerful, and punctual spirit with which the pilgrim observed his orders were ful- filled, inspired him with an almost confident hope that the effort which he was about to make would be crowned with success. In a few minutes he saw the horsemen entering the village, and he, at the same instant, perceived that not only the face, but nearly the figure of the female was completely concealed by a robe which, fashioned like a monk's habit, covered her face with its cowl, and dis- guised the garments worn beneath by its ample folds His practised eye showed him, too, that the preparations he had been making for their reception had not alto- gether escaped the notice of the horsemen, for they advanced slowly and steadily, and in perfect order, and each man firmly grasping his spear, as if prepared to make a charge upon any body of persons that might be arrayed against them for the purpose of impeding their march. The pilgrim, who stood in front of the abbot, so as to guard the venerable man, by his own person, from the possibility of any injury reaching him, here stepped for- ward so far into the high road as to attract upon himself 64 THE POPE AND THE EMPEEOR. the attention of the horsemen. His doing: so brought him in advance of the projecting huts, so as to be on a line with the spot to which he had directed the attention of Bernhard. The unwonted silence of the hamlet evidently appalled the horsemen. Their loud talk, which was heard as they passed the first houses, became, as if by general consent, completely hushed, so that, by the time they had drawn near to where the pilgrim stood, not a sound was to be heard but the regular tramp of the horses' feet in the centre of the road. The horsemen looked at the pilgrim, but did not deem it necessary to bestow even a passing word upon him. The pilgrim waited until the central group was on the point of passing him, and then there was heard a word, pronounced in a voice so distinct and clear, that the hamlet rung again with the sound. It was the simple word — " halt." The word, as pronounced by the lips of the pilgrim, was involuntarily, almost unconsciously obeyed by the horsemen ; for, soldiers as they were, they could not fail to recognize that it was given forth by one long accus- tomed to command in many a hard-fought field. "Who bids us halt ?" inquired the commander of the troop, recovering from the momentary surprise into which he had been cast. " I do," said the pilgrim ; " and it is to demand of thee and thy followers, in the name of the Lord Abbot of Aschaffenburg, within whose district thou now art, why and wherefore thou hastr, without his sanction, first pre- sumed to arrest this maiden, and then, having arrested her, why thou hast not brought the captive before him, in order that he might ascertain whether or not she can provide herself with compurgators, by which her inno- THE RESCUE AND RECAPTURE. 65 ceuce of any charge alleged against her may be demon- strated." " Sir Pilgrim," sneeringly answered the commander of the horsemen, *' it may suffice the good Abbot of As- chaffenburg to know that we are soldiers of the loyal city of Worms ,• that we have banished our own bishop from our city, because he was not obedient to King Henry ; and that we care as little for thy abbot ; that we trample upon his authority ; that we defy his power, and that we have arrested this female, not because we allege that she has done to others or to us aught of wrong, but because it is oiu- pleasure to make her our captive. This is our sole answer to the question put to us by a wandering pilgrim, on behalf of the fasting, psalm-singing, discipline-using Abbot of Aschaifenburg." " Then, as thy sole reply," said the pilgrim, advancing towards the troop, " I say to thee, miserable man, may the Lord have mercy on thy soul ! " The commander of the troop looked down with con- tempt upon the pilgrim, and then gazing direct before him, he pointed with his sword, and seemed about to pronounce the word '* onwai-d," when he was seen to fall seemingly lifeless to the earth, and at the same moment a crash was heard ; but the fall seemed to precede the riving noise that was made as an arrow head tore its way through his polished helmet. At the same moment the sword of the fallen man was seized by the pilgrim, and, before the man's companion could recover from his siu'prise, a vigorous lunge with the same sword, now wielded by the pilgrim's hand, sent that companion senseless to the earth. As the leader of the troop fell, a clamorous and raging crowd of armed serfs burst out upon all sides on 6* 66 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR. the horsemen. The horsemen, confused, and assailed without sufficient space to use their spears, had to dra^Y their swords, and aiming as well as they could down upon the unguarded heads of the serfs, at length effiscted their escape, each man, however, bearing with him a wound, and leaving, as the result of this short and des- perate conflict, three of their men dead in the hamlet, and finding that their female captive had been rescued from them. The fugitive horsemen retreated back to that part of the hamlet by which they had first appeared, as it was the only place that they could perceive to be fi-ee from assailants. Here the men rallied, and recovering in a few minutes from the panic fear with which they had been fii'st seized, they stanched their bleeding wounds ; and as they did so, he who seemed to be the second in command, observed : " A sad day's work this — four of our men killed in as many seconds." " Nay, but three," replied a soldier ; " I noticed that our commander, Lieman, had no blood upon his face as he fell. The arrow that shot him down could have only stunned him ; but I warrant he will, from such a knock as that, have a headache for a week to come." *' I doubt it much, comrade," said the second com- mander. " Let us but return to the kmg, without that female, and neither Lieman, nor any man here, will this day week have a head upon his shoulders. Better the sledge hammer of a serf, than endure what, perchance, may be our own lot, a lingering death by torture under the practised hand of King Henry's headsman. But mark ! something strange has occurred amongst our foes. They aie all in dismay, clustering under a tree, and they THE RESCUE AND RECAPTURE. 67 have left alone and in the middle of the road, that de- mon pilgrim, and our captive. Now then is the moment to make a charge upon them whilst they are in confu- sion. AVe have two things to choose between, death in the hamlet, or death on the scaffold. If we succeed we shall have full purses — if we fail we choose the easier death." " Charge, Egen, charge for your life," said the com- mander Lieman, here running up to his men. " I have done something to distract the attention of the serfs. Soldiers ! let the four in the first line set your lances all at the pilgrim — run him through on the spot — let the four next carry off the woman living or dead — and as to the remainder draw your swords, cut right and left until we get back to the river bank. I will meet you there as best I can — charge." The order was readily and promptly obeyed by des- perate men, who felt that their only chance of saving their lives depended upon the success of the effort they were then about to make. The pilgrim, the moment that he saw unhorsed the two leaders of the troop, caught" hold of the female, who was absolutely senseless from terror, and lifting her from her palfrey, he bore her out of the thick of the melee, wheeHng, as he did so, his sword around him, and in- flicting a desperate gash upon every horse or horseman that came within its swing. He saw that his brave rus- tics did their work heartily — that the troop in one mo- ment was in utter confusion, and in the next completely routed. He stepped, with as little sense of compassion for the fallen soldiers, over their blood-stained gashed bodies, as if they were so many logs of timber that lay in his path^ and then gently setting the woman down. 68 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROB. that she might rest upon one of the benches that had been used by the serfs, M'hilst sitting and Hstening to his tale, he, with the intention of giving to the poor bewil- dered captive some air, removed the deep cowl, which up to that moment had concealed her features. No sooner, however, did his eyes rest upon those del- icate features, that snow-white skin, those pouting lips, and the long, inky, black eyelashes which concealed from him the full dark eyes, than he started back invol- untarily, as if he had been tlie witness to some wondrous miracle, in which is exhibited at once the Almighty power, goodness, and mercy of the Creator. " 0, God ! O, God ! can this be true," he exclaimed. "Is tliis not a dream? — a dream of years, and one that I could hardly hope would ever be i'ealized. But can it be — that I see her now — see her at last, — and O, God! — she is dead — but no — no — to think that is to doubt of God's goodness. It is but a swoon — water ! good Bernhard ! — hasten with water — as for me, I cannot venture to take my eyes from this face. Bernhard, some M^ater, quickly." Bernhard did not hear the pilgrim. He was far away from him, beneath the spreading tree. It was the only order the pilgrim gave to him that day which was not, on the instant, obeyed by Bernhard. The pilgrim continued to look on the beauteous crea- ture that still lay senseless before him. At length she was heard to sigh — then gently moved, and then opened her eyes, but shrank back appalled from the pilgrim, for she perceived that he had seized one of her hands, and was covering it with kisses. " Ah ! " said the pilgrim, " I see thou canst not know me, concealed as I am beneath this strange garb. Dost thou not know me then ? " THE EESCUE AND EECAPTURE. 69 " Kno-w J'Aee," said Beatrice, for it was she who had been thus rescued, and in whose speaking features were portrayed perplexity and surprise ; " know thee, Sir Pilgrim — how is it possible I should know thee, since I have until this moment never before looked upon thee ? " " Not know me ! " such were the words uttered by the pilgrim ; but he was permitted to say no more. The rally of the horsemen outside the village — the movements of Lieman upon being restored to his senses — the agitation and the commotion of the serfs — the escape of Lieman — the return to the attack, of the horsemen, Avere alike unheeded once the tuiveiled fea- tures of Beatrice were looked upon by the pilgrim. They were as completely unnoticed, as the advance of the horsemen was unheard by him, when they came clat- tering and charging up the high road, and four horsemen ran at him full tilt, striking him at the same moment with their lances. Of the four lances that struck him, the shafts of three shivered to pieces, and the resistance to the fourth was so great that the trooper was unhorsed. The bloAvs, however, were well aimed, for having carried the pilgrim onward for a short distance, they flung him to the earth, with the blood gushing from his mouth. As he fell — for there was none other in all that hamlet who now raised a sword in her behalf — the shrieking Beatrice was again seized on, and carried off to the river. She was swept away by her ravishers as unheeded by the serfs of Aschaffenbm-g, as if they had but plucked from the soil some noxious weed, and bore it to the water's edge. And why, it may be asked, were those, who had but a few minutes before perilled life and limb to rescue 70 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR. Beatrice from tlie hands of the ruffian soldiers of Worms, now so utterly forgetful of her ? For the same reason that has ever made mankind selfish in the midst of an overwhelming calamity : because, when the heart is smitten by some awful and astounding grief, it appears to be deprived of the capability of compassionat- ing the sorrow of another, which, though as great as its own to the sufferer, is unlike to it, in its nature and degree. The serfs of AschafFenburg thought not of fighting in defence of Beatrice, for the hamlet in which they dwelt had been polluted by a sacrilegious murder ! No sooner had the perfidious Lieman recovered his senses from the blow which had stricken him to the earth, and perceived that his troop had been completely routed, and the attention of the pilgrim engaged with Beatrice, than he snatched from the ground the arrow that had felled him, and rushed at the abbot, who was still on his knees, and engaged in prayer ; and, insti- gated by the fell spirit of the new sect, " the Paterini," of which he was a member, he experienced a malignant pleasure in directing the weapon with such a fearful aim into the back of his victim, that the arrow head went right through the heart, and, at length, caught in the wood of the crucifix which was, in the momentary pang of death, drawn closely up to the good old man's breast And thus was the venerable Abbot Meginherr dis- covered by his serfs — dead, in the attitude of prayer — and with his own crucifix nailed to liis heart — his pure blood oozing out on the image of his Savior, to whose service he had devoted the eighty years of his stainless, ever-loving, ever-pure, and ever-faithful life ! To gaze, horror-stricken, upon such a sight as this. THE RESCUE AND RECAPTURE. 