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THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
^it fistorical ^uk of l^e @Ieknl{j Cenkrg.
By W. B. MACCABE.
BOSTON:
A. MOORE & BROS., 2 CITY HALL AVENUE.
185 6.
BERTHA;
THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE.
CHAPTEE I.
THE re:xcontre.
For a few moments the silvery tone of tinkling bells
was heard, and the atmosphere around appeared to have
been aroused from its peaceful stillness by the murmiu'ed
accents of commingled prayers.
The bells ceased — the words of prayer were heard
no more, and the solemn silence and the calm repose,
which had before rested on the green banks and the
smooth waters of the small river Aschaff, descended
upon them anew as the maiden Beatrice sank back iipon
the silken cushions on which she had previously been
reclining, and again cast from her hands, fi-om time to
time, a wild flower, and watched it, as the little rippling
waves floated it slowly, and seemingly sadly, away from
her sight.
•"Lady! — Beatrice! dost thou not hear me? The
Ave-Maria bell of evening has rung ; and it is time that
we returned to the castle. Wherefore dost thou so
(11)
12 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
intently, and yet so idly, watch, those flowers, as they are
borne from thee ? "
" I am thinking," said she, who had been addressed
as Beatrice, " I am thinking, my good Agatha, that I am
myself like to those wild flowers. Like them, I know
not why, God has been pleased to place me in the midst
of these deep forests, and upon the banks of this river.
Like them, I am vmknown and disregarded — like them,
I am of no use or benefit to my fellow-creatures — and,
if some rude hand should sever me, as I do them, from
this solitude, and cast me upon the waters, I know not
what may beMl me — I may wither away in the glare
of the sunshine, or be overwhelmed by the rude tempest,
or I may be cast upon some unknown shore, where
nought grows but poisonous plants and foul weeds, and
there expire, a poor and noisome thing in the sight of
God and man. These are my thoughts, Agatha, — am I
right in giving way to them ? "
'' Thou art not, Beatrice," said Agatha, "for thou dost
not reason truly. These flowers, insensible as they are,
perform strictly the functions for which they were formed.
They beautify and enrich the soil from which they
spring, and the skill of man can extract medicinal
powers from them. In death as in life they have their
uses. Thou art not like the flowers ; for they live but
for a day, and then fiide and perish, whilst thou, if thou
faithfully fulfil the duties which God has assigned thee,
shalt bloom m immortal glory in the garden of heaven.
Thou hast compared thyself to a fading flower clothed
but with an evanescent beauty. Let the waters on which
thou hast cast them be thy monitor. Our several duties
in this life may be compared to the stream of the smooth
Aschafl" itself, now flowing through wild and beauteous
THE RENCONTRE. 13
scenery, then through sweet and smiling lands ; now
forcing its way over rugged rocks, and then down awful
precipices, but still persevering, still resolute, still onward
in its course, until at last it finds its repose and its re-
ward in the Ocean-eternity of Divine Love, of which it
then forms a part, and from which it is no longer dis-
tinguishable, but is all in all and one with God himself.
On the other hand, the waters that are turned away from
the stream, are but too often like to those faculties which
we devote to temporal uses — they are stained with pas-
sions, and begrimed with the filth of pride, and become
a stagnant pool, from which emanate pestilence, disease,
and death. But come — I repeat to thee, the Ave-Maria
has rung. It is evening time, and we should now be on
our way back to the castle." *
Beatrice smiled — there was a calm and gentle melan-
choly in the smile — and then she said, —
" Look at me, Agatha, and tell me, if you can, what
is at this moment occupying, not alone my thoughts,
but my heart."
Agatha did look, and beheld before her one of the
fairest faces and most faultless forms that ever yet pro-
voked the admiration of mankind. Beatrice was now
fast verging on her seventeenth year ; her skin was of
dazzling whiteness, except where a slight sufi"usion
tinged, without actually giving a distinct color to the
cheeks, and it came in strong contrast with the ripe and
cherry redness of the lips, and still stronger with the
full, large, dark eyes, and darker eyebrows, in both of
which might be said to be placed that intellectuality of
expression, and that spirit of character, which otherwise
were not impressed upon her small, delicate, and femi-
nine features ; whilst the neck was concealed, and the
14 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
shoulders were covered, by flowing masses of silken,
light-brown hair, of a hue so indistinct, that when the
rays of the sun shone upon it, they seemed to be con-
verted into threads of burnished gold : the tiny foot that
peeped forth from the loose robe, and the small hand
that found its way out of the ample sleeve, testified
as to the exquisite proportions of a form which the
dresses of the period disguised, but in this case could
not conceal.
*' Look at me, Agatha," said the fair and gentle girl
to her faithful and aged attendant, " and tell me, if you
can, what is at this moment most occupying my heart."
'' Thou art thinking that in a few weeks thou wilt be
seventeen, and thou art hoping that with its arrival may
come a cessation to that solitude in which thou hast so
long pined."
*' Alas ! no — my heart is not sad, because a gentle
mother greets me with an ever-enduring smile — I am
not sad, because I can walk daily in these gloomy forests
and wild glens — I am not sad, because I can repose
for hours and hours together on the banks of the gentle
Aschaff — I am not sad, because I can bestow as many
gifts as I please upon the hard-working and faithful serfs
— I am not sad, because I can make the heart of many
a poor slave joyful and happy — I am not sad, because
I have you, my ever-true, and ever-fond, and ever-faith-
ful Agatha, at all hours by my side. All these are
matters in which I should rejoice, are benefits for which
I should be thankful, and for the continuance of which
I ought to pray. But young as I am, Agatha, I am not
without knowledge — for you have been my teacher,
and kindly nuns have been amongst my instructors —
and with that knowledge I am sad — very sad, dearest
THE RENCONTRE. 15
Agatha — for I see that my life is a mystery — that I
am surrounded with a state, that should not be mine,
unless I were the daughter of a duke ; with boundless
riches that I could not possess unless I were the daugh-
ter of a count ; and still with as much watchfulness be-
stowed upon, and as many guards surrounding me, as if
I were the daughter of the emperor himself: and yet,
I know, and I see — nay, what is more — I feel that
my father is none of these. He comes here always un-
expectedly ; he leaves, without ever bidding us — at
least me — farewell ; he wears not the garb of a knight,
nor does he even bear the shield of a freeman ; there
is about him, or around him, no emblem of authority.
That he cannot be a serf, his riches show ; that he must
be a man in some way illustrious, his look, his manners,
his very bearing plainly indicate. I love him, because
I am told he is my father ; but that he loves me, I
doubt ; for I never yet caught his eye fixed upon me,
that there was not mingled in his glance, far more of
.sadness than of affection. These are the things that
occupy my heart — therefore am I sad ; but can you,
dear Agatha, say aught that may aid me in unravelling
this mystery ? "
The attendant hemmed audibly, and coughed hysteri-
cally two or three times whilst the maiden was thus ad-
dressing her ; and, instead of answering the interroga-
tory thus put directly to her, she sought to envade it by
putting another question : —
" But tell me frankly, Beatrice — is there no other
thing occupying your heart but what you have now
said ? Does not your heart, or your memory, ever cari-y
you back to other times and other persons ? "
" O, yes," replied Beatrice, with a face now flushed
16 THE POrE AND THE EMPEROR.
■with pleasure, and an eye brilliant with animation ; " I
do think — often think — O, how often ! — of another
sky, another land, and another clime than this — of a
land which you have told me is the land of my birth
— the ever-lovely, sweetly-smiling Italy. It may be a
child's fancy, but to me it seems as if such a land could
alone be seen in a dream. I think of it — and I am
back again upon the borders of the Lago Maggiore —
and there I see upon the shore the clustering vines —
the rose-emboM^ered cottages — the green woods and the
greener-leaved forests — and, upon the pellucid waters
of the blue lake, reflecting back a still more purely blue
sky, I see the light boats, and hear the joyful songs of
happy fishermen ; whilst far away in the lake I behold
an island which is all one flower garden, whilst above it
rise terrace over terrace, palaces of snow-white marble
— and all these I see again in my dream, or my memory
shows them as they appeared to me when a child ; and
then, too, I do think of one, for Avhom all these things
seemed to have been made ; but when I saw him I can-
not now remember, whether on the land, or on the
island, but in the midst of them I certainly did see
AtVtt."
" And who is he of whom thou speakest ? Dost thou
recollect his name ? "
" I remember some one — a boy, with light blue eyes,
and flaxen hair, and the heavenly smile of those young
and innocent cherubs that are portrayed in my mother's
grand psalter as fluttering around tlie head of the Virgin.
I remember him, and the thoughts of him are as dear
to my heart as the thrilling strains of the nightingale,
that fill, when all else is silent, the whole creation with
melody. O, yes, I do think of him."
THE RENCONTRE. 17
«' And dost thou not recollect his name ? "
*' I do."
"What is it?".
" Alas ! I know but too well why I hesitate to speak
it aloud. It was Magnus."
" Magnus — Magnus ! " repeated Agatha, in a far
louder tone than her mistress had originally pronounced
the word ; and as if taken completely by surprise at its
utterance.
" Who calls on Magmi^ 1 " exclaimed a young man,
apparently about twenty years of age, bounding from a
boat upon the bank, and motioning to his four attendant
rowers, as he did so, to push on to a creek at a few yards*
distance.
" "Who calls on Magnus ? " he repeated, in a higher
tone, as the thick-growing trees prevented him for a
moment from perceiving Beatrice and her attendant.
The tones of his well-known, long-remembered voice
were at once recognized, and Beatrice stepped forward,
saying, —
*' I call upon !Magnus — if it be the Magnus I knew
when he was a boy."
Magnus and Beatrice stood face to face with each
other.
" Beatrice ! " he said.
" Magnus ! " was the only word she spoke.
They looked upon, but they could no longer recognize
each other : the girl had become a woman ; the boy had
grown into a man. Her that he had rushed forward to
kiss, he now feared to approach ; him that she had
hastened to meet, and with the intention to cast her
arms around his neck, she now looked upon but for an
instant, and then trembling cast her eyes upon the
2*
18 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
ground. He beheld before him a woman of more sur
passing loveliness than he had ever fancied could be dis-
covered in his boyish dreams ; and she found placed
before her, in the person of Magnus, all the graces
of juvenile beauty, combined with the commanding
stature, the strength, the dignity, and the majesty of
manhood.
" Alas ! " said Beatrice, for she was the first to speak,
although she had not dared to look a second time at
him, "we are both greatly changed,"
"Yes — Beatrice," he said, his gaze still fixed upon
her, and seeing nought else in the world beside. " Yes,
Beatrice, we are both changed ; 1 for the worse, or you
would not keep your eyes thus turned away from me ;
and you — O, how much you are changed — I have
always thought of you as an angel ; but now — I could
kneel down and worship you."
**I pray your pardon, my lord," said Agatha, here
stepping between the youthful pair, " I am the attend-
ant — or, as she in her goodness calls me, the friend —
of the Lady Beatrice. From her I never heard your
name before. Neither has her mother ever spoken of
you to me. The language you have now addressed to
the Lady Beatrice should not be spoken to her, but with
the permission of her parents. I cannot invite you to
their castle ; but you know yourself if you would be
welcome there. If you would, it is there and not in
this wild wood you should see the Lady Beatrice ; if
you would not, then the words you could not speak to
her there, you should not give utterance to her here,
where there are none to protect her, but an aged attend-
ant like myself, and a few armed serfs that wait for us,
in the adjoining valley."
THE RENCONTEE. 19
These words were apparently addressed by Agatha to
Magnus ; but were really intended as a guidance to
Beatrice for the conduct that should be adopted by her
on this occasion ; but Agatha perceived that her ad-
monition was poured into the ears of a man who was as
if deaf. All the faculties of Magnus seemed to be ab-
sorbed in the contemplation of Beatrice ; he gazed as if
sight could never fail in looking upon her^ and he ap-
peared to wait until she would speak, in order that his
hearing might so be restored to him.
" You say now, as you always speak," observed Bea-
trice, " justly and wisely, kind Agatha. It is in my
father's hall that Magnus should be received : it is there
that seneschal, and groom, and page should wait upon
him. Come, Magnus."
" I go, beloved Beatrice — dream of my boyhood —
Beatrice — I go wherever you desire," stammered forth
Magnus.
" Come — come quickly — dear INIagnus," answered
Beatrice, now looking up in the face of her youthful
friend, and a single, glowing glance of love, repaying
him a thousand-fold for the tender expressions he had
used. " Come, my mother will be so happy to see you
grown so tall, and so brave-looking, and so — so — much
darker than you were when a boy ; for I remember often
speaking of you to my mother, and once to my father
— and — ah ! woe is me ! Why have I mentioned
his name ? or why thought of these doleful circum-
stances "
"And wherefore not ? Why stop, dearest Beatrice ? "
inquired Magnus, observing her pause in her hasty and
onward career.
"Alas ! Magnus, I remember upon one occasion,
20 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
speaking to my father, and telling him of my infantile
dreams respecting the Lago Maggiore, and then speak-
ing to him about you, and how much I then loved you,
and I remember his then questioning my mother about
who might be this Magnus, that I praised so much, and
of her telling him who you were ; but I know not what
she said "
" I," remarked the young man, fii-mly, but still in no
haughty spirit, and with no boastful manner, '^ I am no
poor tungin in a district, nor a mere graf in a county.
I am of an ancient race. I am Magnus, Duke of Sax-
ony."
" To me," hastily observed Beatrice, '* yoti are not
titngin, graf, nor duke ; you are simply Magnus, my
kindly playmate on the bright lake of Lombardy, and,
sad it is to tell, that whatever my mother may have told
respecting you, and, until that day, she had never spoken
of you but in strongest terms of endearment ; and,
therefore, must have spoken in admiration of you to my
father ; but, be it what it may, I must now add, that
my father told me, if I would not bring down shame
upon my own head, and curses upon his, never again to
mention your name ; never again to think of you.
From that day to this, I have strictly kept his commands.
I have not spoken of you, even to my faithful Agatha.
But, as to not thinking of you ! I could not there obey
him ; a child's first afiections are a rich mould fi-om
which ai'B ever springing thoughts of the loved and the
absent. But then, there is my father's prohibition re-
specting you. No, Magnus, I must not, cannot, dare
not, bring you to the castle."
" But I, Beatrice," replied the youth, " shall go there,
not now, not as a poor suppliant, not as your companion,
THE RENCONTRE. 21
and bring clown censure upon your head, nor in such a
manner as to cause you to shed a single tear for my
sake, you, a single tear of whom I would not exchange
for the most precious diamond in the imperial crown.
I shall go to your father's castle as becomes me, accom-
panied by my guardian, Otho of Bavaria, and attended
by my knights, as seemeth my birth, my wealth, and
my rank, and Beatrice, dearest Beatrice, I will go there
to demand of your fether your hand. I ask not, care
not, what may be his rank in life ; if he were a king, I
am his equal ; if he be a poor noble, which I think he
is not, or a still poorer freeman, which I am sure he
cannot be ; but still, if poor, I go to make him most
rich by the marriage gift I shall bestow upon him : in
exchange for the priceless treasure of your virgin hand.
Yes, Beatrice, it is well, that here in this dark forest,
and by this silent stream, we should part. Loved
woods ! and dear waters ! that I, in boyish idleness, this
day visited, little knowing that she, whose image has pre-
served me from all the vileness that youth and passion,
and evil example might have otherwise suggested to me,
that even she, always thought of, was to be found on
the remote banks of the AschafF. Here then, on this
spot, where the pilgrim heart of a lover has, at last,
found repose — here let us part — we cannot part but
in sorrow, as we can never meet but in joy — but here
we part — part in sorrow and in hope. Say then, Bea-
trice, but the sad word farewell, and the light boat that
conveyed me hither shall, in a few hours, carry me back
to my uncle Otho, who is now at Frankfort."
Beatrice was silent. Contending thoughts, or rather
conflicting emotions filled her heart ; joy commingled
with sorrow ; hope saddened by fear: the truthfulness
22 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
of lier lover, that lover first discovered in the boy that
she had been forbidden to speak of; the disinterested
gallantry, the noble bearing, the generous affection com-
bined with the manly beauty of him who now stood by
her side : these, and a thousand other ideas and feelings,
until then unknown to her, all came upon her together :
they could find no expression in words, and she wept —
wept bitterly.
" My Lord," said Agatha, " you have spoken as be-
comes you. You have spoken as a knight of whose
homage an empress might be proud. You will do that
which is your duty. I too must perform mine. I must
mention, the moment I return to the castle, that this in-
terview has taken place between you and the Lady
Beatrice. I cannot tell it to her father ; for he is now
absent from the castle ; but I shall mention it to her
mother. By her advice, Beatrice, I am sure, will be
guided ; and that advice may be useful even to you ;
for the Lady Bianca must know the reason wherefore
both she and her child have been forbidden to mention
your name. My Lord Magnus, whatever be the cause
for the father of Beatrice forbidding your name to be
mentioned by her, be assured it cannot be a light one.
It certainly cannot be from caprice, or sudden passion,
or originating in a rude gust of temper ; for he is ever
loving and ever kind to her."
" But why entertain a prejudice against one he has
never seen ? Why dislike the name of one who can
have done him no wrong ? "
" I have already told you," said Agatha, that the
father of Beatrice is now absent from the castle. His
return may be expected momentarily — it may be to-day,
to-morrow, or some day this week. Be here then, on
THE RENCONTRE. 23
this spot, this day week. You shall be met here by
Beatrice, if the answer be as we all desire. If it be
otherwise, then it shall be my painful duty alone to
communicate the purport of the message that is confided
to me. And now, my lord, let us part ; the shades of
evening are fast falling around us, and it is time that we
were on our way homeward."
" Yes, yes, let us part," sighed forth Magnus. " Let
us part here, Beatrice, where I have first, for so many
long years, seen thee, beneath this beech tree — here
let me kneel — and here kiss — thy hand — it is all I
ask of thee — my sweet one — my beloved — my only
destined bride ! "
Beatrice could not speak. She unfastened a thin
chain of gold from her girdle, to which a small cross,
set with rubies, was attached, and as Magnus knelt be-
fore her, she flung it over his neck. In doing so. her
hand touched, but did not rest upon, liis head ; and, as
it did so, she said, as if pronouncing a blessing :
" May all the ang-els guard my Magnus ! " She then
burst into tears ; and, as a burning kiss was pressed
upon her taper fingers, she sighed forth, " farewell ! "
and rushed hastily from the spot, where Magnus re-
mained kneeling.
A few moments afterwards the neighing of horses,
and the pawing of palfreys, were heard, intermingled
with the clash of spears, borne by the armed men who
acted as the escort of Beatrice and Agatha, and their
female attendants.
With the sound of the first movements made by those
departing from the forest to the castle, Magnus started
from his knees. He remained standing and listening to
the retreating tramp of horses and of men, and when
24 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
all lifid become silent, he walked back sadly and gravely
to the creek in which his light boat lay, and then was
carried swiftly away with the current of the stream.
All was now silent in the forest ; the glades were fast
filling up with darkness, and the last gleams of twilight
seemed to cluster around the old beech tree, which had
witnessed the meeting and the parting of two youthful,
innocent, pious, and virtuous lovers, when there appeared
where they stood, a single man, as there appeared of
old, in the garden of Paradise, an evil spirit who had
witnessed virtue that he hated, and innocence that he
loathed. This man could be observed first coming from
out of the branches of the beech tree, and then gliding
softly down by its trunk, until his feet touched the earth.
This man was clothed from head to foot in green, and
even though he believed himself to be alone in that
dark, lonely forest, his face was covered either by a
mask, or so colored as to give him the appearance of a
negro.
Upon this stranger's feet touching the ground, he
paused ; it might be for a minute or two. He then
went cautiously round the trunk of the tree, examining
all sides as he went ; so as to be sure that there was no
one there to watch him. Having satisfied himself that
he was not observed, he then placed his hands to his
mouth, and a sound issued forth that precisely resem-
bled the melancholy hooting of the owl. These sounds
were twice repeated.
A pause of a few minutes occurred, and then there
was heard across the waters the distant twittering of a
swallow. Twice, too, were these notes heard, and then
came the quick splasliing of oars.
The movement of the oars ceased, and a man, whose
THE RENCONTRE. 25
face was darkened, or who wore a mask, advanced to
the beech tree, and these words were exchancred be-
tween the two stransrers.
" Have I spoken truly, Werenher ? "
" Most truly, Egen."
" Is she not fair and beauteous to the eye ? "
" In Franconia, in Swabia, in Lombardy, in Bohemia,
in Hungary, and in Poland, there is not one to equal
her. She is alone fitted for an emperor ; but more im-
portant things are to be told than that there is a fair
maiden in Aschaffeuburg. Let the men row quickly."
"They shall do so."
The boat disappeared — and shortly afterwards, there
was nought but darkness and solitude in the woods and
streams of Aschaffeuburg.
CHAPTER II.
THE ORATORY.
In a small room — small in extent when compared
with its great height — and this room so dimly lighted
by a single lamp dependent from the roof, that alcove
and doorway remained in darkness, there was to be seen
a species of altar, that seemed to be but sufficient as a
pediment for a largo ivory figure of the Savior, resting
upon a cross of wood so blackened by age that it ap-
peared to be ebony. Before this altar, and with snow-
white hands clasping the cross, and the ensanguined feet
of the sacred image, was to be seen the bending figure
3
26 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE.
of a female, covered wltli a long, dark cloak, which fail-
ing over the head in front, and the feet behind, con-
cealed face and person alike from the view ; so that it
might be surmised the folds had been thus arranged by
the wearer, in order that, shutting out all objects from
her sight, she might devote herself wholly, heart and
soul, to meditation.
An hour had nearly passed away, and she who knelt
might still be seen in the same attitude. There was no
sound of prayer — not one syllable spoken beyond a
single ejaculation — and that one, the word which
comprises in itself suffering on earth, and salvation in
heaven — the name of Him before whose figure she
knelt, and the contemplation of whose sufferings excited
her devotion.
The silent and lonely oratory was at length shaken by
the sharp and sudden ringing forth of a loud, clamorous
bell; but still the attitude of the kneeling, praying
female was not altered. The chamber door opened, and
there crept in silently, slowly, and sadly, another female,
who, kneeling gently down by her whose devotions still
continued, for a few minutes bent her head in prayer,
and then throwing her arms around the kneeling sup-
pliant, exclaimed : —
" Bless me, and pray for me, mother, for I am very
sad, and have none other in the world to comfort and
console me but you."
'' God bless my Beatrice ! my gentle daughter — my
only child ! " ejaculated the female, as she stood up, and
cast back from her the dark cloak, which had previously
covered her.
" God bless my child ! " were the words now given
Utterance to by lips, so red, so fresh, and so beauteous.
THE ORATOEY. 27
and covering such dazzling white teeth, that they seemed
to be those of a sister, not a mother. Regarded in the
dim light of that obscure oratory, the mother and the
daughter seemed to be so very like each other that it
■would be scarcely possible to mark the distinction of
years between them. Both had the same superabun-
dance of light-brown, golden shaded, silken hair ; both
the same satiny snowy skin, both the same exquisitely
moulded small, feminine features, and both had the
same large, lustrous eyes, in wliich shone forth, as if
they were diamond-sparkles from the pure soul within,
glances of genius, of love, of truth, and of virtuous
innocence. Regarded in the broad glare of day, per-
haps one who knew both mother and daughter well,
might from that knowledge be able to detect, in the
eyes of the first the traces of many bitter tears, fi-om
which her youth and experience had preserved the
latter. In all other respects they seemed the same ; for
if care had been in the mother's heart, it had not, at
least as yet, worked its way to the surface, nor deformed
by a single wrinkle that fair face on which the youthful
graces still seemed delighted to dwell. The figures of
both seemed to be moulded in the same form ; and each
alike was faultless. In Bianca was beheld the lovely
woman not yet forgetful of her girlhood, and in Beatrice
the girl surprised to find herself admired as a woman.
*' But what say you, my child," inquired Bianca, " of
your being sad ? or, what can have caused your tears ?
for I perceive you have been weeping."
" Alas ! mother, this has been an eventful day to me.
I have seen him, whose name I have for years been for-
bidden to speak."
*' Ah ! me, you need not tell me more, Beatrice. In
28 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE.
you," said Bianca, " I see myself revived. In you I be-
hold my own sad destiny renewed. You love him,
Beatrice — I see it all — and you are forbidden to love
liim by your father. Then think of him no more —
nay, drive him from your thoughts, ay — even though
your heart, and with yours, mine should break in the
effort."
" O, mother — mother ! — dearest mother, do not say
such words as these. Do not drive me to despair —
have pity on me — on my knees I beg of you to recall
those cruel words — ' think of him no more ! ' "
And as Beatrice spoke, she knelt, and hid her now
clay-cold face in her mother's robe.
"It is just, O, Lord! it is just," meekly ejaculated
Bianca, " the sins of the parents should be visited on
the children ; for it is in their sorrows that our sins are
most bitterly punished. Had I been a good and obedient
child — liad I done that which my father desired me to
do, then, O, God ! I had never seen this good and gentle
girl — this pure and stainless essence of my sinful heart
— I had never seen her — dearer to me than life —
than all else in this world — I had never seen her — my
daughter — my beloved — my Beatrice, prostrate here
in grief before me — and for the same cause — O, Lord !
for the same — the same — it is just — 0, God — how
very just, and how very bitter."
" Ah ! mother — pardon mo ! — indeed I did not in-
tend so to grieve you. Do not you weep, mother, and
I shall feel sorrow no more. I will speak no more of
Magnus — I will not think of — Ah ! no — I cannot do
that; but I shall mention his name no more, and —
dearest mother — it will be no sin to die then, thinking
of him, of you, of my Guardian Angel, of the Holy
Virgin, and of God — "
THE ORATORY. 29
Poor Beatrice could say no more — she fell prostrate
at her mother's feet, and. bedewed them with her tears.
Bianca knelt down on the floor beside her child —
kissed her a thousand times — then foldinsr her arms
around her, she said —
"Come, Beatrice, rouse yourself — we must submit
to the will of God, and not struggle against it. He
sends us not a single sorrow that is not intended, if we
make the proper use of it, for our sanctification. Our
trials here shall be our glories hereafter, if we receive
them as such from His all gracious, and ever compas-
sionate hand. Come, my child, recline your form vipou
a couch, and rest your head on a mother's heart. You
have, what I had not, a mother to advise you ; and you
shall have, what I could not have, happily for herself,
a mother, whose sad tale shall be to her child, at the
same time an examjole, a guide, and a warning. Listen
to me, Beatrice," continued Bianca ; " for I am now
about to address you in language, such as I never spoke
to you before. Yesterday you were a girl — to-day you
are a woman — for you have seen Magnus — I know
that he has spoken to you of marriage — and you have
in the boy you loved recognized the man to whom you
would wish to devote your life. You have not told me
this ; but in your eyes, that have always been as trvith-
ful as your tongue, and in my own heart, I have read it
all. You love the very man that your father has for-
bidden you to name."
" Alas ! it is so," sighed forth Beatrice.
" Then, mark well what I say, my child. I too loved
a man, whose name I was forbidden by my father to
mention. This is my sad story, which must now be told
to you for the first time. I am by birth one of the
o
30 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE.
noble and ancient family of Albani, and my first recol-
lections are of a castle, high, perched upon an irregular
mass of rock, looking proudly over the rich vineyards,
smiling gardens, and sweet olive groves of Viterbo, in
the Roman States, I have no recollection of my mother
■ — I can but remember, that from the steep castle on the
rock I found myself as a child — a mere infant in the
midst of a large nunnery — that there I was treated
with such tenderness, that I cannot now say who was
most kind to me, the venerable mother superior, or the
poorest lay-sister that waited upon me. My childhood
and my girlhood were but as a single day — and that
a day of unmingled happiness. From the convent I
was taken back to my father's castle — and there I found
one of whom I had never heard before — the youthful
Eberhard. My father bade mc love him as his friend,
for in a recent visit paid by him to Rome, Eberhard had
rescued my father from the hands of one of those bands
of assassins, in the pay of the Cenci — the curse to the
Roman people, the affliction of pilgrims, the disgrace to
Rome, the persecutors of the Pontiffs. It seemed that
my father, when poorly guarded, was attacked in the
streets of Rome by one of the gangs in the pay of those
robber nobles ; and he declared that his liberty would
have been lost, and most probably his life sacrificed, but
for the timely aid aftbrdcd to him by Eberhard.
*^ About nineteen years ago, my dear child, you can
have no adequate notion of what was the state of the
city of Rome, and what peril the person encountered
who ventured to visit it, either upon the affairs of this
life, or for the purposes of devotion. It has been thus
described to mc by a good monk, v/ho was there at the
period that Gregory VI., of blessed memory, ascended
THE ORATOEY. 31
the papal thvonp. I use his xbyj words in describing
the then existing condition of things. He said, that
•with the exception of a few towns in the neighborhood
of Eome, and the offerings of the fliithful, the Pope
himself had scarcely sufhcient to subsist upon ; that the
lands and cities which lay at a distance from Rome, and
that were the property of the church, had been taken
possession of by robbers ; that the public roads and the
highways, not only in the Papal States, but throughout
all Italy, were so beset, it might even be said thronged
with thieves, that no pilgrim, unless protected by a large
escort, could pass in safety along them ; that there were
to be found swarms of miscreants upon every pathway,
and that the poor not less than the rich were their vic-
tims ; whilst the city itself, which, for centuries, had
been celebrated as the abode of holiness, was held by
bands of knaves and assassins, who were not merely to
be met with in the ancient forum, but who audaciously
unsheathed their swords over the sacred altars, and the
very bodies of the apostles ; and the pious offerings
which devout pilgrims had presented were torn away by
those sacrilegious villains, and wasted by them in drunk-
enness and debauchery. It was at the very time that
these things were occurring, and when the good Pope
Gregory VI. complained, in the words of the Holy
Scripture, that ' the house of God had been converted
into a den of thieves,' that my liither travelled to Rome,
and that he declared he was indebted for his life to the
bravery of Eberhard.
" I learned then to look upon Eberhard as the pre-
server of my iiither's life. Such a claim upon my grati-
tude made him find favor in my sight. Alas ! his per-
sonal appearance, his graceful manners, and his mental
32 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE.
accomplishments soon ripened that sentiment into one
of intense love. I did not feel that it was wrong to give
way to it ; and as I had never been thought to disguise
my feelings, I suppose not only Eberhard, but my father
became conscious of them. The former cherished, the
latter never said a word in disapprobation of them.
" I shall not now dwell upon the three months of su-
preme felicity that thus passed away in the Castle of
Viterbo. It is sufficient to say that they terminated for-
ever by my father proposing a second journey to Rome,
which a missive from the Pontiff, who was then occupied
in putting down abuses in the city and states of Rome,
required him to take. He asked Eberhard to accom-
pany him, and the latter, as it appeared to me, unwill-
ingly gave his assent to that proposal.
" They departed with a numerous retinue for Rome.
Four weeks then elapsed, and at the end of that time,
my father returned — alone !
" My father appeared to me to have become in those
few weeks an aged man. Grief or care seemed to have
cast upon him a premature old age, which his years
might yet have spared him. He was at all times a silent
— a reserved man — wholly absorbed in the perform-
ance of his daily devotions — spending most of his time
in prayers, and only varying them by acts of charity,
which he discharged not as feeling a pleasure in their
performance, but as complying with what he considered to
be an unavoidable and an irksome duty. To me he had
always been gentle, but never kind — that is, he had
never made me feel that I formed a portion of his hap-
piness ; but that as he was detached fiom this earth, by
every other tie, so that love for his child did not bind
him to it. As, upon his return, I knelt before liim, to
THE ORATOKY. 33
receive his blessing, I was astonished to find him, for the
first time since I was an infant, raise me from the earth,
clasp me in his arms, burst into tears, and exclaim — >
* 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<? the remainder of the vovage
to justify the precautions that had been adopted by Count
Werenher. Nought was to be seen in field or in forest,
as the boats sailed onward — but their usual occupants - —
the birds, the beasts, and the hardworking serfs — the
last so occupied that they seldom raised their eyes to
gaze upon the passing barge and its attendant boats.