71 "was the grief of griefs to the poor serfs of Aschaffcn- burg, and they had neither hearts to feel nor thoughts to give to the misfortunes of another — and that too, a stranger, who could never be as afflicted as they were for the death of the abbot ; for they had been his serfs. He had been their lord, their master, their father, their protector, their friend, their adviser, their consoler. There was not a hand there that he had not enriched by his bounty ; there was not a tongue there that had not blessed him for his thoughtfulness and his affection ; there was not an ear there that had not heard from him the sweet words of consolation in this world, and of hope for the world to come. To them he had been all in all, and yet, almost in their presence, he had been brutally massacred ! All — men, women, and children, knelt down and prayed around the dead body of Meginherr, the Lord Abbot of Aschaffenburg. Bernhard, the forester, recognized in the dead body of the abbot his own arrow — he remembered too the face of him whose life he had spared in the battle. Bernhard, the forester, knelt with the other serfs ; but he did not pray — he made a vow — and that was a vow that he would have, by fair means if he could, and if not, by foul — ay, foul as the deed itself — and with the same arrow too — the life of his lord's assassin. 72 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROB. CHAPTEE V. THE WOUNDED PILGRIM. The clamor of battle had been succeeded by tbe sobs of men, and the piercing shrieks of women and children. Both noises had reached the inhabitants of the monas- tery, on the topmost point of the hill, and they were speedily seen descending its declivity, priests and monks as they were, and hurrjdng to the hamlet of the serfs, hopeful that by their presence they might bring spiritual consolation to the dying and help to the wounded. With such intentions they came, and those amongst them who were practised in surgery (and not a few of them were so), soon found employment for their skill on the wounded heads, gashed arms, and dislocated shoulders of the serfs — others betook themselves, with tears, to the care of the mortal remains of the slain Meginherr, whilst a few raised from the earth the ap- parently lifeless body of the pilgrim. To their surprise they founH him breathing, although still senseless. They removed his habit, for the purpose of seeing where he had been wounded ,• and then, to their astonishment, they discovered that the pilgrim's body was covered with a coat of mail, worn close to the skin, and without leathern doublet beneath it. " He is even now recovering ; and in a few minutes his senses will be restored to him. He has," said a young monk, " received four bruises. The spear points could not break through this thick and skilfully twisted coat of mail. The force, however, with which they were diiven has caused severe contusions, and to these THE CAPTIYE ON THE RIVER MAINE. 73 is to be added a bad fall, by which one of the small blood vessels has been injured. Quick — brothers ! '" he shouted aloud to his fellow-monks — " this pilgrim must be carried to our infirmary. We must have the best leeches in the monastery to attend him. In three weeks I hope to see him restored to perfect health." CHAPTER VI. THE CAPTIVE ON THE RIVER MAINE. The barge in which Eeatrice was conveyed from As- chaffenburg was one that appeared to have been con- structed for the double purposes of luxury and security; for, between its centre and its stern there had been ele- vated what might be called an apartment, rather than a cabin, composed of wood, so solidly constructed, and the matting outside kept in such a constant state of moisture, that the noonday heat was not felt by those enclosed within its precincts. On the inside, it was covered with the richest silks, an'd its floor strewed with soft cushions and ottomans, whilst attached to one of its walls was a table, on which lay, in vessels of gold, the most tempting fruits and viands, with the richest and most cooling wines. To this apartment there were no windows, so that the person enclosed could neither see M hat was passing outside, nor could any prying eye from without behold what was going on in the cabin. Abun- dance of light and air were admitted through the roof, which was covered with a species of lattice-work, that 7 74 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR. could be turned, either from within or without, so as to keep the apartment constantly shaded from the rays of the midday sun. At the stern of the boat there was a space left for three persons — a helmsman and two others, and in front of the cabin were the seats for the rowers, and for those who might be in personal attendance upon the master of the vessel. This barge was, upon the present occasion, preceded by a large boat, and followed by two others, and all of them filled with soldiers, who were armed with short pikes, swords, bows, and arrows. It was thus escorted that Beatrice was carried away from Aschaffenburg, and, aided by the current and the sturdy strokes of the rowers, she was wafted swiftly along the w^ater of the ]SIaine. Poor Beatrice ! she, whose life it might be said had passed away, until the last forty-eight hours, in one un- broken course of tranquillity, who had unconsciously risen from infancy to girlhood, and from girlhood to womanhood, and who had no recollection of ever en- countering, in the face of any one who looked upon her, any other than loving glances, now found herself, well knoAving she had never offended a human being, seized upon by the ruffian hands of utter strangers, arrested as a malefactor, and carried away a captive she knew not whither. Bewildered by the sudden pursuit of her by armed men, Avhen peacefully riding through the forest ; horrified at the frightful conflict in Avliich she saw her- self involved ; addressed too as she had been by the stranger pilgrim, who called upon her as if he had a rightful claim to recognition by her ; and then his brutal murder, as she fancied, by those who were her unpro- THE CAPTIVE ON THE RIVER MAIXE. 75 voked persecutors, followed by lier recapture ; and, last of all, the mysterious prison in "W'hicli she was confined, and the rapidity with which it was moving through the waters — all these circumstances, combined together, came rushing upon her brain, and whilst they deprived her of the power of thought, yet left her a prey to the most fearful agony. Hour passed away after horn*, and yet Beatrice re- mained in the same position, apparently senseless, move- less, voiceless, tearless ; with parched lips, aching head, and trembling hands, stretched upon the cushions that strewed the floor of that luxurious cabin, which seemed to be constructed for a Sybarite. Thus lay she who never before knew what real sorrow had been ; and who, even yet, was unconscious how much of vice, and sin, and wickedness may be found in this world. Had she any idea of these things, or of the fate that was destined for her, perchance she would have thought more of herself; but as it was, her great- est grief was occasioned by the thoughts of her mother — of her mother, who, perhaps, even up to that inoment was not conscious of what had become of her (as she had ridden out unaccompanied by Agatha, for the pur- pose merely of bestowing in charity a piece of gold upon the sick wife of a serf) — of her mother, who would Avait, perhaps, all day, expecting her return every moment — of her mother, who, when the shades of evening began to fill, would feel convinced, and not till then, that some calamity had befallen her, and then — she thouarht how her mother would feel when she was told of all the scenes that had occurred in the hamlet of Aschaffenburg ! Thus lay poor Beatrice for hours, a prey far more to 76 THE POPE AND THE EMPEBOE. despair than grief, when suddenly, and most nnexpect- _ edly, there came to her ears, and as if borne to her from a distance over the waters, the tones of a voice which thrilled to her heart. The words spoken were these : *' I tell thee, Magnns, there is no use of thy toiling in troubled waters ; if there be any fish in the net, the number of the captors are so many as to affright others from following it." " Nay," replied the voice of him who had been ad- dressed as Magnus, " I tell thee, Dedi, it must be a very stupid fish if it does not catch at the bait we use. I can assure thee that if there be any fish in the river, I know how to discover it." It was the voice of Magnus ! of her Magnus, that Beatrice listened to ! The moment she heard his name pronounced, she started to her feet, and, when she heard his words, she listened, as if each syllable was far more precious to her existence than the air she" breathed ; and when his words had ceased, she replied to them in a voice that was now weak and hoarse, and the accents of which, it seemed to her, could scarcely be heard even by herself — " Magnus ! Magnus ! — help ! help ! — rescue ! — It is I — Beatrice — thy beloved — thy betrothed, calls upon thee ! Rescue ! dearest Magnus ! — Bescue ! rescue ! " " Halloa ! " cried out the voice of some one, so close to her ear, that the person seemed to stand at her side. " Halloa ! what means all this ? Strike vip, men, one of your Paterini hymns, we must drown by our noise this wench's squalling." The command was instantly obeyed. Beatrice heard the noise made by the singers, but not the blasphemous words that were now chanted forth by the boatmen. THE CAPTIVE ON THE RIVER MAINE. 77 She listened, watchfully, in the hope of hearing these joyous notes interrupted by the rough shouts of men engaged in conflict — such as she had heard a few hours before in the hamlet of Aschaffenburg. She listened in vain : the song of the boatmen sud- denly ceased. The silence with which she appeared before to have been surrounded on all sides was resumed. She beheld herself again left alone and helpless, in that solitary and splendid chamber, and no sound now reached her ears but the rippling of the waters and the stroke of the oars, as the barge hurried onward. Beatrice, however, had heard again the voice of Mag- nus. Its loved tones had come to her, at the very mo- ment when she appeared to have been shut out from the sympathy, and cut off from the aid of every creature on this earth. The Beatrice, therefore, who now stood up in that prison-cabin, was no longer the same poor, helpless, despairing girl that had lain there for hours lost in wretchedness, and motionless from despair. She was still most miserable, but there was a gleam of hope that such misery would have an end, she knew not how, or by what means ; but her whole soul was now filled with a complete confidence in the mercy and the pro- tection of God. The voice of Magnus had forewarned her to prayer, and to prayer she betook herself ; casting herself upon her knees, she gave up her whole thoughts to her devotions — and there, from that sin-blotted apartment, in which vice had so often revelled, and de- bauchery had begrimed itself with the most hideous deeds, there arose up to heaven, out of a pure and stain- less soul, supplications SAveeter than incense, because impregnated with the purest aspirations of heartfelt piety. - •y * 78 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR. And so prayed Beatrice, until the barge bore her down the Maine, and was drawn close up to the path- way that led from the bank to the grim fortress of Frankfort. So intently engaged were the commanders of the barge. Count Werenher, Lieman, and Egen, in conver- sation — so much excited was the cupidity of the count, and the avarice of his associates in crime, that they did not remark that a bend in the river had brought them within view of a large hawking party on its banks, and that they had been for some time the subject of specu- lation and of comment. That which they could not hear we may be permitted to state to the reader. The leading personages in the party, who were en- gaged in the sport of hawking, and that the pursuit of game had brought to the banks of the river, were the youthful Magnus ; his cousin and his friend, Dedi the younger ; the father of the latter. Count Dedi of Sax- ony ; and his wife, the Countess Adela. The countess was the first to perceive the barge, and the boats of armed men that followed it. " Ho ! husband," she cried, " come hither. "What means this strange craft in the Maine ? I never saw barge built like that before." The Count Dedi looked, and then turning to his wife, said — *' Alas ! Adela, the sight of that barge is proof, if proof we wanted, that the king, Henry, remains un- changed, and, I fear, unchangeable, in his despotic dis- position and the indulgence in his vices. That barge contains a prisoner — you see that it is preceded and followed by armed men — but whether the victim cou- fined in it be man or woman, I cannot tell." THE CAPTIVE ON THE RIVER MAINE. 79 ^' Then I can," observed Magnus. " If the prisoner in the barge were a man, there would be several soldiers on board ; but with the rowers, there are only three in- dividuals, there must be either no prisoner at all, or that prisoner is a woman." " Shrewdly guessed, boy," said the Countess Adela ; " but I may tell thee there is a prisoner on board ; for, if there were not, the boats would not proceed in that regular manner, prepared for an attack either before or behind. Besides, thou mayest jDcrceive that in the boat that precedes the barge, as well as in those that follow it, the soldiers are- fully armed, and prepared for any attack that may be made upon them. And, good God ! it is a woman ! One of our daughters, or of our sisters, or nieces, who may be thus treated. O, if I were but a warrior, I would not sit tamely down under the perpe- tration of such brutalities." " Patience, good Adela," said the elder Dedi. ** Patience ! forsooth, with such a spectacle of abom- ination as this placed before the eyes of an honest woman — of a mother, too — patience ! Shame upon the lips that can say patience, when the hand of every man — of every one deserving the name of man, should be raised to prevent such a crime — a crime like that which we now look upon." " Patience ! Frepeat the phrase," replied the Count Dedi, " for it is alone applicable to the circumstances in which we are placed, even if our worst suspicions were confirmed. Yes, Adela, I repeat it — patience — sup- posing tbis to be the List of the abominations of Henry — especially as we do not at this moment know whether there be any truth at all in our susi5icions ; and whether, in point of fact, there is even a single prisoner — woman or man, Avithin the barge." 80 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR. " That is a fact," said Magnus, " of which I shall take care we shall not long remain in ignorance, Mark, count," he said, " that point about half a mile distance from this. You see that the Maine there runs between such closely-joining banks, that any persons on board can hear the voice of a speaker across the water — your soa and I will repair thither, and you may rest assured that, if there be a prisoner on board, he or she shall hear our words — and, if not gagged, nor a willing prisoner — we must hear them in return." *' Thou art a good youth, Magnus," said the Countess Adela, " and I have no doubt thou wilt yet prove thy- self not only a stout soldier, but a skilful general." ** Yes," said Count Dedi, " too good, too noble, and too exalted, and his life far too precious, to be risked in a mad enterprise, or lost in a vain exploit. Magnus, I will consent to thy making the trial on one condition." " Name it," said Magnus, as he prepared to give a loose rein to his steed. " It is to require of thee," replied the elder Dedi, " supposing the voice that answers thee — that is, if any should respond to thy call — should be that of some one known to thee — thou wilt, instead of madly plunging into the river, to be drowned, or shot to death with ar- rows, return to me, as the good and brave soldier returns to his commander when he has discovered the enemy, instead of stopping to fight with him. Wilt thou so obey me ? " " I will," answered Magnus. *' Though it were the voice of my own mother I heard, I will return to thee. I see perfectly well that we are helpless — that we, on land and unarmed, can do nought against armed men in boats, and hence, I consider that I am bound to retui'n THE CAPTIVE OX THE RIVER MAINE. 81 to thee, and report what I may hear, in order that thou niayest divine the means for baffling the enemy." " I repeat my wife's words — thou art a good youth, Magnus," said the elder Dedi. " My son knows some- thing of the devices of war, and will tell thee how thou mayest so speak, as to escape exciting the instant sus- picion and attention of the enemy — for it is an enemy — the enemy of virtue, of religion, of morality ; of knightly truth, manly rectitude, and female honor. Re- member that, and also, that you can endanger all these by rashness. And now both have my permission to go. Go — I say — and a father's blessing go with you." " And a woman's prayers," added the Countess Adela. Half an hour had not passed away until Magnus and his cousin were by the side of the Countess Adela and her husband. The hawking party of Count Dedi were observed travelling at a rapid pace towards Frankfort. They were so observed by the soldiers in the last of the boats that followed as an escort upon the barge in. which Beatrice was a prisoner. Men practised in the ways of vice are ever suspicious. The same base impulse that makes them practise evil themselves induces them to believe that all other men are animated with a spirit like their own in wickedness, in impurity, in dishonesty, in avarice, or in sordid self- ishness. Such are all bad men at all times ; but if there be any particular moment in which, more than another, they are suspicious and watchful, it is when they are engaged in doing some action, the utter base- ness of which they conceal from their own hearts. Such was the case with Count Werenher and his two associates, Egen and Lieman, in the execution of their 82 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR. foul abduction of Beatrice. Although the words spoken by Magnus and Dedi the younger were not heard by them, still the manner in which they had been responded to by Beatrice excited their suspicions, and the conse- quence was, the order given to the soldiers in the rear- most boat to fall behind and watch the hawking party collected on the banks. No sooner had these soldiers reported the appearance of the young Dedi and Magnus as coming from that point of the river where'the voices had been heard ; of their joining the count, and his wife Adela ; and the whole party starting at full speed, in the direction of Frankfort, than Count Werenher gave orders that the men should be prepared for an instant attack upon them ; and, sending the first boat considerably in advance, with directions to give alarm on the slightest appearance of danger, the small fleet proceeded at a slower speed down the river than had previously marked its progress. No event occurred durin reader, when conversing with the Archbishop of May- ence and Diedrich. He paced slowly and moodily up and down the apartment, M'ith his arms crossed on his breast, and his eyes fixed on the floor, seemingly lo?t in contemplation. He suddenly stopped, and, in doing so, gave vent to the fancies that had been fermenting in his brain : — " My power is great," he said, aloud, " but I am not omnipotent. I cannot put courage into the hearts of the timid, prudence into the minds of the rash, life into the 430 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR. bodies of the dead. If I could have done so, "VVerenher ■would not have dabbled with poisons, and might still be by my side — Lieman would have eschewed the Paterini, and the swords of Godfrey's followers — Croft would have been here to counsel me, and the Bishop of Utrecht would have been saved from that sudden mania that seized him, and that has now terminated with his death. What mad words he spoke upon the altar, as if he had vision of persons that he had wronged — and amongst those names was that of Beatrice. Beatrice ! Could he be in any way connected with that strange personage that she described as her father ? May it not be that he, living under a false name, had a wife and family ? O, preposterous ! no bishop could have dared to live such a life, and not die in despair. But, let me think ; they say that William of Utrecht did die declaring that the devils were bearing him to perdition. Then it may be that my fair, gentle, and enchanting Beatrice is his daughter. If she be — then I am absolved from my promise to her. She never could be my wife ; but she may be, she shall be, of all my female companions, the most favored. I hope she is the daughter of William of Utrecht. The least I can do, to show my love for him, is to love his daughter. I must inquire into this ; and, if what I sus- pect prove to be true, then Egen shall be directed to conduct her to Goslar, and there bestow upon her, in the Olympian Palace, that coronet of roses which the death of Clara has left vacant. '* If she be the daughter of William, what a life of hypocrisy the man must have lived ! Acting, in one place, the part of a layman, and thinking of his mitre } acting, in another, the part of a bishop, and thinking of his wife and child ; and how, in both, he must have THE EXCOMMUNICATIOIT. 431 trembled, lest he should be discovered ! This accounts for his life of mystery — for his absenting himself from my court, and for his seldom being seen in his diocese ; and, whilst the world was fancying he was passing his days in pious contemplation, he was solacing himself with a home, a wife, and a family. O, the arrant hypocrite ! sincere in nothing but in his hatred to the Pope, and his opposition to the Church of Rome. " O, Beatrice ! Beatrice I fairest, sweetest, loveliest of your sex, if it were not for my adoration of you, half these thoughts of mine would not be bestoTved upon the deceased Bishop of Utrecht. I think of him because I think of you. " Meddling fool that he was — if he wxre yom- father, it is the only virtue I can ascribe to him ! — for how dared he, with his weak nerves and excitable temper- ament, to push himself into a controversy in which two mighty spirits, like Hildebrand and myself, were in collision. What else could he have expected but to be crushed, as he has been ; and, as my honest physician assures me, irretrievably damned ? Fool that he was ! in trying to serve me he has done me much injury. I could see, in the changing features of the versatile Sigefrid — I could perceive in the horrified countenances of the other German bishops — I could notice, in the frightened faces even of most of my courtiers — and above all, in the angry, malignant glances cast upon me by the popu- lace, that they, one and all, regard the sudden madness of the Bishop of Utrecht, followed so speedily, as it has b«en, by his awful death, as a judgment of heaven in favor of Hildebrand, and, therefore, against me, his avowed opponent. This is a state of things which must not be permitted to continue even for twenty-four hours. 432 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR. It is a superstitious feeling, and it must be crushed some- how, or some way. I cannot permit a movement, which promised me so much gain, to be converted, by an acci- dent — a mere accident — a stupid accident — to my disadvantage. " Let me see — let me see — what is to be done ? " With these words, Henry resumed his slow and measured pace, and was again lost in deep thought. From this, however, he was speedily aroused by the sudden entrance into the apartment of a man, whose dust-covered and travel-soiled habiliments showed that he had performed a long journey. This man placed a packet in the hands of Henry, and then, as silently and as hurriedly as he had entered the room, he departed from it. Henry broke open the packet, and read, with feelings of exultation, the few following lines : — " Cenci, Prefect of Kome, to the mighty and magnifi- cent Henry, King of Germany, greeting : — *' I have fulfilled my promise. The Pope, Hildebrand, is now my prisoner. Whilst celebrating mass this morning, I, and a number of my armed followers, broke into the church. I tore him, by the hair of his head, from the altar, and he now lies, wounded and bleeding, a captive in my tower at Rome ; from whence I am resolved he never shall depart with life, unless he com- plies with the terms we have both agreed upon. I told him that I had your sanction for what I have done, and I have now left him to consider our conditions, whilst writing this to you. " There is great commotion in Rome — the population cry to arras ! but my tower is strong — it is filled with a stout garrison, and I fear not. THE EXCOMMUNICATION. 433 " I have found it difficult to prevent some of my fol- lowers from slaying Hildebrand. They are incensed against him for having excommunicated them." Henry read the letter a second time ; and, as he did so, the joy he experienced upon its first perusal was increased. *' These tidings," he observed, '-come most oppor- tunely. What a triumph does such intelligence as this give me over those who fancied that they saw, in the sud- den death of the Bishop of Utrecht, a judgment of heaven in favor of Hildebrand. How the cowardly Sigefrid will tremble with fear when he hears there are brave men in Rome to drag the Pope from the altar, and cast him, wounded and bleeding, into a dark dungeon ; and that there are heroes anxious to bathe their swords in the 'heart's blood of the old hypocrite ! Would that they had slain him outright ! for it is not fitting that Hilde- brand should live and know that I encouraged Cenci in this attack upon him. " What if the old man should escape from the tower of Cenci ? " O, it is a vain idea. The life — the family — the estates — the vast wealth of the Cencis, are pledges for the life — imprisonment, or the sudden death of Hilde- brand. Cenci can neither yield him up, nor permit him to live, and hope to live himself. " At last — at last I triumph over Hildebrand. At last, the popedom lies at my feet ; and I can pick it up and convert it into an instrument of power, and an engine whereby I can extort and divert into the royal treasury all the riches of the church. O, how those stolid German bishops shall yet wince beneath the weight Oi 434 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR. of the tiara, when it is worn by one of my puppets ! Fools ! they fancy I have opposed Hildebrand to please them — they shall soon learn that I only did so to serve myself. O, Croft, honest, sincere, unscrupulous Croft, should have lived to see this day. There, in- deed, was a man the most fitted of all I ever knew, to be my pope. Now I grasp within both my hands the church and the state. Now, indeed — now, at last, my triumph is come. Hildebrand bleeds and lies in a dungeon, and I am — a monarch, free, uncontrolled, uncontrollable — absolute. Power — pleasure — wealth — beauty — 1 can command them all as my slaves, and now, none dare disobey me ! " Rutger here entered the apartment, and said — *' The royal banquet now waits your Majesty's pres- ence. All the guests are present, but two — the empress and the queen — who pray of your Majesty to excuse them, as both have been — I use their own words — ' so deeply affected by the dreadful scene of this morning, that they find themselves incapable of partaking in any festivity, even though your Majesty presides over it.' " Henry smiled, and then thought to himself — " How much more deeply will the pious souls be afflicted when they hear that their loved Pope is a pris- oner in the hands of my friends ! " He then added — " By whom. Count Eutger, were the words you have repeated, spoken ? " " By her Majesty, the empress, in presence of the queen," replied Rutger. " Ay, now I think of it," he added, " the last portion of the message — the compli- mentary portion to your Majesty, was spoken by tlie queen." "By the queen/' repeated Henry. "Good, kind THE EXCOMMUNICATION. 