Meanwhile Count Werenher sat asraln alone and
musmg.
" Dedi the younger," thought he. " It is the first
time he has crossed my path, and yet I cannot tell Avhy
it is that now, and for the first time, his name shakes my
heart with the same dread that I suppose the condemned
criminal feels, Avhen he looks for the first time on the
headsman assigned to slny him. I do not hate the
THE CAPTIVE ON THE EIVER MAINE. 83
niau — / fear him : and wherefore ? There is nought
in common between us. I do not intend to injure him ;
I can have no interest in doing so. I am his superior in
rank, in wealth, in power. He never can be my rival,
for neither he nor one of his fomily will accept, much
less seek a favor from Henry. Why then do I — for 1
do — fear him ? Wherefore have an apprehension about
him ? the more annoying, because it is indefinable and
inexplicable, and yet have not the slightest feeling of the
same description towards Duke Magnus ? my superior
in all things but in the love that Henry bears me — and
upon whom I am at this very moment inflicting an un-
provoked and irreparable wrong. It is strange, most
strange, that I should dread my inferior, and have no
fear as respects my superior ; dread the man I despise,
and disregard the man I ought most to dread. This is
an inexplicable superstition — but I cannot shake it off.
It is a sensation, I feel, that clings to me, as the shroud
clings to the decaying corpse.
*•' But what means this ? " said "Werenher, starting up,
as he saw the high towers and frowning battlements of
Frankfort before him. " Wherefore are there such
crowds of Saxon serfs drawn up around our landing
place. A rescue may be contemplated. Lieman, do
you take charge of the soldiers. Before the female is
disembarked form a double line of them from the bar<re
to the postern. Egen, to you is confided the charge of
conveying our captive from the barge in safety. I shall
remain behind, disguised as I hitherto have been : as it
is the king's especial command I should not openly ap-
pear in this affair."
The orders given by Werenher were, up to a certain
point, strictly executed. The vast crowd collected on
84 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
the bank willingly fell back to enable the soldiers to
form a clear path for the captive.
Lieman walked along the vacant space, and saw that
the soldiers formed two compact lines. He then called
out :
" Comrade, bring forth the king's prisoner."
The crowd — curious it might be — but apparently
nothing more, saw carried out of the boat a female,
Avhose form and face were so completely concealed by
her habit and hood, that it was impossible for any one
to guess what might be her age or appearance. She was
borne thus, rather than led, by Egen, through the files
of soldiers, until she had got about half way, when one
of those forward movements took place in the crowd,
which seemingly, involuntarily, never occurs without
being felt to be irresistible by those who attempt a mo-
mentary opposition to it. "Without a word or a cry, or
the manifestation of the slightest excitement, the well-
formed line of the soldiers, that seemed so compact a
moment before, was broken ! snapped as noiselessly and
as surely as if it had been formed of friable thread —
and in an instant, that which was before a vacant space
was trodden upon by human beings : the inbursting tide
of the population had as completely concealed that va-
cant place from observation, as the advancing sea wave,
in its flow onwards, covers that portion of the shore
which the ebbing waters had previously left exposed.
In this sudden push of the crowd and break-up of the
line, the only one that was injured was Egen, who was
not knocked, but, as it seemed to himself, dragged, by
some hand from beneath, down to the earth, and there
trodden upon. He was thus, for an instant, separated
from Beatrice. His loud cry for help excited alarm ;
THE CAPTIVE ON THE RIVER MAINE. 85
and it was instantly folloAved by a command from Lie-
man to the soldiers — "to use their swords, and cut
down the serfs, if they did not make way for the pris-
oner." Almost at the same moment, he snatched her
from the hands of an old Saxon female serf, who seemed
to be whispering in her ear, and then gathering the
soldiers around him, he was astonished at finding the
mob dispersing with such rapidity that in a moment
they were all beyond his reach. He, therefore, experi-
enced no difficulty in conveying his captive to her des-
tined prison — the fortress — and there placing her in
safety.
He congratulated himself upon his success ; and so
did' those who were opposed to him, for they had ac-
complished all they intended to effect.
During the few brief moments that Egen had been
separated from Beatrice by the crowd, and before Lieman
could recover possession of her, the Countess Adela, in
the disguise of an ancient Saxon female serf, had spoken
these words in the ear of the captive : —
" Magnus watches over thee. Be careful not to touch
any food but what is given to thee by a Saxon female.
Place confidence in any one who mentions to thee the
name of ^ Adela.' Such come from me — the Countess
Dedi. God protect thee ! "
Whilst these words were spoken — there were two
others in that dense crowd that conversed, for the first
time, together.
As the Count Werenher, disguised beneath an ample
cloak, and his face covered from public view by its large
deep hood, was advancing up the open pathway between
the two lines of soldiers, he was utterly bewildered at
finding the line so noiselessly broken, and, before he
8
86 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
could recover from his surprise, lie was indignant at
perceiving the strong hand of a stout young Saxon serf
tear off his hood with such violence as to rend it from
the garment to which it had been previously attached.
The proud count thus saw that he was left bareheaded
in the midst of a mob of gaping, laughing Saxon serfs.
He turned upon his assailant, and his anger so far over-
mastered his prudence, that he at once exclaimed —
" Ha ! I know thee, sir. Thou wearest a gear that
well befits thee. Dedi, the younger, descends to his
proper position when he assumes the garb of a Saxon
serf."
" Be it so," said Dedi. " I had rather live and die
a Saxon serf, than be the gilded, titled, disguised, and
skulking, Frankish pander of a king. Thou knowest
me, thou sayest. Well — I know thee too — Count
Werenher — and bear this knowledge with thee also — •
that I despise thee — loathe thee — spit upon thee — as
a disgrace to manhood ; as a dishonor to knighthood ; as
a blot upon the nobility of the empire. And, thing that
thou art, I will not strike thee with a sword, for a
knight's sword should never be sheathed in carrion — I
will not strike thee with my hand, for the hand of an
honest man should never touch a villain even in anger ;
but I strike thee, with what most befits thee — that
which is foul, because it has come in contact with thee
— the disguise thou didst use to conceal thee in thy
dishonor. There," said he, dashing the hood in the
face of the count — '^ take that, and hang it upon thy
shield, and write beneath it, as a motto — ' eternal
infamy.^ "
With these words, the tall, athletic Dedi stood look-
ing down upon his antagonist, who seemed to shrink
HENRY IV., KIXG OF GERMANY. 87
back in terror from him. For a moment — -and it was
but a moment that the gallant youth thus looked — a
feeling, akin to pity, touched him when he perceived
that fear had I'eally taken possession of Count VVerenher.
Convinced of this, he did not fix his eyes a second time
upon the flice of the count, but walked from the spot,
commiserating the weakness of a wretch he could not
avoid loathing.
Count Werenher stood as if transfixed to the earth ;
his cheek still tingling from the blow he had received,
and his hand convulsively grasping the hood.
" This then," said he, " is the cause — the unknown
cause that made me, I know not why, tremble at the
name of Dedi the youflger, Io)n dislionored — forever,
too ... It is true — and though I dip this hood in his
heart's blood — and I will do so — still the words and
the blow must remain ! Eternal infamy ! . . . Woe to
this day, that thus brought us in conflict ! Woe to thee,
young man ! and woe — ay, a thousand woes and curses
on myself! "
' CHAPTER VII.
HENRY IV., KING OF GERMANY.
There sat in an apartment, lofty, magnificently fur-
nished, yet gloomy, for it was lighted but by two long,
narrow slits in a thick wall, three men, as different in
their appearance, as they were in years, from each other.
The first was a meagre, frail-looking old man, with white
hairs, with thin nose, peaked chin, and, in his small
88 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
gray eyes, that anxious, wavering look, which denoted
that he was eager for the acquisition of wealth, and of a
timid disposition. This old man wore the magnificent
vestments of a Prince-Archbishop. He sat before a
table on which there were rich wines, and a profusion
of dried fruits ; but his goblet, filled to the brim, and
the fruits that lay heaped before him, showed that he
had not yet partaken of any portion of the feast, to
which he had been invited as a guest. At the table,
and sitting opposite to him, was a man about five and
forty years of age, low-sized, thick-set, with huge, broad
shoulders, and a hand so large that the capacious goblet
he held seemed to be hidden within the cavity of the
palm, rather than grasped by him. The low forehead,
and the short, flat nose, as well as the gaping mouth,
were scarcely discernible amid the mass of fiery red hair
that covered his face, and gave him the semblance more
of a wild beast than of a human being. He sat and fed,
or rather munched, like a hog, and swallowed fiist, one
after the other, large goblets of the odorous old Rhenish
wine.
Between these two men sat, and with his back turned
to the window, so that the beams of the red setting sun
seemed to bestow upon his features, whenever he turned
to his guests, a roseate hue, a young man, richly endowed
with all the graces of youth. His hair, which was of
the color of the finest yellow flax, and of the polished
smoothness of satin, fell in long ringlets upon his shoul-
ders. His forehead was fair, broad, and majestic ; his
eyes, a violet blue, seemed to beam with softness and the
most tender affection — his nose straight — his chin
round — his checks still bearing that peachy delicacy
that comes with boyhood, and that always disappears in
HENRY IT., KING OF GERMANY. 89
tlie first few years of manhood — his mouth, shaded by
a sUght moustache, and decorated by pearly teeth, might,
from its rich and coral lips, be mistaken for that of a wo-
man, but that sometimes when it was intended to express
a smile, it was seen, and as if in despite of himself, to
curl into a sneer — the malice of which was unmistaka-
ble. To this face was to be added all the advantages
of a commanding person — so tall, and yet so graceful,
as to render that young man, even in the midst of the
tall men of Germany, one remarkable for his height and
dignity.
This noble, this handsome, this truly royal-looking
young man was Henry IV., King of Germany, the son
of the Emperor Henry III., and of the Empress Agnes,
the daughter of William, Duke of Aquitaine. The old
man, who sat at his right hand, wa,s Sigefrid, Archbishop
of Mayence ; and the middle-aged man, on his left.
Count Diedrich of Treves.
Those three individuals, assembled, as they appeared
to be, for a luxurious banquet, sat silent for a few mo-
ments. Diedrich seemed to have no thought but for
■eating or drinking, and the very silence that now pre-
vailed appeared to be an additional ingredient to his ani-
mal enjoyments. The archbishop, although mute, sat
uneasily in his chair, and twisted and shifted about like
one who has paid a visit he would, if he could, have
avoided, and was wishing for some excuse by which he
might bring it to a speedy termination ; whilst Henry
sat watching the bearing of his guests, and amused by
the contrast it presented.
A pause had taken place in the conversation, as fre-
quently happens when men are engaged in matters of
8*
90 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
serious import^ and something has been said calculated
to excite reflection in the hearers.
The first to resume the conversation was Henry, who,
turning to the Archbishop of Mayence, said, —
" And so the busy, meddling Anno has been again
interfering in my aflfairs. He has, you say, written to
Eome."
" Yes," replied the prelate. " I have a friend in the
monastery of St. Pantaleon, who assures me that he has
seen the letters addressed by Anno, Archbishop of Co-
logne, to the Archdeacon Hildebrand."
" I know Hildebrand," said Henry. " He makes and
unmakes popes. I think I must some day or other imi-
tate his example, and fashion one of my own bishops or
archbishops into a pope. What say you, most reverend
Sigefrid ? You would be a very good, pious, humble
pope yourself."
" Your Majesty is pleased to jest with me," replied
Sigefrid. " I am willing to do much — perchance, much
more than I ought, to please you ; but to oppose myself
to the Church and to the Pope, to whom I have bound
myself in obedience, I must, once for all, declare — if
your Majesty should not mean what you have said in
jest — I cannot do."
" I did but jest, most pious Sigefrid," said Henry.
*' I promise you, that yoti at least shall never be asked
by me to be a German pope."
These words were accompanied by a sneer, which,
though it might have escaped the attention of Sigefrid,
was noted by Diedrich.
As Henry spoke these words, sneeringly, a new
thought seemed for the first time to rise up in his mind ;
HEXRT IV., KING OF GERMANY. 91
for he became suddenly silent, and remained for some
time lost, apparently, in his own reflections. At last he
looked uj), smiling blandly upon Sigefrid, and thus con-
tinuing the conversation with him : —
" But your friend, you say, saw the letters addressed
by Anno to Hildebrand, and read them ? "
" He did, every word of them," replied the arch-
bishop, losing all his usual caution in the cheering smile
of his sovereign.
" Then tell me the purj^ort of them ; for I am per-
fectly conscious that your friend did not keep their con-
tents a secret from you," exclaimed Henry, laughing at
the surprise and embarrassment he saw portrayed in the
features of the timid archbishop.
" Your Majesty ! " stammered forth Sigefrid. " Your
Majesty assuredly will not ask of m.e to betray the se-
crets of another person."
** Nor do I," replied Henry. " I only ask as a favor,
what I am sure you will not refuse to tell me, namely,
that which is the secret. You know you can tell me
what Anno wrote to Hildebrand. You are possessed of
the secret — it may be useful to me to know it."
" It may be far more for your Majesty's peace of mind
not to know it," was the whispered observation of Sige-
frid.
" What ! " cried Henry, starting up, and grasping the
■golden-handled dagger in his girdle, whilst a dark frown
gathered on his brow, and gave to his face of manly
beauty the same malignant scowl which a painter might
assign to the pictured likeness of a fillen angel.
" What ! is there a traitorous correspondence carried on
with Rome, and I am to be told that I am not to know
it, because a timid priest is paltering with his own con-
92 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
science ? Sigefrid, Prince Archbishop of ISIayence — I
tell you I must know what Anno wrote to Hildebrand.
Tell it now — and I may thank you — refuse to tell it,
and I swear to you that you shall never leave this room
a living man."
The Count Diedrich said nothing, but he drew his
broad dagger fi-oni his girdle — and with a slight move-
ment that seemed to cost him not the exertion of a sin-
gle muscle, drove the point an inch into the table ; and
then the trembling handle oscillated above the flashing
steel, as if it feared the hand that had touched it.
Diedrich, having performed this feat, went on munch-
ing his food, and gorging himself with wine, as if he
were the chance witness of a scene in Avhich he took not
the slightest interest.
The old prelate gasped with agony as he witnessed
the pantomimic action of the bristly savage that sat op-
posite to him.
" Sire," he said, " I swear to you, by all that I hold
most sacred, that you mistake, grievously mistake, in
supposing that Anno has written any treason of you to
Home. When I said it was better for you not to knoAV
what he had written, I merely meant that Anno, having
been the friend of your father, the tutor of your youth,
has written of you in terms I do not like to repeat, be-
cause the repetition of his phi-ases would be more pain-
ful for me to utter than even for you to hear."
" Does Anno prefer any complaint to Rome against
me as a monarch ? That," said Ilenry, " is a plain ques-
tion. Give it a plain and direct answer."
" No," replied Sigefrid. " Anno Avrites as a friend
to a friend, deploring the vices — your Majesty will ex-
cuse the word — of one for whom he feels the tender-
HENRY IV., KING OF rxERMANY. 93
ness of a father, and begging that heaven may be be-
sieged with prayers on your behalf."
"The hyjx)crite ! — the old, ill-natured hypocrite —
how I hate him — ay, from my very childhood I hated
him," said Henry, throwing into these expressions all
the vindictive energy of his character. " But come, my
good Sigefrid," he continued, in a soothing tone of
voice, to the trembling old man, "you are always too
charitable in your construction of the motives and ac-
tions of your fellow-man — especially if that fellow-man
be a priest, and above all — an archbishop ! " (x\nd then,
that which was intended for a smile upon the lip of the
monarch, became wrinkled into a sneer.) " You say
that what Anno has written respecting me is not treason ;
I must be a better judge than you of such a fact. I may
detect the poison of a malicious intention in those words,
which appear to you to breathe nought but the sentiments
of the purest charity. Come then, tell me, as well as
your memory will serve you — and I know that it is re-
tentive ; for I can boast in my court no man so learned
as Sigefrid — tell me, I repeat, Avord for word, what
Anno has written of me."
" But, my liege," said Sigefrid, who heard with hor-
ror this proposition, " his words are harsh and severe,
and — "
" And they are so, because you yourself think them
to be true," interrupted Henry. " I shall, however, cast
no blame on the narrator, because he has told me an
unpleasant tale, wdiich I insisted upon hearing. If you
had here the letters of Anno, and presented them to me
for perusal, I should thank you for showing them to me, no
matter how unpleasing might be their import. And so
it is now, in listening to you, whilst narrating their con-
94 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
tents, I shall fancy, not that I hear the voice of Sigefrid,
but, that I hear recited the words of Anno."
" But, your Majesty, I do not know how to pronounce
these words — " said Sigefrid.
Henry impatiently stamped his foot ; and, in the in-
stant, Diedrich wrenched his dagger from the table, and
placing it by the side of his goblet, looked at the arch-
bishop, and in a voice, loud as the roar of a lion, gave
utterance to the single word —
« Talk!"
The archbishop started as if he had received an elec-
tric shock. Henry smiled to see the effect which the
fear of his brute guest had produced upon the prelate,
and then in a voice, soft and sweet as that of a love-sick
maiden, he said —
" Honest Diedrich, do not interrupt the pious arch-
bishop ; when he speaks he does not like to hear the
voice of another. And now, good Sigefrid, as you were
saying, 'Anno of Cologne thus wrote to Hildebrand of
Kome, greeting, and begging the benefit of his pious
prayers,' and then proceeded thus — You see I have
given you the commencement of his letter. Let us now
hear the remainder. No further preface, I pray you. I
repeat, I feel that I am listening to his words, and not
to yours. Go on, I say ; for his very words, I tell you,
I wiU have."
" Talk," grunted Diedrich, as if he were addressing
himself to his broad-bladed dagger, and not to the dis-
mayed prelate.
Sigefrid felt that he could not with safety any longer
refuse ; that his very life now depended on his candor,
and whilst his words purported to be spoken alone to
Henry, his eyes remained, as if fascinated, by the
HENRY IV., KING OP GERMANY. 95
slightest movement of the fierce man who sat opposite
to him.
" Then," said the archbishop, " since your Majesty
insists upon it, I must tell you that Anno, in writing
to Hildebrand, deplores that, notwithstanding all the
pains he had taken in your education, he yet gx-eatly
fears nothing but a miracle from heaven can save you
from perdition — that you, the son of a saintly father,
and of a virtuous mother, have abandoned yourself to
the grossest debaucheries and the most flagrant vices —
that being married to a most kind, amiable, and tender
wife, you have exchanged her society for that of the
vilest of her sex — but," continued the Archbishop of
Mayence, starting up in terror, and casting himself on
the earth before Henry, " save, O, save me, from the
dagger of that dreadful man."
" Sheathe your dagger, honest Diedrich, it is not
wanted here," said Henry, feeling a malignant pleasure
in witnessing the fright of the old man who clung to
his knees. '^Ai'ouse yourself, Sigefrid. When Count
Diedrich clutched his dagger, as if about to disembowel
an enemy, he had no thought of injuring even a single
hair of so venerable, so good, so pious, and so clever an
archbishop as you. He knows — for he is very shrewd,
even though no orator, as you are — that you did but
faithfully repeat the unkind expressions of another, and
not your own sentiments. He knows — for I have told
him so — that you are one of my surest, best, and tender-
est friends ; that you love your king, almost as much as
he does ; and therefore, though he does not say it, nor
even look it, he has a most tender regard for you.
There, rouse yourself, Sigefrid, and take your place
again at the board. There now — see how Diedrich
96 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROPv.
smiles on you. It is a smile, I can tell you, though it
looks so like a frown. And now listen to him. Die-
drich, do you not love this archbishop ? "
" Much" growled Diedrich, as he crunched some dates.
" There now, Sigefrid, be content, for there is in that
little ' much ' of Count Diedrich far more of genuine
charity, brotherly love, tender affection, and softness
of disposition than could be discovered in an hovir's
sermon from the lips of Anno, Archbishop of Cologne.
O, it is a ' much ' that means far more than you, Sige-
frid, with all your book learning, can divine : it means,
among other things, this — that I, Diedrich; Count of
the brave city of Treves, and my trusty friend, Henry
of Germany, are obliged, but not flattered by your faith-
ful narrative of the imkind words spoken of us by that
arch-hypocrite. Anno of Cologne ; for — " and Henry's
sneering, gibing tones, hitherto used in speaking to the
Archbishop of Mayence, here suddenly changed to
those of a man whose violence of passion rendered his
voice husky, " For," he continued, " Anno is, I swear
to you, an arch-hypocrite, a morose, abominable, envious
hypocrite, who hates in others the enjoyment of those
pleasures which he has denied himself, because to
gratify his insatiable lust for power, he considers it neces-
sary that the vulgar herd of mankind should regard
him as a saint. Ay, a ba&e and artful hypocrite, who
to spite me in my childhood, converted my days of
young enjoyment into long, long hours of tears and
stripes — ay, even stripes and mortifications."
" Your INIajesty surprises me — I did not know, until
this moment, that Anno of Cologne had ever done you
personal wrong," said Sigefrid.
" Then listen — and see by what a base device he
HENRY IV., KING OF GERMANY. 97
lured me from my mother's side, when I was but a
mere boy," continued Henry. " Anno was my father's
confessor, and so cruel was he to that good, weak man,
that he has been known to impose upon him — upon
his sovereign — the emperor — so harsh and brutal a
penance as the discipline — I vow to you that he has
actually compelled the emperor, before he placed upon
his shoulders the imperial robes, to have his flesh
bruised and mangled by the torturing whip of the disci-
pline, as if he were a malefactor. My father was some-
times so pious, that he forgot he was an emperor ; but
Anno never was so forgetful. He always remembered
that he was confessor to the emperor, and he won fame
for himself at my father's cost ; for the same man who
insisted that the emperor should thus misuse his royal
person, if he had but expressed a single word in anger,
would, if his penitent were a poor man, be content with
giving him absolution on the condition of saying a few
prayers. And so Anno made himself loved by the
mob — and that, too, as a priest who was a foe to the
rich, and a friend to the poor. Artful, designing,
scheming hypocrite that he is, and fully as ambitious as
he is artful. Upon discovering that my father's death
deprived him of the power he had hitherto exercised —
that all the influence of the state was in the hands of
my mother, because she had the personal charge of me,
the infant King of Germany, he resolved upon snatch-
ing me away from her ; and, as he could not make the
attempt by open force, he resolved upon accomplishing
it by means of a foul and cunning device.
" My good mother ! tender, and kind, and pious as
she is, always bore in jnind that, though an infimt, I was
Btill a king — that, as a king, I had a right to have my
9
98 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE.
■vdshes consulted, and that on no account was I to be
thwarted. Thus was I passing my childhood, when,
one day, as I was amusing myself on St. Swibert's isle,
in the Rhine, I was visited by Anno, the archbishop,
Otho, the Duke of Bavaria, and three other conspira-
tors — villains, whose audacious deed has left a hot and
burning brand within my memory — never to be effaced,
never to be appeased — never — not even by their
blood. What say you, Diedrich, for in such a case you
are a better judge than an archbishop. Should such an
offence be pardoned ? "
" Never," growled Diedrich, as the wild beast growls
when it scents from a distance the blood of its destined
PJ^ey.
" Never — never," continued Henry. '' But observe
how this old hypocrite of Cologne can gild over^ with
sweet smiles and honeyed words, the most malignant
designs. I was a child, amusing myself with compan-
ions of my own age, and attended by my mother, and
guarded by our mihtary retainers. I was so amusing
myself on the island, when Anno of Cologne, and Otho,
the Duke of Bavaria, landed there. They were hospi-
tably received — and, when the feast was over. Anno
prayed of me to come on board and inspect a m.agnifi-
cent barge, recently constructed for him. I did so. I
perceived that he had waiting at the water's edge a ves-
sel, that seemed to be formed, on the outside, of one
enormous sea shell, and its interior lined with mother-
of-pearl ; that the seats were composed of silver — and
the oars, of burnished gold, were handled by men who
wore the helmets and armor of the ancient Romans,
whilst sounds of ravishing music came from beneath
the decks, and filled the island, the river, and the Rhine-
HENET IV., KIXG OF GERMANY. 99
land around Avith a melodious harmony. Entranced by
the vision of this gorgeous barge, I bounded into it with
Anno and Otho, and, the moment I did so, it moved off
imexpectedly from the island. It was whilst I was en-
gaged in examining its structure and parts, that I became
terrified upon beholding that the vigorous oarsmen had
pushed us off more than a mile from the island ; and
there sprung, as if by magic, out of all parts of the
boat, bands of armed and ferocious-looking men.
'' And thus was I — a king — a boy — entrapped and
carried off from the empress my mother, and that, too,
by means of the artful wiles of an archbishop — of my
father's confessor ! If, then. Anno now accuses me of
treachery, of deceit, of perfidy, let it rest upon his con-
science that the successful practice of such vices was
first acquired from his ovvn example — the pious, good
man, that he is ! •
" When I recovered the complete use of reason, I saw
Anno kneeling by my side, and — the hypocrite ! —
weeping. He assured me that, however distasteful it
might be, what he had done was solely for my own ben-
efit ; that under my mother's tutelage my morals and
my education were so utterly neglected, that if I were
to grow up to be a man, indulged as I had been, and
so ignorant, that I would be absolutely unfitted to rule
over others, both by temper and by want of knowledge ;
that I might be deprived of my crown ; and, that the
reason he had seized upon my person was, to correct
my evil habits and improve my mind. Such were, at
the time, the pretexts put forward by him for the grati-
fication of his ambition, and thus depriving me of the
pleasures I had until then enjoyed. According to his
own account, now given of me to Hildebrand, my evil
100 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
habits have not been corrected ; whilst, as to my igno-
rance, it was, I admit, removed — curses on his hand — •
hy the scourge — with the fear of which he forced me to
learn — to read, to write, to study. Ay — he did force
harshly into my hand one powerful weapon — knowl-
edge. Let him and his now beware how I use it ; he
shall not descend to his grave without bitterly lamenting
that he bestowed it ; he shall shed ten tears for every
one that I did, as a boy, in acquiring that knowledge."
The thoughts of his fancied wrongs as a boy had ex-
cited Henry. He started up fi"om his chair, and paced
up and down the room.
" My good, my faithful friend, Sigefrid, I wish to
know how goes on the collection of the tithes claimed
by you in Thuringia and in Saxony ? "
This question, put by the king, produced an instanta-
neous change in the Countenance of the archbishop ; all
trapes of fear vanished, and every symptom of repulsion
disappeared, when the prelate found that a question was
addressed to him, by the sovereign, upon a subject which
he had set his whole heart and soul upon.
"Alas! my liege," replied the archbisho]?, " the an-
swer given to me by Thiiringians and Saxons is the
same. They will pay me no tithes."
" And Avherefore ? " asked Henry. " Assuredly the
Archbishop of INIaycnce would demand nothing but
what the church sanctions?"
" God forbid it should be otherwise ! " answered the
archbishop. " I demand tithes from districts that lie
within my archiepiscopal principality. The Thuringians
and Saxons alone refuse to pay tithes ; and they allege,
as the reason for their refusal, that the claim is one, till
now, unheard of, and therefore one to the enforcement
HENRY IV., KING OF GERMANY. 101
of wliicli'tliey -will not submit. They say they will not
collect tithes for me to expend the produce in Mayence,
far away from them ; that where there is a monastery,
which gives back to the poor the tithes gathered from
rich and poor, they will pay them, and nowhere else ;
that where there are not bishops required, nor priests
wanted, they will pay no tithes to an archbishop ; that,
in short, they hold their lands tithe-free, and will not
pay them to noble, prince, king, nor archbishop ; that
such is the custom of the Saxon race, as sanctioned by
their conqueror, Charlemagne, and they will die sooner
than submit to be deprived of their ancient rights and
immunities."
'* O, this is but the brawling of a mob of serfs," ob-
served Henry, " and merely worthy of the scoff of a
court jester. Why not send your knights and military
retainers amongst them, and force them, by the edge of
the sword, to pay what you demand ? "
*' I have done so," replied Sigefrid ; " and I regret to
say that wherever my armed men appeared, the whole
country rose in insurrection against them. INIany of my
forces were killed, and the others, by a speedy retreat,
with difficulty saved themselves from annihilation. I
have failed — utterly failed. They have despised the
prayers of my messengers, and broken the swords of my
retainers ; and now, I am not only defrauded of my
rights, but I am contemned for demanding what I had
not the power of exacting."
" This is serious news, indeed, Sigefrid. It seems to
me that you must have more opponents in Thuringia
and Saxony, to your claims, than the mere dull tillers
of the fields," remarked Henry.
" Alas ! I have," replied the archbishop. " The Sax-
9*
102 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
on nobles, vr\xo ought to make common cause 'n'itli me,
are arrayed against me. Their leader is Otho, Duke of
Bavaria."
" What ! my old persecutor — he who kidnapped me
on the Khine," interrupted Henry.
" It is the same ; and with him, and as instigators, I
am told, of this opposition, are the Count Dedi, his wife
Adela, Dedi the younger, and the young Duke Magnus,"
continued Sigefrid.
As Sigefrid gave utterance to these words, there came,
suddenly rushing into the chamber, that confused mur-
mur of sounds which always arises from a great multi-
tude of persons, however quiescent, when densely pressed
together, and which seems like the sui-ging of a mighty
sea, if its peaceful onward course is impeded, though it
cannot be interrupted, by some temporary obstacle ; and
whilst this confused din continued, and, as it appeared,
filled the air, it was broken, but only for an instant, by
a sudden clash of arms, followed by one or two cries,
and then the sound appeared to disperse, as quickly and
as unexpectedly as it had arisen.
As the first murmur penetrated the chamber, Diedrich
started from the seat on which ho had been reposing,
and, as if his ear were as sure a guide to him as his sense
of smelling is to the blood-hound, an instant's watchful
listening ai)peared to apprise him that no exertion on his
part, as a warrior, would be required, and therefore he
sunk back again into his half-recumbent, half-sitting
attitude. It was not so with the archbishop, who, clasp-
ing Henry's left hand between both his own, seemed
to listen to those distant sounds in an agony of terror.
Henry looked to Diedrich, and perceiving the manner
in which he treated this unexpected incident, re-
HENRY IT., KIXG OF GERMANY. 103
mained himself unmoved. He \ras about to assure
Sigefrid that no danger need be apprehended, when he
perceived that some one had entered the room, and had
noiselessly knelt down and kissed his knee. He looked
at the courtier who bent his head before him, and then
gazed in his face, and as the eyes of king and courtier
met, Henry started up from his chair, and exclaimed :
"Good heavens! Werenher, what has befallen you ?
— your limbs totter, your lips tremble, your face is pal-
lid as that of a corpse, except that upon your forehead
and right cheek there is a trace of red — so red, that I
would almost swear some one had spurted blood upon
you. Is it so ? "
" I felt suddenly ill as I entered the fortress," replied
Werenber ; " but still I deemed it to be my duty to apprise
your Majesty at once, that I have succeeded in my en-
terprise — fully, and I trust to your satisfaction. I would
not, however, for that alone have intruded on your Ma-
jesty's presence at this moment ; but that I have intelli-
gence for you that will not brook delay."
" And what may that be, which even in your estima-
tion can be more important than the accomplishment of
the command I confided to you?" inqixired Henry,
somewhat irritated upon finding that, in the opinion of
his servants and courtiers, any thing could possibly be of
more consequence than the execution of an order that
he had given.
" It is, that Magnus, the Duke of Saxony ; Otho,
Duke of Bavaria ; the Dedis, father and son ; with the
Countess Adela, are at this moment in Frankfort."
*' In Frankfort ! " exclaimed Henry and the archbishop
in one breath, and quite taken by surprise.
*' Yes, and I believe for some treasonable purpose,"
104 THE POPE AND THE EMPEEOB.
said Wereuher, " for I myself recognized, as I entered
the portal, the younger Dedi, disguised as a Saxon serf.