435 •woman, that she is ! What a pity she never can find favor in my sight ! But how prospers your suit with the queen, Rutger ? " " As that of every one your Majesty has permitted to pay court to her," replied Rutger. Candor compels me to add, that she seems to detest me, as much as she loves your Majesty." " What perverse creatures are these women ! " ex- claimed Henry. " Now, I not merely detest, but I abominate her. She has, with her tears, washed out every particle of affection I might have once entertained — and mine was, at the utmost, but a fugitive fancy as regards her. And yet I have done my best to please her. I have authorized you, and other of my courtiers, to make love to her. She might have chosen from amongst the handsomest men that surround me, and yet she scorns them all. O, the inexplicable perversity of the female sex! What think you, Rutger, of Bertha. I do not mean as a queen, but as a woman ? " " That I never yet have seen one more deserving of the love, the devotion, and the constant affection of a husband," replied Rutger. " And would you," asked Henry, " willingly become her husband, if the opportunity were afforded to you ? " " I would give my countship — that is, I would give all I possess — to be the husband of Queen Bertha," replied Rutger. "Well spoken, Rutger," said Henry, with his strange, malicious smile playing around his lips. " I hold my- self much indebted to you, for the support you gave, at an important moment, to the accusation preferred by Egen against Duke Otho. I have felt some difficulty in selecting a proper reward for you. I did not like to 43G THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE. offer you a dukeship, for that would have imposed upon you the necessity of leading military retainers into battle, and your achievement at Henschenwege proves that you prefer showing your soldiers the way out of a conflict." Rutger's handsome features were distorted by wrinkles, and his fair complexion was reddened with rage, when he heard the king pronounce this bitter sarcasm upon his cowardice. Henry enjoyed, without appearing to notice, the con- fusion of his sycophant, and continued in the same calm tone he had been previously addressing him : " I do not think that it would be a fitting reward for such good services as you have rendered to me, to be- stow upon you an office that would compel you to perform duties for which you have no liking. You are suited to be a great man — in the society of women — to be an authority upon the decoration of their persons ; to dis- cover for them new-fashioned hoods, and to devise new- fangled bracelets and rich armlets — and therefore do I hope, before many months are passed away, to bestow upon you the hand of Queen Bertha. Be certain, if once she becomes your wife, she will love you as much as she now does me, and for the same reason — as a matter of duty, because you happen to be her husband. Do not ask me, now, Rutger, hoAV this can be effected. Before many weeks are passed away, you shall see that I can do more strange things than unwive myself, and wive you. Come now, Butger, to the banquet. I am anxious to tell my guests the strange, glorious tidings that have reached me, this moment, from Rome." It was amid a loud and boisterous flourish of trum- pets, and preceded by his high officers of state, that Henry entered the banqueting hall of his palace, where THE EXCOMMUNICATION. 437 all the great lords and prelates of the empu'e stood waiting his arrival. Henry entered the hall, and as he passed up, between the bending, bowing rows of his subjects, never did he seem so jubilant with triumph, and never was there more pride upon his brow nor a more scornful haughtiness upon his lip, which curled with contempt, as he saw that Sigefrid, the Archbishop of Mayence, was so deeply engaged in conversation with a person in the garb of a pilgrim, that he seemed to be unconscious of the commotion that had been caused by the king's appearance amongst his guests. Henry passed onward, and a blast of triumph issued from the trumpets, and loud huzzas from the assembled guests, as he was seen to ascend the steps of the throne, at the head of the high table, from which he could be observed in all parts of the hall. The trumpets ceased, and the huzzas were subdued, when Henry was seen to rise from his throne, and uplift his sceptred right hand, as if he desired to address the assembly. " My loving subjects," said Henry, " before I call upon the pious Archbishop of Mayence to bless the food of which we are about to partake, I wish to state to you strange tidings that have come to me from Rome. I am the more desirous to do this, because I am assured that the painful incident of which we were all witnesses this morning, has produced the impression, that, in contend- ing for our rights as Germans, against the pretensions of the Roman pontiff, heaven has proved itself the friend of Hildebrand, by punishing, with a sudden death, the venerable prelate of Utrecht, at the moment he was ex- communicating our foe. " My friends, to believe that the coincidence of acci- 37* 438 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE. dents can constitute a miracle, is to indulge in a vain, idle, and sinful superstition — a superstition that may find disciples amongst weak-minded women and unrea- soning children, but that should be scorned by men of sense, and, above all, repudiated by prelates, priests, and nobles of high rank and great dignity, like those to whom I now address myself. " Heaven seldom deigns to interfere directly in the quarrels of mortals, and never has it been known to work a miracle on behalf of a tyrant like Pope Hilde- brand. If we were to suppose that it had been done so in Germany, by slaying the Bishop of Utrecht, be- cause the bishop denounced Hildebrand as a notorious and flagrant criminal, how comes it to pass, that heaven did not interfere in Rome, to save Hildebrand, even when he was at prayers — that it did not prevent hin; being torn from the altar by his gray hairs — that it did not prevent him from being wounded by the sword of a soldier — that it did not prevent him being made cap- tive by the Prefect Cenci — that it did not prevent him from being cast into a dungeon — yea — a dungeon even in the city of Pome, and in the strong tower of the Cenci, where he now lies in chains, and liable, at any moment, to be put to death ; and, if the prefect Cenci so please, tortured previous to death ? Why, I ask, has all this happened ? Because the Pomans have revolted against the same tyrannical spirit of domination which v^'e complain of. If heaven looked favorably upon the cause of Hildebrand, it would release him from the dun- geon of the Cenci — it would punish them as malefac- tors — it would restore Hildebrand to his throne — it would cause the Pomans to hail him as their sovereign, Gregory VII. — and it would empower Gregory to ex- , communicate his enemies." THE EXCOMMUNICATION. 439 "And heaven has done all this for Pope Gregory,^* said Archbishop Sigefricl, rising from his seat, and front- ing the king. " All that your Majesty has supposed to be impossible, has actually come to pass. Heaven has opened his dungeon-doors for the pontiff; the Cenci, who laid sacrilegious hands upon him, have fled from Eome — the soldier who struck him with a sword has been slain. The Pope now sits upon his throne, and — Henry — King Henry, rend your garments, and cover your head with ashes, he has excommunicated you — he has pronounced your deposition." Henry was first struck dumb with amazement, when he heard the words of the timid Sigefrid thus replying to him : but the old archbishop's voice strengthened, and he spoke as if he were inspired, when announcing events that seemed to all the hearers to be miracles — for they lived in times when men believed in such things. The king shrank back in his throne as if paralyzed, and it was not till he heard the archbishop speak of his depo- sition that all his energy and violence of character seemed to be restored to him. " Peace ! babbling, traitorous fool ! " he exclaimed. " You talk of dreams, and not of facts. What I stated was conveyed to me by a messenger who came full speed from Rome. He arrived not an hour ago ; and when he left Rome Hildebrand was a prisoner in the tower of Cenci, and there, if not dead, he doubtless still remains." " And here" answered Sigefrid, " is the messenger who has come but this moment from Rome. And here is the summons from the Pope to myself, to appear be- fore him at Rome, and explain, as best I may, the sup- port I have given to you. Here, too, are briefs, addressed to the other German bishops, requiring them to do 440 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE. the same, and here, in your presence, I distribute those briefs to the several bishops — let them disobey them if they dare — as for myself, I shall proceed there bare- footed, and as a penitent, for I have had a fearful warn- ing in the sudden death of the reprobate Bishop of Utrecht, and now — I am no longer what I was — I prefer enduring the wrath of man, to the wrath of God." '' Archbishop of Mayeuce," said Henry, involuntarily quelled by the spirit thus displayed by Sigefrid — in itself a miracle — "I tell you that you have been de- ceived by some cogging, forging knave. "Who is this fellow who pretends to have travelled from Eome faster than my messenger ? " " He is here ! " replied Bernhard, advancing to the foot of the throne on which Henry sat. "Your mes- senger hurried on his road as men run for gold — he was sparing of his life, that he might enjoy what he had won by his race. I left Eome twenty-four hours later than he, and I hurried, too, on my road, for I ran for a prize which I can never hope to enjoy until my life has ceased — and therefore am I careless of it. If I were not — I would not tell your Majesty that which I now an- nounce to you : that I heard the Pope pronounce ex- communication upon you — that I heard him declare your subjects freed from their allegiance. Here is the sentence. I place it in your hands — you know the Pope's signature well, and cannot gainsay it — and now, leaving that copy with you, I call, in the name of the pontiff — for so I am authorized to do — the Archbishop of Mayeuce, to read aloud the sentence of excommuni- cation and deposition upon you — that all may know the peril they incur in holding further commvmlon with you. Sigefrid, Prince Archbishop of Mayeuce^ read the sen- THE EXCOMMUNICATION. 441 tence of His Holiness, Pope Gregory VII., upon Henry, King of Germany." " Audacious villain!" exclaimed Henry, starting from his throne, and stamping upon the Pope's brief, which he had unthinkingly accepted from the hands of Bern- hard, " have I no friend here to strike him dead ? " Scarcely had the words been uttered, when Diedrich rushed upon Bernhard with his drawn dagger. The wary forester watched the hand of Diedrich as it descend- ed, and grappling the wrist with one hand, and dashing down the other like a sledge hammer upon the rigid knuckles that held the fatal weapon, and driving his head, at the same instant, into the face of Diedrich, he felled him to the earth, and kneeling upon the breast of the fallen savage, he waved his wood-knife before his eyes for a moment, and then whispered in his ear — '' For the sake of Gertraud, slain by the soldiers of this brutal king, I spare thy life, and say to thee the last words to which she gave utterance : ' Tell Diedrich that my last prayer was for his sincere repentance ; bid him seek for it through the intercession of the Blessed Vir- gin.' These words she bade me say to thee — I repeat them ; think of them — go, and repent of thy sins." " Humph ! " exclaimed Diedrich as he rose fi-om the ground ; and, without looking at his opponent or the king, he thoughtfully left the apartment. This struggle, for a minute, between two men so une- qually matched as the thick, muscular giant, Diedrich, and the apparently weak, lank, but still wiry, Bernhard, was witnessed by the entire assembly ; and men mar- velled much to see how quickly Diedrich had been over- thrown by the forester ; and they marvelled still more to see one like Diedrich, so notorious for his ferocity. 