As to Magnus, I am aware that he has pretensions that
run counter to the desires of your Majesty."
*' He ! — pretensions ! — opposed to me ! " exclaimed
Henry, his face flushing with scorn and indignation.
" Yes," continued Wereuher, '' but so purely personal
and boyish, that they are more worthy of your mirth
than of your anger. The nature of them I can alone
confide to your Majesty in private."
" If he place himself," said Henry, " but for an in-
stant — ay, a single instant — in my path, he must
be "
As he spoke these words, he perceived that Diedi-ich
had placed his hand upon his sword. The action re-
minded Henry that he ought to be more cautious, espe-
cially in the presence of the archbishop, and he continued,
by saying :
" He must be — watched. Thanks, Diedrich, this is
not a case in which your ser\dces will be required. I
need not tell you, my reverend archbishop, of that which
must have reached you by rumor — the foul hag that
sits at the palace gates of kings, and trumpets forth to
the world their slightest misdeeds — I need not admit
that my youth has not been, and is not even now, free
from the practice of those sins, which keep pace with
the juvenile years of most men. I admit that I do,
with justice, bear the reputation of being a bad husband ;
and yet, I may say, in my own vindication, that I am
not as wicked as I appear to be. I was not more than
fifteen years of age, when motives of policy induced
those who had care of me as a king, to force upon me a
marriage with the Italian maiden. Bertha. It was a mar-
HENRY IV,, KING OF GERMANY. 105
riage — not a union — then most odious, as it has, ever
since, been most repugnant to me.
" I admit to you, as I am prepared to avow to the
world, that Bertha is deserving of the respect of all per-
sons — that she is amiable, excellent, charitable — and
all that man could desire to see of virtue in a female ;
but still she is now, and ever has been, so personally
odious to me, that I never could, and never can, treat
her, or consider her as my wife : I seek then to be sepa-
rated from my maiden wife, who has ever lived with me,
as the saintly Cunigunda lived with the blessed Empe-
ror Henry — totally and absolutely separated from her
husband.
" I wish to be divorced from Bertha, in order that,
choosing some dame for my wife, who can win my love
and secure my affections, I may cease to live, as I confess
I have been, in a state of sin.
" Let the church but free her champion from this
marriage, and then, with a safe conscience, I can prose-
cute the war against the Saxons for tithes. The church
can, if she will, pronounce such a divorce ; and if Sige-
frid, the Archbishop of Mayence, declares that he is
favorable to a divorce, there are few prelates in Germany,
I am conscious, who will presume to array themselves
against his opinion, or dispute his judgment. What say
you, Sigefrid ? "
" That your jNIajesty," replied Sigefrid, musing, ''sub-
mits to my consideration a very nice and difficult point.
Taking, as I am bound to do, that all your Majesty now
states to me, is a fact, which can be proved upon oath ;
and, especially, that you and Queen Bertha have been,
in name, but man and wife ; then I can hold out the
hope to you of a successful issue to your suit ; and
106 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
taking, as I say, that this is capable of proof, I -svill
struggle to promote the divorce. I will, I say, labor
with each of the prelates in private, to induce them to
adopt my views, and to act in coincidence with your
wishes."
" But how soon shall all this be done ? How many
months or years may be wasted in useless negotiations ? "
inquired Henry, somewhat impatiently.
" Within three weeks of this time, I trust," said
Sigefrid. " I will summon a synod in Frankfort, for
to-morrow three weeks, and I shall labor, meanwhile,
to have it as fully attended as I can, by those who adopt
my views. If others should be there who may differ
from us, I may deplore, but I cannot prevent it ; for
once a synod is convoked by me, all the bishops will
be entitled to a voice in its deliberations. In such a
task as this, not a moment is to be lost. I shall, there-
fore, this very night travel to Mayence, and commence,
at the earliest dawn, to toil for you."
" O that all who adhere to me were like my trusty
Diedrich," said the king, when alone ; '' a wolf-dog,
that can think and act, and never trouble me with his
scruples. Then, indeed, the battle could be but a short
one between the imperial crown and the tiara — a good
sword, and a sure dagger, wovdd bring it to a successful
termination.
" It is not so, and therefore I must play the hypocrite
— speak false words to false men, who know that the
words are false, and yet seek to quiet their consciences
by pretending to believe them true. Base wretches as
they are, I loathe them all, and the more loathe them,
when I compare them with Diedrich."
" I pray your INIajcsty's pardon, if I have disturbed
HENRY IV., KING OF GERMANY. 107
you," said Egeu, here entering the chamber ; " I was
told that you commanded my attendance."
"I did, Egen," answered Henry. "I wish to know
how fares the lady you admire so much."
" She is still oppressed with grief at the sudden re-
moval from her f.imily," said Egeu. " At present she
is totally unconscious of the honor your Majesty has
conferred upon her, in deigning to direct she should be
conveyed to one of your castles. Your Majesty's de-
sire of her being received in her chamber by two of your
female attendants, dressed in the garb of nuns, and
especially by hearing one of them, who calls herself ' the
Sister Adelaide,' directing that sentinels should be placed
at her door, night and day, to guard her from intrusion,
have tended to tranquillize her mind."
" I rejoice to hear it," observed Henry. " There is
nothing more hateful to my sight than a weeping woman.
I detest Queen Bertha, because she is always in tears.
A woman should never presume to appear in the pres-
ence of a monarch unless her face be decked with smiles.
Tears are so selfish — they prove that a woman is think-
ing of herself and not of me. But enough of this new
toy. Come, Egen, with me to my bed-chamber. I shall
there disclose to you a project, in the execution of which,
there will be required, on your part, as much wit as
boldness."
" My life is your Majesty's — dispose of it as you will.
If I lose it in serving you, then it will be well em-
ployed for so kind and so generous a master," answered
Egen.
" I knoAV well your fidelity, Egen ; but I know not
how I can adequately reward it," said Henry, with his
constant, sweet, dubious smile upon his rosy lips.
108 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE CAPTIVE AND THE JAILER.
Beatrice was a prisoner in the Castle of Frankfort,
which, from its strength of position, thickness of wall,
and number of defenders, might be regarded as a for-
tress ; but, from its vastness, richness, and magnificence,
was more generally designated as the palace of the Ger-
man kings, in this portion of their wide-spread domin-
ions. The apartment in which Beatrice was confined
was a square chamber, the side's of which were covered
with magnificent tapestry, worked in gold and brilliant
colors, and proving to what a degree of perfection the art
of embroidery had then been carried. Ornaments of gold,
and silver, and bronze, were to be seen strewed about ; and
some of them, especially the small statues, were mould-
ed with such exquisite grace, that it was plain they had
descended to the German king as heirlooms of that
Roman Empire, of which he assumed to be the repre-
sentative. The centre of the room was lighted by what
would now be called a small window, and which showed
to the occupant of the chamber that it constituted the
recess between two projecting towers on both sides, and
that it was not only overlooked by them, but that, in
case of necessity, the room itself could be commanded
by the arrow shots of the towers that looked into it.
This room, which seemed to have been fitted up for the
care of any prisoners on whom it might be desirable to
exhibit, at the same time, every desire for their conven-
ience and their careful keeping, looked down upon the
smooth waters of the river Maine, as they glided over
THE CAPTIVE AND THE JAILER. 109
that eventful ford, which, in the year 783, had been
pointed out to the flying Franks, by a timid deer, at a
moment when, but for that discovery, they must have
fallen victims to the unrelenting vengeance of Wittikind,
and the undying hatred of the remorseless Saxons.
It was at the window of this apartment that Beatrice sat,
gazing listlessly upon the Ford-of-the-Franks. She was
worn out with want of sleep and of food ; for she had
carefully attended to the words of the countess — she
** neither ate nor drank" — she had not even moistened
her lips with a single drop of water. It was thus she
sat, with aching head and saddened heart, all her feelings
engrossed with the one thought — the agonizing despair
of her mother upon discovering her abduction. With the
first dawn of the coming day she had taken her seat at
that window, and the day had advanced about five hours,
when, she knew not why, she found her eye attracted to
what appeared to her to be a little white banner, that
fluttered upon one of the towers of the cathedral, at some
distance from her, and all communication with which was
cut ofl" by the interfluent stream of the Maine. Her eye
had observed this long before her mind had attended to
it. She could not tell when she had first noticed it, nor
why she now thought there was any thing strange in its
appearance. She was only certain of this, that when she
first looked upon the cathedral the white flag was not
there, and now, so confused were her faculties, by her
sleepless grief, that she was as little certain whether it
had been there a minute or an hour before it first induced
her to watch its tremulous movements. The sight of that
flag inspired her with hope. It was the emblem of peace
and of purity ; and, as it was upon the church of God, it
was significant of hope ; and it seemed to bid her place
10
110 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
all her confidence in Him to whose honor and glory that
very edifice had been erected by the greatest hero of
Christianity — Charlemagne. A senseless, mindless thing
it was, that white little fluttering flag ; aird Beatrice knew
it was so. Yet, since she had last seen her home, it was
the only thing that denoted aught of good to her. As
such she regarded it — as such it comforted her ; and, for
the first time since she had been a captive, as she gazed
upon it, a gush of tears came to her eyes, which relieved
and soothed her heart. For the first time in her life she
felt that there was a consolation in tears — for the first
time she experienced the truth of what had been so often
told to her, by her mother, and the honest Agatha — that
it is good to weep, if we can be but conscious that our
tears are shed, not in a repining, but a submissive spirit,
to whatever evils or trials God may choose to subject us.
So was Beatrice weeping, and gaining fresh strength
for new trials as she wept, when a young and beautiful
woman, arrayed in the garb of a nun, entered the room,
and started back, almost with dismay, when she perceived
how changed had become, in -the course of a few hours,
the appearance of Beatrice.
" My child," she said, " if you persist in this despairing
grief but three days longer you will certainly kill your-
self Why, you have neither eaten, nor drank, nor slept,
since you came here."
" Nor Avlll I do so, so long as I am a prisoner here,"
replied Beatrice, '' unless the request I made last night
be complied with — that of having, as an attendant, one
of those poor Saxon women that I saw upon landing, and
who manifested so much sympathy for an unknown cap-
tive."
" But in case I comply with your request," said the
THE CAPTIVE AND THE JAILER. Ill
woman, who called herself Sister Adelaide, " will you
promise to perform for me that which I shall ask ? "
" Certainly, Sister Adelaide," answered Beatrice ; " for
one in your holy garb could make no improper request."
" It is," replied Sister Adelaide, " that you will cast
away from you those soiled habiliments in which you
have travelled, and array yourself in the robes of a nov-
ice : I ask no more."
" And that I consent to do," was the answer of Bea-
trice.
In a few minutes afterwards. Sister Adelaide led into
the room a tall, gawky-looking Saxon girl — one so thin
in figure, and so juvenile in face, and so fresh in com-
plexion, that she did not appear to be more than sixteen
years of age, and in whose big, dull, gray eyes there did
not seem to be a spark of intelligence.
" Here," said the sister Adelaide, " is the first Saxon
maiden I could find. She was standing at the fortress
portal, and endeavoring to persuade the guards stationed
there to become the purchasers of some of the wild flowers
which she has gathered in the adjoining forest, when I
had her called before you. She is well known, the guards
assured me, for her innocence and simplicity, and is gen-
erally denominated, amongst her people, by the familiar
name of Gretchen."
" And that is the name of an honest girl — it is no false
name," drawled out the Saxon maiden.
" I fear," observed the sister Adelaide, " she will be
but an awkward tirewoman."
"Not at all — not at all," replied Gretchen, with
somewhat more animation. " There is no one in the
village can equal Gretchen in decorating the hair with
flowers. In two minutes I can weave a wreath of Mag'
112 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
nus primroses and wisdom honeysuckles, wliich even
A-dela, the great Countess Dedi, would not be ashamed
to wear."
'♦ I pray you. Sister Adelaide, let this poor, innocent,
half-witted maiden remain with me. I am quite prepared
to excuse any awkwardness she may exhibit, for the sake
of listening to her innocent prattle. Its very incoherency
may be a distraction to my grief."
Gretchen had a large basket filled with wild flowers on
her arm, and the moment that the sister Adelaide quitted
the room, she seated herself on the floor, and commenced,
as if the matter on which she was employed was one of
vital importance, to take the several flowers, one by one,
from the basket, and in so doing, to ask Beatrice if she
knew the name of each, and if she did, to tell it to her.
Beatrice answered all her questions, and as she did so,
Gretchen laughed, not boisterously, but still so loudly
that the idiotic sounds of her mirth might be heard by
any one, who purposely, or by chance, was listening to
their conversation. As the name of each flower was told
to her, Gretchen carefully placed it on the floor, so as that
all the flowers of the same species were accurately sorted
from the rest.
" And now, lady, here is a flower that is never known
to grow but beneath a tree that shades the banks of the
Maine. Can you tell me what it is called ? "
Beatrice, instead of answering her question, said :
" I cannot ; and even if I could, instead of answering
your question, I would ask you, how you came, when
you entered this room, to mention the names of Magnus
and of Adela"
" What a stupid fool I am," said Gretchen, " in coming
here to make a wreath, without having things to bind
THE CAPTIVE AND THE JAILER. 113
tliem together. It will be hard if I do not find what I
want in this grand chamber. Here, lady, whilst I search
for it, I pray you to look at my cross ; it is hollow, and
has such a fine relic inside of it. You may examine it,
lady, whilst I am seeking something that is still wanting
to complete my wreath."
There was a look of intelligence in the large gray eye
of Gretchen that startled Beatrice, as she received in her
hand the small, plain, black wood cross, which Gretchen
had removed from the folds of the coarse gown that cov-
ered her bosom. Beatrice opened the cross, and she saw
inscribed on a minute piece of parchment, these two words,
" 31agnus — Adda!" They sufficed to prove to her
th:it the seemingly idiotic maiden was a confidential
messenger, from those who had already proved themselves
to be her sincere friends.
Gretchen's examination seemed to give her satisfaction,
for upon its conclusion, she ran over to the window, at
which Beatrice still sat, and eagerly asked :
" Have you eaten or drank any thing since you came
here ? "
" I have tasted nothing — not even water," said Bea-
trice.
" Thank God ! thank God ! " said Gretchen, falling on
her knees.
" Then here is something for you — it is food such as
I take myself; plain, brown, coarse bread, and pure fresh
milk. I would have carried with me something more
dainty, but that I was fearful my basket might be ex-
amined, and suspicion excited if I had with me any thing
but what we poor serfs are accustomed to live upon.
Here, then, eat, for you must be exhausted for want of
some refreshment ; and, whilst you eat, I will tell you
10*
114 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
wliatever you may desire to know. But before you ask
me a question, let me assure you that I am, as the cross
will have shoAvn you, a messenger from the Countess
Adela and Duke Magnus ; that they bid me apprise you,
that there is not a portion of this fortress on which a Saxon
does not watch from the outside j that the white flag
which you may see fluttering on yonder church, was raised
this morning by the hands of Magnus ; that it is planted
there to prove to you, that in that tower there is always
an eye fixed upon this chamber, and that if you should
at any time find yourself pressed by a great danger, you
have but to appear at this window, and raise your right
hand high in the air ; or, if you can learn that you are
about to be removed from this place, that you will rest
both your hands on the sill. If you can find the oppor-
tunity for doing either of these things, then you may feel
secure, whatever be the hazard of the attempt, that as-
sistance will be sought to be given to you ; or, that to
whatever place you are conveyed, you will be followed,
and there, as here, the attempt made to rescue you."
As Gretchen spoke, her appearance seemed to alter ;
the large, dull, gray eye was now flashing with intellect,
the gawky figure became graceful in all its movements,
and the simpleton countenance of the seeming girl was
changed to that of a grave, earnest, though very young,
woman,
" But eat and drink, now, I pray you," continued
Gretchen, " and whilst you do so, I shall weave a garland
for you. We must, if possible, not provoke the watchful
suspicion of those by whom you are surrounded."
" I feel gratefid to you, Gretchen, for what you say,"
replied Beatrice. " But tell me, I pray, why I have been
seized upon by armed men, and carried away to this
THE CAPTIVE AND THE JAILER. 115
castle, or prison, as if I had been guilty of some crime.
"Why am I so treated ? or,' why is my dear mother com-
pelled to suffer on my account such grief? and then my
poor father ! and good Agatha ! Alas ! Gretchen, I knew
no one else in the w^orld but these and INlagnus. How
then can I have offended any one, that I should be so
misused ? Can you explain this to me, Gretchen ? "
" I can," answered Gretchen, her face flushing with
indignation as she spoke. " I can tell you the cause of
all this. It is that Germany is now ruled by a miscreant,
and not a king. It is because a base villain disgraces the
crown, Avhich the second Henry sanctified, and the third
Henry glorified by his piety — it is because a wretch, who
has the power of a sovereign, uses that power for the
degradation and dishonor of his subjects. I have biit
to look at you, and I can at once tell for what offences
you are confined here. Your crimes consist in your
beauty, your youth, and your innocence ; and you are
brought here, that you may curse your beauty, that your
youth may be deplored with tears, and that your inno-
cence may be forever lost. Had heaven made you less
fair, had age overtaken you, or had it been supposed that
sin had found refuge in your heart, then you would be as
free to-day as you were forty-eight hours ago. Henry
the Fourth would not have deemed you fitted to be one
of his victims.
" Never, lady, did there live so vile a king as ours ; no
family is safe from his brutal contamination ; the daughter
of the nobleman, and the wife of the serf, are alike perilled,
if he but chance to hear that tliey are remarkable, in their
respective classes of life, for their personal charms, or
their great virtues. No tears, no prayers, no resistance
can protect them from him ; for he seems to feel, as the
116 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
devil himself did, when, as we are told, he gained ad-
mission, as a serpent, into the garden* of paradise — and
never rested until he had covered it with the slime of sin,
and made those guilty, who, before then, had been inno-
cent. He has wiles for the weak, and brute force for the
resolute. With you he has employed both ; he has torn
you from your parents by his vile hirelings, the infidel
Paterini of Worms, and he has had you received here by
some of the worst of his associates — his female attend-
ants — one of whom you have just seen, disguised as a
nun ; but who is no more a nun than I am a simpleton.
He feels no shame in resorting to a worse profanation of
holy things ; to effect his purposes, he pretends, some-
times, to marry his victims, and has the ceremony per-
formed by a false priest, or a real priest — in either case
the ceremony being alike invalid — an imposture, if
performed by a person who is not a priest — a delusion,
if a real priest is cajoled into the administration of such
a sacrament, because King Henry is already married.
Nay, to such an extent is his profaneness carried, that it
is very generally believed he has fitted up in one part of
his dominions a gorgeous palace, to which he occasionally
resorts Avith some of his fixvorites, men as well as women,
and that their days are passed in the same frightful de-
baucheries as were practised by the Roman emperors
before they became Christians — debaucheries so a^yful,
that it is said, a person could not even know them, or be
told of them, without sin."
" But how am I to know this terrible man, if I
should ever have the misfortune to see him ? " inquired
Beatrice.
" It is hard to conjecture whether he will appear
before you as the king, or disguised as one of his sub-
THE CAPTIVE AXD THE JAILER. 117
jects/' answered Gretchen ; "but in any case, there are
three pouits about him, which he never can conceal —
his great height, his violet blue eyes, and his mouth,
which is generally smiling, and the smile always distort-
ing itself into a sneer. Watch Henry as he speaks, and
you must thus be able to recognize him. And now,
lady, permit me to array you in the garb of a novice,
and to place upon your fair brow this wreath of wild
flowers. INlay each of them rest as a blessing from
heaven on your head, and be as a safeguard to your
innocence ! "
Beatrice, dismayed with the intelligence she had
received, and learning, it might be said, for the first
time, what wickedness there is in this world, how pow-
erful is sin, and how weak is virtue, sat confounded
with horror, as Gretchen decorated her person, and
removed, as well as she could, the outward traces of
that grief which had for so many hours oppressed her
heart, and that still festered there.
" And now, lady," said Gretchen, when she had com-
pleted her task, "whenever the false sister Adelaide
returns, she will suppose that I have employed all my
time in attending upon you. I know not how soon I
may be required to depart. Is there any message that
you would desire to send to the countess and Magnus ? "
HYes — my thanks — my tearful, grateful thanks to
both — and the request, that if it be possible, infor-
mation may be sent to my mother, as to all that has
befallen me. Perchance, my father may be able to in-
duce King Henry to set me free. If wealth can buy
my liberty, I know my father superabounds in it, and
will not grudge to give whatever may be demanded."
" Wealth can do much with King Henry," said
il8 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE.
Gretchen, " for lie is as sordid as lie is vile. If you do
not provoke his hatred — if you do not excite his enmity
against you, then there is a chance that he will sacrifice
a caprice to obtain gold. But if he loves you, or dis-
likes you, then those stronger passions in his heart will
overmaster that strong passion — avarice. Be cautious
with Henry, and place your confidence in God. But —
lo ! I hear the door opened gently — and now to deceive
the deceivers."
As Gretchen said this, her manner, but not her voice,
changed as she spoke :
" And now, lady, I pray you cry no more — weeping
makes the eyes look so red and so nasty, just like a
naughty red flowering weed popping up its ugly face
in a bed of white roses."
"I thank you, Gretchen," said the sister Adelaide,
here advancing into the apartment. "You have done
much for the lady during my absence. I pray you now
to leave the room, as there is one who wishes to speak
with the lady Beatrice."
" And, good Sister Adelaide, may I not bring more
flowers to this nice little girl. No one cries long
with the fresh scents of the forest about them," said
Gretchen.
"Yes, Gretchen. This evening or to-morrow you
can return. All I now ask of you is to leave us for the
present," replied Adelaide.
Gretchen carefully picked up all the flowers that she
had strewn about the room, arranged them in her basket,
and without once looking either at Adelaide or Beatrice,
left the room, seemingly deeply engaged in humming
to herself the words of a nursery song.
The sister Adelaide watched with great interest all
THE CAPTIVE AND THE JAILEK. 119
the proceedings of Gretchen, and perceiving that she
had departed, apparently absorbed in the collection of
her flowers and the words of her ballad, all suspicion,
if any had for a moment found a resting-place in her
mind, vanished utterly and completely. No sooner
were the sounds of Gretchen's voice lost in the distant
passages, than Adelaide turned with a smile upon her
face, and said to Beatrice —
" This, child, has been a strange handmaiden for
you ; and yet she has done her work neatly ; for never
did I, in my life, behold a novice so beautiful as your-
self You are, in sooth, now fitted to appear before the
great man who craves permission to see you."
" A captive," replied Beatrice, " cannot refuse per-
mission to the jailer to enter his own cell. I permit
nothing, I refuse nothing, I am compelled to submit to
every thing. Such is the will of God, and I accept that
which he ordains."
" Wherefore, child, thus repine, when you know not
whether you have cause for joy or sorrow ? " inquired
Adelaide.
" Wherefore ! " said Beatrice, starting up, and stand-
ing erect, as she faced the questioner. " Wherefore
repine ? you ask me ? Wherefore does the lamb bleat
mournfully when the butcher's hand has torn it from
the fold in which its mother still remains — even
though it knows not that the knife is already sharpened
for its throat. Wherefore does the young lark die with
grief in the gilded cage of the captor, but because it has
been removed from beneath its mother's fostering wing ?
Wherefore does a daughter repine when bands of ruffians
drag her from her mother's home, and place her in a
sumptuous prison ? Yet such is the question asked me
120 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE.
by one "s\"ho wears the garb of religion. 0, God ! my
God ! have mercy on this world, if such a question can
be really asked me by one who has made her vows at
thy altar,"
The handsome features of Adelaide were wrinkled
with a frown, and her face became ghastly pale, as she
said :
" I have observed, lady, that you do not any longer
address me as sister. Why do you suppose that I am
aught otherwise than what I seem ? "
" God alone knows the heart, man judges by appear-
ances," answered Beatrice. " I replied, as a Christian
maiden to a question that I could not think would,
under such circumstances, be asked me by one, who had
renounced sin and all its pomps. If I have oflended
you, I pray you to pardon me. This is to me a strange
world ; and as yet I can only judge of it by what I
have been taught, and not by what I have known."
" I forgive you, child," said Adelaide, in accents
that trembled with emotion ; " but he who seeks ad-
mission will brook no longer delay."
In a few minutes afterwards, Adelaide returned to the
room, leading by the hand one, that Beatrice recognized
from Gretchen's description of him, to bo King Henry.
" This," said Adelaide, " is his majesty's prime favor-
ite and minister, the Count Werenher. He prays a few
moments' audience with you, and alone."
Beatrice looked Adelaide full in the face, when she
heard the false name pronounced ; but the latter glanced
scornfully upon her, as if she deemed the assumption of
her now pretended character necessary no longer. Ade-
laide did not deign to give her an explanation ; but
whispered a single word in the ear of the king, and
THE CAPTIVE AND THE JAILER. 121
tlien passed hastily from the chamber, closing fast the
door as she passed outside.
The moment that Beatrice heard the door close, she
knelt down, and before Henry could utter a word, she
thus addressed him :
"My lord — my king, one of the poorest, weakest,
and most helpless of your thousands upon thousands of
subjects, now kneels before you, and implores your
pity, if you have compassion — your pardon, if you
have mercy — your protection, if you have generosity
in your heart.
"I am, my lord and my king, unpractised in the
manners of courts ; and in my ignorance, I may, unin-
tentionally, offend you. I am alone in the midst of
strangers — I have none to help me, none to pity me,
none to console me. I appeal then to you — to you, -as
to my sovereign lord — to you, who have the sword of
justice to punish the wicked, and the sceptre of power
to protect the weak. I appeal to you, whose crown is
radiant with jewels, because those costly jewels are
intended to represent the heavenly gifts of courage,
chastity, beneficence, magnanimity, and charity : gifts
that render the heart of a good king a temple iu which
the virtues most willingly take up their abode."
" Maiden, pardon me," said Henry, with one of his
sweetest and most affectionate smiles. " You were told
that / was Count Werenher ; how came you to address
me as the^king ? "
" And what say you, is your name ? " asked Beatrice ;
" but ere you answer that question, pause for an instant
before you reply. I will not kneel to a Count Weren-
her, nor to any one who bears that title — but better to
die as I kneel here, than learn that the 'king,' the
11
122 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
* sovereign,' whom I have prayed for in my infancy, is
a dastard, who, contemplating a base deed, skulks be-
neath the mask of a villain to perpetrate it ! "
"You are right, Beatrice," said Henry, somewhat
moved by this unexpected appeal. " It is not fitting in
a king to conceal his deeds, whatever they may be. He
should have the courage to do, and to defend them, in
the close chamber, as in the broad field of battle. Rise,
Beatrice ; your king prays of you to rise and be seated."
Beatrice obeyed ; and as she did so, she said —
" I have appealed to your Majesty's generosity ; for I
know that I am in your power — and having done so, I
now beseech your Majesty to tell me why and where-
fore I have been torn from my home, and conveyed
here as a prisoner ? "
" You have recommended your king to be very can-
did," said Henry, with a cold, malignant sneer ; ** and
you shall soon discover that he can be so. I have sent
for you — somewhat rudely, mayhap, considering how
tenderly you have been nurtured, for more purposes
than one. I now address myself to the first of these.
It is a very simple question. I pray of you to give it a
plain and simple answer. It is this : what is the rank
in life of your father ? "
"I know not," answered Beatrice.
*' What ! you know not ? The daughter of a serf
knows that her father cannot move from the land on
which she is born, without his lord's permission ; the
daughter of a freeman feels an honest pride in looking
upon the sword and shield of her sire ; the daughter of
a nobleman boasts of her birth ; and the fair, the accom-
plished, the lovely Beatrice — she, Avho, if she had been
born a slave, might, like another Fredegonda, be ele-
THE CAPTIVE AND THE JAILER. 123
vated to the throne of a queen for her beauty, cannot
tell her king what is the rank in life of her father.
This is strange ! "
" It may be so, my liege ; but still it is true. To me
it never appeared strange ; for my life was always the
same, and I never heard any allusion made to my father's
rank," was the answer given by Beatrice.
" And his name ? " inquired the king.
" I never heard him called by any other than that of
Buebert," said Beatrice, slightly blushing, as her moth-
er's conversation, then, for the first time, flashed across
her memory.^
Henry knew not the cause of her emotion, or of her
fear ; but perceiving that these questions gave him an
advantage over his destined victim, he determined upon
proceeding with them.
" Is your father Ruebert a constant resident at As-
chaffenburg ? " he asked.
" No, he is not," replied Beatrice. " His coming and
his going are unlike uncertain. Sometimes he remains
a day — sometimes a week — sometimes for months to-
gether ; and his absence is as uncertain ■ — sometimes it
is for a brief, sometimes for a long period."
" And know you how he is employed when he is ab-
sent ? "
** No, my liege ; and, until you put the question, the
idea never occurred to me. All I know is this, that he
is very rich — that he entertains a very great respect for
your Majesty ; that he told me to pray every night and
morning for your health, happiness, and triumph over
your enemies ; and I am quite sure, that jewels, and
gold would be gladly placed by him' in your hands, if I
were restored to him safe and uninjured."
124 THE POPE AXD THE EMPEROR.
" This is most strange ! " exclaimed Heniy, rather
speaking to himself, than addressing his observations to
Beatrice ; for her answer had completely bewildered him.
" What is most strange, my liege ? " asked Beatrice.
" The account," replied Henry, " that you give me
of your father." Here is a man, possessing unheard-of
wealth, engaged in some mysterious occupation, of un-
known rank, living as if he were a prince of the empire,
and possessing a daughter that seems to be born to a
throne, and yet that daughter knows no more of her
father than that she has always heard him called E,ue-
bert ! You have recommended me, Beatrice, tc be can-
did. Have you," said Henry, with his withering tone,
" practised the lesson, maiden, you would yourself so
earnestly enforce ? "
" I have, my liege," said Beatrice, looking with her
large, dark, truthful eyes up to the admiring counte-
nance of the king. " I have told you the truth — the
simple truth — a truth which every inquiry you may
choose to make will fully confirm."
" It is well," said Henry. " It is more than I ex-
pected to hear : it is as much as I desire to know. And
now listen to me, Beatrice. I shall be perfectly candid
with you. I am, as you are aware, the King of the
ancient empire of Germany. I am responsible to no
man for my actions, and yet, so beneficent is my disposi-
tion, that I desire to give offence to as few powerful
enemies as possible. I believe that, as king, I have a
right to all in my dominions that is most rich, most rare,
and most beautiful, whether it be the red gold, the spar-
kling and precious diamonds, or maidens, whose loveliness
and whose virtues render them, in my eyes, more valua-
ble than gold, and more dear to my heart than the most
costly ornaments.
THE CAPTIVE AND THE JAILER. 125
" I believe, I only exercise my right, when I claim
any of these for myself. I tell you, Beatrice, there are
wise, grave jurists who maintain that these are amongst
the rights that inay not only be claimed, but exercised
by one, who in his person represents the Roman Em-
perors.
" I do not mean to forego any of those rights. It
was in the exercise of them, that one of my purveyors,
the faithful Egen, saw you in the forest of Aschaflen-
burg, and brought to me such an account of your mar-
vellous beauty, and I sent him, and with him, the Count
Werenher, and twenty of my faithful soldiers of "Worms,
with command to- arrest and bring you here, provided
that Werenher deemed you to be as beautiful as Egeu
had described you. Upon the last day that you sat
upon the banks of the Aschaff, Werenher was concealed
in the tree beneath which you reposed, and heard your
conversation with Agatha, as well as with the boy Mag-
nus. You see, Beatrice, I know more than you, in your
candor, have thought it wise or fitting to tell me.
" And now, Beatrice, I offer you the warm heart, and
the ardent affections, of a youthful king, if you will but
smile upon me. Bid me but hope that I may be loved
by you, and I shall be content to wait until your affec-
tions for me be awakened by the hourly proofs of my
admiration and of my devotion to you."