442 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR. pass away from the presence of his opponent as if he had been completely quelled by him. Trifling as the incident might be regarded in itself, it was considered as another of the strange and miraculous events that had already marked the progress of that eventful day. As to Bernhard, he watched Diedrich until he saw that he had actually departed from the banquet hall, and then, from the place where the conflict between the two had occurred, at the foot of the throne of Henry, he spoke again, in a loud and commanding tone, and his voice was now listened to by those present as one who spoke with authority : " Sigefrid, Prince Archbishop of Mayence, by the allegiance you owe to jouv spiritual superior, I now call upon you — I require of you — and I do so in the name of Pope Gregory VII., to read the deposition of the man before whose throne I now stand." Henry looked down, from his throne, upon his lords and the bishops of the empire ; but he found that the faces of all were turned away from him, and directed towards the Archbishop of Mayence. Sigefrid, the Archbishop, unfolded the parchment that had been placed in his hands by Bernhatd, and read aloud its contents : — *' The deposition of King Henry, the son of the Emperor Henry, and the ah solution from their oaths of all who have sworn allegiance to him. " O, blessed Peter ! Prince of the Apostles, incline thy pious ears to us, a»d hear mo thy servant, whom, from my infancy, thou didst nourish, and that thou hast even until this day saved from the hands of the wicked. THE EXCOMMUNICATION. 443 "wlio have hated, and who still detest me, because of my fidelity to thee. Be then my witness, and with thee, our Sovereicrn Ladv, the Mother of God, and the Blessed Paul, thy brother amongst all the other saints, that thy holy Roman Church dragged me, in my own despite, to its government ; and that I would have far preferred to end my days in exile, rather than by human means to usurp thy place. And, as I believe that it is through thy gracioift favor, and not by my own works, that it has been pleasing, and is still pleasing to thee, that the Christian people specially committed to thee, should obey me, and that, through thy grace, power is given me on this behalf from God, of binding and of loosing, both in heaven and on earth. "It is in this confidence, and for the honor and de- fence of thy Church, and in the name of the Omnipo- tent Trinity, and through thy power and authority, that I forbid Henry, the King, and son of the Emperor Henry, who, by an unheard-of pride, has rebelled against thy Church, to exercise longer any power as a Sovereign over the Empire of the Germans or in Italy, and that I absolve from their oaths of allegiance which all Chris- tians have made or still render unto him ; at the same time I interdict any one from serving him as King. And this I do, because it is fitting that he who endeav- ors and studies to diminish the honor that is due to thy Church, should lose those honors and that dignity which he himself appears to possess. And, because, as a Chris- tian, he has contemned obedience, and will not return to the Lord, whom he has abandoned, by holding com- munion with those that are excommunicated, and that he persists in perpetrating many iniquities, and despising those warnings, which (thou art my witness) were alone 444 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE. given by me to lilm for the sake of his own salvation ; and as he has separated himself from thy Church, and seeks still to produce a schism in it, I do, in thy name, now bind him with the fetters of excommunication, so that all nations may know and experience that thou art Petei*, and thou the rock upon which the Son of God has built his Church, and that the gates of hell shall not prevail against it." * Sigefrid, upon reading this document, haijded it to his attendant chaplain, and said : " This document must be enrolled in the archives of the Church of Mayence. Let it be there indorsed by you, as a witness, that it was read by me, in the presence of the king, and of the assembled princes and prelates of the empire. And here," he continued, " receive also my crosier and mitre. Retain possession of them until I am authorized by the pontiff to resume them. I now set forth upon my pilgrimage to Rome, and I invite all the other German bishops, Avho are, like me, summoned there as sinners, as unworthy shepherds of the flocks confided to our care, to accompany me on my way thither. As to this place," observed Sigefrid, looking around the banquet hall, and at the throne on which Henry remained still sitting, " it is accursed as long as one stricken by anathema remains in it, and no Chris- tian can, without involving himself in the penalties of an excommunication, continue to abide here. Away then, one and all — avoid it as if pestilence clung to its walls, and death stood in its doorway. Remember the * This is a literal translation of " the excommunication and deposition" of Henry IV., promulgated by Pope Gregory YII. The author believes this is the first time it has ever been translated and published in the Eng- lish language. THE EXCOMMUNICATION. 445 doom of the anti-papal Bishop of Utrecht, and let us be careful we do not tread in the footsteps of one who now howls a demon in hell." The words of the archbishop were followed by a sud- den rush from the apartment ; for fear and horror had seized upon the hearts of a,ll, and each man dreaded that he might, by seeming to side with Henry, be compro- mised in his guilt, and incur the same awful punishment which they themselves had seen inflicted upon the rep- robate no-popery Bishop of Utrecht. The tables had been spread for a sumptuous banquet — but the viands and the wine remained untasted — the gold and silver vessels untouched — the seats arranged with a due attention to the rank of the bidden guests iinoccupied, and there, amid the sun-light glare, cast by a thousand lights, upon a scene glistening on all sides with gorgeous decorations, sat, in his lofty throne, alone, with not one friendly eye to greet him, nor one head to bow down before him, Henry — the excommunicated King of Germany ! But a few moments before, he had entered, the proud- est monarch in Christendom, and now ! upon the mere recital of a few words, dictated by one old man, and re- peated by another, and, the latter one so weak and timid, that he had been an object of constant derision to his sovereign, yet that sovereign now found himself aban- doned by all the officers of state, whose duty it was to wait personally upon him, as the head of the German empire — forsaken by his princes, abjured by his prel- ates, deserted by his military retainers, and not supported even by the presence of a single menial ! It was a change so unexpected, so sudden, and so 38 446 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR. awful, that though seen, and even though bitterly ex- perienced as it was by Henry, was still scarcely credible. Henry sat unmoved, whilst Sigefrid was reading the formal announceme'nt of his deposition and excommuni- cation. He did so, hoping that some one would slay the old archbishop ; but rage entered into his heart, and seemed to consume his vitals, when he heard that '' cow- ard," as he was wont to call him, bid the subjects of his king abandon their sovereign, if they would not expose themselves to the pains of perdition. That burning rage was, however, speedily followed by the chilling sick- ness of despair, when he beheld all, all — even those worthless creatures upon whom he had lavished the treasures of his kingdom, fly from his presence, as if there were contamination in his touch, and that he, of all living things, was, at that moment, the most noisome, the most pestilent, and the most accursed. Henry gazed around the banquet hall. It was de- serted — and the silence seemed to extend beyond its precincts, as if not merely it, but the whole of the pal- ace fortress had been abandoned, and he alone was left out of the hundi-eds that had crowded its apartments, and hitherto had manned its walls. So comj)lete was the silence, that he could hear the beatings of his own heart. Henry gazed again and again, but could not believe the reality. He rubbed his eyes, as if he doubted that he could be awake, and that all this was not a horrid dream. " It must be a dream ! " he exclaimed. " It cannot be a truth. What ! forsaken — abandoned by all ! A king but a minute ago, and now deposed. O, monstrous ! THE EXCOMMUNICATION. 447 it cannot be a truth. It must — it shall be a mockery. What — ho ! there — some wine. I doom to death the man who dares to disobey me. Wine — I say — the king commands it — where stands my Mundschenk ? Gone ! gone ! all gone. They have left their king alone ! and they pay their coui't to the old wicked Pope at Rome. Cowards — base, drivelling cowards — thus to fear the vain words of the prisoner of Cenci. Curses upon Cenci, why did he not slay Hildebrand in his dun- geon. Curses ! ah ! I can but curse noAv — I am alone ! alone ! utterly despised, utterly neglected, utterly con- temned. My foes triumph over me." As Henry spoke these words, the silence, that seemed to encircle him like a shroud, was rent asunder by loud, joyous cheers, that seemed to burst in upon him as they came from a vast multitude gathered in thousands out- side the walls of the fortress. " Hark ! " cried Henry, " I guessed truly, my enemies do triumph over me. They come to witness the fallen condition of their king ; they come, perchance, to make me prisoner, to drag me in chains, a captive, to sue for mercy and pardon from Hildebrand. Villains and trai- tors, they shall find that Henry, the deposed, can die as a king, although they have abjured their allegiance to him." As Henry spoke these words, he started from his throne, drew his sword, and seizing a shield, stood front- ing the doorway, like a man who believes he is about to forfeit his life, and is determined that, in his downfall, others shall be dragged to death along with him. " What mean these cheers, slave ? " said Henry, to a single, unarmed man, as he entered the hall. *' The cheers that you hear," said Bcrnhard, for it was 448 THE POPE AND THE EMPEEOR. to him that Henry had addressed himself, " are those of a rejoicing city. The people of Frankfort thus welcome amongst them, Magnus, Duke of Saxony, who has been restored to liberty in exchange for seventy Swabians, captured in Erzegebirge." " Magnus free ! Erzegebirge taken ! " cried Heniy, forgetting, for the moment, his own grief in these unex- pected tidings. " Know yovi what has become of Egen, and of a captive lady of whom he had charge ? " "I do," answered Bernhard. "The lady has been restored to her family. She is now safe from further aggression. As to Egen, his life has been spared ; but he has been punished as a perjurer and a reprobate." ^ Henry sank back on one of the seats provided for his guests. This last intelligence seemed to havq conquered him ; for he lay panting, breathless, and exhausted, like a knight that, overpowered by wearing his armor during a hot summer's day, has, at its close, been stricken down, at last, by the weak blow of a pikeman. He raised his eyes heavily to the face of Bernhard, and faihng to rec- ognize his features, he murmured forth : " Baffled by slaves, defeated by dotards, deserted by warriors, forsaken by all, rejected by all, by God, and by man — alone ! alone ! alone ! " As he spoke these words, his eyes closed, his senses failed, and he lay extended, motionless, and pale, as if he were a disregarded corpse, in the rich banqueting hall of his kingly palace fortress ! THE FAREWELL. 449 CHAPTER XXXV. THE FAREWELL. BiANCA acd Beatrice were kneeling together before the same altar, in a small, dark chapel attached to the mansion of ths Countess Adela. The few gleams of light that penetrated through the sombre painted win- dows of the chapel, rested on those two lone, silent, heart-broken females, whose habiliments denoted that the one had abandoned, and that the other was about to bid farewell to, the external affairs of this world. Bianca wore the habit of a professed nun ; her daughter, Bea- trice, still retained her novice-dress, which she had first assumed in the palace of King Henry. Bianca and Beatrice spoke not one word to each other ; but the deep groan and the long-drawn sigh that came occasionally from the breast of both, showed that the scene of horror thay had witnessed in the great church of Frankfort, still filled them with a poignant grief, which pious thoughts and humble prayers had, as yet, been unable to assuage. Thus they knelt, in profound devotion and in silent sorrow, when the Countess Adela crept into the chapel, and bowing down, for a moment, before the altar, and there giving utterance to a short prayer, again stood up, and laying her hands upon the shoulders of the mother and daughter, she said : " My dear friends, I wish to speak with you." Bianca and Beatrice made the sign of the cross on their foreheads, and both, at the same instant, rose from their knees. 58* 450 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR. " My dear friends," said Adela, " I am the bearer of a message to you both. My relative, Magnus, Duke of Saxony, claims permission to have an interview with the Lady Bianca and her daughter Beatrice." *' Brave ! truthful ! generous Magnus ! " ejaculated Bianca. ** O, if all men had been but like to " Tears here choked her utterance, she hid her face, for a moment, on the shoulder of the countess, so that her daughter might not perceive the flood of scalding tears that gushed from her eyes. The name of Magnus was as a magic sound in the ears of Beatrice. For an instant, but so brief was the space of time that it could scarcely be called an instant, there was a smile upon her mouth, and joy in her eyes, but it was quickly followed by a cold shiver, that ran through her frame, and that struck to her heart, as if the thought that filled her mind was barbed Avith despair. She clung to the altar-railings for support, but she spoke not a word. Adela waited for the first ebullition of feeling on the part of the mother and daughter to pass away before she resumed her discourse. '' My cousin, Magnus, desu'es," she said, " to speak with you both. I suppose, Bianca, you surmise the pur- port of his visit." "I do — I do," hurriedly answered Bianca, " and, therefore, I will not see him. His happiness — happi- ness to which his virtues fully entitle him — shall not be blighted by the aspect of her who is now a widow, but has never been a wife. My child, Beatrice, is now an orphan — as lone and desolate as an orphan, but also as independent, as free, and as uncontrolled in her ac- tions as an orphan. She has no father to please — and THE FAREWELL. 