" And this is your Majesty's answer to the appeal I
have made to you," said Beatrice, with a sickening feel-
ing of despair for herself, and of loathing for the king,
as she listened to the shameless. avowal of his profligacy.
" I cannot look on such transcendent charms, and re-
turn any other reply," observed Henry. " It would be
my answer to you, if you were the daughter of the
11*
126 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
Duke of Bavaria ; it must be my answer to you, as you
are but the child of some obscure man — it would be
my answer to him, though he offered for your release, a
mine of rubies."
" Then God have mercy on me ! " said Beatrice, rush-
ing to the window, and raising her right hand as high
as she could in the air.
" What mean you, Beatrice ? " said Henry, mistaking
the motive for what she had done. " I have dealt open-
ly — candidly — with you, remember that ; and also
remember that here I am omnipotent — that here you
can find no protector but myself"
As he spoke these words, he attempted to clasp the
hand of Beatrice.
Beatrice shrank, with a shiver of horror, from his
grasp ; and, falling upon her knees as he attempted to
approach her, she drew forth, from the folds of her
dress, the little black, rough cross of Gretchen, and held
it up before his eyes, saying : —
" O, yes ! there is here — even in your strong castle
— a protector more powerful than you : it is He, of
whose sufferings on this earth this is the emblem."
As she spoke these words, she turned slowly round
on her knees, so as to look, with her bright dark eyes,
up into the cloudless blue sky ; and, seemingly absorbed
in her devotion, she poured forth this prayer in the ears
of the profligate king :
*' My God — my God ! have compassion on my weak-
ness, and take pity on me in my desolation ; for I am
forsaken by man, and am but a frail and helpless woman,
and I have no hope but in thy strength — the strength
of thy mercy, and the might of thy charity. And thou,
O, Holy Virgin, mother of God, intercede for me.
THE CAPTIVE AND THE JATLEE. 127
Thou, wlio art most pure, save from contamination a
sinner who invokes thee — a maiden who has ever prayed
that thou mightest intercede for her to thy Beloved Son.
O, beg that He may now save me in this fearful strait
— this impending danger. O, let thy tender arms em-
brace me, that sin may not approach me, and that im-
purity may shrink now, as it has ever done, from thy
presence."
The strength of faith was stronger than the power of
the passions ! The prayer of purity found an echo eveu
in the rank heart of the cynical voluptuary ! It did so,
and yet no miracle was performed when the selfish and
the unrelenting Henry, who never yet had practised a
restraint upon his worst desires, shrank back abashed in.
the presence, and appalled by the accents, of that poor,
young, helpless girl, in the lonely chamber of one of
the strongest towers in his kingly fortress !
A prayer that, perchance, might now be sneered at,
and words that, in these days of indifferentism and infi-
delity, might be scoffed, had a potver at one period in
this world's history — and, especially, at the very epoch
of which we treat, when men did the work of demons,
and yet had the faith of demons : for they practised
whatever hell suggested to their hearts ; and, like the
imps of hell, they " trembled " when that name was
pronounced — in which, as nominal Christians, they
placed all their hopes of future salvation.
Henry IV. of Germany was not an exception to the
princes, or the great men of his time. Although as
bad, as vile, and as treacherous a man as ever existed,
he was not an unbeliever. He believed in God, although
he violated the laws of God — he believed in all the
church taught, although he trampled upon its command-
128 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
ments, trafficked in its dignities, and would make it the
footstool of his selfish and griping ambition. He was
worse than most men of his age ; but was like them in
this particular — he was a great sinner, and yet was not
infidel.
Henry's generosity, manliness, and honor had been
appealed to by Beatrice in vain ; and now he heard her
appealing to heaven against him, and his craven-heart
trembled, lest one, whom he could not but regard as an
angel, should bring down upon him the instant ven-
geance of an offended God. That which he fancied he
never should behold — unshrinking piety, and unfalter-
ing .purity — was there before him, kneeling, and pray-
ing to God, to be preserved from him as from a fiend
wearing the form of a man !
As this thought crossed his mind, he shuddered — it
was a passing, momentary sting of conscience — at the
reflection of what he really was : and whilst he was
under its influence, he interrupted Beatrice, who was
engaged in prayer, by saying to her :
" Lady Beatrice, your prayer is heard, I shall not
molest you. I shall not harm you. I shall not approach
you, nearer than I am this moment, until I have first
obtained your permission to do so.
" Your prayer has convinced me that there is no dig-
nity on this earth that you could not illustrate- by, your
virtues, and honor by your piety. Beatrice, I care not
who may be your father, nor how humble may be his
rank in life : for, by yourself, alone, and by these mar-
vellous gifts of soul and body, with which heaven has
endowed you, I deem you, of all women, the only one
I ever saw Avho was worthy to be queen now, and em-
press hereafter, of Germany.
THE CAPTIVE AND THE JAILER. 12SF''
"Nay, start not, Beatrice, as if you tliouglit I was
speakiug to you but mere words of flattery, or making
professions to you that I did not fully intend to carry
into effect. When I say to you, that I think you worthy
of wearing a crown in Germany, I mean that you shall
do so — as the wife — the queen of Henry — every
knee shall bend before you, and the proudest dames
shall feel that they are honored if you address but a
single word to them.
" What I now say to you, Beatrice, shall, before a
month has passed away, be fulfilled. Within less than
three weeks a synod shall be held in Frankfort, at which
the prelates of Germany will pronounce that my mar-
riage with Bertha has, from the first, been invalid. This
divorce I sought for before I saw you, both for the sake
of Bertha and myself; and the moment that the church
pronounces me to be free — free as if the hateful bond
that now ties me to Bertha had never been contracted ;
then, that moment, Beatrice, your king shall claim you
in the face of the world as his bride. Meanwhile, you
shall be removed from the palace in which I am, to the
strongest fortress I possess in Saxony — to the fortress
of "
" My liege — my liege — your presence is required,
on the instant, in your council chamber," said Lieman,
here rushing, pale and almost breathless, into the room.
" From all parts of the fortress the sentinels send the
same reports, that large bodies of the Saxon serfs were
approaching the walls, as if an attack upon it were con-
templated, and messengers from the town state, that
there is a movement amongst the slaves, as if they were
about to commit some outrage."
" I trust that the intelligence may prove true," ex-
130 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
claimed Henry. '' I long to exterminate the vile race
of SaxonSj and care not where I may begin — better
here, perhaps, than elsewhere. Come, Lieman, my hel-
met, shield, and haubergeon instantly. Beatrice, fare-
well. "We meet in Saxony."
CHAPTER IX.
THE EMPRESS AGNES AND QUEEN BERTHA.
Two females had entered the apartment of Beatrice,
noiselessly, and unperceived by her, and were evidently
in the very highest rank of life, even though the dark
dress of the elder, in its sombre hue, and plainness of
texture, resembled the garb of a nun, and the lighter
fashioned robes of her youthful companion were not, in
any way, adorned by embroidery. Both were, however,
it could be perceived, of exalted station, and possessed,
at least, of great wealth ; for, on the breast of the elder
there hung, attached by what was an almost impercep-
tible thread of gold, a cross, composed of sparkling bril-
liants, and around the dark tresses of the younger, there
ran, in the fashion of an imperial circlet, a band, com-
posed of diamonds.
The elder female was the Empress Agnes, the mother
of King Henry.
Her companion was young — very young — it would
be difficult to decide, upon first looking at her, whether
she was sixteen or twenty years of age ; for her figure
was so slight, and at the same time so much beneath the
THE EMPRESS AGNES AND QUEEN BERTHA. 131
nilddle-slze of women, that one would long hesitate to
say that she could, by possibility, be older than sixteen,
if there were not in the chastened eye, the grave look,
and the pensive gesture of her movements, somewhat to
demonstrate that more than the sorrows that vex the
heart of a girl of sixteen had found a resting-place in
her bosom. She was of Italy ; and there was no mis-
taking the place of her birth, in her rich brown skin,
her pearly teeth, her pouting mouth, her Roman nose,
her jet-black eyes, and her hair, that, in the intensity of
its blackness, gave forth a bluish hue. This beautiful
and this delicate young creature, on whose arm the em-
press leaned, now looked at Beatrice, with an interest —
an excess of interest, which none but a wife can feel
when gazing on a female who has unwillingly won, or
unconsciously attracted, the admiration of a husband.
It was Queen Bertha, the wife of Henry, who knew that
the lovely Beatrice was an unwilling captive in the
power of her husband. Her features expressed what
was passing in her heart — profound pity, and irrepress-
ible admiration — the first for the situation of Beatrice,
the other for her beauty.
Beatrice was conscious that she stood in the presence
of one, at least, her superior in rank, and she suspected,
of tyo.
" I know not, lady," she said, " who you are, but I
am sure I do not err, when, in presence of this august
female, who seems to be a mother, I beg you to exercise
the power you are plainly possessed of here, by com-
manding that a daughter may be instantly restored to
the arms of an anguished parent."
" Alas, that I could but exercise that power you sup-
pose me to have," answered Bertha. " But know, that
132 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE.
by your presence here, an outrage is done to you, and
an injury inflicted on me ; for I am the viuloved wife
of King Henry."
" And I, my dear child — the unhappy mother of the
same Henry — bless thee, the last of his victims — and
pray that thou mayest long live to offer thy prayers to
heaven to pardon him for this and his other manifold
sins." And as the empress spoke these words, she laid
her hand upon the head of Beatrice, as if pronouncing a
benediction over her. She then stretched forth her
hand to Beatrice, and said — '' Whatever be thy con-
dition in life, an injury to both, perj)etrated by the same
hand, has placed us on an equality with each other."
Beatrice kissed the hand of the empress, and then
said, —
" By what fortunate chance is it, that one so humble
as myself, should be honored by a visit from your majes-
ties, who now appear before me, as my guardian-angels i "
" If our presence here can confer upon thee aught of
good, thou art indebted for it to the information con-
veyed to us by the Countess Dedi, who has also ap-
prised us that thou ait the betrothed of Duke Magnus,
and that thou hast been conveyed hither in thine own
despite. Poor girl ! from my soul I pity thee ; and rest
assured that Bertha and I will aid thee, if it be possible
for us to do so."
" But, mother, you have not asked her if she has seen
the king," said Bertha, with deep emotion.
" I have," answered Beatrice, " and it much interests
your Majesty to know what he said to me. I will not
offend your ears by some words he said ; but this you
should know ; that he spoke to me of being speedily
divorced from your majesty."
THE EMPRESS AGNES AND QUEEN BERTHA. 133
" Divorced ! " exclaimed Bertha, " divorced ! are you
Bure he said divorced ? "
** Most certain, madam, and even hy the "words he
used he led me to suppose that a divorce was as neces-
sary for your happiness, as his ovp-n," answered Beatrice.
Bertha stood motionless as these words reached her
ear. They seemed to penetrate to her brain, and to
have transfixed her for some minutes to the spot. She
coukl not speak — she looked at Beatrice, as the dying
and despairing sinner looks upon the physician who tells
him that his moments in this world are few in number.
Then turning to her companion, she flung her arras
wildly around the neck of the empress, and clasping "her
convulsively to her bosom, she sobbed out, as if each
word would burst her heart :
" Divorced ! O, mother, mother ! do you not pity
me?"
The empress had been for years accustomed to grief.
It had not hardened her heart, nor rendered, in the
slightest degree, her feelings callous ; but it had so
strengthened her will, that she could command her emo-
tions. She Avas, in sorrow, what the veteran is in the
field of battle ; and the wound, that might be mortal,
was, when inflicted, received and regarded as of no more
consequence than one that could impose but a passing
pain, or bring with it no more than a temporary incon-
venience.
" Bertha, my child, God was pleased to place a heavy
burden upon you, when He permitted your marriage
with my son," was the observation of Agnes.
" But then, mother, to be divorced ! — divorced from
him ! — divorced from Henry ! — who before now ever
heard of two young persons, who loved each other once
12
134 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
SO truly — for I am sure, mother, he did love me once
— who, I ask, ever heard of a Christian wife and hus-
band being divorced from each other ? " asked Bertha,
in her distraction and despair.
"True — true, my child," replied Agnes, "it is
monstrous, and would be incredible, but that I may also
ask another question — who before now ever heard of
so reckless a man as Henry ? "
" I have never seen nor spoken with his Majesty until
this day," observed Beatrice, " and therefore cannot tell
when he speaks in seriousness or in jest, or whether it
was his real intention to wrong one of your Majesty's
exalted rank, or to degrade a helpless maiden like my-
self; but this I may add, as proving his fixed resolution
to do the one and the other, that he voluntarily declared
that he would never again appear before me until he
had been divorced from you — a divorce, which, he said,
would be pronounced within the course of a few weeks ;
and, pending the time,.for its being pronounced, he said
that he would have me removed to a fortress in Saxony."
Whilst Beatrice spoke, there was such truth, such
sincerity in her words, and such conviction brought
home to the heart, by the earnestness and solemnity of her
manner, that Bertha clung closer to Agnes, and seemed
to feci, whilst she clasped the empress within her arms,
as if the voice of Henry was thundering in her ear, an-
nouncing his approaching separation from her. Her
attitude portrayed the fear and dismay that shook her
whole being.
" O ! " cried Bertha, " that the holy father did but
know all."
"Bertha — my child — he shall know all. Fortu-
nately the Pope is much nearer to the borders of the
THE EMPRESS AGNES AND QUEEN BERTHA. 135
German dominions than Henry wots of. This very
night a trusty messenger, bearing my declarations and
yours, and showing that you are, whatever may be the
affirmations to the contrary, the true and lawful wife of
Henry, shall be forwarded to his holiness, and thus your
husband be saved from a worse crime, if that be possi-
ble, than any of which he has yet been guilty."
" ISIy innocent, my lovely, and my unwilling rival,"
said Bertha, " I cannot look upon you, without feeling
that yor; are my superior in all those attractions likely
to win the admiration, and to secure the affections of a
man, who has, from boyhood, rendered himself the slave
of female beauty. If I were not married to Henry — •
if I were like you, a maiden, and he stood this moment
before us, bound by no vow, pronounced in presence of
God's holy altar, I could not blame — nay, I must ap-
prove his judgment, if, looking upon us both, he pre-
ferred you, and rejected me. It is not so. God has
ordained it otherwise. He is my husband : I am his wife,
until death parts us. He unfortunately has, in abandon-
ing me, violated the laws of God ; and your innocence,
your beauty, and your virtues, have been as sins in his
path, and urged him onward to be guilty of a greater
crime against me, against you, and against heaven. In
all this you are, like myself, an unoffending and a help-
less victim. He would unrighteously take from me this
royal circlet, the emblem of my dignity, and bestow it
upon you. If you accepted it from his hands, you would
participate in his sin ; but receiving it from mine, it
shall ever remain a testimony of the love, and a proof
of the affection entertained for you, by Bertha — your
queen and your friend."
As Bertha spoke, she unloosed the sparkling diadem
from her dark hair, and tendered it to Beatrice.
136 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
Beatrice, instead of stretching forth her hand to
receive the costly gift — precious as the ransom of a
duke, bent her knee to Bertha, as a subject to a sov-
ereign, and said, in words that "were as sweet as music
to the ear of the desolate wife :
'' I pray your Majesty to pardon a poor ignorant girl,
who knows not the manners of the great ones of this
earth, if I presume to decline receiving that gorgeous
ornament. If I were to accept it, I would seem to you
— at least, I think so — as if I felt that I had done that
which was worthy of commendation, because I had pre-
ferred death to dishonor.
" Pardon me, then, lady, when I say, I cannot, must
not, will not accept the diadem that you tender to me."
The empress stooped down to Beatrice, as she knelt,
and kissing her on the forehead exclaimed :
" God bless thee, maiden ! for amongst thy other
graces, thou art, I perceive, richly endowed with that
most precious of virtues — perfect humility.
" And now, my dearest children," continued the em-
press, clasping, at the same time, a hand of Bertha and
of Beatrice, " let us part, I trust to meet again in this
world. As to Beatrice — although this palace is a den
of iniquity — and not only men, but even women, are
to be found in it, ready to do the work of demons, still
there are even here a few honest, good, faithful, and
pious persons. These shall have strict orders to watch
over thee, whilst thou remain, and to follow thy foot-
steps wheresoever thou mayest be conveyed. Conceal
this cross of brilliants, and whenever thy hand touches
it, think of me — of the empress, as a friend ; and pray
for her — as a sinner !
" Come, Bertha."
THE CAMP-FOLLOWER. 137
Bertha spoke not a word ; but hastily quitting the
side of the empress, as both were on the point of retiring
from the apartment, she hurried back to Beatrice, and kiss-
ing her, long and ardently, she merely murmured, or rather
whispered, as if it were an ejaculation, into her ear :
" Pray for me, also, dearest Beatrice, and — for
yourself."
CHAPTER X.
THE CAJyiP-FOLLOWER.
Beatrice had been travelling for two days, under the
escort of the Count Diedrich, as she understood, for he
had never once spoken to her ; but he had allowed her
all the consolation, that, under such circumstances, it was
in her power to possess, the undisturbed companionship
of Gretchen. The latter joined Beatrice at the fortress
gate, as she was quitting Frankfort, and, upon showing
to Diedrich an order from the empress, for her to accom-
pany her charge as a female attendant, he made no
objection to such an arrangement, but merely said to
her —
"Go — hit don't talk."
Gretchen assured her new mistress that there was not
a step of the road they were travelUng that was not
tracked by her friends — by Magnus, or some of his
knights, or else by some of the adherents of the empress.
She even assured her that she had herself seen, if it were
not fancy, a white and blue banner upon a distant hill ;
but as Beatrice was not able to discern the same object
12*
138 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
at SO great a distance, Gretchen admitted that she might
be mistaken; but still persisted in thinking that she
■was not.
It was the noon of the third day from the time they
had left Frankfort, when Beatrice and Gretchen were
thus conversing. Both sat in a greenswarded ravine, so
narrow in breadth, that the deep foliage from the trees
on both sides prevented the sun's rays from reaching
them, whilst high over their heads there toppled rocks
upon I'ocks, that rose up in one place as steep and as
precipitous as a wall, and beneath which lay a grassy,
rounded m.ound of earth, covered here and there by
bushes, the deep inclination of which terminated at the
precise spot where Beatrice and Gretchen now sat.
In the mind of Beatrice there seemed, at this time,
to be but thoughts for three persons ; for her mother, for
Magnus, and her father. It can therefore excite no
surprise that her conversation with Gretchen should be,
not commenced, but in this manner, resumed :
** And so, Gretchen, you think that the empress will
be so kind as to send intelligence to my poor mother,
as to the sad fate that has befallen me, and of her majes-
ty watching over me "
Gretchen did not answer this question. She looked,
as Beatrice saw, towards her, and yet not at her, but at
something beyond her ; and as she did so her eye dilat-
ed with terror, and her right hand slowly slid inside
the folds of her garments, and remained firmly fixed
there, as if she were clutching some weapon.
Beatrice turned her face in the direction in which she
saw that Gretchen was gazing. At first nothing pre-
sented itself to the view calculated to excite alarm ; but
atjpiast she saw two large, dazzhng, diamond-sparkling
THE CAMIVFOLLOWEE, 139
eyes, fixed upon herself, and watching her so closely
and fixedly, that the action of Gretchen had not been
remarked :
"Ah! " shrieked Beatrice, starting to her feet, "there
is a wolf concealed in the bushes ! "
At the same instant a person in the garb of a soldier,
darted up from the earth, and was at the moment con-
fronted by Gretchen, who now showed that her ri^ht
hand grasped a long dagger. Another moment passed,
and the stranger had wrested the dagger from the hand
of Gretchen, and then laughing deridingly at her, pre-
sented it back to her, saying :
" No wolf, my pretty dame, but a woman, like your-
self Here, girl, take back your dagger ; learn to use
it before you present its point at an old soldier like
me."
" In heaven's name ! who or what are you ? " asked
Beatrice of the strange personage who stood before her
— a woman apparently about thirty years of age, on
whose head was a soldier's helmet, from which fell Ions',
rough, curling black hair, that served to cover a neck,
that was like the skin of her fi\ce, not merely brown, but
almost blackened from cojistant exposure to the sun,
whilst a thick, downy moustache of black hair on the
upper lip, gave her the appearance of a man. And for
such, she might, by her brawny arms and large hands,
be readily mistaken, if the ample folds of a woman's
short-dress did not show that she belonged to the female
sex. By this extraordinary personage Beatrice's ques-
tion was thus answered :
" I am, I have already told you, a woman. As to
what I am, it may suffice to tell you, that I am the flivorite
camp-follower of Count Diedrich." f
140 THE POPE AND THE E5IPER0R.
'' Then why lie concealed there ? " asked Gretchen.
" Another would tell you a lie. I will tell you the
truth, I was lying there to listen to your conversation.
I was doing duty as a spy. Diedrich reckons me one of
the best spies in the king's army. Here, Gretchen, hand
me that wine. Xeither of you like wine. I do."
So speaking, the sturdy camp-follower seized a large
goblet filled with wine, and swallowed it off at a single
draught.
" But why become a spy upon us ? " inquired Gretchen.
" Diedrich," said the camp-follower, " wished to know
if you were contemj)lating any plan of escape from him.
He sent me to ascertain the fact. I have been listening
to you at every place where you stopped for refreshment
and repose ; and, excuse my bluntness, but I must re-
port to Diedrich, that never in my life did I listen to
long conversations so spiritless and stupid. It has all
been about a fusty empress, a noodle queen, a nobody
of a mother, and the truth is, you would both have set
me to sleep over and over again, if it had not been for
your allusions to a white and blue flag, and one INIagnus.
I want to find out who that fellow is. Let Diedrich get
but within a league of him, and you shall see his white-
blue flag turned into a red one, with the best blood that
warms his heart. More M'ine, Gretchen, if you please
— it is the pure old llhenish wine, that Diedrich loves
so much."
Beatrice's heart sickened, when she heard the proba-
ble murder of Magnus so lightly and so unfeelingly
referred to, by the terrible woman who stood before her.
"Here," said she, "here, my good woman, is a piece
of gold for you. It is the only one I possess : take it,
and do not mention the name of Magnus to Count
Diedrich."
THE CAMP-FOLLOTVER. 141
The camp-folloAver held out her brawny, broad, black
hand for the piece of gold, and as Beatrice's hand touched
hers, she clapped down her strong thumb upon it, so
as to hold the hand of Beatrice attached to her own,
and fixed as firmly to hers as if it were held within an
iron clasp.
" Ho ! ho ! " she exclaimed, with a laugh half expres-
sive of derision, and half of wonder, as she gazed upon
the snow-white, rosy-tipped, thin fingers and fairy-like
hand of Beatrice, that seemed to be still smaller in con-
trast with the swarthy palm to which it was fastened.
" Ho ! ho ! ho! " she continued, " so this is the sort of hand
that King Henry admires — a little waxy thing, that is
neither good for washing, scouring, nor fighting — why,
I would make a hand like this any day, out of a little
curdled milk, and a rose leaf. Augh ! a child of five
years of age ought to be ashamed of it. Put your fin-
gers in gloves, child, and when they are the size of a
woman's, say you are a woman, but never until then.
And now, as to the piece of gold you have given me,
I am much obliged to you ; but I cannot earn it in the
way you wish. I am a soldier, doing duty as a spy, and
I must tell my commander that you gave me a piece of
gold, not to mention to him the name of Magnus. Hon-
or above all things, child ; and before all things : a
soldier without honor is like a flask without wine —
worth nothing, and deserves only to be kicked out of
every one's way."
" For mercy's sake ! " said Beatrice, bursting into tears.
" Mercy ! psha ! who ever heard of mercy being shown
to a spy ? " observed the camp-follower. " Now, mark
me, if that Magnus, of whom you are always speaking,
intends to attack Diedrich as a soldier, well and good ;
142 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE.
he will be treated as a solcliei', if lie should be defeated
and taken prisoner. There will be the general's best
wine for him at his meals, and his misfortunes will be
respected ; but if, on the other hand, he be found lurk-
ing about our encampment as a spy — I know Diedrich
well, the higher his rank the greater his tortures — his
will not be the death of a man, nor of a soldier ; but,
aut of hell itself, there will be no tortures like to those
that will be inflicted."
" O, my God ! why then mention his name to that
frightful wretch, Diedrich ? " asked Beatrice, trembling
with terror.
" Diedrich is no wretch, young pert miss ; but as
brave a soldier as ever yet faced a foeman," answered his
favorite. " He cares little for his own life, and nought
for the life of any one else. I tell you, I must mention
to him that you had been speaking of a person called
Magnus. That is all I have to say of him ; but cheer
up, that means next to nothing, and perhaps Diedrich
will give me a grim look for pestering him with such a
trifle. But come now, deal candidly with me, and I
pledge you my honor as a soldier and a woman, that if
I can help you I will. Only mind this — if you are
aware that Magnus means to attack the force under Die-
drich's command, say nothing to me ; for if you do, I
must mention it. Any thing short of that you may tell
me, and I will not repeat it. Thus cautioning you, I
ask you — wherefore is it that you suppose that Magnus
is following the escort of Diedrich ? "
" I am betrothed to Magnus — I have been torn away
from him, and from my parents," replied Beatrice ; " and
Magnus is now following the soldiers, for the purpose
of ascertaining whither Diedrich is conducting us."
THE CAMP-FOLLOWER. 143
The camp-follower clapped her hands with glee, when
she heard this statement, made in doleful accents by
Beatrice.
" What ! another love story — a little fairy like you
is run away with by my great giant of a Diedrich, and
Magnus is a king's son, not hastening to fight with him,
but to find the road he is taking, and then, when he
has discovered it, to go and sit down at the castle gate,
and blubber like a boy, because he cannot get in and
you cannot get out. O, that is excellent. Why, what
a pair of young fools you must both be ! But — no
matter ! tiny doll, I remember I was a little girl myself
once, and therefore, I have pity on you. I can tell you
— and I do tell you, because it is not secret : every groom
in the camp is aware of it — the place where we are
going to, is the strongest fortress in Saxony — it is the
fortress of Erzegebirge. If Magnus Avere here I would
tell it to him, this instant. It might save him from trouble,
and you from care. In what direction do you fancy he
may be discovered ? If it be no great distance I will
go and tell himself: I feel quite a curiosity to look at
any one, in the shape of a man, that can be in love with
such a poor little thing as you are. On which side, think
you, is Magnus lurking ? " *
Beatrice hesitated to answer this question ; she feared
for Magnus, and she did not know but that this strange
and ferocious-looking woman might be seeking for his
hfe.
" Alas," said she, " if you should tell Diedrich where
he is ! "
"Me!" exclaimed the Avoman — half-drawing the
short sword tliat hung by her side. " Why, girl, you
are the first that ever thought, for one moment, that
144 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE.
Gertraud would act dishonorably to friend or foe, man
or woman, much less a child like you. In the field I
am a soldier — in the camp I am a woman. I know
what it is to shed human blood ; and, when my rage is
excited by the noise of battle, I have not spared the life
of man ; but yet I never struck an unfair blow. If you
choose, I will try and find out Magnus — I shall go to
meet him alone. Do you think so poorly of him as to
suppose he can be afraid of me? Besides, remember
this — if I see him, he is safe — if any other person in
the pay of Diedrich discover his lurking-place, he is not
merely sure to die, but he will die the death of a spy.
What say you now, maiden ? "
" That I pray your pardon, Gertraud, since that is the
name you bear," answered Beatrice. " I not only place
confidence in you, but I ask of you to tell Magnus,
from me, that it is my entreaty, now knowing whither
we are going, he will follow us no farther — and that he
will repair to my father's castle, and there state what
has befallen me."
" Very well — and very sensible," said Gertraud.
'' And now in what direction may I seek him ? "
" In that," said Gretchen, pointing back upon the
road over which tlf^y had travelled. *' I imagine he is
about five miles' distance."
" And what is his appearance ? " said Gertraud.
'' He is very tall, very fair, and very handsome," an-
swered Beatrice.
*' Phew ! so are all men who are not very short, very
dark, and very ugly," replied Gertraud. " The descrip-
tion is too general to be accurate ; but never mind, it
will do for one who is used to the devices of war."
So saying, she bounded in amongst the bushes, and
THE CAMP-FOLLOWER. 145
then darted behind a clump of trees, from whence she
again appeared, mounted on a strong-limbed black horse,
that she rode as if she were a man.
" And now,'' said she, as she patted the neck of her
steed, and looking proudly down upon the two„young
girls, " I am sure to be back here again before the order
is given for you to march ; for a dark deed is to be
done in this very spot to-day, which I am better pleased
not to witness. Did either of vou ever see a human
being slain ? "
" Never — thank God ! never," cried Beatrice and
Gretchen, in one voice.
*' It is a horrid sight ! " observed Gertraud, " unless
it be in fair and open warfare ; for then it is life against
life, and he who slays, only does so to save himself
from being slain ; but a cold-blooded, contemplated mur-
der, and that, too, the murder of a bishop "
" O heavens ! what say you, Gertraud ? " cried Bea-
trice, terrified. '' Assuredly you speak in jest, and only
make use of these words to terrify us."
" Girl," said Gertraud, in a voice that became, from
deep emotion, guttural in its tones ; " one like me, who
have seen many men die in agony, cannot jest about mur-
der — a horrid, base, cowardly, unmanly murder such as
now is contemplated against a pious and a holy bishop.
Poor Diedrich ! he has promised to do it, and if hell
lay between him and the performance of his promise,
he would yet jump into it, although every fiery flame
of the bottomless pit were a devil opposed to him.
Jest, indeed ! why have you been permitted to remain
here for hours, and it may be for days, yet. It is, be-
cause Diedrich is lying in wait here for the Bishop of
Osnabruck — for here he must pass, with his small
13
146 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
escort, on his way to liis diocese — and here, in obedi-
ence to King Henry's command, will he be slain by Die-
drich. Here — I say — is the very spot on which the
murder will be committed. As a priest, as a prelate,
Diedrjch cannot touch him with spear, sword, or dagger,
but he will slay him notwithstanding ; from that very
precipice which now hangs over your head the bishop
will be thrown, and his body dashed from rock to rock ;
he never can reach the earth a living man. This is the
place of his death which Diedrich has determined upon.
He told me so himself. You will not be permitted, I
imagine, to be witnesses to such a horrid death — that
is, if Diedrich thinks of you, or of having you removed.
Poor Diedrich ! he is so annoyed at the idea of having
to murder the bishop, that he has done nothing for the
last two days but eat, drink, and sleep. The only words
I have heard him utter for forty-eight hours, are, * more
food — more M'ine ! ' Poor Diedrich ! if it were two
men he alone had to encounter in combat, he would be
as merry as a child ; but to waylay and murder a bish-
op ! it is a horrid business, and I only wish it may
happen whilst I am away. On my return, I hope to
hear that the bishop's soul is in heaven, and his man-
gled body in the grave. Poor Diedrich ! O, what a
precious villain that King Henry must be to make prel-
ate butchers of his best soldiers and bravest generals.
And now, fair lady, to meet with, if I can, that strange
young man — yoiir admirer."
So saying, Gertraud shouted the word " Away ! " to
her horse, and before either Beatrice or Gretchen could
speak another word to her, she had vanished from their
sight.
The horrible secret which had thus been disclosed to
THE CAMP-FOLLOWER. 147
them, rendered both these poor young girls motionless
for some minutes, and when they recovered in some
degree from their terror, they cast their arms around
each other, as if, in thus clinging together, they could
mutually communicate a courage that neither possessed.
They both at the same instant looked up to the high
precipice, and regarded it with as much terror and hor-
ror, as if it had been already made the scene of that
sacrilegious murder for which they had been just told it
was to be used.
The perfect stillness that prevailed on all sides around
them, first brought consolation and hope to their hearts
— consolation, that the crime had not yet been com-
mitted — hope, that the bishop, with his escort, might
not pass that way, and thus escape from the toils tliat
his enemies had set for him.
Both prayed that this might be the case ; but neither
had strength nor courage to address her companion.
They were two lone, helpless females, in the midst of a
wilderness — the prisoners of a band of armed villains,
who were watching to execute a murder — which, if it
did happen, must occur in their sight ; and that, too,
the murder of a bishop — one of those, who, being
elevated to a high position in the church, seemed to be
forever secured from the blood-stained hands of mis-
creants.
«
Speechless with horror — tearless from terror — and
with all their senses absorbed in that of hearing, two
hours had passed away, when the rapid movement of a
horse behind them made them both shriek — it was a
long shriek of anguish and dismay ; and, in their ap-
prehensive fears, or in their excitement, or from the
keenness to which the sense of hearing had been excited.
148 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
both supposed that they heard that shriek echoed back
to them from a distant part of the ravine. Both thought
this, but neither said so to her companion ; for they
were, at the same instant, addressed by Gertraud, who,
jumping from her steed, said :
" What cowards you are ! why, your shrieks are worse
to hear than the groans of a wounded horse when dying
in battle. Has any thing occurred since I left you ? '"
" There has not been the shghtest stir or movement
any where," said Gretchen. " I would suppose that the
soldiers have left us to ourselves. I have not seen one
of them, nor heard the voice of a sentinel."
" O, there are no men like to ours for an ambuscade,"
said Gertraud, proudly. " I defy an enemy to dis-
cover where they are until the sword of one of them
is in his back. That is the way we act when we have
recourse to ambuscades. You say you have not seen
nor heard one of them for the two hours that are now
passed away ? Let me see if I cannot discover them."
Gertraud, as she spoke, withdrew behind a tree —
gave a gentle, low chirrup with her lips, as if it came
from a bird — and it was replied to, from various points,
by sounds similar to that which she had emitted.
*' Ah ! " said she, stepping again forward, and joining
Beatrice and Gretchen, " if the poor Bishop of Osna-
bruck stood in the same spot that you now occupy, he
would have five arrows shot through him before he
would have time to bless himself"
" O, horrible ! horrible ! " ejaculated Beatrice. " But
do you not think there is a chance of the bishop es-
caping ? "
" Escaping ! and Diedrich lying in ambush for him —
impossible, unless he is a saint or a magician ; unless he
THE SPY. 149
can fly up to heaven, or change himself into a bird —
but hist ! " excLiimed Gertraud. " I tokl you so — he
has been discovered. Our men are in pursuit of his
retinue. There is rich plunder for us. I must have my
share. As to you — do what you can for him. Upon
your knees, girls, and say — ' May the Lord have mer-
cy on his soul ! ' "
CHAPTER XI.
THE SPY.
The time fixed for holding the Diet of Frankfort, as
"well as the assembling of the German bishops in synod,
was now fast approaching. By Henry it was wished for
with a confidence that was darkened with but few appre-
hensions ; whilst, by his hapless wife. Bertha, it was
waited for with a fear that was lighted up but with scanty
and evanescent gleams of hope. Her only chance rested
upon accidents — that Dedi should safely reach the court
of the pontiff; that the pontiff would consider her case
recLuu-ed his interference ; and would it be prudent for
one so weak in temporal power as the pope, for the sake
of a single, friendless woman, to place himself in direct
hostility to the most powerful, despotic, and unscrupulous
monarch in Europe ; and, supposing all these apprehended
dangers were overcome, whether there was the possibility
of the pope's legate obtaining admission into Frankfort,
if he arrived in time to preside over the deliberations of
the synod — and, last of all, if she could hope, that, by
13*
150 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
any lucky circumstance, tlie legate could be in Frankfort,
■with the papal decision, at that precise moment when his
presence might save her from the shame and dishonor
with which her husband was anxious to overwhelm her.
" This is a gallant and a glorious sight for a king to
see," said Henry, to his followers, as his heart swelled
with pride, in beholding the number of men that were
clustering from all sides beneath him, and each of whom
was regarded, not so much as a subject, that he was bound
to protect, as the ready tool of his absolute will. " There
is not a man there that I do not regard as a soldier for
my war in Saxony."
" All are so," observed Egen, '' except those few that
you see yonder — that hold themselves closely by the
banner of Otho, and of Dedi, and that keep aloof from
the throng, as if they stood akeady condemned by the
ban of the empire."
" They are few, indeed," remarked Lieman ; " but I
have been close up to their lines, and I can assure you,
that there is not one of them but has been in battle. It
is a little army of veterans."
" Do you account Dedi the younger as amongst the
veterans ? " asked Count Werenher.
" I do not," answered Lieman ; " nor did I allude to
him as being amongst those veterans, and for a sufficient
reason — he is not with that little band."
*' What say you, Lieman ? " asked King Henry. **Are
you sure that the younger Dedi is not at the head of his
father's soldiers in Frankfort ? "
" I am certain he is not," answered Lieman. " No
man is better known in Frankfort than Dedi the younger ;
and I can assure you that he is neither in the city nor in
the encampment."
THE SPY. 151
*' What means this ? " asked Henry, in an indignant
tone. "Am I to suppose it possible, that the son of
Count Dedi will presume not to appear and tender me
homage at my court in Frankfort ? This looks as if a
rebellion were contemplated."
*' The time for requiring him to appear, or to receive
a valid excuse for his absence is not yet come," remarked
AVerenher ; " but this I feel assured of, that nothing but
a matter of vital importance to himself, or against your
Majesty, could induce the younger Dedi to absent him-
self from such a military array as we now look upon."
" Count Werenher," said Henry, somewhat pettishly,
" I warned you, some time since, to surround the Dedis
and Otho with spies, so that we might be informed be-
times of their entire proceedings. How ill you have
performed your task we have now the proof; for you
knew not of the absence of the younger Dedi until Lie-
man told you of it ; and now, instead of facts, you can
only supply me with your guesses, and your suspicions.
How am I to know that the absence of Dedi may not be
connected with some plot that affects my happiness, or
even my life ? "
" It is quite true," answered Werenher, " that your
Majesty did so warn me ; but if you will be pleased to
recollect, I also at the same time apprised you, that it
was almost impossible to induce a Saxon to betray the
secrets of the Dedis, or of Otho. I paid men as spies,
and they have misled me. It is not an hour since I saw
one of them, who assured me that young Dedi is in
Frankfort. I gave him a piece of gold, and ordered him
to be abundantly supplied with food and wine. Per-
chance, the villain is stiU in the palace, and acting as a
spy upon us, even whilst partaking of your Majesty's
152 THE POPE AND THE EMPEKOR.
hospitality. Have I your Majesty's permission to seek
for him ? "
" Assuredly," said Henry, " if the villain has deceived
von, I shall, with my own eyes, see him seethed alive."
" Believe me," observed Egen, " that if the Saxon
slave has resolved upon deceiving you, no threats, that
you may use, will terrify, nor any tortures, however ex-
quisite, extort from him the truth. These Saxons are a
dogged, desperate, obstinate and malignant race of men."
"We shall see — yve shall see," said Henry, chafing
at the notion that any living man should dare openly to
defy him. "But here he comes — a pretty fellow, for-
sooth, to set a king at defiance. Come hither, sirrah,"
he said to a man apparently about five and twenty years
of age, with short, sandy hair, an enormous, bushy beard,
a red face, and a strong muscular body, although some-
what below the middle size of men of his race. " Come
hither, sirrah ! kneel down there before me."
The man knelt as he had been directed, and looked up
at the king with a stupid, vacant stare, as if he did not
well understand what was said to him, or that terror had
deprived him of all his faculties.
" Now, slave," said Henry, " know that you are per-
mitted to kneel in presence of your king ; that you are
suspected of having deceived the sovereign through the
misinformation you gave to his faithful friend, Count
Werenher — a crime, for which, it is most probable, I
shall content myself with simply having you hanged.
Whether you shall be tortured to death or not depends
upon the truth with which you ansAver me. Do you
understand what T am now sapng to you ? "
A ray of intelligence shot forth from the eyes of the
man. He gazed steadfastly at Henry, as if for the pur-
THE SPY. 153
pose of ascertaining -whether he spoke in seriousness or
was merely seeking to terrify him by a jesting threat ;
but the contracted frown of the king, the flush on the
cheek, and the fire of vengeance in the eye, showed to
him that his death was determined upon. He next
looked in the faces of the courtiers ; but there he saw
imprinted upon every feature a passive, or utter indifier-
ence to him ; showing, that in none of them could he
look for a pitying and merciful intercession on his behalf.
He looked behind him, and saw the dai'k towers rising
up to enclose him, whilst there stood as a guard between
him and the ramparts, four men — the king and Weren-
her incensed against him ; Lieman and Egen ready, if
directed, to slaughter him. A shudder passed through
the strong man. He bent down to the earth, kissed it
fervently, and said :
" The will of God be done ! "
He then looked up to the king, and said :
" What your Majesty has said to me, I understand
perfectly."
" Very well," said Henrv, " now observe : answer me
candidlv — if I find vou falter in the slisrhtest decree, I
will have every morsel of skin that covers your body torn
away from you, an inch at the end of every hour ! "
" O, mercy ! mercy ! " exclaimed the man, shuddering.
" Xot a particle — if you tell me a falsehood. And
now, fellow, what is your name ? "
" Bruin," answered the man.
"Bruin — Bruin! I have heard that name before,"
remarked Lieman. " Of Avhom are you the serf? "
'• I am no serf," replied Bruin, " I am a freeman and
a soldier. I was born a serf; but the good Duke Otho
made me free."
154 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
" Then you are a spy ? " remarked the king.
" I am/' answered Bruin.
*' A spy upon me ! " said the king.
" Yes/' said Bruin.
" And for Duke Otho, or Count Dedi, I warrant," re-
marked Egen.
" No/' was the answer of Bruin.
" Then I am sure for Dedi the younger," suggested
Werenher.
" For none of them/' said Bruin. " I am a spy on
my own account. I became so, without the knowledge
of any one ; but with the determination, that, if I dis-
covered aught that might be useful for my master to
know, he should be informed of it, and that, too, without
telling him how the intelligence had been gained."
" Wretch and villain," said Henry, " for this, if I spare
your life — and I do not think I shall — it can be only
on condition of having your eyes and tongue torn out, and
your hair and beard shorn off."
" Mercy ! mercy ! " cried Bruin.
" None — O, none," said Henry. " And so — having
determined to become a spy upon me — your king —
remember that, traitor — you accepted the gold of We-
renher, promising him that you would act as a spy upon
the Dedis for me."
" I did," said Bruin.
" And doing this, you intended to deceive and mislead
Werenher," observed Henry.
" I did," said Bruin.
" And you have deceived and misled him," said lienry,
"whose passion was becoming excited by the cool and
resolute answers of Bruin.
" I have, most effectually," said Bruin.
THE SPY. 155
** There is not a tooth in your head that I will not see
drawn out/' said Henry, now foaming with passion.
" O, mercy — mercy ! " piteously exclaimed Bruin.
'' Silence — slave ! " exclaimed Henry ; " then it is not
the truth that Dedi is now in Frankfort ? "
*'It is the very opposite of the truth/' answered Bruin,
calmly.
" How long is he absent from Frankfort ? " asked
Henry.
" I will not tell," said Bruin.
" What ! will not tell ? " cried Henry, in amazement.
" No," answered Bruin, " I will not tell, although I
say to you, at the same time, with perfect candor, that
I do not know why he is absent. I only refuse to tell,
because I believe it would be of advantage to his enemies
to know the fact."
" Then where is he gone to ? " asked Henry.
Bruin did not answer this question as readily as all the
others that had preceded it. He appeared to reflect as
to the reply he ought to give.
" Why do you hesitate ? " continued Henry.
" I was thinking," said Bruin, " what answer I ought
to give you ; and the only answer that I will give is —
he may have gone to Cologne."
" Eemember, I can have you tortured to death ! " said
Henry, clinching his hand in the face of the unhappy
man.
" I do," he replied, " and therefore, it is that I so
answer you — he may have gone to Cologne : I do not
say that he has : search for him there — and, perchance,
you may find him."
" I have done with you, wretch : and now knoAv my
sentence upon you. It is, that you be taken and put in
156 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE.
a large caldron — that caldron tlien placed on a roaring
fire — and that you be thus boiled to death. It is thus
they punish great criminals in Flanders, and I mean to
make the first experiment of such a death upon your
worthless carcass. It will, I think, be a sufficient torture
for all your crimes."
Bruin bent his head — kissed the earth — made the
sign of the cross on his forehead — and then, without
uttering a word, he shot up, as it seemed, with one bound-
ing motion from the earth, striking his head full in the
face of the king, and prostrating him with the shock, and
at the same instant he was on the battlements, making a
desperate springing plunge, that brought him clear beyond
the trench outside the walls, from whence, he was ob-
served running direct across the fields towards the en-
campment of Otho. He was safe from pursuit. Not even
an ai"row was discharged after him ; for the few soldiers
that were on the ramparts had withdrawn from the place
where the king and his friends had been conversing ; and
the first intimation they had of any thing unusual having
occurred, was seeing the king lying on his back, perfectly
senseless, and his face covered with blood. Those who
saw a man running across the plain, never, for an instant,
supposed that the circumstance could have any connection
with what had befallen their sovereign on the fortress wall.
Hem'y's first words were :
" Is the villain alive ? "
" He is," answered Werenher.
*' And unharmed ? " asked Henry.
" Yes," said Werenher.
" Thank heaven ! " cried Henry. " Now, count, take
especial care, that he be strictly, cautiously, and even
tenderly guarded."
THE SPY. 157
" Guarded ! " exclaimed "VVerenher, much embarrassed,
" I am sorry to tell your Majesty that he has escaped."
" Escaped ! " said Henry, who hitherto had been re-
clining on a seat, weak, and exhausted by the loss of
blood. " Escaped ! " he repeated, as he started up, driven,
by rage, almost to madness. " Escaped ! How ? where ?
when ? In my own palace — on the ramparts — in the
face of thousands of soldiers — in the presence of my
subjects — within an arm's length of my friends — I —
the king — the imperial ruler of Germany — am struck
— struck even to the very earth, by a serf 's son — by a
base, double-dealing spy, and yet, I am told, that he who
did this has escaped ! Escaped ! then he must have van-
ished into air. I have been contending with a phantom,
and not a man. Say so to me, and I can believe you ;
for that itself would be more credible, than to assure me
that the wretch who knelt there but a few minutes before,
and who has dishonored me, can have escaped living
from the swords of my friends, and the arrows of my
soldiers. O, but to have the villain living within my
grasp. The weight of his head in gold for him, if living ;
but not dead : no — no common death for him. A death
— O, a clever, ingenious, cruel, awful death — a death,
that a king must pity, for him who has shed the blood
of a king. It must be this. Either such a death as that,
or none at all. Attend to this, Werenher: I will not
have him killed. I must have him an uninjured, living
man, to look upon. If he dies in any other way, then — ■
he has done that which you say — he has really escaped ! "
" At present, my liege, he is not within the precincts
of the palace," said Egen. " As soon as the bird that
has flown from the cage has been coaxed or captui-ed back
again into it, your Majesty shall be informed."
14
158 THE POPE AND THE EMPEEOR.
" I will," said Henry, '' think no more of him, until
I see him again before me, and then I shall propose a
prize to the man who can devise the most shocking
tortures for him. It adds to my desire of vengeance,
against such a caitiff, that he should be able to occupy so
much of my thoughts, when matters of higher importance,
and of greater interest to myself should engage my atten-
tion. But this villain has assaulted me," continued
Henry, in despite of himself, exhibiting the impotency
of his rage, in the harsh epithets he used -, " this miscreant
said that the younger Dedi may, at this moment, be in
Cologne. "What think you, Werenher ? "
" That because he said so, it is not the truth," answered
Werenher.
"I know not that," said Lieman. "He said many
things that were true, also — as, for instance, that he had
completely cajoled, and successfully deluded you, count."
CHAPTEE XII.
THE CONTEST FOR PRECEDENCY.
" I HAVE," said the Prior Croft, upon being intro-
duced to King Henry, " a flivor to demand of your
Majesty ; it is that you will be pleased to accept from
the most devoted and most loving of your subjects this
diamond cross."
" This ! " exclaimed Henry, examining the gift with
the eye not merely of a connoisseur, but of a consum-
mate judge in such matters. " Why this is the richest
THE CONTEST FOR PRECEDENCY. 150
present that ever yet was made to me. This is the true
Byzantine workmanship — these are as pure diamonds
as ever came from the East. What an enormous sum
they must have cost you ! "
" They cost me no more than the bestowal of freedom
upon a single serf ; and the cross, as you see it, was for
that purpose bestowed upon me, by the pilgrim who was
wounded in Aschaffenburg, when resisting some of your
soldiers in carrying off a maiden."
" Indeed ! " said Henry, " and know you who this
wealthy pilgrim may be ? "
" No," replied the prior, " he appeared to me to be a
man whose mind had become crazed by being always
fixed upon some one idea, whatever that might be.
That he is not in full possession of his senses is proved
by the enormous price he paid for a single slave."
" No pilgrim, but a man of noble rank and of great
wealth, could be possessed of a treasure like this. I
wish I may meet with him. I should like to have the
rifling of his scrip. But, good Prior Croft, tell me
what I can do for you ? Do you wish for the vacant
mitre of Abbot Meginherr ? " asked Henry.
" I do not," answered the prior. " I have had the
management of his wealth for many years ; and I have
left the monastery so poor that it is now only fitted for
the reception of some one that your Majesty may desire
to mortify by bestowing it upon him. I have thought
of your Majesty, and how much more usefully its money
could be dispensed by you, than if left to rust in the
treasure-chamber of Aschaffenburg. I have, in addition
to this cross, brought with me a large sum in coins of
gold, and with these, some magnificently covered Bibles,
thick with gems, and every leaf of wliich is illuminated
160 THE POPE AND THE EMPEEOR.
witli paintings in the richest colors, and letters of gold
and silver."
" O, most wise, prudent, and loyal prior," cried
"Henry, whose eyes sparkled with joy, when he heard
of these rich gifts. " "What can I bestow upon you in
exchange for them ? "
" The bishopric of Hildesheim," answered Croft.
" The bishopric of Hildesheim ! would that I could
confer it upon you," said Henry. " It is not yet vacant.
The bishop is still living."
" The bishop was living two days ago," observed Croft,
*' but he has long been ailing — and I have had a sure
friend in attendance upon him, from whom I heard last
night that he had expired the day before. It is a rich
diocese — it will enable me to save much more wealth
for your Majesty than I possibly could do in the poor
Abbacy of Aschaffenburg ; and that wealth, whatever it
be, shall be all yours whenever an archiepiscopal mitre
becomes vacant."
" Prior Croft, the moment that the crosier and ring
of the dead bishop are placed in my hands, they shall
be consigned to your care," said Henry. '' You are the
man most suited to be a bishop of mine. It is a pleas-
ure and a profit to me to promote men like you ; for
there is no whining hypocrisy about you — no paltry
squeamishness ; no pretence of doing that for piety's
sake which you really do for your own. Croft — Bishop
Croft, believe me, when I say that I love you, and
henceforward shall regard you, like your cousin Weren-
her, as amongst my most trusty councillors."
" I thank your Majesty for your goodness," said
Croft, " and, if the constant gifts of gold can be re-
garded as proofs of my affection, rest assured that the
THE CONTEST FOR PRECEDENCY. 161
people of Hildeshcim shall be made to feel that I am a
diligent worker in the service of my sovereign."
" Enough of pi-ofessions, and even of thanks, cousin
Croft/' said "VVerenher. " I have spoken much of your
talents to his Majesty, and now, mayhap, you may give
him a proof of them. It is a matter of the utmost im-
portance, that as many of the bishops and abbots as pos-
sible may be prevented from attending the approaching
synod, or even taking part in the diet. Can you devise
the means for carrying into effect the wish of his Ma-
jesty ? To prove to you its importance, it may suffice
to say, that King Henry has despatched Lieman to Co-
logne for the sole purpose of creating such a disturbance
there as will render it impossible for Anno to leave his
diocese."
"Let me see — let me see," said Croft, walking up
and down the room for two or three minutes, and seem-
ingly buried in profound thought. As he walked, he
threw out his arms wildly, as if seeking to grasp, in the
air, for something which he might cling to for support.
Henry and Werenher ran to him, and catching hold of
him, as he was about falling to the earth, they placed
him upon a seat, and were shocked upon perceiving that
his features were convulsed, that all his face became of
a purple hue, and that this color suddenly disappeared,
and was succeeded by the awful pallor of death. He
gazed distractedly at both, and then, placing his hand
before his eyes, he remained in that attitude for a min-
ute ; and then, starting suddenly up, he walked about
the apartment again as if nothing had occurred, and
said, in a cheerful tone of voice : " I pray your Majesty's
pardon. It is a slight illness, which sometimes affects
me when I give up my mind to the intense contempla-
14*
162 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
tion of any subject in which I feel deeply and personally
interested. Such has been now the case with me ; but
it is an attack cheaply purchased, if it should serve to
promote your Majesty's wishes. I think I have devised
a good scheme, if your Majesty can answer one question
in the manner that I suppose you are enabled to do.
How stands Widerad, the Abbot of Fulda, affected to
your Majesty ? "
" As much opposed to me as a subject dare be to the
king he dislikes," answered Henry.
*' It is as I supposed," replied Croft. " I know well
many of his monks, and I am aware, through them, of
the hatred entertained against him ; for he is one of
those fanatics, who, under the pretence of reforming the
church abuses, is seeking to deprive the monks of their
little indulgences, and compelling them to adhere to the
hard, harsh rules of the ancient discipline. I think I shall
find work for him to do in Fulda, as Lieman is to procure
home-occupation for the rigid Anno. That will be the
smallest benefit derived from my scheme. Your Majesty
may remember that, when celebrating the festival of
Christmas at Goslar, a dispute for precedency took place
between Hecelon, the late Bishop of Hildesheim, and
Widerad, the Abbot of Fulda — namely, as to which of
them had the right to have his seat placed next to that
of the Archbishop of Mayence. In that dispute, a con-
sideration for the antiquity of the Abbacy of Fulda,
backed by the abbot's knights, secured the victory to
Widerad. Have it now publicly proclaimed that I am
nominated the Bishop of Hildesheim : depend upon it,
I shall revive that dispute in such a manner, that no
bishop will venture to remain in Frankfort but such as
shall feel himself secure under the protection of your
THE PARLIAMENT I2J FRANKFORT. 1G3
Majesty. For this purpose, however, "Werenher and
his soldiers must assist me."
" Excellent man ! wise and prudent councillor ! True
and trusty Bishop of Hildesheim. All shall be done as
you command," said Henry.
" And all shall succeed as your Majesty wishes," re-
phed Croft. " The sun shall not set until my plan is
carried into execution."
• CHAPTEE XIII.
THE PARLIAJNIENT IN FRANKFORT.
The diet or parliament that had been convoked by
Henry, at Frankfort, for the especial, although un-
avowed, purpose of destroying Otho, Duke of Bavaria,
was one remarkable for its magnificence. There Henry
was to be seen, high-throned above all others, wearing,
as if it were the day of his coronation as emperor, the
imperial robes, beneath which was his military tunic of
linen, made tight to the waist with a belt of pure gold ;
and to that belt was attached a sword in a sheath of bur-
nished gold, and having a hilt that was refulgent with
sparkling jewels. He wore on his head a king's crown,
and not the massive, imperial crown of Charlemagne, set
with rough diamonds ; and about him were the grand
officers of the empire, by virtue of their rank, as well
as their office, having on their heads dazzling coronets,
and robes that were stiff with gold. These were the
mareschal, or groom — the truchsess, or carver — the
164 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE.
mundschenk, or cupbearer — the kamnierer, or cham-
berlain — the kuchenmeister, or master of the kitchen —
the hausmeier, or master of the household — and with
these, were to be seen, but all in gorgeous armor, the
great crown vassals or counts, with the dukes of various
principalities ; and arranged close to the king, the Arch-
bishop of Mayence, the bishops, and high abbots of the
empire, and all with mitres, crosiers, in their richest
vestments of state ; whilst around the church, in which
the assembly was held, and outside the walls, and guard-
ing every avenue, were the red-clothed, strongly-armed
schaaren, or mercenary troops, in the especial pay of the
sovereign. ,
Such a spectacle was one in which Henry took especial
delight ; for he not merely desired to have power, but
he wished the world to be convinced, by such an exhi-
bition as this, that he could exercise it. On the present
occasion he believed there were none present but those
who were his steadfast friends ; for, as he had taken
care to terrify, by a deed of blood, the bishops hostile
to him, from being in attendance, so had he also taken
care that few briefs should be addressed to any but his
adherents, of the dukes or counts of the empire, inviting
them to this assembly, to afford to him their " advice and
assistance." He had, to use a modern phrase, that the
malignity and perversity of men have rendered but too
familiar, "packed " his parliament, or diet, as he had
*' packed " the synod of the bishops ; and he calculated
upon obtaining from both " a verdict contrary to the
evidence."
The proceedings, on this occasion, were commenced
by Henry, who thus addressed his hearers :
" Princes, dukes, archbishops, bishops, abbots, counts
THE PARLIAIIENT IN FRAXKFORT. 165
of the empire, vre have unwillingly, but yet, perforce,
felt ourselves compelled, to summon you to a colloquy
with us this day. We have done so unwillingly ; for
we well know that it is a grievous burden upon most of
you to have to travel such a distance upon affairs which
can but remotely, as individuals, concern you ; and yet
we have done so, because as members of the German
empire, it is of vital consequence to you, that no treason
of any one individual should tend to diminish, and, may-
hap, destroy that empire, which we, when taking the oath
of emperor, are bound to swear that we shall augment.
" We have done so, perforce, because the occasion
has arisen, when we felt ourselves compelled to call our
princes together, in order that we might have, as it is
our right to have, their advice, and, if need be, their
assistance and support. We wish, in your presence, to
be consoled by the proof of your loyalty ; and we de-
sire, by your wise counsels, to be directed how we may
act with prudence and with justice.
" Hence it is, dearest friends, and loving subjects,
that we have summoned you to attend us here this day,
so that we may with you consult how we may best pro-
vide for the peace of the land, the honor of the church,
the due respect to be paid to princes, and the fitting
happiness of the people.
" None of these things are attainable, if treason re-
main unpunished, or perjury continue unchastised.
*' Of all treasons, none can be considered worse than
that which seeks the murder of the king — of your su-
perior lord — and none can be more base than such a
treason, when the king's death is sought to be accom-
plished by the corruption of a servant, in whom the
king has ever placed the greatest confidence.
16G THE POPE AND THE EMPEEOE,
*' Of such treason — of such baseness, combined with
treason, stands accused, one of the highest rank amongst
yourselves — Otho, Duke of Bavaria; and, to answer
that treason, Otho has been summoned here by his ac-
cuser, Egen — my faithful servant — and though not
the equal in rank of Duke Otho, yet a free-born man,
and whose claim to credit on his oath none of our
scabini would venture to reject.
" It is to aid me in coming to a proper decision upon
this cause, I have summoned you ; and the neces-
sity for doing this is the greater, as the alleged treason
is affirmed to be connected with that spirit of insubordi-
nation which now rages in Saxony, and which has al-
ready manifested itself in the refusal to pay tithes to our
most reverend, exalted, and pious friend, the Prince
Archbishop of Mayence."
The Archbishop of Mayence smiled when he heard
these words. They served to convince him that Henry
only waited for the divorce to be pronounced, to com
mence collecting his tithes at the point of the sword.
Henry continued : —
" Egen, the accuser, is now here in person, and pre-
pared to sustain his charge — he will do so, by his oath,
or he is ready to prove the justice of his accusation at
the peril of his life, if Otho will do battle with him.
He has summoned the accused to this place. Is Otho,
Duke of Saxony, present ? "
" I am here to answer for Otho, Duke of Saxony —
to defend him, if it be necessary — and to account for
his absence, if required," said Count Dedi, advancing,
and placing himself in front of the throne of Henry, so
as to be visible to all parts of the assembly.
" Count Dedi is a very axdent friend," said Henry,
THE PAELIAMENT IN FRANKFORT. 167
sneeringly ; " but the time, perhaps, is not far distant
when he may himself stand in need of a champion."
" When Count Dedi," replied the fearless old man,
"ceases to prove himself a friend to those he honors, he
is unworthy to live ; and he never can want a champion
as long as he is able to wield the sword which hangs by
his side, and that has already saved him from greater
dangers than a king's sneer or a, judge's gibe."
Henry turned pale with anger at this public reproach
to himself, in forgetting that, in the office which he was
then exercising, he was bound to exhibit the demeanor,
if he had none of the spirit, that should characterize the
supreme president of a judicial tribunal. He restrained
himself, however, from giving expression to his feelings,
and, in as calm a voice as he could assume, he said, ad-
dressing himself to Dedi :
" Wherefore does Otho refuse to appear before his
assembled peers ? "
" Otho, Duke of Bavaria," replied Dedi, " does not
refuse to appear before his assembled peers — he is will-
ing that his cause should be tried by them ; but by
them only, and by them . all ; and not by a selection
made from them, in which he recognizes, and I now see,
many of his enemies, and few, if any, of those either
disposed to be friendly towards him, or to judge indif-
ferently between him and his accusers. Otho, like other
men illustrious by their rank, famous by their deeds, and
conspicuous by their riches, is well aware that there are
many who are his enemies, because they desire to de-
prive him of the first, to obscure the second, and to de-
spoil him of the thii-d. He well knows that some desire
to possess themselves of his dukedom ; others to tarnish
his glory, which they feel is a reproach to their own
168 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
infamy ; and a vast number to plunder his property, and
to enrich themselves by the robbery of himself, his wife,
and their dependants. Otho does not refuse to be
judged by a fair and impartial tribunal — by the princes
of the empire, assembled in a full and solemn diet at
Goslar. Let your Majesty grant him a safe conduct, and
then he will appear ; and then, upon such conditions as
the princes, his equals, may impose, he pledges himself
to refute, to their satisfliction, fully, completely, and
thoroughly, the infamous charges that are now preferred
against him."
"But wherefore," asked Henry, "refuse the single
combat with Egen ? In such a battle the judgment of
God, and not the prejudices of man, to which you refer,
must be the supreme arbiter, and either convict him of
guilt, or vindicate his innocence."
" Otho, Duke of Bavaria, refuses the proposed mo-
nomachy with Egen," replied Dedi, " upon my advice, and
the counsel of other high and illustrious knights and
nobles ; and he refuses it, not because Egen is his infe-
rior in rank — that which might be a valid objection, if
he did not know that on one occasion King Louis d'Ou-
tremer tendered single combat to his inferior in rank,
Hugh the Great ; and if he had not in our own land the
example of Dietmar, brother of Bernhard, Duke of
Saxony, upon an accusation similar to that now preferred
by Egen, engaging in single combat with his own vassal,
Arnold. Otho refuses to cross his sword with Egen
upon this ground, and this only ; namely, that it is not
equitable, it is not just, it is not right, it is not proper,
it is not becoming, it is not even decent, to require of
a man like Otho, one of the most illustrious in the em-
pire by birth, and by rank, and still more illustrious by
THE PAELIAMENT IN FRANKFORT, 169
his personal virtues — a man of spotless fame and un-
blemished honor, to place himself on a level and to
engage hand-in-hand with one who is notoriously a base
and infamous wretch — a villain, who, though it is ad-
mitted, is a free-born man, is still one who has degraded
himself by his vices, and upon whom, if justice had
been done, the hangman's grip should long since have
been laid, for his thefts, his robberies, and his career of
crime, into which he is so fallen, that he has become a
pander even to the lusts of others. With such a wretch
as Egen, it is deemed by Otho, and it is declared by his
friends, that it would be an infamy for any man, under
any circumstances, to recognize in him an equal either
in the sight of God, or of man. This is Otlio's answer
at this time, in this place, and before such a tribunal, as
I now see assembled, to the challenge of Egen."