451 her mother, whatsoever she may now do, she cannot dis- please. I am as one dead to this workl. I have, in assuming the habit of a nun, renounced it, and I will not again mingle in its affairs, even to control the actions of my child ; for I know her to be wise, and good, and virtuous. Go, then, Beatrice, with the Countess Adela. See the Duke Magnus — hear what he says — be pre- pared : for he will ask your hand in marriage, and, hav- ing received his proposal, then decide for yourself; but, remember that whatever be your decision, it is one not for to-day, nor to-morrow, but for all the days of your life — for this world, and for the next. Go, my child. I bless you as you go ; and before I know what your decision may be, I bestow upon it my blessing. Say nought to me now — let the next Avord you speak be addressed to Magnus — to brave, generous, virtuous Magnus, who now regards you as his betrothed." Beatrice knelt down, in order that she might receive, on her knees, a mother's blessing. Bianca blessed her, kissed her on the forehead, and then, turning to the al- tai', resumed those devotions which had been interrupted by the entrance of the countess. Adela, placing her arm around the delicate waist of Beatrice, conducted, or rather supported her, into the chamber in which INIagnus awaited the coming, as he supposed, of Bianca and her daughter. The moment that Magnus perceived Beatrice thus led into the room — so beautiful, but yet so changed from what she had been when he greeted her beneath the beech tree in the woods of AschafFenburg, his first im- pulse was to rush forward and kiss her hand : but this was suddenly checked ; and he felt, he knew not where- fore, his heart oppressed with a sentiment of hopeless sorrow. 452 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR. " Good God ! " he said, in a voice that was so low and heart-broken in its tones, that it seemed to be a whis- pered sigh, " you are ill, Beatrice." Beatrice looked at him. It was a long, intense gaze, as if she would concentrate, in that prolonged view, all the happiness that earth could give her ; for, she was happy to observe that the imprisonment he had endured, and the dangers to which he had been exposed, had but added to his manly graces and noble beauty, by adorning his brow with the wisdom of a statesman, and the gal- lant bearing of a warrior. Beatrice spoke not to Magnus ; but, as she looked at him, she extended to him her hand. He seized it eager- ly, and impressed upon it a burning kiss. As Beatrice felt that kiss upon her hand, she shuddered, and, turning to the Countess Adela, said : — " Noble lady, generous friend, you watched over me as a mother, M'hcn cruel and wicked men had torn me from the arms of a mother. I feel for you the love and veneration of a mother, and I fear the influence of your words and looks upon me, in this interview with Mag- nus. As my mother has left every thing to my decision, so I pray you also to do. Let that decision be unbiased — let it be, as I hope you will deem it to be, deserving of your approval — but leave to me my last consolation in this world — the reflection that it is one worthy of Magnus, and of myself. Suffer me to be alone with God, and with Magnus." "Willingly — most willingly, my dearest child," re- plied Adela ; " for that which you now propose to me, I was myself about to suggest. It is but fltting that you should be alone with Magnus, for he comes to ask your hand in marriage, and he does so with the full ap- THE FAREWELL. 453 proval of his uncle Otho, Duke of Bavaria, of the Count Dedi, and of myself" With these words Adela quitted the room, and thus left alone the two lovers. A silence of a few moments succeeded. It was first broken by Magnus. " You have heard, beloved of my childhood," he said, " the purpose of my visit explained by my cousin, Adela. The happiness that I have dreamed of, from my boyhood, is now mine — I can, in the face of day, before the as- sembled world, claim you — my own, my beloved, my charming, my virtuous, my persecuted Beatrice, for my wife." Beatrice covered her face, and wept bitterly. " Tears ! " continued Magnus. " Tears ! when I de- mand your hand in marriage. Beatrice, do you not love me ? I do not ask, with a love like to mine, for that is a species of adoration — but, do you not love me ? " " Love you ! " answered Beatrice, her pale cheek crimsoning with excitement, when she spoke. " Love you, do you say, Magnus ? Hear me, for I am in such a position that I can speak my thoughts more freely than maidens are wont to do. If, from the time that our joy- ous hours were passed together, on the sweet shores of the Lago Maggiore, I have, at morning, prayed for you ; at noonday conversed, in fancy, with you — at night dreamed of you ; and always as a being that, bearing the form of a man, had all the sweetness of a seraph — if this be love, I have loved you, and I still love you. If the sparkling dew-drop, as it glittered, reminded me of you ; if the perfumed rose recalled you to my thoughts ; if the gorgeous sun seemed to set in all its glory, but to bring back to my heart an image of you ; if this be love, I have loved, and do love you." 454 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR. " Speak on, speak on," said Magnus, dropping upon his knees, and clasping the clay-cold hand of Beatrice — " speak on, angelic Beatrice, for there is rapture in every word, and ecstasy in every sentence, to which you give utterance." " Love you, Magnus, dear Magnus," said Beatrice, looking down upon him, as he knelt before her. " 1 have loved you, as I believe the angels, in heaven above, love each other ; for mine has been a love untainted by a single thought of self; it was a love that was in you, and for you, and that shone upon you, though you felt it not, as the sunbeam illuminates the senseless flower. Such was my love, such is my love, such ever shall be my love for you, Magnus ; but, I never can be your wife." " Not my wife ! " cried ^Magnus, starting up with hor- ror, as he heard these words. " Not my wife ! Good Heavens ! Beatrice, what do you mean, by speaking thus to me ? " " That I love you more than myself," answered Bea- trice, bursting into tears. " Listen to me, Magnus, listen patiently, for I speak to you as if I were speaking in the confessional. I desire to lay bare my entire heart before you. If it had pleased God that I should have been born in the same rank of life with yourself, I do believe that never yet was created, nor could there be in this world, a being so happy as I should be at this mo- ment, in frankly placing my hand in yours, and saying, * Take me, Magnus — make me, beloved of my heart, your wife ; for you take one whose love can never know a change, and whose affection for you can only cease with her existence.' Thus freely would I speak to you, dearest Magnus, if I were the daughter of a duke, and THE FAREWELL. 455 that yoTi asked me in marriage. Nay, were I even the daughter of a count, of a tungin, of a freeman, I would so speak, because I could look all your princely relatives in the face, and say, I am not as grandly born as you, but I am greater, because I am happier than you, for I am the wife of my beloved — of Magnus. If I were but the daughter of an honest man, I could do this, and thus would I act : because I could bring no dishonor upon them, and tarnish you with no shame." " But, Beatrice," said Magnus, " in marrying me you become the wife of the Duke of Saxony, and though you were the daughter of a slave, none dare reproach you with the accident of your birth. More than one sov- ereign has, before now, placed a crown upon the brows of a female slave ; and some were slaves without a par- ticle of your virtue, and none possessed a thousandth part of your beauty." " And the world," replied Beatrice, " still reproaches the memories of many of those sovereigns for their weak nature, and their grovelling tastes. But mine is a worse case than any that you cite. A slave may be an honest man ; a female slave may have been nobly — nay, even royally born, like the sainted Queen Bathildes of France. You say that you can, in the face of day, and before the assembled world, claim me as your wife. Dearest Mag- nus, you cannot do so ; for if I once appeared before the world as your wife, it would cry shame upon me, and shame upon you. And it would do so rightfully, for my existence is a shame — my life a reproach — my very being a scandal to the church, of which I am an unwor- thy member." . " O, Beatrice," said Magnus, shocked to hear such language applied to herself by his beloved, " you wrong 456 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR. tlie world, and you "wrong much more yourself. It ■would readily recognize that you, who scorned the offer of a crown, when tendered to you by a wicked king, were but fittingly decorated with a coronet, when be- stowed upon you by one who has ever loved you for your virtues. " It is not so, Magnus," replied Beatrice. " Even at your marriage festival the Bishop of Utrecht would come from his dishonored grave to sit amongst your guests, and his name Avould be whispered by the meanest menial that crawled at your feet. The schismatic priest's child — the child of sacrilege and of sin, can never become the mother of a child to reproach her with the infamy of its birth. If I married you, it would be bat to per- petuate disgrace, and to retain, in living forms, that in- famy, which, dying with me, will be forgotten. I stand in this world an accursed thing. There is poison in my blood, and if it commingled with yours, would attach in perpetuity to the princely house of Saxony a stain which an ocean of tears, if I were to shed them, hereafter, could never efface. No, Magnus, I am a blot upon the face of nature — by my birth a leper ; and instead of daring to associate myself with the rest of mankind, E should hide my shame from their sight ; for they cannot look upon me without being reminded that there once stood at the holy altar a man who lived for years a sacrilegious sinner. That which I ought to do, I will do. Believe me, dearest Magnus, from the first moment that the horrid truth was first told to me by my gallant grandsire — the truly brave Albani — I conceived that plan which I now mean to carry into execution. It is to follow the example of my mother, and of the Empress Agnes — to take the habit of a nun — to proceed with THE FAREWELL. 457 botli to Italy, and in the same convent where my mother ■was educated, there shall she and I both lay down our lives ; and heaven grant, for the honor of the church, that, in our graves, the criminal, the awful and sinful life of my miserable father may be forever shrouded from the memory of mankind ! " " Beatrice, my own beloved Beatrice," said Magnus, pausing, as if every syllable stung him with an agony that convulsed his heart, " the words you speak to me are so strange, so terrible, so unexpected, that, pardon me if I fail to see at once the dreadful conclusion to which they tend. Can it be, that you actually mean to say, that because of a crime — a sin, of which you are as innocent as of any crime or sin that may be commit- ted a hundred years hence, that you therefore will not — for the determination rests with you alone — that you will not become my wife ? Do I understand you aright, that this is your answer to my proposal of marriage ? " "It is my answer, Magnus," said Beatrice. "And listen farther ; so convinced am I that I am right, that though I love you more, I believe, than any wife ever yet loved her husband, yet sooner than dishonor you, and perpetuate my infamous birth by marriage — that sacrament so sacrilegiously violated by my pope-abjuring father, I would willingly see myself, as an infamous wo- man, condemned to the stake, and this poor weak body consumed by fire. And this I would do, Magnus — because my love for you is not the love of a woman — because I prefer you to myself, because I love you more than myself ; because I prefer your fame, and the fame of your family, which, considering yom- high and ex- alted rank, is part of yourself, to my own pure, ardent, and unceasing affection for you." 39 458 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR. *'Then, Beatrice," observed Magnus, "you doom yourself to a life of misery, and me to despair and death." " Say not so," replied Beatrice. " "When heaven places us in such circumstances that we have to choose between the indulgence of our affections and the perform- ance of our duties, and that we sacrifice the former to fulfil the latter, be well assured that there is not a pang forgotten, nor a sigh unrecorded, and that the time will come, though it may not be in this world, when our re- ward will surpass all that human fancy can imagine of bliss, and peace, and joy. But if we fail in that trial — if we violate our duties to gratify our passions, even in the moment of their gratification, conscience will rise with the face of a demon, and strew every step we take with sharp and rankling thorns. There can be no peace for the sinner in this world ; and there would be no peace for me, if I repaid your affection by becoming your infamous wife — for I am infamous — I am the child of sacrilege — the offspring of violated vows. As your wife, that would be my thought by day, and my dreams by night ; and though my beloved was by ray side, yet my marriage with you — because it was with you — would be a hell even on this earth." " But what have you to do with the dishonor of your father ? " asked JNIagnus, again recurring to the same point on which he felt he was most strong ; " or what have / to do with it, that I cannot choose her that I know to be the best and fairest of her sex as my wife ? " *' Alas ! your questions are easily answered," replied Beatrice. " I have to do with the dishonor of my father — say, rather the sacrilegious violation of his vows — for the highest authority has told us that the sins of the THE FAREWELL. 