As these words rung through the assembly, there
arose a loud murmur of indignation amongst all the
armed nobles present ; for the bold speech of Dedi was
a reproach to them as an unfairly constituted assembly,
and yet there were few of them, who, in their hearts, did
not approve of Otho's reasons for refusing the single
combat to Egen. It was felt by all to be a just refusal ;
but when men are heated by passion they are blind to
what is justice, and will shut their ears even to the voice
of truth, if both stand in the way of the gratification
of their revenge. Some of the armed counts were so
enraged, by the address of Dedi, that they convulsively
grasped their swords, and the rattle was heard for a
moment, as if the iron scabbards had been shaken.
Such sounds were familiar to the practised ear of the
veteran warrior, Dedi, and the instant they reached him,
he seized the scabbard of his own sword with the left
15
170 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
hand, but without touching' the hilt -^vith his right, he
glanced proudly, and defyingly on the entii'e assembly,
seeming to run his eye from rank to rank, as if endeav-
oring to detect who amongst them was the man that
would prominently put himself forward as his antago-
nist.
Dedi stood in this attitude for about a minute, and as
he did so, a breathless silence fell upon all. The rat-
tling of steel ceased, and the murmurs of voices were
heard no more.
The first to break this silence was Henry, who said :
** Is there any one in this assembly — a freeman —
who will, with Count Dedi, maintain the innocence of
Otho, Duke of Bavaria ? "
*' I am here to do so," exclaimed a voice that appeared
to come from the door-way of the church, where a vast
multitude was collected, that the pikes of the red schaa-
ren prevented from pressing into the chiuxh in such
numbers as to inconvenience those who were there as-
sembled.
" Permit that man, whoever he may be," observed
Henry, " to advance to the foot of the throne, so that
all may hear what he has to allege on behalf of Otho,
Duke of Bavaria."
The crowd gave way, and there stood forth from the
midst of them, the hardy forester, Bernhard, who walked
silently up the long aisle of the church, even until he
reached the foot of Henry's throne, and there stood,
unabashed by the multitude of rich men he saw around
him, and unshainking even before the flushed brow and
the angry eye of the king.
"Who art thou, fellow," said Henry, impatiently,
when he saw the meanly clad Bernhard before him.
THE PARLIAMENT IN FRANKFORT. 171
" that thus intrudest thyself upon the quarrels of other
men?"
" I am Bernhard, the forester of AschafTenburg," an-
swered the companion of the pilgrim.
"Well," observed Henry, with his malignant sneer,
*' and what can the forester in Aschaffenburg know of
any dealings between Otho of Bavaria and my servant
Egen ? "
" I know this," replied Bernhard, « that Otho, Duke
of Bavaria, is alike incapable of treason to your Majesty,
and of the base means of effecting it, wherewith he is
charged by Egen ; and this I am ready to prove by my
body and my sword; I know also that your servant
Egen is a villain — a base villain — I know, for I have
been a witness to what I now state, that he, with an
armed band of ruffians, was guilty of the forcible ab-
duction of a maiden of surpassing beauty, she who was
known by the name only of ' the white rose of Aschaf-
fenburg ; ' I knoAV that the miscreant who was guilty of
such a crime is capable of committing the lesser crime
of perjury — and these things I am prepared to prove
by my oath, by my body, and by my sword, and hence
that single combat which Otho will not give to Egen, I
now tender to Egen, and here, in the presence of your
Majesty, and of this diet, I brand him as a recreant, if
he will dare to refuse it."
There were facts referred to in this speech of Bern-
hard, of which it would be difficult to say what one
amongst them was the most annoying to Henry to hear
mentioned in that assembly. He found that even there,
in that public assemblage, he was mixed up, (although
not named) with the criminalities of Egen, and so unex-
pectedly did this exposure come upon him, that he was
172 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE.
incapable of making an observation upon the challenge
now publicly delivered against his confidant by Bernhard.
" Well — my lords and princes," said Dedi, " what
say you — what can you reply to the challenge of Bern-
hard ? If you deem Otho not justified in refusing the
duel with Egen — how can you sanction Egen's refusal
to fight with Bernhard ? "
" I claim the right of forbidding it," answered Croft,
the new Bishop of Hildesheim, " and I do so on the
ground that the cases of Egen and of Bernhard are not
at all similar. Egen is justified, by precedent, in claim-
ing the right as a free-born man, in a charge of high
treason, of proving that charge by single combat against
one, even though his superior in rank. Bernhard claims
a similar right, but he is not enabled to obtain it, and
that upon two grounds ; first, Bernhard is not the equal,
by birth, of Egen, for Bernhard is not a free-born man
— he is a serf by birth — a serf of the monastery of
Aschafienburg, a man upon whom I myself bestowed
his freedom ; and secondly, even supposing that objec-
tion could be waived, and I deem that it is not possible to
do so, then I refer to the hundred and thirteenth section
of the Code of Bamberg, to shoAV that except in the
charge of high treason against the king (that which
Bernhard does not allege against Egen,) the latter is
justified in refusing the duel with him, and he may, if
Bernhard were to persist in his accusation, clear himself
of the charge by the oaths of sworn, credible, and re-
sponsible compurgators. Does your Majesty," said
Croft, turning to Ilcnry, " think that I have interpreted
rightly and justly the customs and laws of the empire?"
*' Most rightfully, most justly, and most wisely," an-
swered the king, bestowing a most gracious smile upon
THE PARLIAMENT IN FRANKFOET. 173
the new titular Bishop of Hildesheim ; '^ anti sustained
by your interpretation, I regard the accusation of Bern-
hard, the forester, as nought. Begone, fellow," said the
king to Bernhard, " thou art treated with more mercy
than thou dost merit, when thou art permitted to depart
without punishment for thus calumniating my servant
Egen."
Bernhard gazed steadily at Henry while he was thus
rebuked by him as his sovereign. As soon as Henry
ceased to speak, Bernhard bowed his head, and was turn-
ing to depart, when Dedi seized hold of him, and spoke
to him, in a tone of voice to be heard by all present :
" Bernhard — henceforth my friend Bernhard — stir
not, for your life, out of this assembly unprotected by
me and my followers. Here, neither you nor I have
aught more to do ; the manner in which your accusation
has been disposed of, proves to me how Otho's appeal
for justice will be received. Have I," said Dedi, in the
same tone of voice, and addressing the king, " your
Majesty's permission to depart?"
"Answer me. Count Dedi," said Henry, Avith a frown-
ing brow, "but one question more, and then you are
free to go."
" Let your Majesty put your question in what form
you please," observed Dedi, " my answer shall be as
truly spoken as if the next moment were my last."
" Am I," said Henry, " to understand that you speak
fully and distinctly the determination of Duke Otho of
Bavaria, not to appear before the assembly as it is now
constituted, and to decline the proof by single combat
tendered by Egen ? that Otho Avill, in fact, not conde-
scend to defend himself except before a tribunal of his
own choosing ? "
15*
174 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
" This is the answer of Otho to your Majesty's ques-
tions," replied Dedi. " I give that answer as coming
from his own lips, and in listening to my voice, you
hear his words. Otho says this : he chooses no tribunal
for himself — the accused, like the accuser, should have
no choice as to those by whom they are tried ; and he
objects to appear before this assembly, because it is, as
he believes, a tribunal, not merely chosen, but culled
out for his condemnation, by those who are his enemies.
In appealing from such a convocation to a general
assembly or diet, he but exercises a right that is vested
in him as a duke charged with high treason. He re-
fuses to combat with Egen, because he conceives, no
sentence — no judgment — no condemnation that might
be pronounced against him, would entail upon him such
a loss of honor, as that of demeaning himself for a mo-
ment in such a manner as to treat Egen on an equality
with himself. Otho, Duke of Bavaria, despairs of re-
ceiving justice here — Otho, Duke of Bavaria, has no
hope of mercy from your Majesty, if he were once to
place himself in your hands, and therefore he prefers
defending his own life and lands with arms in his hands,
rather than be basely butchered and unresistingly robbed,
if he cast away from him, by coming here, such means
of defence as heaven has still left to him.
"This is Otho's answer to your INIajesty — it is his
declaration to this assembly — and having now delivered
myself of both, I take my leave of you.
" Come, Bcrnhard — and mark, as you go along, how
little of honesty, and how scanty a share of virtue, may,
at times, bo found associated with coronets of diamonds
and rich robes of gold."
So speaking, the proud Count Dedi, and the humble
THE PARLIAMENT IN FRANKFORT. 1.75
forester, Bernhard, walked out from the midst of that
hostile assemblage, not only unscathed, but without as
much as a single word of insult pronounced against them.
The rage of Henry, which had been so long sup-
pressed, burst forth, as those two companions of Otho
disappeared. It was, therefore, in a manner far differ-
ent from that grave, judicial tone that he had assumed
at the commencement of these proceedings, that he now
addressed his hearers.
" Thus, my lords, princes, archbishops, bishops, ab-
bots, counts, have ye all been outraged, and I insulted,
by a traitor ; for that Otho, Duke of Bavaria, is a traitor,
I am now fully warranted in declaring — he who con-
tumaciously refuses to defend himself before a properly
constituted tribunal, when charged with a grave crime,
must be regarded as self-convicted ; and he whose trea-
son is ready to be proved by single combat, yet shrinks
from the test of battle, must be considered as much a
traitor as if he had accepted the combat, and had been
defeated by his adversary. If it were otherwise, the
proud traitor never could be convicted, and the coward
traitor never be condemned. To you, then, I appeal for
that justice which you are boiind to render against the
man thus self-convicted of treason against me, as well as
of basely attempting to effect that treason, by seeking to
corrupt my faithful servant, so that he might have the
means of depriving me of life.
"If other evidence beyond these facts — the contu-
macy and the cowardice of Otho — now within the knowl-
edge of each and all of you, be required, Egen is ready
to produce it, and, among the rest, the sword of Attila,
once the property of Otho, bestowed, by him, on Egen,
and now in the possession of Count Rutger."
176 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
The king ceased speaking. The nobles rose in a
body, and retired from the church. They were absent
for about a quarter of an hour, and then the king's
master of the household, with his golden wand of office
in his right hand, arose, and said : —
" This is the doom of the nobles, princes, and counts
of the empire. We condemn Otho, Duke of Bavaria, as
one plainly, clearly, and openly convicted of high treason
— for that treason we condemn him to death — and to
death we consign him whenever, wheresoever, or by
whomsoever he is apprehended. This is our doom, and
we pray your Majesty to sanction and enforce it."
" I approve it, and I will enforce it," said Henry. "I
declare Otho, from this moment, deprived of the duke-
dom of Bavaria ; and I authqrize all who hear me, to
waste, with fire and sword, the lands belonging to him,
and the persons who acknowledge him as their superior
lord."
At this moment, and before the opportunity was
afforded to Henry of giving uttei-ance to another word,
there burst forth a shout of joy, so loud, so vehement,
and so sudden, that the painted windows of the church
seemed to tremble in their soldered frames from the
concussion. To those who sat within the walls of the
church, it appeared as if every inhabitant of Frankfort,
and the thousands in the tents around it, had uplifted,
at the same instant, their voices in one united acclama-
tion, and that all combined together, came like a thun-
derclap of exultation upon their ears. It was a shout of
joy, in which there appeared to be no pause, and to
which there never again would be a cessation, for as it
was prolonged, it seemed to increase in vehemence,
making the nerves of the hearers tremble, and com-
THE PARLIAMENT IN FRANKFORT. 177
pelling them, by the contagion of excitement, to join in
it ! Onward it came, swelling with a louder roar, as if
that which had first provoked it, was approaching nearer
and nearer to the building in which the king held his
parliament.
King Henry, the archbishop, bishops, and nobles,
with every one in the assembly, started to their feet, as
they heard this tremendous shout, and all remained
riveted to the spot on which they stood, as if astounded
by so vehement an outburst of popular joy and popular
enthusiasm. There was no cry to indicate to them
wherefore it had risen, or on whose behalf it was pro-
duced ; but onward, onward still it came to them, in-
creasing in noise, and more awful in its dizzying sound,
and then — it ceased as suddenly as it began — and there
was a silence as of death, as the door-way was cleared,
and the multitude outside were seen with bended knees,
and faces upturned with joy.
" Alack ! alack ! " exclaimed the Archbishop of May-
ence, imitating the attitude of those who stood outside —
"I see it all — I know now the cause of this tumult.
We are lost. King Henry."
" Good heavens ! what is it ? What can it be ? " in-
quired the king.
*' It is the papal legate ! The shouts were for joy
at seeing him — the silence has ensued upon his de-
scending to the ground. See, the people are crossing
themselves. The legate is bestowing upon them his
benediction.
" To your knees," said the Archbishop of Mayence,
*' king, prelates, nobles. Christians — to your knees, in
order that our first greeting from Rome may be a
benediction from Lis holiness. God grant we may all
178 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE.
receive it "witli a humble and contrite heart. Kneel —
kneel, all of ye. See, he comes."
" The papal legate ! " muttered Henry. " Curses
fall on whomsoever has brought him."
*' Then curse Dedi the younger," whispered "Weren-
her in the ear of the king.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE RECONCILIATION.
One of the most remarkable men of the eleventh
century was the papal legate, whose unexpected and un-
looked-for appearance on this occasion, at Frankfort,
produced so much terror to the court, and excited such
emotion in the parliament convoked by Henry. This
papal legate was the Cardinal and Bishop of Ostia, Peter
Damian — a poet, a philosopher, a profound scholar ;
an author, whose works are still read with admiration
— a man whose benevolence was boundless, and his
charity so great, that he had been known to part even
with his pontifical ring, when all his other means were
exhausted, to procure money and food for the poor — a
man who was most respected and most feared by his
contemporaries, on account of his unceasing and un-
compromising efforts as a Church Reformer — a man so
stern in his principles, that he declared all ecclesiastics
to be guilty of manifold simony, who served princes, or
flattered them for the sake of obtaining ecclesiastical
preferments.
THE RECONCILIATION. 179
The great vice of the age, in which Peter Damiau
lived, was the simony which infected churchmen, and
that prevailed to such an extent, that it had become a
universal practice in Milan, that bishops were paid for
bestowing ordination upon those who sought to be ad-
mitted to holy orders. Against this sin of simony,
which overspread the church as a leprosy, and that
brought with it many other sins and enormities, Peter
Damian arrayed himself. He denounced it as " a
heresy," and backed by the power of his superiors, he
suppressed it completely in Milan, checked it in France,
aided in extirpating it from all parts of Italy, and
struggled against it in Germany.
The vehemence of language that Peter Damian used
in denouncing a sin destructive to Christianity, and yet
much favored by men of the highest rank in church and
state, who profited by it, contrasted strongly with his
own great humility, with his belief in his own unwor-
thiness, with his severe fasts, and with the bitter mortifi-
cations that he imposed upon himself, as a punishment
for what he believed to be his own sins ; for it is stated
of him by his biographers, that the ordinary course of
his life, when not employed in discharging the duty of
*•' Reforming the Church," so frequently confided to
him, by those who had authority over him, was as
follows : —
" He lived," say his biographers, *' shut iip in his
cell as in a prison — fasted every day, except festivals —
and allowed himself no other subsistence than coarse
bread, bran, herbs, and water, and this he never drank
fresh, but what he had kept from the day before. He
tortured his body with iron girdles, and frequent dis-
cipHnes, to render it more obedient to the spirit. He
180 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
passed the three first days of every Lent and Advent
without taking any kind of nourishment whatsoever ;
and often, for forty days together, lived only on raw
herbs and fruits, or on pulse steeped in cold water,
without touching even bread, or any thing which had
passed the fire. A mat, spread on the floor, was his
bed. He used to make wooden spoons, and such like
useful mean things, to exercise himself at certain hours
in manual labor."
Such then was the man — so pious — so *' poor in
spirit," — so great in learning — so ardent in zeal —
so meek with the humble — so gentle with the contrite
— and so harsh with the reprobate — that now appeared
to the horror of Sigefrid, the worldly Archbishop of
Mayence, and to the dismay of Henry, the mighty and
the great King of Germany, in the midst of their as-
sistant prelates and proud nobles, collected together in
the parliament of Frankfort.
The Bishop Cardinal of Ostia had bestowed his bene-
diction upon the vast multitude assembled outside the
walls of the church, and then, arrayed in the sumptuous
robes of a " Bishop-Cardinal," the feeble old man, now
in the seventy-ninth year of his age, was seen entering
the church, preceded by acolytes, by priests in white
vestments — by the bearer of a great silver cross, and
having but one man in armor in his train — that warrior
was at once recognized by all present to be the youthful,
gallant, and high-spirited son of Count Dedi,
The bishop-cardinal passed up the centre of the church
— now so still and silent, and lately so agitated by ve-
hement passions, that the men who now lowly bent to
receive his blessing, appeared not to be the same vindic-
tive, rash, and angry individuals that were ready to
THE RECONCILIATION. 181
throw tliemselves, a short time before, sword in hand,
upon Count Dedi, and cut him to pieces, for daring to
reproach them with their subserviency to King Henry.
The benediction of the papal legate was bestowed, and
then all arose ; and, as they did so, Peter Damian, touch-
ing with his aged, pale, and withered cheek, the bloom-
ing, fresh-colored cheek of the youthful monarch, be-
stowed upon him, that which, in the language of church-
men, is designated " the kiss of peace."
A strange sight it was to behold them thus — even
though it were but for a single instant — brought in
immediate and direct contact with each other — so great
a saint and so great a sinner, as Peter Damian and Henry*
The one had passed from youth to age, and now stood
upon the verge of the grave, so chastising his body, and
so checking and controlling all his passions and his in-
clinations, that he was, even whilst on earth, an almost
spriritualized being ; whilst the other, indulged by others
from infancy, and yielding himself a prey to every ca-
price, had become, even though still young, an animal
in his passions, and worse than an animal, because to
gratify those passions he employed the devices, and re-
sorted to the practices, of a clever and an unscrupulous
man.
" Your Majesty will perceive, by the rescript I have
•now the honor of placing in your hands, that all the
reasons you have alleged for desiring to put an end to
the marriage with the Queen Bertha, have been fully,
deliberately, and anxiously, considered, by his holiness.
These, I believe," said Peter Damian, handing a parch-
ment to King Henry, '' contain all the facts and all the
arguments on which you rely, for the dissolution of your
marriage. I have some reason for supposing they are
16
182 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
those upon which the Prince Archbishop of Mayence
intended to rely, in pronouncing a judgment in favor of
your jNlajesty, He could not, I beheve, put them in a
stronger light than they are here set forth."
Henry and the Archbishop of Mayence, at the same
moment, fixed their eyes on the papal legate, in the hope
they might discover in his countenance some indication
of his feelings upon a point in which both were so deep-
ly interested. They looked in vain, for the face of the
old man was as pale, as passive, and as free from every
emotion as if it were that of a marble statue. They then
examined the parchment that had been placed in their
hands. Henry's face flushed with joy as he read it, and
the archbishop felt delighted as he perused.
" My reasons," whispered the archbishop to Henry,
" could not have been placed in a stronger light than
they are here set down. I cannot understand how it is ;
but, most assuredly, this document has anticipated all
that I could have said."
" And it contains," whispered Henry to the arch-
bishop, " all that I wished to have said." And he mut-
tered involuntarily, to himself, " And it contains, too,
much more than I could have proved."
The legate waited patiently — absolutely unmoved,
until the document had been carefully conned over. He
then said —
" Does any new fact or argument occur to you, that
your Majesty would desire to have added to what is
there set down for you ? "
" No — none," replied Henry. " I am perfectly con-
tent witli it, and I am sure that upon such a case I shall
have a just, fair, and impartial decision made by his
hohucss."
THE EECONCILIATION. 183
" Of that your Majesty may well feel assured," replied
the legate, " for hia holiness feels as anxious for your
temporal and eternal happiness as if you were his son —
his love for you is greater than that of a father for his
child ; for he is well aware that your Majesty has it in
your power to confer innumerable blessings upon that
Christendom of which he is, on this earth, the spiritual
father."
" And the holy father may henceforth reckon upon
me as the most devoted of his kingly sons. In the
document I have now read, I have the proof he has con-
sidered and attached their due weight to all those con-
scientious scruples that influence me in seeking a divorce
from her who has been but in name my wife."
" The holy father has done so, for he considers him-
self in this case responsible for your immortal soul to
God," answered Peter Damian. " He has deemed the
facts you state to be so important, that he has instituted
a rigid inquiry into them."
" What ! " exclaimed Henry, " inquired into the valid-
ity of facts alleged by me to be true ? "
" Yes," answered Peter Damian, in the same unmoved
attitude, and the same calm tone of voice ; " for he is
aware that kings are but men — that as men they are
liable to be mistaken ; and that as men they Avill be
judged hereafter. He has examined into the facts, and
he has found them disproved, every one, by the clearest
evidence — and, among the rest, by the evidence of the
Empress Agnes, your mother, and of Queen Bertha,
your wife. Here are the facts as set forth by you, with
the proofs that they are directly contradicted by the
oaths of those who had the opportunity of having full
cognizance of the truth."
184 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
So speaking, Peter Damian handed another parchment
to Henry and the Archbishop of Mayence. The first
merely glanced through it — the latter read it attentive-
ly, and, as he did so, he was seen to tremble, as if he
were shaken Avith an ague-fit.
*'Then what, may I ask/' said Henry, impatiently,
*' is the decision to which the pontiff" has come ? "
" His Majesty, King Henry of Germany," observed
Peter Damian, here raising his voice, and addressing
himself to the entire assembly, " is pleased to demand
of me what is the decision of his holiness with respect
to his Majesty's demand that the marriage contract be-
tween him and the Princess Bertha, of Italy, be dissolved.
His Majesty admits that the reasons in support of, and
in opposition to his demand have been fully and mature-
ly considered, and I have now, in the name, and on
behalf of the supreme pontiff, to pronounce publicly,
as I am so directed by his holiness, the judgment in
this case.
" The pontiff considers • that a marriage has been
legally, fully, and rightfully solemnized between his
Majesty King Henry and the Queen Bertha — that it is
a marriage in every way unimpeachable, and therefore
indissoluble ; and that to seek for the dissolution of such
a marriage, or to permit it to be dissolved, would be
pernicious, contrary to morality, and an act worthy
of execration by every man who bears the name of a
Christian.
" Tl^e pontiff, moreover, in giving this decision, pub-
licly appeals to King Henry, that, supposing he was to
set the laws of man at defiance, and to trample upon the
canons of the church, by putting an end to a lawful
marriage, he should at least have some regard for the
THE RECONCILIATION. 185
estimation in which he is to be held now, and his fame
in all future time ; and this, too, lest the evil example,
of seeking divorces, thus given by a king, should be
hereafter imitated, and Christendom contaminated with a
new crime, of which he should stand forever accursed
as the inventor and the originator.
" The pontiff, in conclusion, declares that he never will
with his hands bestow consecration as an emperor upon
King Henry — if Henry as king should, by persisting
in a divorce from his wife, so far betray the faith that
binds him as a Christian, and thus afford so pestilent an
example to othei-s.
" This is the judgment of the pontiff in your Majes-
ty's cause — this the pontiff's appeal to you — this the
pontiff's declaration of the course he will himself adopt,
supposing that you should contemn his judgment, and
pay no regard to his appeal.
" With the declaration and expounding of the judg-
ment of his holiness, I am instructed also to say, that
my functions as a pontifical legate cease.
" Having discharged myself of that duty — I no
longer stand before your Majesty the representative of
a sovereign prince ; but I pray that you will forget that
I am a cardinal — that I am a bishop — that I am any
thing more than a humble and an obscure monk, who
has been ordered by his superior for a few days to quit
his cell, and who has reluctantly, although readily,
obeyed that order, to be the bearer of a message to the
mightiest and the greatest king in the Avorld.
" I pray, then, of your ]\Iajesty to deign to listen to
the words of a humble monk of the desert hermitage of
Font-Avellano — of Feter Damian, who now kneels at
the feet of your Majesty," — (and, as he spoke these
16*
186 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
•words, the feeble old man knelt before the proud sov-
ereign) — " and who does so to seek for no favor from
you, but this — that you v/ill have compassion on —
yourself ; that, discarding your inclinations, and morti-
fying your propensities, you will permit your conscience
to be heard, and religion to pour her saving counsels
into your ear — that you will yield obedience to the
church, which tells you that you must cleave to your
own wife, and that those whom God has joined no man
can put asunder.
*' Bipceive — O, receive again to your heart, your true,
fond, faithful, and devoted wife. Bertha — restore her
to your affections, and deem all others of her sex as un-
deserving of a moment's contemplation ; for she alone
is your wife ; and he who is a husband, should esteem
all other women but as his mother, his sister, or his
daughter.
" This is my prayer to you — it is but the prayer of
an old man — but remember it is the prayer of one,
from whose sight this world is fast disappearing ; of one,
upon whom it can bestow no reward, and to whom it
can offer no temptation — that it is the prayer of one,
who may be regarded as speaking from his grave ; for a
grave is all that even you — potent prince as you are —
could now bestow upon the poor, feeble, aged Peter
Damian.
*' My only prayer to your Majesty is, that you obey
the church, in becoming reconciled to your wife Bertha.
" And ye, O, bi'other-bishops, fellow-priests, and
mighty dukes, counts, and nobles, I beseech of you to
imitate my example. Cast yourselves with me at the
feet of your sovereign, and pray of him that, for the
good of mankind, whom his example must influence.
THE EECONCILIATION. 187
and for his soul's sake, that should be more dear to him
than his kingly crown, that he will comply with your
request, as well as mine, by becoming openly and cor-
dially reconciled with your queen — the good and vir-
tuous Bertha."
The times that we are attempting to describe were
times, as we have already intimated, in which there
were great vices ; but they were also times in which
there was great faith — times in which an appeal, com-
ing from an old man (famous for his personal virtues,
and of whose disinterestedness no one ever entertained
a doubt), could not be made without being responded
to. Hence it happened, that no sooner had Peter Da-
mian ceased to speak, than all the members of the diet
were seen prostrate before the throne of Henry, and all
exclaiming, as if with one voice :
" Amen ! amen ! to the prayer of the bishop-cardinal.
We beseech the king to be reconciled to Queen Bertha."
These words were as the points of daggers in the
flesh of Henry, they came upon him at a moment when
he felt assured of the full success of that divorce which
he had passed years in concocting ; and they now rushed
upon him as the hurricane does upon the frail cane-con-
structed cottage, shivering it into atoms, and rendering
all chance of its re-erection with the same materials an
utter impossibility.
Henry, in his despair, when he heard himself so ad-
dressed by those whom he knew to be his surest friends,
because in all matters his most compliant adherents,
threw himself back in his throne, covered his face with
his imperial robes, and wept — wept those bitter tears
which wicked men shed when they find that their plots
are baffled, and their passions thwarted — tears, that as
188 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
they fall bring no relief to the heart, but seem as drops
of fire, from which spring forth the hell-born demons,
hatred, malice, and vengeance, against all, and upon all,
who have contributed to their defeat and disappoint-
ment.
Henry rose from his throne, and with the voice and
manner of a man who has been told unpleasant tidings,
and has determined to bear them with patience, he
said —
" I pray of you, most reverend Cardinal, and Bishop
of Ostia, to rise from your knees — it is not fitting that
one so old should bow down before one so young as I
am — it is not becoming that one so pious should kneel
to one so frail — and you, too, my reverend prelates and
loving subjects, I pray you all to resume your places,
and listen to the words of your sovereign.
*' It would be hypocrisy in me, if I were to say that
the decision Avhich liome has come to, with respect to
the divorce I sought, is not only a grievous disappoint-
ment, but a severe trial to my feelings. I admit — I
avow that it is so. If it were not, there would be little
merit in my compliance with the prayer you have made
to me.
" With that request it is my intention to comply. I
will comply with it, not merely outwardly, but thor-
oughly. You have asked mc to become reconciled to
my queen. I shall do so ; for it is, I conceive, the duty
of a king to yield assent to the prayers of his loyal,
loving, and devoted subjects — even though his so doing
may be the cause of much affliction to himself
" In asking me to be reconciled to Bertha, you place
a heavy yoke upon my shoulders ; but I submit to it,
and will bear it as best Lean. You yourselves shall be
THE RECONCILIATION. 189
the Matnesses how perfect that reconciliation can be
made.
" In obedience to my orders, Queen Bertha now
awaits, in the oratory, the decision of the bishops. I
desire that my trusty vassal, Dedi the younger, may
conduct her from thence into the church. I send to her
one, who will, I am sure, be most welcome to her.'^
An almost imperceptible smile curled the lip of
Henry, as he accented these words. It was not per-
ceived by any other than the keen eye of Peter Damian.
It induced the papal legate to approach Henry, and to
whisper in his ear these words —
" I pray your Majesty's pardon ; but I feel bound to
tell you, that I fear you are not acting with that sincerity
you profess. Remember, that you stand in the church
of God, and that of all sinners those who have the least
chance of ever attaining to the grace of sincere repent-
ance, are those who would mock heaven with hypocrisy.
For your own sake beware ; better defy the church
openly, than, by seeking to delude it, deliver yourself
over irrevocably to perdition. It is not in reproach, but
in pure love to you, I say this."
" Most excellent man ! '" replied the smiling, and ap-
parently grateful Henry, " I know not how to thank
you for the anxious care you have for my salvation. I
feel assured that it is in the purest charity you speak to
me ; but be you now yourself the judge of my sinceri-
ty. Here comes our Queen Bertha — sec, if there be
aught to censure in my demeanor towards her. If there
be, I am sure you will point out the error ; and I, for
my part, shall endeavor to amend it."
As Henry spoke thus he descended the steps of the
throne, and proceeded to meet Bertha, as she advanced.
190 THE POPE AND THE EMPEKOR.
•vvith trembling steps, and, from sheer -weaTcness and
emotion, clung for support to the arm of her conductor,
the younger Dedi.
Bertha, clothed in a robe of black, destitute of every
ornament, and her head covered Avith a thick black veil,
ascended the steps of the throne, aided by her husband.
As soon as both had reached the topmost steps, he
placed the queen on the throne which he had so lately
occupied, whilst he himself remained standing by her
side.
There was complete silence in the church whilst all
this was passing ; and there was terror in the hearts of
those who knew Hem-y best, lest this silence should be
but a prelude to some scene of horror.
The silence was so chilling, that it appeared terrible
even to those who might be regarded as indifferent spec-
tators. What, then, must have been its effect upon the
poor queen, who was alone, in that multitude of terrified
men, and who found all eyes fixed upon her !
Henry beckoned the Archbishop of Mayence, and
then Werenher to his side, and whispered a few words
in the ear of each. The last was seen to leave the
church ; the archbishop, it was remarked, brought from
the high altar a rich coronet* composed of amethysts.
The silence still continued unbroken ; but when the
archbishop had returned to the side of Henry, the latter
thus addressed the assembly :
" My loving friends and faithful subjects, you are all
now aware that I made an appeal to the chuixh with re-
spect to my doubts as to the validity of my marriage
with the Princess Bertha of Italy ; and expecting that
the decision upon that appeal would be publicly de-
livered this day, I desired that her Majesty should be
THE RECONCILIATION. 191
here, in order that both might yield obedience to it,
whatever it might be. Had the church decided for my
divorce, I would have called upon her Majesty to submit
to it ; and I am well aware that, so great is her piety,
and so paramount to all other considerations her child-
like obedience to the church, that she would have
done so.
" I have now, my loving friends and faithful subjects,
to give you the proof that what in the one case I ex-
pected from her Majesty, I have now, in the other, my-
self to perform. The church has declared that my
scruples are vain — that my marriage is valid, and that
it is my duty to become publicly reconciled to my wife.
" She is here that I may do so. With my own hands
I have placed her on my own throne — and doing so, I
acknowledge that if virtue unimpeachable, morality that
is unquestioned, purity that woidd become a convent,
and goodness that is unchangeable, could bring happi-
ness to a crown, and joy to a married king. Bertha pos-
sesses all those qualifications in a preeminent degree.
" In your presence, and before all the world, I ac-
knowledge her as my queen, and as my wife, and I now
bid you all to repeat the words wherewith I greet
her : — God save Queen Bertha, the wife of Henry IV.,
King of Germany ! "
For the first time, the solemn and mournful silence
that had prevailed in the church was broken by the
cheer that now burst out from all sides, as each one
present repeated, and apparently with a hearty good
will, the words —
"God save Queen Bertha, the wife of Henry IV.,
King of Germany ! "
" And now," continued Henry, *' it is not fitting that
192 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
she, M'hom the brave and ■warlike race of Germans ac-
knowledge as their queen, should conceal her counte-
nance from them. It is right that they should behold
that beauteous face, which is henceforth to reward the
best deeds of their gallant knights with a gracious
smile."
As Heniy spoke these words, he removed the thick
dark veil which had, up to this moment, shaded the fea-
tures of Bertha ; and, as he did so, all (but Henry)
were shocked at beholding the bloodless, corpse-like face
of the queen — rendered still more pale and ghastly by
the ebony ringlets that shaded it, and by the expression
of terror and of fear that was in the eye, and on her
trembling lips. But why was Queen Bertha, at such a
moment, a spectacle for men to commiserate, when it
might be supposed that her brilliant dark eyes would
have sparkled with pleasure at being thus publicly rec-
ognized as the rightful wife and lawful queen of Henry ?
It is a matter easy of explanation. Bertha, as the wife
of Henry, knew him well. Whilst his words were
pleasant to the ear of others, and his voice full of those
sweet tones that seemed to be the echo of truthfulness
and candor. Bertha had looked into his eyes, and she
saw that there was not in them one single sparkle of re-
turning affection for her — that her husband was but
acting a part — and that he actually exposed her face to
the view of his subjects, at that moment, for the mere
purpose of impressing their minds with the notion of
her being an ill-favored woman, and thus entitling him-
self to greater admiration and respect, for consenting, in
obedience to the commands of the church, to take her
back, and treat her as his wife.
Such were the reflections that passed through the
THE EECONCILIATION. 193
mind of Bertha, or rather, such were the feelings that
oppressed her heart ; that sent such an icy chill, like
that of death, through every limb ; and that deprived
her, for the moment, of all those personal charms with
which nature had gifted her.
Henry rejoiced to behold her look so unlike herself,
and, determined to add to her embarrassment, he took
the amethyst coronet from the Archbishop of Mayence,
and again addressed the assembly :
" I rejoice to find the wife, and the queen, that our
holy mother, the church, has thus, in its goodness, be-
stowed upon me so cordially greeted, and so loyally
hailed by my loving friends and faithful subjects. Her
Majesty, in her humility, and awaiting the decision of
the church, has, I perceive, with her own hands, disar-
rayed herself of that diamond circlet that denoted her
royal rank. Given back to the king by religion, it is
but fitting that religion should supply her with a crown,
and that her husband's hands should place that crown
upon her fair, meek, and gentle brow."
So speaking, Henry placed upon the queen the coro-
net of amethyst, a species of jewelry that he well knew
Bertha disliked, as one most unsuited to her naturally
dark skin ; but which now, shining out from her jet
black hair, and contrasting with her corpse-like com-
plexion, assumed the appearance of dark drops ot blood
that Aveie oozing from her brain.
The efiect was fiu- different from that which Henry
had intended. He had thus purposed to make his wife
look ugly ; but there was such suffering, such sorrow,
and such grief displayed in every feature ; and those
so truly typified by the coronet he had bestowed upon
her, and she appeared beneath his hand so truly that
17
194 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
Tvliich she was — a young, faithful, and vh'tuous wife,
made a martyr by her husband — that an unrestrahmble
burst of pity, and of admiration for her, saluted his ears
fi"om all parts of the church.
Henry looked again at Bertha. He at once discovered
the mistake he had made ; for he perceived that he had
converted the hateful form of his wife into the living
image of one of the young female martyrs, in the early
ages of the church, before whom even the devout might
kneel, and beg the intercession of her prayers. Henry
determined, if it were possible, to remove this impres-
sion, or to convert it, if he could, to his own advantage,
and he therefore continued to address the assembly : - —
" I have now fulfilled the directions of the chui'ch.
I have openly acknowledged Bertha as my queen — I
have become publicly reconciled to her as my wife —
but I have not, as yet, indulged my own feelings, by
showing how readily, how willingly, and how heartily
I submit to that decision. It was upon a scruple of
conscience I alone separated from her : that scruple is
now removed, and, be ye all now witnesses, with what
tender love, and with what devoted affection I now re-
ceive her back, to treat her with all the love, tenderness,
devotion, and affection that a fond husband should ever
show for a true-hearted, tender, and virtuous wife."
As Henry spoke these words, he stooped down, and
kissed the hands, the cheeks, and the lips of his still
trembling wife. No sooner did those assembled behold
Henry thus embracing, with such seeming affection, his
queen, than there arose a hearty, joyous cheer from all,
with the cry :
" Long life and happiness to our good Iving Henry
and the virtuous Queen Bertha."
THE RECONCILIATION. 195
" King Henry," said Peter Damian, " I must now
take my leave of you. I have fulfilled my mission. I
am bound to state to his holiness that you have strictly
and literally complied with his judgment — that you have,
as a king and as a husband, given that example which
becomes your exalted rank and high position in this
world, by restoring your wife to a throne, which she
adorns with the virtues of a saint. Love her as a wife,
and as a friend, and I can predict to you a life of hon-
or, and the death-bed of the just. I will not warn you,
as to what, not only may, but certainly will befall you,
if you act otherwise ; because to do so, would be to sup-
pose that you would condescend to deceive a weak, old
man like me, and such devoted subjects as I see before
me. I give to you, to your wife, and to all present, the
apostolical benediction ; and in doing so, I venture to sug-
gest, that all here present should, with myself, depart,
so that you and the queen may, alone, and before the
high altar of this church, renew your marriage vow ; that
you there bind yourselves each to the other, to ' love,
honor, and cherish,' the wife the husband and the hus-
band his wife, so that the days of both may be days of
peace and virtue, and the last hours of both be crowned
with the blessing of immortality.
" Farewell," said Peter Damian. " Farewell to your
Majesties, and to all. As to you. Prince Archbishop of
Mayence, it is necessary I should speak with you in pri-
vate. I am now repairing to the mansion of Count Dedi.
Will you do me the favor of accompanying me ? "
"1 obey your wish as if it were a command," rciDlied
Slgefrid.
When the cardinal legate and the Archbishop of
Mayence had, with their attendants, quitted the church.
196 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE.
Henry turned to tlie prelates and the nobles wlio re-
mained, and said :
" That which the holy bishop-cardinal has suggested
is just. Queen Bertha and I will remain here. As to
you, my friends, you may depart each to his own home ;
for I desire that you, bishops as well as nobles, should
meet me this day month at Goslar. A rebellion is about
to break forth in Saxony, Avhich it will require all the
military strength of the empire to suppress.
" Farewell, then, until we meet at Goslar, when I
shall require that each man will bring with him all the
knights and warriors wherewith he is bound to appear
before his king, when engaged in an enterprise pregnant
with danger and beset with difficulty. Farewell."
In a few minutes afterwards the crowded church was
cleared, and where numbers had before been seated or
stood, not one was visible.
The great door of the church was then closed, and the
soldiers of the king stood around it, on the outside, as
guards, so that no stranger might, unquestioned, ap-
proach its walls.
In the church there was no one but King Henry and
Queen Bertha. They Avere alone — quite alone !
CHAPTER XV.
THE SEPARATION.
Henry and Bertha were quite alone. Beneath the
eyes of both were the deserted benches so lately occu-
THE SEPARATION. 197
pied by prelates and princes, and around them, on every
side, the various chapels of different saints, with their
marble altars, their rich ornaments, and their gilded pic-
tures ; with here and there a statue of a martyr ; whilst
in front of them was the high altar, dazzling from the
precious stones that covered its tabernacle, and before
which the burning lamps demonstrated that it contained
that which is more precious than all the kingdoms,
crowns, and principalities of this world. To the believ-
ers of those times that burning lamp, before the taberna-
cle, was an indication that they were in the presence of
One before whom every human passion should be hushed,
to whom the repentant sinner might flee with confi-
dence and hope, and by whom the whole race of man-
kind shall yet be judged.
Such was the faith of Bertha, the wife of Henry —
such, too, was his faith, but with this distinction be-
tween them, that her faith guided her conduct, and he
buried his faith beneath his passions.
The first act of both on this occasion proved how dif-
ferently their faith influenced them. No sooner had the
great door of the church been closed, and the solemn si-
lence that ensued convinced Henry and Bertha th?t they
were perfectly alone, than she rose from the throne in
which she had, until that moment, remained seated, and
descending the steps, she advanced in front of the altar,
and then, fixing her eyes upon the tabernacle, she spoke
a prayer that was not heard on this earth, but that ascend-
ed as a song of triumph to heaven ; for it was the prayer
of one, who accepted her trials with humility, and who
devoutly submitted to all the sufferings she might en-
dure as offerings, which it was the divine will she should
make, and that she readily tendered, because it was in
17*
198 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
the order of Providence that they should be undergone.
Despised and even mocked at by her husband, she de-
clared, in her prayer, that she would still struggle to
win him back to herself, and to virtue ; and, should
misfortune overtake him, and the world abandon him,
then prove to him, that she — the repudiated wife —
was his steadiest supporter, his only consoler, and his
most devoted friend.
Bertha lived to know that a portion of the prayer she
then made was permitted to be realized, as far as she
herself was concerned.
Henry, the moment that the church was given up to
perfect solitude, and that he knew there was none but God
to witness the interview between him and Bertha, flung
himself down upon the throne-like seat that had been
erected for his friend the Archbishop of Mayence.
Galled by disappointment, heated and fatigued by the
exertion he had made to conceal the bitterness of his
spirit, and disgusted even with himself for his hypocri-
sy, and the falseness that there had been, both in his
words and actions, when human eyes were looking at
him, there came over his spirit, and over his body, that
sickening feeling of all-absorbing lassitude that fre-
quently besets the popular actor, Avhen he has over-ex-
cited himself in some great histrionic performance. His
hopes of a divorce from Bertha, and of a marriage with
Beatrice, were, he saw, forever blasted ; and they were
so, through the instrumentality, he perceived, of his
mother, of Bertha, of Dedi the younger, and of Rome.
'J'herc was no joy left for him but that of vengeance —
and vengeance he swore he would havie upon them all.
The daily alliiction in his power to cause his mother and
his wife, he resolved should become a life-long punish-
THE SEPARATION. 199
ment to both ; the life of the younger Dedl he resolved
upon taking ; whilst, as to Rome — as to the Pope of
Rome, he believed that, in Croft, the new Bishop of
Hildesheira, he had discovered the ready and the fitting
insti-ument for carrying out his revenge.
Such were the desperate projects that were passing
confusedly, and in a semi-diaphanous form, through the
brain of Henry ; bearing with them, though not yet dis-
tinctly traced out, tears, afflictions, blood, and misery to
those he detested ; because his wishes had been thwarted,
and his schemes baffled by them. In his parching thirst
for vengeance he forgot the place in which he stood, and
that his wife was by his side. He was aroused from his
revery, by feeling her hands — cold as the marble oa
which she had been so lately kneeling — clasping one
of his, by hearing her voice, and by perceiving her meek
eyes looking up to him.
" Well, Bertha," he said, snatching his hand rudely
from her grasp, as if there was contamination in her touch,
"you have succeeded — you have triumphed over, and
you have punished me."
" Punished you, Henry ! I know not what you mean,'*
said Bertha.
" Ay ! punished me," observed Henry ; " visited me
with a punishment far more severe than any other that
earth, heaven, or hell could afflict me with — the pun-
ishment of having to acknowledge you as my wife."
"O, Henry, Henry!" piteously exclaimed Bertha,
" Nay, worse than that," continued the remorseless
Idnar : "condemned me — the church has condemned
me — to live as a husband with you."
« Listen to me, Henry, listen to me calmly ; for I will
not give you back taunt for taunt. Remember these
200 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE.
three things : that you are a king, that you are a knight,
that you are a man ; that as a king you have sworn an
oath that you would be the protector of your subjects.
I am the first of these subjects : be then my protector.
Remember that, as the head of the Swabian knighthood,
you are bound to permit no man who bears a shield,
sword, or spear, to injure a woman, be she maiden, or
wife, or widow. And, O, bear in mind you have wooed
me as a maiden ; and that though your wife, I have,
even in your palace, passed my days in the desolation of
widowhood. As a knight of Swabia I appeal to you,
against yourself. And O, Henry, remember that you
are a man, and I, who now stand by your side, am your
wife — a stranger in a land of strangers. Protect me,
then, Henry ; or, if you will not do so, spare me your
taunts, for I dare not retort upon you ; and do not cast
upon me your reproaches, for I have not deserved
them."
" What ! not deserved them ! " exclaimed Henry, mak-
ing now no disguise of the furious rage that inflamed
him. " Have you not appealed to the pontiff against my
claim for a divorce ? "
" I did so," meekly answered Bertha, " because I
could not in conscience consent to see you do that which
would have involved the commission of many sins."
" O, your conscience," sneeringly remarked Henry,
" would not permit you to see yourself divested of the
state, pomp, and dignity of a queen, even though you
knew that, as my wife, you were most odious to me."
" You wrong me, Henry," replied Bertha. " How
little I care for the state and dignity of a queen I have
already shown ; for, from the first moment that I heard
you contemplated a divorce, I divested myself of every
THE SEPARATION. 201
yestige of royalty, and I have since lived in tlie humble
garb of a religious — the life to which I would have de-
voted myself, had your suit been successful. I opposed
the divorce for your sake, and for my own ; for your
sake, because it could only be obtained by perjury — an
awful sin — in the guilt of which, you know, I would
be as completely involved, by a criminal silence, as by a
criminal assent. I opposed the divorce, then, on that
ground ; and next, because I was aware that, if obtained,
it would have led you to other, and greater sins — a sac-
rilegious marriage and a life of adultery with the pure
and incoihparable Beatrice."
Henry started, when he heard that name pronounced
by the lips of Bertha. He made no observation, howev-
er ; and Bertha proceeded,
'' I opposed the divorce, also, on my own account —
as necessary to prove that I, a princess of a royal race,
was unimpeachable in my conduct both as a maiden and
as a wife. This much, at least, I owed to the parents
who gave me life ; and this much I owed to God, who
had permitted me to be baptized a member of his
church. You say, that I am odious to you as a wife.
Wherefore? If it be that I am divested of personal
beauty, I cannot but approve your judgment — but that
I am now, such as I was when yovi accepted me as your
wife, and when you vowed before God and man to
< love ' me. And, Henry, dear Henry ! I know you did
love me once — but, 0, it was for too brief a period.
And pardon, Henry, a woman's vanity; but I cannot
avoid saying that I have seen more than one of these
wicked women on whom you have bestowed your af-
fections, that even I could not conceal fiom myself were
202 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
as far my inferiors^ in personal charms, as they were in
virtue."
" Ah ! there it is," cried the brutal Henry. " It is
that very virtue of which you boast that renders you
odious to me. Why is it that you now apj)roach me —
that you seek to clasp my hand — that you would, if I
permitted it, fondle upon me — not because you love
me, as those women, you allude to, love me — for my-
self. You do all these things, because your virtue, of
which you boast, urges you to do it — because it is, you
conceive, your duty — because religion commands it.
As a king, and as a man, I am hateful to you — as odi-
ous to you, as you are to me — but as your husband, you
will perform the part of a xcife, and all this in cold obe-
dience to the commands of the church. Therefore, I
repeat it again — as a wife you are odious to me."
CHAPTER XVI .
THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE CARDINAL.
"Brother of Mayence," said Peter Damian, when
he and Sigefrid were alone, " I have already stated that
the special mission on which I was so hastily sent to
Frankfort has been fulfilled ; but still I cannot depart
from Germany without communing Avith you, upon the
deplorable state to which our holy religion is described
as being reduced by the ambition and the avarice of
churchmen. Brother, if that which is stated to his
THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE CARDINAL. 203
holiness be true, he bids me warn you that you are but
a slothful shepherd, for, either seeing the crimes of your
brethren, you wink at them, or by your tepidity neglect
them.
" I need not tell one of your learning what the crime
of simony is — that it consists in placing, as it were,
that which is a temporal advantage in the same balance
with that which is wholly a divine thing ; that it regards
the one as an equivalent for the other ; that it bestows
the one to obtain the other, as if wealth were a compen-
sation for a spiritual gift. To do this, you must declare,
with me, to be a profanation."
" Assuredly," said Sigefrid, " no one can accuse me
of simony — no one can ever say of me, that I have re-
ceived money for bestowing any offices in the church."
" No," replied Peter Damian, " no such charge is
preferred against you. No one has accused you of a
direct participation in such a sin ; but this is obvious —
this is notorious to the world — this cannot be denied
by you — that you hold one of the highest offices in the
church of Germany, and yet, I ask you, what is the state
of that church over which you may be said to preside ?
You possess great influence with the king. I ask you,
how you have employed it ? Have you tendered the
slightest remonstrance to his Majesty, who has robbed
the church to reward his military followers ? And then
I ask you — who has been appointed as the successor of
Meginward? Is it not the Abbot of Bamberg — the
notorious ' Robert the Rich ? ' And how did he obtain
that appointment ? was it not by paying into the king's
treasury a thousand pounds in pure silver ?
" Simony, the crime of this age, is the sin of the rich
204 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
against the poor — it is the robbery of the poor by the
rich — of the most poor by the most rich — of the
most humble by the most exalted — of the meanest in
rank by the highest — of the slave by the king ! So
feels the Pope — so feel the people.
" Look, I say, to the state of the church in Germany,
of which you are a prince and an archbishop. See the
evils which one wicked man alone, Robert the Rich, has
been able to effect ; how he has corrupted, dishonored,
and vitiated what was formerly, and might still be, the
holy and angelic lives of monks ; how, owing to his pes-
tilent example, monks are no longer esteemed in Germany
by their great virtues, but by their great wealth ; and
that, in the choice of abbots, the inquiry is not, ' Who is
the most worthy,' but ' Who is the most rich,' and ' Who
can pay the highest price for the mitre ! ' Is it not, and
I blush to be obliged to ask you the question, is it not a
matter of public notoriety, that the office of abbot is set
up for sale in the king's palace, and bestowed upon him
who can pay the most money for it ? I tell you, brother,
this is a sin that must be suppressed, and a scandal that
must be reformed ; and the pontiff has resolved \ipon
exterminating it utterly out of the bosom of the church,
and woe to those who oppose him ! and woe to you, Sig-
efrid. Archbishop of Mayence, if you decline to aid, or
shrink from cooperating M'ith him."
" I thank you, brother, I thank you heartily," said
Sigcfrid, deeply moved by the appeal thus made to him.
"1 admit that I have been remiss — that I have not had
that zeal that should have animated one holding my po-
sition, and invested with the great privileges that have
been confided to me. In this case, believe me, my sin
THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE CARDINAL. 205
has been that of omission, and not of commission. But
then, brother, look with compassion upon the frailties of
another — frailties that in my case arise from a natural
timidity of disposition ; a timidity that unfits me from
denouncing the sins of the great, and of condemning the
crimes of those I am in the habit of associating with."
" That is, in point of fact," observed Peter Damian,
" telling me that you think you could save your soul in
a cloister, but that there is every certainty you will lose
it as Archbishop of Mayence. "
" I fear that you give but a proper interpretation to my
words," said Sigefrid.
" Then why continue Archbishop of Mayence ; why
not choose the life of a monk, where you believe salvation
awaits you?" asked Peter Damian.
"Ay — why not!" said the archbishop, animated for
the moment with an ardent zeal. " Why not think of
my eternal salvation ! Why not prefer it to all the fleeting
grandeur, and evanescent greatness of this world ' "
«^Ay — why not, indeed?" whispered Peter Damian.
" Why not," continued Sigefrid, " why not leave behind
me the reputation of a saint ? Why not be thought of as
one who, born to noble rank, and possessed of the greatest
office in the church, next to that of the Pope — yet turned
away from a palace, with all its luxuries — from a cathe-
dral rich with countless treasures — from trains of knights
and a nation of dependent serfs — why not be remembered
with reverence by mankind, for abandoning all those
things to become a bare-footed, meanly-clad, ill-fed monk !
Why not at once do this ! "
" Alas ! " sighed Peter Damian, as he noticed what
"were the motives that were influencing Sigeixid to descend
to the condition of a monk.
18
206 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
" Why not," exclaimed Sigefrid, still enthusiastically,
" why not fly from the vices, and the temptations of this
■world, and bury one's self far away from them in the quiet
and repose of a convent ! in some monastery of Italy —
some monastery that is not exposed to the burning heats
of summer, nor the chilling frosts of winter, but where
there are green trees, and fresh flowing waters, and where
the rules are not too rigid for an old man, so delicately
nurtui'ed as I have been, to conform to. Yes, I will go
to a monastery ; but not to your monastery of Font-Av-
ellano, brother Peter Damian ; for there, I am told, the
austerities practised are almost beyond the limits of human
endurance."
"Alas, alas ! " exclaimed Peter Damian, "you admit
yourself to be unfitted for discharging the onerous duties
that belong to the Archbishopric of Mayence, and you
are, I fear, as much unsuited for a monastery."
" How say you," said Sigefrid, " unsuited for a mon-
astery ! Wherefore ? I pray you, brother ; tell me where-
fore, when I declare to you, that I, though a prince and
an archbishop, am this very moment desirous to become
a humble monk."
" Permit me to look at your crosier," said Peter Da-
mian.
Sigefrid placed his crosier in the hands of the poor
cardinal legate. It was a wonderful piece of workmanship ;
one of those rich articles in which the costliness of the
materials is surpassed by the skill of those who have
devoted a lifetime to its embellishment ; in which dia-
monds, rubies, amethysts, and amber, are conv^'ted into
portions of subjects illustrative of the designs of the artists
that use them. Valuable from the intrinsic worth of the
jewelry and gold encrusted upon it, it was of priceless
THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE CARDINAL. 207
value as a complete artistic gem, that from one end to
the other pictured forth the life and death of the first
Archbishop of Mayence — the saint and martyr, Boniface.
Peter Damian appeared to examine it with great interest
and curiosity, and as he did so, a glow of pleasure warmed
the breast of Sigefrid.
*' I remember to have read," said Peter Damian, " I
think it was in the works of Saint Gregory of Tours, of a
foolish practice that prevailed in his day, of young persons,
who being desirous of manifesting their attachment and
regard for one another, did so by sending as gifts the
shoes that they wore. A Avorthless present, but still
esteemed, because demonstrative of a sincere feeling. If
you love me, and respect me, I would wish you to make
me some such donation."
" AYillingly, dear brother," cried Sigefrid, " name what
you please, and I will bestow it on you."
" When the holy abbot, Saint Benedict," continued
Peter Damian, " desired to show his love and esteem for
any particular person or religious, he sent him as a gift,
his crosier, or pastoral staff. Do you the same. Give
me this crosier."
" That crosier ! " cried Sigefrid, turning pale at such a
proposition. '' Truly, brother, you have so given up
your thoughts to spiritual things, that you do not know
the value that attaches to temporal goods. That crosier
is the richest and the most costly that ever yet was formed.
Constantino, amid the many treasures he bestowed upon
Pope Sylvester, gave him no one thing in itself worth one
tithe of that crosier. I liad that crosier made for myself,
as Archbishop of Mayence ; it is only suitable for au
Archbishop of Mayence to bear, for it is devoted solely
to the illustration of the glorious labors of our patron.
208 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
Saint Boniface. I have, from my own means, crowded
the cathedral of Mayence with crosses of gold, with chal-
ices, candelabras, thurifers, all of the purest metal — I
have covered its tabernacles with precious stones — I have
filled its library with books that are richly illuminated,
and still more richly bound — I have deposited in its
vestry vestments of matchless splendor — and all this I
have done, intending to bequeath each and all those things
to my successors in the archbishopric ; but beyond them
all, because greater and richer than all, will be esteemed
as the grandest heirloom of each coming future Arch-
bishop of Mayence, that very crosier. With that intention
I had it made ; and for that purpose I had it constructed.
Ask me, then, for any thing but that crosier, for that I.
cannot give to you."
" Alas, brother," said Peter Damian, " you have an-
swered me as I expected, and as I feared. Your reply
shows me that you are not suited to a monastery, or that
if you, in a sudden gush of rash zeal, were to enter within
the monastic walls, you would but remain there a very
few days, and this because your heart still clings to the
di'oss of this world. I will not say that I put this ques-
tion to you merely to test your sincerity ; for I candidly
tell you, that if you had answered my question, not as I
feared, but as I wished, then I would have accepted the
crosier from your hands, and knowing its value well —
to the golden crown, I dare say as well as you do — yet,
once it was mine, I would have tried your patience sorely,
for I would, with a cdmmon hatchet, and before your own
eyes, have taken and broken it to pieces."
" What, broken up this crosier ! " cried Sigefrid, clasp-
ing it to his heart, " broken up this precious, this inval-
uable, this exquisite, tliis matchless piece of art ! "
THE AECHBTSHOP AND THE CARDINAL. 209
** I would have done so," replied Peter Damian ; "for
precious as it is, I regard it but as filth, when compared
to the value of one immortal soul. I would have broken
it up, and having done so, I would have restored the
fragments to your hands, that you might sell them, and
whatever the proceeds might have been, desired you to
bestow them upon the poor, in order that they might
pray that your spirit might be freed from an attachment
to the vanities of this world. Ah, brother, it is not to do
honor to the meek and humble Saint Boniface that you
have emblazoned his acts in gold and jewelry upon this
crosier — it is to do honor to yourself; for whilst seeming
to venerate his virtues, you have been but a self-idolater
— seeking to perpetuate your name, not in heaven, by
good deeds done in secret, but amongst men — amongst
generations that pass away, and that, as they pass, are too
much absorbed in their own vices, to remember those who
have passed before them, and especially those who have
fixed their fame in the accumulation of riches. The thief
that steals this crosier, will^ear away with him the fleeting
glory for which Sigefrid, the wealthy Archbishop of May-
ence, lost heaven ! "
"Brother — brother — you astonish me," exclaimed
Sigefrid, in amazement. " Can it be, that you, who have
passed your life on the steps of the sanctuary — disapprove
of what I have done — of bestowing all my wealth upon
the enrichment and the adornment of the altars ? "
" Alas ! you misapprehend me," replied Peter Damian,
"because you do not know yourself Why is it that the
church approves of the adornment and the enrichment of
the altar ? It is because that men should offer up to him,
who is the giver of all things, that which is in their eyes
the most rich and the most costly of his gifts : that what
18*
210 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
might be an incitement to vanity, may thus become an
inducement to jjiety : that God should be most honored
in that place which he has himself selected as his favorite
dwelling amongst mortals ; and that whilst our eyes are
dazzled by seeing the glory that invests him here on earth,
our thoughts may be elevated to the greater glories that
surround him in heaven, and of which we shall be par-
ticipators, if, whilst on earth, we endeavor to imitate his
example. The lapidaries fancifully ascribe to different
stones different qualities ; that is, they regard those stones
as emblematic of various virtues, and even so a diamond
cross, a jewelled tabernacle, may become a worthy subject
of meditation, and may incite us to chastity, to temperance,
to meekness, to humility, to charity. The adornment of
the altar, by gifts of great value, is, in itself, a pious act.
As such, I approve of it ; but m your case, I do not ap-
prove of the motive ; for it is vanity — it is a craving
desire after the praise of men — not a pure desire for the
honor and glory of God alone."
" Then," said Sigefrid, soi^ewhat impatiently, " what
would you say to me if I devoted that wealth, which I
now consecrate to the church — to the enrichment of my
own family, or to the indulgence of my own appetites."
" I would," replied Peter Damian, " declare you to be
a flagrant, an abominable, and a sacrilegious sinner — a
Judas, who betrayed his trust — I would denounce you
to the pontiff, and I would do my utmost to have you
excommunicated — I would treat you, as I mean to treat
Robert the Rich."
" And I would deserve it," despondingly remarked
Sigefrid. " It may be, that in what I have been doing,
I luive been deceiving myself — that in performing what
I knew to be right, I have not guarded myself from per-
THE AECHBISHOP AND THE CARDINAL. 211
mltting it to be mixed up -witla no human, and no selfish
motive. I shall endeavor to amend this fault."
" Endeavor too, I beseech you," said Peter Damian,
"endeavor to amend a still greater fault — that of luke-
warraness in the cause of religion. Power and authori-
ty have been given to you — exercise them, for the
future, in the protection of the poor and the weak, and
in opposition to the wicked, the powerful, and the great.
Dare not, if you would not incur the penalties of eternal
damnation, to lay your hands in consecration upon the
head of any man, of whose purity, in every respect, and
of whose fitness for the priesthood you have not, first by a
searching and diligent inquiry, been thoroughly assured.
Stop, thus, at the fountain head, those corrupting waters
that have overspread, and almost submerged, religion,
in so many parts of Germany. Do this, and though
your name may be forgotten by mankind, as that of the
rich Archbishop of IMayence, yet be assured that the
good you thus do will be remembered when this world
is annihilated — and those only shall be living, whose
virtues have saved them from eternal death."
" Yes — yes — this I Avill do, at least. I promise to
do this," said Sigefrid, whose zeal was again fired by
the words of Peter Damian. " And then, as to becoming
a monk "
" Promise only what you can perform," remarked
Damian. " You can refuse consecration to all unwor-
thy postulants. You would not permit a leper to sit at
the same table with yourself. Do not allow a notorious
leper to become a truchsess, or carver, at the table of the
Lord ; for if you do, you will be responsible for the
poison that he Avill distribute to the laity, in place of
the manna with which they should be nom-ished."
212 THE POPE AND THE E5IPER0R.
"As a Chi-Istian — as a priest — as an archbishop, I
promise, dear brother, to fulfil your injunctions in this
respect," said Sigefrid.
" Let no threat of man induce you to break this
promise," exclaimed Peter Damian.
" It shall not," answered Sigefrid.
"Let no temptation move you to swerve from it,"
added Peter Damian. " Be your answer that of the
Prince of the Apostles, ' Keep thy money to thyself, to
perish with thee, because thou hast thought that the gift
of God may be purchased with money.' "
" This, too, I promise to say," replied Sigefrid.
A barefooted monk here entered the apartment, and
said, in addressing himself to the cardinal :
" A pilgrim, who states that he is from Italy, presses
earnestly for an interview with you, and alone."
" I shall leave you," said Sigefrid, breathing some-
what more freely upon perceiving that there was a chance
of this interview being brought to a close.
" I will not detain you longer, brother," answered
Peter Damian. " I am much consoled by the promise
you have given me. Bear it ever in mind ; for the
words that we have spoken in secret, have been heard
by him, before whom you and I shall yet stand as cul-
prits. Remember, that there is not a word that either
of us has here spoken, that will not be recalled back to
us, as we gave utterance to it, as well as the intention
Avith which each syllable had been pronounced. God
grant that the inquiry may tend to the salvation of both !
And now, brother, let us part with the kiss of peace — •
never, I feel confident, to meet again as living men in
this world — and certain to be confronted with each
other in the world to come."
THE FORTRESS OF ERZEGEBIRGE. 213
CHAPTER XVII.
THE FORTRESS OF ERZEGEBIRGE.
More than three weeks had now passed away, and
Beatrice found herself still a prisoner in the hands of
Diedrich, confined by him in the seemingly inaccessible
fortress of Erzegebirge. During all that period, sor-
row, sickness, and horror had confined her to her couch ;
and it was with reluctance that she assented to the prayer
of Gretchen, and ascended to the battlements of the
tower in which she was confined, for the purpose of in-
haling the fresh air. She looked out upon a wide and
extensive mountain scenery, in which were every where
visible the labors of the husbandman, and the rich re-
wards that heaven bestows upon man in cultivating the
earth. Droves of cattle were discernible in one place,
herds of swine in another, and around them were fields
that promised, in their due season, an abundant harvest ;
whilst close to the foot of the high, steep, rocky hill, on
which the fortress had been erected, but yet separated
and self-protected by a wide trench, and a strong stone
wall, was a hamlet, or rather village, with some hun-
dreds of inhabitants, and having, in the centre of that
which appeared to be their widest street, a large church.