459 father shall be visited on the children. I must pay the penalty of his sin — an easy penalty, because in perform- ing my duty I may win heaven for myself And you, Magnus, have to do with it ; for it stands as a barrier in the way of the indulgence of your true, pure, and vir- tuous love. It shows that the same duty which your ancestors discharged towards you, you now must perform towards those who in time must succeed to your name and title ; that as your ancestors have given you a name free from the slightest tinge of dishonor, so no infamy, no connection with a sacrilegious family, shall be as a re- proach to you, and those who descend from you. Thus have we both to do with my father's sin. It separates us forever from each other in this world ; but doing so, and willingly submitting to it, as our great trial in this life, it may be the means of uniting us forever in that world, where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary can at least find repose. Magnus, dear Magnus, I reject your proposal of marriage ; for I never, so help me heaven, will become your wife. The word is now spoken — the vow is made. It is my first vow of vir- ginity ; I have spoken it before my betrothed ; it shall be but repeated before a bishop. God grant me strength to keep it." " Amen ! — amen ! — amen ! " repeated Magnus, as he looked gloomily upon the earth, " and God grant me my senses to bear it with patience, for I feel that life is loath- some to me, and I long for death." "Magnus," said Beatrice, clasping one of his hands in both of hers, and raising it to her lips and kissing it. Magnus started ; but even this unwonted action did not fully rouse him from the stupor into which he had fallen. , * Dearest Magnus," continued Beatrice, " listen to me. 460 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR. In refusing to become your wife, I have voluntarily cast away from me that which would have been my greatest, and could have been my only happiness in this life. Not married to you, what is there in this earth can aflFord solace, comfort, or consolation ? Not my mother — for alas ! she regards herself as the only one of her name that ever was degraded ; and in her sorrow there is re- morse, for this degradation has fallen on her because she disobeyed the command of her father. In you, then, I see all that my imagination can suggest, and all that my conviction can prove to me of human perfection. And yet I have torn every thought of you out of my breast as my husband, I did this because it was my duty. But, in doing so, I have riven, I feel, the very fibres of my own heart. To me there is nought else left in this world but my cell to repose in, and the chapel to pray in. In both places your vision will often appear — as when you were a boy, and when I saw you beneath the beech tree, and as you are now this moment before me. O, Magnus ! do your duty in this world — worthily occupy the position in which God has placed you ; use your power for good — be the foe of the tyrant, and the friend of the oppressed ; let your ample riches gladden the hearts of the poor ; be a champion — for that you can be — an illustrious champion in the cause of the church, and, if need be, die fighting in defence of the Cross. And then, even in my lone cell, my visions will bring to me bliss, and my prayers for you will carry consolation — the consolation that they have been heard, and that angels have descended from heaven to guide you in your path, and to protect you from the worst of dan- gers — mortal sin." " Alas ! Beatrice," said Magnus, " I lack your zeal, for THE FAREWELL. 461 I have not, and I now feel it in my despair, your perfect purity of heart. I can but pray that I may yet one day prove that I was worthy to be your husband, had heaven so willed that you could conscientiously have accepted me." " Pray, Magnus," continued Beatrice, " and your prayer will assui-edly be heard. And as you pray, look upon this cross. Accept it, my beloved, as the last worldly gift of one who has ever thought of you with affection, and whose last words will be, God and Magnus." As Beatrice spoke these words, she unfastened from her bosom the cross of brilliants bestowed upon her by the empress, and placed it in the hand of Magnus. " When I die," said Magnus, " this cross will be found resting upon my heart. I accept it, Beatrice, upon one condition — it is one that you cannot refuse acced- ing to — it is, that into whatever convent you may enter, I shall have permission to endow it with my estate at the Lago Maggiore, where we first met, in order that you may apply the revenues, whilst you live, to such chari- table objects as you think proper, and with power, when dying, to allocate them for such pious intentions as you may desire to have fulfilled." " I accept the offer," answered Beatrice. " I shall regard the gift as coming from my spouse on eaith, and I shall transfer it to my spouse in heaven. And now, beloved Magnus, let us part, as we met, in love and in peace. I hear the impatient tramping of the horses' feet outside. The buzz that reaches us comes from the reti- nue of the empress, awaiting to escort her to Rome, not as an empress, but as a nun. The empress alone knew my intentions, and now awaits me. For the last time on this earth, then, farewell. We cannot be as husband and >\ife ; let us be as brother and sister." 39* 462 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR. As Beatrice spoke these words, she held up her fair forehead, and the cold lips of Magnus quivered as they touched it. Beatrice flung her arms around his neck, and kissing him upon both cheeks, rushed from the room. Her utterance failed her — she could not say — " farewell ! " CHAPTEPv XXXVI. THE CONCLUSION. The winter season had arrived. Cold, gusty winds rughed through the leafless trees, and along the banks of the lihine, speeding upon their course, as they hur- ried away, large masses of ice, v»diich clashed together, coalesced for a moment, and then again were riven asun- der as they were borne off by the rapid current towards the sea. These huge lumps of drifting ice were watched, with an earnest eye, by a man thickly clothed in furs, who stood upon a rampart overhanging the E.hine, and who turned his gaze, from time to time, away from them, towards the opposite side of the river, where there had been erected a fortification like that on which he stood. The man who so watched, was Henry, the deposed King of Germany. All semblance of the former state with which he used to be surrounded had utterly van- ished. He was alone, without a single attendant — and near him were but a few men, with helmets and pikes, who were discharging their duty as sentinels. They were hungry, care-worn, and desperate-looking ruffians — in whose eyes, when they rested upon the king, was THE conclusion; 463 discernible not one single glance of attachment or re- spect. Had Henry been without his sword, which he carried, not in his belt, but in his right hand — as if he would have it prepared for immediate use, then these sentinels might have been regarded as soldiers guarding a prisoner, and not subordinates under the command of him, who now looked v/ith such uneasy glances upon the waters and the opposite bank of the Rhine. '^ Curses upon it," exclaimed Henry, " if this intense cold continues but three days longer, the Rhine will be covered with one solid mass of ice. Even as it is, and despite the strong wind, I can see it knitting together. Let it but stop for an hour, and a hurricane would not disperse it. The ice once formed, I must abandon this position, or I must wait to see the whole army of the confederate princes pour down upon me — surround me on all sides, and then " he smiled with grim de- spair as he spoke these words, and clasped his sword to his breast ; " then this will be the last resource ! I shall never stand a living man, and a captive, before Otho of Bavaria and the Bishop of Halberstadt, who have knelt as suppliants at my feet, and — who were not forgiven." The sad course of his desperate thoughts was here interrupted by perceiving that there came, floating down towards the fortification from which he looked, a small boat, in which there were but two passengers, a man and a woman. As the boat approached, it was manifest to Henry that a great danger was incurred by it, it being formed of such frail materials that it seemed difficult to guide it, in a certain course, through the impetuous cur- rent, and, at the same time, avoid its coming in con- tact with the huge and jagged pieces of ice, that tumbled down the stream. 464 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR. " It is Eertha ! " he said, " my poor, weak, "willing, devoted, but disagreeable instrument, Bertha. She perils life, even now, to serve me, and yet I cannot love her. Poor Bertha ! she is faithful and true, but she is so — • O, the boat must be swamped by that iceberg that topples over it. There ! no, she has escaped ! She will tell me, I warrant, that it is the intercession of a saint has saved her. Poor Bertha ! I wish I had her piety, or that she had more beauty ! I might, in either case, make a better husband. But see ! she rises in the boat. She recognizes me, and despite her danger, she stands up to give the signals we agreed upon. See, she clinches her right hand. It is well; she has succeeded in mak- ing the inquiries I desired. She now raises her left hand. It tells me that I have no friends amongst the con- federate princes. And what ? both her hands are now uplifted. They announce that my affairs are in a des- perate condition. Curses on her ! Is this the skill of which she boasted ? The worst of news ! There is no time to be lost in learning it. I must hasten to meet her at the landing-place. The idiot wife will regard it as a mark of affection for her, and so deem herself re- warded for all the danger she has incurred. She is my sole chance of safety now, and I must, to the last, play the hypocrite." Henry, as he spoke these words, sprang from the for- tification down to the spot on which the boat was then touching, and stepping knee deep into the waters, he clasped his arms around Bertha, and carried her, as if she had been a baby, up to the walls of the fortress, and as he bore her, said — " Say to me one word, Bertha — what is the purport of your intelligence ? " THE CONCLUSION. 465 "Not here, my dear husband," answered Bertha. " "What I have to say to you can alone be told where there is no chance of our being overheard. When I tell you all you will praise me for my prudence in being now silent." Henry set her down upon the earth, not rudely, but still, though he spoke not, there were impatience and anger manifested by the suddenness of the movement ; and there was scorn in the words with which he replied — " Be it as you will. Bertha. Since you became an ambassador, you have rendered yourself remarkable by your prudence — your sJcill — and — your success." Bertha felt the sneer, but made no reply to it. She merely clasped her husband's hand in her own, and walked on with him from the outermost walls of the fortification, to the small, poor habitation in which they resided to- gether. " My dear husband," said Bertha, when they were quite alone, " I know that you are vexed with me be- cause I would not speak one word of what I had ascer- tained on the other side of the Ehine. I have heavy and sad news to tell you ; but let it be not rendered more doleful by the supposition that your wife. Bertha, is not willing to do every thing that can tend to the pro- motion of your happiness. I did not wish to speak to you, as long as there was the slightest chance of our being overheard ; and the reason I did not wish to do so was this — that there is not a soldier in your fortifi- cation that is not a traitor — that all have been, and are, at this moment, voluntarily spies upon your conduct ; and it is not their fault that you are not bound, hand and foot, a prisoner at this moment, in the encampment of the confederate princes." 466 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR. " I suspected, from the looks of many of the soldiers," said Henryj " evil intentions toAvards me — that is, a revolt, or a desertion — but not the project of betraying me. There is not a knave amongst them that I have not fed, for years, with the spoils of the Saxons. But ai'e you sure they are all traitors ? " " With the exception of the man who was my com- panion in that perilous voyage over the Ehine, at such a time as this," replied Bertha, " I am sure they are all traitors. Had the offer they made, of betraying you, been tendered to any other than a gallant enemy, like Count Dedi, you would have been seized upon, last night, as you slept, and now confined in a dungeon." " And Count Dedi, having the power of making me a prisoner, or putting me to death, would not avail him- self of the opportunity presented him ! " said Henry, in a tone that indicated how incredulous he was as to the statement that Bertha made. " He would not," answered Bertha. " He said, that though he had strong reason to susj)ect that you were not perfectly innocent of the death of his son, still, even if he were sure that you were guilty, yet he would not punish one act of treachery by himself participating in another ; that he no longer regarded you as a king, but as an enemy, and that, as an enemy, he would strike you down if he encountered you in the field of battle ; but he would not degrade himself by rewarding traitors for failing in the duty they owed to you. This was his an- swer to your soldiers. Be assured, the offer they made to him they will make to others, and you cannot calcu- late upon finding many like to Count Dedi on the other side of the Bhinc." " I am convinced I cannot do so. But what news of THE CONCLUSION. 467 the confederate priuccs and prelates. Is it possible that I have not one friend left amongst them ? What, for instance, says Count Rutger ? " asked Henry. " Count Rutger is dead," replied Bertha. " He has been accidentally slain, by falling from his horse, the point of Attila's sword having, as he fell, entered his side ; and the superstitious common people regard it as a judgment from heaven upon him : because, they say, that sword, which had been filched from Otho, was bestowed by Egen, as a bribe to Eutger, to become com- purgator for him, in Egen's false charge against the Duke of Bavaria." " This is a strange — a very strange accident," said Henry, musing. " The handsome Count Rutger dead ! he that I loved so much ! that M'as a sharer in all my feasts, and a partner in all my pleasures — and he is dead ! Alas ! I have lost in him a sure friend." " On the contrary," observed Bertha, " he was your most inveterate foe. I saw myself, that he endeavored to excite my hatred against you, by saying that you wanted him to become my lover — my unlawful lover in the first instance, and then that you had promised, as he said, to get rid of me, and give me to him as a wife." " I am glad to hear. Bertha, that he is dead," said Henry, " for he was a foul slanderer to invent such falsehoods respecting me. Let us think of him no more. AVhat say you of the anti-papal prelates ? " " All who were disposed to be your friends," replied Bertha, " are now powerless — they have been stricken with excommunication by Pope Gregory — Robert of Bamberg, Otho of Ratisbonne, Otho of Constance, and Burcard of Lausanne, having been so excommunicated. 468 THE POPE AND THE EMPERORS are now gone a pilgrimage to Eome, in the hope they may obtain the forgiveness of his holiness. The conse- quence is, that amongst the confederate princes you have not one friend — not one. All are your enemies, and in the diet which has now been held " " A diet ! " exclaimed Henry, terrified. " Is it possi- ble that they have attempted to hold a diet without me ? " *' Alas ! my dear husband," said Bertha, " they have dared to do much worse than hold a diet in your absence. In consequence of a letter addressed by Rodolph, Duke of Swabia; Guelp, Duke of Bavaria; Berthold, Duke of Carinthia ; Adalberon, Bishop of Wurtzburg ; and Adalbert, Bishop of Worms, a diet has been held at Tribur. At that diet, Sigefiid of Mayence, who has re- turned from Rome, appeared — and there too came the Papal Legates, Sicard, Patriarch of Aquilea, and Altman, Bishop of Passau. At this diet, I grieve to tell you, that you have been regarded as a king already deposed, and there, having recapitulated all the crimes of which they say you have been guilty, they declared that the only remedy was to put in your place some other king ; and the only difference between them, for a long time, was in itself a proof cf their unanimity ; for the Swa- bians desired that the new king should be a Saxon prince, and the Saxons, on the other hand, said they would pre- fer a Swabian. A king would have been, at once, elected in your place, if it had not been for a letter addi-essed to the assembled princes by Pope Gregory, who begged that you might be treated with mildness." " You do indeed amaze me," cried Henry. " Can it be possible that Hildebrand interceded for me ? " *'I have read Iris letter," answered Bertha, "and there is one passage in it made so deep an impression upon THE CONCLUSION. 469 my mind, that I am sure I cau repeat it from memory. It is this : — '' ' As we are not animated against Hemy by the pride of this world, nor by any vain ambition ; and as the dis- cipline and the care of the churches are the sole motives that have induced us to act against him, we entreat of you, as our brothers, to treat him with mildness, if he sincerely returns to justice ; and not with that strict jus- tice which would take away fi-om him the empire, but with that mercy which blots out past crimes. Forget not, I pray you, the weakness of human nature ; and bear in mind a pious recollection both of his father and of his mother, with whom can be compared no sovereigns of our time.' " * Henry did not speak to Bertha for some time after she repeated these lines from the letter of the pontiff. He rose from his seat — paced the room two or three times, and then taking his place by the side of his wife, he re- marked : " It was very magnanimous in Hildebrand to write thus of me. He that I thought the worst, is the most generous of my opponents." "Bear in mind," said Bertha, "the conduct of Dedi." *' I do — I do," replied Hemy, "but it is not to be compared to the perfectly Christian conduct of Hilde- brand." " That conduct found an imitator in the valiant Otho of Bavaria," said Bertha, " who, when there was an * This is a literal translation of a letter addressed by Pope Gregory VII., to the princes and prelates of Germany. 40 470 THE rOPE AND THE EMPEROR. almost unanimous feeling expressed for the immediate election of another king to supply your place, obtained a year's truce for you, within which time an opportunity will be afforded to you of being restored to the throne of which you are now deprived." " A year's truce ! I pray, good Bertha, explain your meaning," said Henry. '^ What the diet have agreed upon is this," replied Bertha : " First, that, as you stand excommunicated, they will hold no communication with you directly or indirectly ; next, that even if they could, they would not do so, because you have so often broken promises previously made that there is now no relying on your word ; thirdly, that they will submit the decision upon their complaints against you to the Pope, who is, for that purpose, invited to be at Augsburg at the feast of the Purification, and that the Pope will then absolve or condemn you as he thinks proper ; fourthly, that if within a year and a day from the time that excommuni- cation was pronounced against you, absolution be not^ obtained by you from the Pojie, they will regard you, as deprived, then and forevermore, of the crown of Ger- many." " And this 1 " said Henry, with scornful rage, " is the only mercy that my rebellious subjects will show me." " This and this only," replied Bertha, '' and even this was with difficulty obtained by Otho of Bavaria, who declared that now you are deprived of such evil coun- sellors as Rome-hating Croft, Count Werenhcr, Lieman, and others, you might be induced to govern Germany well and wisely." " Good Otho ! " observed Henry, with a sneer, " the time, perchance, may come when I shall have the oppor- THE CONCLUSION. 471 tunity of proving wlictlier he proplicsled truly or not respecting nie." " From the private soldier to the highest prince in that immense army that is now confederated against you," remarked Bertha, "there is but one sentiment 'expressed, namely, that they never again will submit to see in your hands such absolute power as you hitherto have exercised, and which was a temptation to you to become a tyrant, and to deprive the nobles of their priv- ileges and the people of their freedom." " What ! Bertha," said Henry, " have you, too, in the camp of the rebels, learned to speak the language of traitors ? " " O, my beloved husband ! " said the gentle Bertha, *' it is better that the truth be whispered in your ear by a loving wife, than that it should be repeated by a foe, who holds a sword, when you have no shield to protect your heart. Consider, dearest Henry, the position in which you are at this moment — surrounded by traitors, who are ready to sell your blood — assailed by indignant subjects, who are determined upon your degradation now — for they insist, that, abiding the reconciliation with the Pope, you shall be treated as a private individual — and resolved upon your ultimate deposition in case the year should pass away, and you still remain an excom- municated man. Consider all this, Henry, and then re- flect there is but one path of safety for you." " And what is that ? " asked Henry. " It is, without a moment's delay, to fly from this place — to betake yourself with me to Italy ; we can travel as pilgrims — to see the Pope — he is a generous, kindly, tender-hearted old man — to seek a reconciliation with him. Ask it, and you will be sure to obtain it." 472 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR. Such was the advice of Bei-tha to her husband. Henry listened to the words of Bertha. They seemed to produce a deep impression upon his mind ; for fold- ing his arms, and casting himself back upon the couch on which he had been sitting, he closed his eyes to all external objects, and lay, for a long time, pondering upon the course he should pursue. At length his re- flections were at an end, for, starting up, he kissed Ber- tha's hand, and said : " Excellent adviser, you have pointed the way out of all my difficulties. It is but this day that I heard old Hildeb]'and was at Canossa. We will go there — you disguised as a pilgrim. I Avill do something better than that. I shall make my appearance before him with the bared head and the naked feet of a penitent. Think you not that such a semblance of humility by the proud King of Germany will melt the heart of Hildebrand, and induce him to regard me rather as a saint than a sinner. O, yes — I see it all, I shall be freed from the excommunication, I shall be restored to my throne and power, and then " Henry paused ; for he feared to give expression to the dark thoughts of revenge that were brooding in his heart. " And then ? " said Bertha, wishing to hear him de- clare that he would amend his hfe and govern justly hereafter. *' And then," continued Henry, " you shall find that my love and devotion, my truth and fidelity, will prove how grateful I can be for the good advice you have giv- en me. And now, dear Bertha, make what preparations you can for our journey. We shall proceed on our road towards the Alps in the morning." A heavy fall of snow had taken place in the course THE CONCLUSION. 473 of the niglit, but so intense was the cold, that it had hardened, like a rack, and ail around was one bleak scene of whiteness, as Henry and his gentle wife stealthily- stepped forth from the habitation in which they had passed the night, to encounter all the perils of a journey, on foot, to Canossa, They had not advanced two yards from the door until a horrid spectacle presented itself to their view : it was that of a miserable man, eyeless and noseless, covered with rags, shivering with cold, and who, hearing their steps on the hard surface on which they trod, cried out, in a whining voice : " Good Christians ! whoever you may be, pity a wretched blind man, who is perishing of cold and fam- ished with hunger." " Merciful heaven ! " exclaimed Henry, " This is Egen — my favorite Egen. Who has dared thus to treat him ? Ask him. Bertha." *' !My good man," said Bertha, " here is a piece of gold for you. I will place it in your hand on condition you tell me, truly, who you are, and how you came to be deprived of sight." " I am Egen," the trembling, starving wretch replied. ** I was, at one time, in the employment of King Henry, and having been the fii'st to inform him of the residence of a beautiful maiden — Beatrice, of Aschaffenburg — and having afterwards carried her away, and detained her at Erzegebirge, for him — when that fortress was captured by the grandfather of Beatrice, he deprived me of my eyes, because they had looked upon Beatrice, and had been used for her betrayal into the power of the wicked King Henry." " Here, take the gold," said Bertha, shuddering. « Go, and, in your prayers, remember King Henry." 40* 474 THE POPE AND THE EMPESOR. " Remember him ! " said Egen, as lie groped his way along the road, " if I do, it will be to ]3ray for the per- dition of him who has caused my destruction, and who has left me, as I am, a maimed and forlorn mendicant." Henry and Bertha commenced their fearful journey, and, in that journey, they had but one companion. Of all the Germans, there was but one man to aid, support, or help them ; and that was a man, remarkable neither for his rank nor his riches. It was the same man who had rowed Bertha across the Ehine — it was Diedrich of Treves. O r**» THE END. m CO CD ^.OF-CAl!F0;Z ^fi'AHViiani^ 1 n "•'JOi'vuiirii' ■ c ftnn;,r •^ l\ r? ^r" ui. ouu I ncniM htbluiMAI [ IHIiAHY ( AGILITY AA 000 370 432 University Of Calilornia, Los Angeles mill L 007 449 503 7 % University of California SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 305 De Neve Drive - Parking Lot 17 • Box 951388 LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA 90095-1388 Return this material to the library from which it was borrowed. ^U 94 ?'>/?^ L ;'i-j