The village, as seen from the fortress, seemed to be
rather a pictured than a real domicile of human beings,
f ;r, though persons were discernible in it, engaged in
their different avocations, still they were removed to
such a distance, that no sound that came from them
reached the ears of the spectator, and the stillness of the
air was as unbroken as if the fortress had been planted
in a wilderness.
214 THE POPE AND THE EMPEEOR.
Beatrice, upon mounting to the battlements, gazed,
without a feehng of the slightest interest, upon the
scene that presented itself to her view, until her eye
rested upon this village. She looked long and attentive-
ly towards it — seemed to be amused, as if she were a
child, in watching the movements of the silent little
figures beneath her — she rested against the battlements,
and clasping a small broken fragment of one of the
huge parapets in her tiny hand, she exclaimed :
" I would, Gretchen, that I could be transformed into
this puny pebble, and that thou couldst fling me from
this battlement into the midst of that peaceful ham-
let."
" And wherefore," said Gretchen, smiling, " wish for
two things that are alike impossible ? "
" Because, I believe, that it is only among the poor
that true peace and real virtue are to be found," an-
swered Beatrice. " O, I am sick — sick to death of this
life, and if it were the will of God, would gladly give up
existence this very moment. I have, whilst lying on
my bed of suffering, reviewed in thought the few years
I have passed in this world, and what have I seen ? a
mother, the very model of perfection, yet a martyr to
some unknown and undiscoverable grief — a father, for
whom it Would be hard to say whether I love or fear
him ; whether I do not fear him too much to love him,
or rather, I know not why, I fear to love him — a child-
hood passed in riches, in pomp, and in mystexy : and
then the last month of my existence, where, in addition
to my own sufferings, my undeserved sufferings, caused
by the caprice of a wicked monarch, I have looked upon
virtue, united first to an imperial, and then to a regal
crown, and yet, because of its exalted rank, doomed to
THE FORTRESS OF ERZEGEBIRGE. 215
years of ceaseless weeping, and of hopeless grief: and
then, last of all — worst of all — the death of the
bishop "
" I pray of you not to permit your mind to rest upon
that scene," interrupted Gretchen. " Think of Duke
Magnus — think of your destined husband."
" Words — vain, unmeaning words," continued Bea-
trice. " I cannot think of Magnus but with love — the
love I ever have felt for him as a child — the love I
ever shall feel for him as a woman. But as my hus-
band — my destined husband — I have ceased to think
of him, since I witnessed the martyrdom of the bishop."
" I do not understand you," said Gretchen. " What
had the cruel and bloody murder of the venerable bishop
to do with the pure love and devoted affections of Duke
Magnus ? "
" Much — much — very much," answered Beatrice.
" I have been too weak, and too ill since that dreadful
day to speak of it ; but circumstances occurred of which
you are, until this moment, unconscious. It is not
necessary for me to bid you remember the speechless
agony in which Gertraud left us, when she bade us
pray to God for mercy on the soul of one who was then
living, and who had never given cause of offence to man.
O, God ! who can paint our agony, when we heard the
voices overhead, upon the accursed precipice ; and when
a long yelling shriek was followed by our finding that
the body of the bishop had rolled down to our very
feet. You insisted, after a brief examination, that the
bishop was still living, despite of his desperate fall, and
ran to seek for water. It was duri'ng your absence,
the occurrence, which I am now about to narrate, took
place.
216 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
"I was kneeling, weeping, and my hot tears were
falling upon the face of the dead, as I supposed, when
the mangled bishop heaved a sigh, and suddenly opened
his eyes, and gazed on me, and seemed to gather slowly
the meaning of the words I uttered, and that they were
prayers for him. A gentle smile, such a smile as beams
around the lips of martyrs, lighted up his features for a
moment, as he said : —
<f ( I give thee thanks, O, God, who thus permittest
thy unworthy servant to pass into thy presence, aided
with the prayers of a holy maiden !
" ' My child,' he continued, ' my words must be few i
for I feel that life is momentarily leaving me. I bear
about with me the Blessed Sacrament. It must be saved
fi'om the hand of infidels. Take it,' he said, unloosening
a small locket of gold, enriched with precious stones, and
that hung from his neck by a thin golden chain. * Take
it, my child, I permit you to conceal it in your bosom ;
there let it rest in that locket until you have the oppor-
tunity of giving it safely to a priest. In thus requiring
you to take charge of it — and which nothing but the
circumstances in which I am placed would justify, for I
know my garments will be searched, when dead, and
that it would fall into the hands of my murderers, the
unbelieving Paterini — I ask of you, whose person will
thus become consecrated by such a chai-ge, to devote
yourself, if it be possible, to the service of that spouse,
of whom you now have the sacred care. None but vir-
ginal hands should ever approach it ; and the hands that
have once come in contact with it, should remain forever
after employed in the service of the Lord.
" * Such is the last prayer — such the sole request of
one, who, though a sinner, God has been pleased to
THE FORTRESS OP ERZEGEBIRGE. 217
make a martyr of. To him be praise and glory forever,
and ' As he spoke these words, his voice was in-
terrupted by a gush of blood. I felt that the warm glow
was on my face, on my hands, on my neck ! Talk
then, Gretchen, to me no more of INIagnus, as my hus-
band. I am consecrated to God in the blood of a martyr.
I remember no more ; for I fainted as I felt the blood
of the bishop upon me."
*' Alas ! I know it but too well," said Gretchen, " for
I despaired of your life for many days afterwards. But,
tell me, lady, do I understand you right, when you say
that you bear that awful locket still upon you ? "
" I do," replied Beatrice ; " I bear it about me with
fear and trembling. Here it is."
So saying, she undid the robe that covered her neck
and throat, and Gretchen beheld, resting on^the snow-
white skin, a dazzling locket. The moment she saw it,
she went down upon her knees, and fixing her eyes
upon it, gave utterance to a pious prayer. Beatrice
remained moveless as Gretchen prayed ; and, when she
saw her making the sign of the cross, she fastened up
her dress again, and said : —
"1 scarcely need tell you, Gretchen, that I have been
very careful that my hands should not touch that locket.
I have removed it solely by the chain that is attached to
it ; and I long for the moment Avhen I can deposit it
with a priest. The sight of the church in yonder ham-
let reminded me of it, and made me wish that I could
fly down and disburden myself of this awful — this
most sacred charge. Alas ! here, where kingly power
has erected one of its strongest fortresses, there is neither
truth, virtue, nor honor, to be found."
" Say not so, pretty maiden," said Gertraud, here
19
218 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
stepping up on the battlements ; " say not so of the stout
fortress of Erzegebirge, as long as you, and I, and Die-
drich make of it our abode ; for I am truth, you are vir-
tue, and Diedrich is honor. I never told a lie, therefore
I am truth ; you do not as yet know what it is to be
vicious, and, therefore, you are virtue ; whilst, as to hon-
est Diedrich, who would as soon think of injuring the
king, or any one he had sworn fealty to, as the mastiff
would of biting the hand that fed him, he is honor from
the crest on his helmet to the spur on his heel."
" And yet," remarked Gretchen, " this man of honor
murdered a good and unoffending bishop."
" If your mistress," said Gertraud, " desired you,
upon the peril of disobedience, to cut off her golden
hair, would you not do it, even though you disapproved
of the act itself ? "
" Most certainly I would," answered Gretchen ; " and
I may add, that even though censured by others for
what I had done, yet would I hold myself not only
excused, but justified, because it was in pursuance of an
order which I had no right to disobey."
" Then, Avhat a silly girl you are," said Gertraud,
laughing, " to censure acts which you do not compre-
hend ! Think you, that my brave Diedrich does not
know, as well as you do the duties of a tiring woman,
the duties of a knight to his king, of a soldier to his
officer, of a vassal to his lord ? It was not he who
muixlercd the Bishop of Osnabruck — it was King
Henry ; Diedrich only executed orders he was bound to
obey. It is not the sword that kills, but the hand that
compels it to thrust and slash. Diedrich had sworn to
obey the king's commands : it would be dishonorable
in him to violate his oath ; and the more disagreeable
THE FOETRESS OP ERZEGEBIRGE. 219
to himself the order that may be given, the more honor-
able in him literally to fulfil it. Your mistress may
pride herself in her virtue, as I boast of my sincerity ;
but of this I am quite certain, there is more real, pure
honor in the heart of Diedrich, than there is of virtue in
her, or truth in me. Why should you dislike Die-
drich ? Has he not acted most honorably towards you
both ? He was desired to treat you vv^ith every respect,
and to render your lives as happy as was consistent with
your complete security. Well knowing that you hate
the sight of him — that you have an abhorrence of him
— since he slew the bishop, has he not most honorably
refrained from appearing before your mistress ? "
*' Ay, but not appearing before us," remarked Gretch-
en ; " this honorable man employed you as a spy, to
watch over us when we were travelling hither."
*' Certainly," said Gertraud, perfectly unabashed. " In
so doing, he only acted upon the desire that no accident
should occur to prevent his honorable fulfilment of the
order given to him — to keep you in safe custody — so
that no attempt at escape should be made by you.
With that intention, and not caring to know one word
that you may say, that does not bear upon such project,
he appointed me as a spy upon you, when you were
travelling ; and now that you are able to walk about, he
has again reappointed me to act as a spy upon you two.
It was with that intention I came here — and it is with
that intention I mean to watch every word you say, and
every thing you do. I am acting as a spy this very
moment ; and, if you knew a little more of the sti-ata-
gems of war, you would perceive I was so conducting
myself, without my telling you."
"As you are so candid, and so very truthful," re-
220 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
marked Gretclien, "I would wish to know why you
have not approached ns for three weeks, and wherefore
it is that you now place yourself by our side as a spy ?
"We are now, as we were then, prisoners. We are the
same to-day that we were this day three weeks."
*' You are not the same to-day that you were this day
three weeks," replied Gertraud. " No one is. I more
than doubt if any one is the same person to-day that he
■was yesterday. We are always in a constant state of
change, though we see it not ; the infant falls into the
grave an old man, and yet he has changed from day to
day, and thought that each night he slept produced no
change in him ! Ye are three weeks older than you
were three weeks ago : the world, too, is three weeks
older since then : and this I know, that many a brave
man, who this day three weeks w^ent to bed in his peace-
ful home, now reposes forever in his blood-stained
grave ; many a woman who this day three weeks had no
other anxiety on her mind than Avhether the kine had
been cared for, or the swine returned safe from the
forest, or that her children had been well nursed, is now
husbandless, childless, homeless ; for our valiant King
Henry has been wasting the lands of the Saxons. No
sooner did he break up his Parliament in Frankfort,
which had declared Otho, Duke of Bavaria, a trai-
tor "
*' What ! the uncle of INIagnus declared a traitor ! "
said Beatrice, shocked at the intelligence that thus
unexpectedly reached her.
*' He has been declared a traitor," continued Ger-
traud. " His treason consisted in his great wealth and
his high office ; and Henry wanted the one for himself,
and the other for a friend — and as Otho would not
THE FORTRESS OF ERZEGEBIRGE. 221
yield them for the asking, Henry determined upon
taking them — and, therefore, he had Otho declared a
traitor. He is an astute man, our King Henry ; for
the moment that he had Otho denounced as in a state of
war against himself, he had also ready provided and
prepared the means of rendering Otho incapable of
resisting him. The doom of the Frankfort Parliament
was instantly followed by swarms of soldiers pouring in
on ail sides on the principality of Otho. The orders
given to these soldiers were to lay every thing waste
with fire and sword, and those words they have literally
fulfilled. They have torn, or they have burned down
houses and growing crops — carried off the cattle, or
destroyed what they could not carry off; and all the
cultivators of the fields, wherever they have met with
them, they have mutilated, so as to render them incapa-
ble of toil for the future, or they have cu.t off their
hands, or hung them upon trees. Even the churches
have been broken into, their altars spoliated, and then
the edifices themselves set on fire. The Castle of Ha-
nenstein, which attempted to resist the king's soldiers,
has been captured, and all the defenders, because they
dared to oppose themselves to the king, put to the
sword. Otho's great fortress of Tesenberg, which was
deemed to be impregnable, has, by the cowardice of its
soldiers, yielded without striking a blow, and it is now
garrisoned by the king's schaaren. In addition to this,
the lands, the houses, the churches, and the gorgeous
villas and estates of Duke Otho's wife, have been all set
on fire, and the women and boys found in them mas-
sacred — and this in revenge for the fiight of the men,
who, to save their lives, fled to the shelter of the marshes
and the dark recesses of the forests ; and who, in doing
19*
222 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
SO, supposed that no soldier would Injure innocent
women and unoffending children. And no real soldier
would, I am sure, do so, unless he had positive orders
to kill screeching wolnen and yelping boys. I will an-
swer for it, stout Diedrich would sooner eat a piece of
his sword, then sheathe it in the heart of a woman or a
puling boy — but, if ordered to do so, that is another
thing. You know a soldier must obey orders. It is a
very unpleasant duty ; but it is sometimes necessary, as
in this instance, where it was deemed requisite to force
an entire people into a state of rebellion. For such an
object nothing is ever more successful than the massacre
of women and children. King Henry is too well versed
in statesmanship not to know that, and accordingly, he
gave his orders, and his soldiers obeyed, and now his
desires have been accomplished. All Saxony is in open
rebellion. AVe slaughter the Saxons when we like, and
they kill us when they can. If you remain upon these
walls but an hour longer, you will witness as fine a
piece of military skill as any soldier would wish to
witness."
" I trust you do not mean to tell ixs," said Beatrice,
* that I shall be again doomed to behold any more of
the barbarities of the terrible man who unjustly retains
me here as a captive."
" Ho ! ho ! " exclaimed Gertraud, " my brave Die-
drich — a terrible man ! What, the brave Diedrich
terrible ! I can assure you, young lady, that Diedrich
is as mild as a lamb — meek and gentle as a dove, when
he has the wine cup in his hand. He never did a cruel
thing in his life for the sake of inflicting ' pain on
another. He is a soldier — it is his profession to kill
— it is his duty to destroy the king's enemies, and he
THE FORTRESS OF ERZEGEBIRGE. 223
only puts tlierti to death as the butcher kills cattle — for
the general benefit of the community ! Even now, he
does not bear the slightest malice to any individual in
that hamlet you see below, and jet, before the sun sets,
he has contrived a project, which, if carried into full
effect, will result in not leaving alive a man in that
hamlet who is able to bear arms. O, Diedrich is a
most able general — a true soldier — and, as I have
told you before, unequalled in an ambuscade."
*' 0, Heavens ! " said Beatrice ; " how can these poor
people have offended Diedrich ? "
" They have done him grievous wrong, lady," an-
swered Gertraud. " Two of the soldiers under his
command descended into the hamlet a few days ago :
they did so without permission. It is not improbable
that they misconducted themselves there — that is, that
they wished to take away something that did not belong
to them, or perhaps kissed some Saxon maiden, or wife ;
for our soldiers, Avhen they do drink, are very apt to be
rude, and to fancy they have a right, especially in time
of war, to whatever they set their eyes upon. However,
what may have been the cause we know not, but the
people were offended, and instead of arresting those
soldiers, and bringing them before Diedrich, who would
have punished them if they deserved it, the rustics
thought fit to avenge their own wrong, set upon the
soldiers, murdered them, and hung their bodies on trees
outside their wall. There they have been discovered ;
and Diedrich has resolved upon punishing their murder-
ers. Villains, no doubt they were — but they were his
soldiers — slain whilst under his command, not in battle,
but by the hands of citizens, and he is resolved to have
a life for every hair of their heads. O, he is a good
224 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
general, and he loves his soldiers as if they were his
own children. Wait now here, but a short time longer,
and you will see a fine device of war,"
" When, O, when shall these horrors cease ! " cried
Beatrice.
" Horrors ! " cried Gertraud, amazed at an expression
that was new to her, and as applied to a profession she
so much admired. " Horrors, forsooth ! why, what are
the materials of which fame and glory are composed,
but those very things that you, lady, designate as hor-
rors ? What was Alexander the Great ? What was
Cassar ? What was Charlemagne himself, but a Diedrich
with a crown on his head ? Take away from these all
the blood that they shed — all the widows they made,
and all the orphans they have left desolate — all the
homesteads they have wasted, and the crops they have
destroyed, and where is their glory ? Let us fancy they
had never done any one of these things, and then we
should never have known of them. I dare to say that
my own brave Diedrich has, with his own hand, in fair,
open fight, and with his good sword, put to death more
than any one of them, in all his life, personally encoun-
tered. Their fame, then, does not consist in their mere
personal prowess alone — their flime consists in the ac-
cumulation of ' horrors,' which they had the power of
inflicting during their lifetime upon their fellow-creatures.
You weep over the fate of a single hamlet, and yet you
have been taught to marvel at the achievements of an
Alexander and a Csesar, and to reverence a Charlemagne.
I admire them — and I do so, because I love Diedrich ;
and when I am told what victories they won, and M'hat
battles they gained, I believe that I am a sharer in both,
because I know they never could have been accom-
THE FORTRESS OP ERZEGEBIRGE. 225
plished, if those famous heroes had not hiinclrccls of men.
like Diedrich under their command. But I pray your
pardon, lady, I was about to tell you of the success of
Henry's policy in ordering the massacre of women and
children on the estate of the wife of Duke Otho. It is
a subject in which I know you must feel interested, as
it will compel me to tell you something of the young
Duke Magnus."
" O, proceed — proceed," said Beatrice ; " for you
mention a name which, my poor trembling heart tells
me, binds me still too strongly and too closely to this
world."
*' No sooner, then," continued Gertraud, " had Otho
received intelligence of the barbarities thus committed by
the king's soldiers, than he grasped his sword, summoned
his knights and vassals around him, and made an incur-
sion into Thuringia ; and such mischief as had been in-
flicted upon himself, he did to the king ; pouncing down
upon all the farms and villas of the enemy, burning and
wasting, and carrying off spoil wherever he went, and
thus impoverishing the sovereign as he himself had
been impoverished. He swept away, in his victorious
career, every opponent, until he at length came to
Henschenwege, where Count Rutger, at the head of a
large army, was drawn up to encounter, and, it was
hoped, to annihilate him. There Otho was joined by
the Duke Magnus, at the head of a large body of horse-
men. This battle took place but a few days ago — if
that can be called a battle, in which, from the first mo-
ment that Duke Magnus with his horsemen dashed down
upon the soldiers, the caitiff. Count llutger, the com-
purgator of Egen, and the cause of Duke Otho's being
declared a traitor, gave, by his own base cowardice, the
226 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE.
siffnal for flisrlit to our men. Before an arrow coxild
reach him, Rutger ran from the field ; and the battle, in
a single moment afterwards, became a carnage, in which
the fugitives, as they fled, were cut down by their vic-
torious pursuers. The king, we are told, lost hundreds
of men ; Duke Otho, but two : and now, whilst the
Saxons are collecting all their forces for the purpose of
attacking Henry, he is concentrating a grand army
around Goslar ; he has proclaimed an arriere-ban, in all
parts of the empire, and Swabians, Bohemians, Bava-
rians, and even the Italians, are hastening to his aid.
Yes ; we are sure to have a great and decisive battle
very speedily. I trust that my valiant Diedrich, instead
of being left here, in the inglorious occupation of watch-
ing two poor girls, will be recalled by the king, and that
I, with him, may be permitted to see a grand engage-
ment between the whole of the Saxons — nobles and
people (for all are in full insurrection), and the other
nations of the empire. The Saxons are brave, and are
sure to fight well. Meanwhile, our spies tell us, that
Duke Magnus has been detached from the camp of Otho
towards the borders of Bohemia. It is suspected that
he is coming here with the intention of rescuing you."
" Of rescuing me ! " exclaimed Beatrice. " O,
heavens, why endanger his life for one so worthless as
I am ? "
" Why ? " cried Gertraud, her dark eyes flashing with
indignation, " because he would himself be most worth-
less if he did not do so. He is betrothed to you — he
is bound to protect you ; and if he shrank from fulfil-
ling such, a duty, he would be unworthy of the shield of
a knight, the sword of a soldier, or the name of a man.
It is calculated that he is as brave as he is young, and
THE FORTRESS OF ERZEGEBIRGE. 22T
therefore am I here acting as a spy upon you, so that
you may have no communication with him, the knowl-
edge of which shall not be instantly forwarded to Die-
drich."
As Gertraud spoke these words, a twang, and then a
whizzing noise was heard, as if an arrow had been shot
from a bow drawn by a strong hand. The practised eye
of Gertraud showed her that the arrow must have been
shot from a clump of trees that lay at the base of the
fortress, from the side opposite to that on which the
hamlet lay. She then watched the rapid flight of the
arrow ; — she observed that it mounted high in the air,
and then turning, was coming point downwards, in a
direct line, on the very tower on which she and the
other maidens stood. She instantly removed the helmet
from her head, and watching the descent of the arrow,
thus intercepted it before it could reach the ground.
" A good bowman ! " exclaimed Gertraud. " He
measured the distance well ; but, in this instance, he has
not hit what he aimed at."
As she said this, she detached from the arrow a piece
of parchment, and, as she read the lines inscribed on it,
there was a flush of joy in her face.
" I will thank you, lady," said Gertraud, " to permit
me to look at your veil for a moment."
Beatrice handed the snow-white veil to Gertraud, who,
instead of looking at it, stepped, as she was, bareheaded,
forth upon the battlements, and then, waving the veil
three times in the air, above her head, again retired be-
hind a parapet, so as not to be visible to any one, look-
ing from beneath, up at the tower.
" What means all this ? " asked Beatrice.
" I w^ill tell you the signification of it presently,"
228 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE.
answered Gertraiid. " But, -whilst waiting for the ex-
planation, I pray you to look out beyond the hamlet, and
see if you can discern there any thing that is strange."
" O, yes ! " exclaimed Beatrice ; " I behold there —
far away — I suppose it is two miles distance, that houses
have been set on fire — and see ! there is a dark smoke
rising up from some of the fields, as if there were a
smouldering fire amongst the crops ! Who can be the
perpetrators of such gross and wanton mischief ? "
" Our own brave soldiers — do you mark them there,
with blazing torches in their hands ? " said Gertraud.
" See — there is not more than twenty of them. Ob-
serve how they keep in a close, dark body together ;
and, as they gather round the huts of the husbandmen,
and the cottages of the shepherds, a flame bursts forth ;
and the fields over which they pass, fume up. O, they
know their profession well. Diedrich chose them as the
most accomplished devastators in the fortress."
" And this is war ! glorious war ! " cried Beatrice,
shuddering.
" This, war ! I pity you, girl, for your ignorance,"
said Gertraud, smiling. " This is but one of the prelim-
inaries to, or the consequences of war. This is simply
mischief — not war : and here it is intended as a provo-
cation to war. And, O, rare ! O, most excellent ! as
such it is accepted in this instance. Ah ! what an ad-
mirable captain is my brave Diedrich ! Look now into
the hamlet — mark the running to and fro of men, and
of women. See how the latter clap their hands in grief,
and how the men arm themselves as best they can — and
now — see — the gate is thrown open, and they go tum-
bling out in crowds, with swords, and spears, and shields,
and arrows, and scythes, and whatever else they can
THE FORTRESS OF ERZEGEBIRGE. 229
think of — poor fellows! they little know what awaits
them, or they Avould not be in such a hurry."
" What ! " cried Gretchen, " would you expect them
to remain calm lookers-on at the wanton destruction of
their property by some twenty miscreants, and not anni-
hilate such villains ? In less than half an hour, I hope
to see them return with the heads of those wretches."
" Excellent ! most excellent ! " replied Gertraud ;
*' that is brave Diedrich's calculation, as to what the
people of the hamlet would say. His plot, now, I per-
ceive, is certain of success. See — the men are all pour-
ing out still — there must be three hundred of them,
at the least — shoemakers, carpenters, blacksmiths, bakers,
butchers. Ha ! what is this ? They have left a few to
watch the gate. That is the most sensible thing they
have done as yet. There is then a chance that the
hamlet will not be destroyed. But, mark now, Gretchen,
what I say to you. There is not one man in ten from
the hamlet, that crosses the small stream you see below
there, that looks from this like a thin thread of silver —
no, not even one in twenty who fords it now, will ever
return, living, to the hamlet ; and only they have had
the precaution to set a guard upon the gate, not one
man — nay, not even a woman or a child in that hamlet,
would live to see to-morrow's sunrise. See, the villagers
are scattering: themselves in all directions over the fields,
lest, by any chance, the small troop of horsemen should
escape them. Mark ! how those horsemen seem to be
unconscious of all this commotion, and still keep burn-
ing homesteads and crops ! O, these are true veteran
warriors ! These are the men that make kings famous
in story."
It was with a breathless attention, but with far differ-
20
230 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
ent feelings, that the three women now looked from the
battlements of the castle, upon the scene below. Bea-
trice regarded what Avas passing with horror, and with
fear for the lives of those few soldiers who were perpe-
trating such wanton mischief. Gretchen, with all the
intense feelings of nationality burning in her heart, and
all her sympathies absorbed in the fate of her country-
men, and in the welfare of her nation, looked down
eagerly, thirsting for the blood of every one of those
oppressors that she saw thus laying waste the land, and
destroying the property, of unoffending husbandmen —
of Saxons, too, and, therefore, loved by her as her broth-
ers. In her desire for vengeance upon them, she did
not heed the words of Gertraud, and only wished that
she were a man, and out in the fields, with the inhabit-
ants of the village in pursuit of the spoilers. Gertraud
gazed upon the same scene calmly — unmoved, unshaken,
but still interested — as if she were but looking on sol-
diers practising a mimic engagement, and not occupied
in a real action. She regarded with the eye of a con-
noisseur what was passing, and prepared to bestow
praise or blame, with equal impartiality, on which ever
side she saw courage displayed, or cowardice exhibited.
Thus watched these three women, for some time, and
such attention did they bestow upon the movements of
the villagers on the one side, and of the few soldiers on
the other, that not a word was spoken. At last they
perceived the soldiers, who had been engaged in the
work of devastation, pause, at the very moment that they
appeared to be on the point of being surrounded by the
villagers, and then to start off at a quick gallop, with
all the men of the village in pursuit.
" The cowards ! " exclaimed Gretchen. " It is as I
THE FORTEESS OF ERZEGEBIRGE. 231
expected, they would never venture to cross sword with
the Saxon."
Scarcely had she uttered these words, when there was
seen to emerge from a small wood that lay on the other
side of the streamlet, a band of about one hundred horse-
men, who instantly darted off in pursuit of the villagers.
" Excellent ! " cried Gertraud. " That is the device
managed by my gallant Diedrich — see now — how the
horsemen charge down on the villagers. There, they have
come up with them, and now begins the work of blood.
The villagers seek to hold fast together ; but they never
can stand against the weight of men, and horse, and
point of spear. No ! — doAvn they go, as the ripe corn
falls before the sickle of the reaper. See, now they are
broken. They are slashed down with the sword — they
are transfixed by the lance. They fight well too ; but
they fall fighting. See, where they stood together there
are but mangled heaps of corpses, and now they run —
they have thrown down their shields to enable them to
fly the quicker ; but the horses are after them, and on
them, wherever they go. See, now they lie on all sides
— some run for safety to the wood, where the horsemen
hid themselves — and look, it is now as I told you, not
one in twenty will ever live to cross that streamlet — O,
brave Diedrich — victory! victory."
" Demon ! or woman ! whichever you are ! " cried the
infuriated Gretchen, " cease your babbling ; and, if you
have a spark of feeling in your heart, help me to bear
the Lady Beatrice to her chamber. Look ! she has faint-
ed. You might have perceived it long since, if you did
not delight so much in the sight of inhuman butchery."
" Alack ! " answered Gertraud, with as little sympa-
thy for the cause of Beatrice's fainting as the veteran
232 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE.
sailor feels for the landsman when enduring the agony
of sea-sickness. "Alack! I forgot the delicate young
lady had never before seen men battling with each other
— life against life. It is a fine tiling, however, although
tender-reared women don't like to look at it. Come,
Gretchen, I will not merely help you, but I will reheve
you of the burden altogether. I will caiTy her myself,
unaided by you."
So speaking, the muscular Gertraud raised Beatrice
in her arms, and bore her from the ramparts to her cham-
ber, and there, placing the still senseless form on a
couch, she turned to Gretchen, and said :
" Girl, as you care for your own life and that of your
mistress, let neither of you venture, during the coming
night, to stir a step outside this chamber. Mind — that
you are to remain here, no matter what noises you may
hear, or however boisterous may be the clamor around
you. In saying this to you, I only express the wish of
Magnus."
" And how know you," asked Gretchen, " the wishes
of Magnus ? "
" They are written here," replied Gertraud, showing
the small piece of parchment, which she had detached
from the arrow that had alighted on the tower whilst
they were conversing together. " His words are few,
but very intelligible. I shall read them for you, as it is
probable you are not as well educated as if you had fled
from a convent-school to a camp. They are these : —
" ' This night an attempt will be made to rescue you.
Do not stir from your chamber. Wave your veil to show
that this has reached the tower. M.' "
" O, woman, woman ! " cried the indignant Gretchen ;
" and it was for the pm-pose of betraying Magnus, that
you asked for the Ycil of Beatrice."
THE FORTRESS OP ERZEGEBIRGE. 233
** By no means," replied the unshaken Gertraud. " I
only waved the veil to show that his missive had reached
the tower. As to the attempt at rescue, the waving of
the veil had nothing to do with it. That attempt will
be made, though your mistress never wore a veil. When
it is made, Magnus entreats that she may remain in her
chamber. Very well — let her do so. She now knows
the wishes of Magnus, and may comply with them."
" But why, if treachery be not intended, not tell her
at once the purport of the message sent by Magnus ? "
asked Gretchen.
"Because," replied Gertraud, "she is such a poor,
weak, nervous, timid girl, that I doubt if even you,
who know his wishes, will communicate them to her ;
because, I think, that you will deem it to be more pru-
dent to induce her to remain quiet, without telling her
the reason for so doing, until the danger is over, than,
by explaining the cause, add to her apprehensions, and
uselessly excite her fears. These were the reasons for
my silence. I marvel if they will not induce you to be
silent also."
" Circumstances must guide my conduct," said Gretch-
en. " Leave me the missive, in order that if I should
deem it prudent, I may show it to the Lady Beatrice."
" I cannot do that," answered Gertraud, " for I have
to show these lines to Diedrich."
" To Diedrich ! O, heavens ! then we are destroyed.
You mean to betray us to Diedrich," cried Gretchen.
" Betray you ! nonsense ! " answered Gertraud. —
" What confidence have you reposed in me that I am
about to betray ? I told you fairly that I was a spy upon
you ; and the object with Avhich I joined you. I have
now attained that object. I have discovered that Mag-
^0*
234 THE POPE AND THE EMPEEOK,
nus intends to rescue Beatrice tins night. He does right
in making such an attempt. It is the duty of Diedrich
to render that attempt abortive, and it is my duty, as the
spy of Diedrich, to give him such information, as may
enable him to fulfil the task he undertook, when the
care of Beatrice was confided to him. I am but per-
forming my duty. Do you yours, by taking better care
of your mistress, and not leaving her so long untended,
and she in a fainting fit."
** O, this is terrible, most terrible ! " cried Gretchen,
wringing her hands in agony. " The Duke Magnus will
be slain, and we have not the means of warning him of
his danger."
" There is no use in those tears," said Gertraud. *' No
man can die more beseemingly than with a sword in his
hand, and facing an enemy. I have seen Magnus — I
like him, and in communicating this intelligence to
Diedrich, I intend to beg of him, as he loves me, not
to kill Magnus — if he possibly can avoid doing so. Let
that thought console you. It is all I can say to you, or
do for you. And now," said Gertraud, as she quitted
the chamber, " I go with all speed to Diedrich, the
bravest soldier and the best captain in the army of King
Henry."
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE NIGHT ATTACK.
Two persons sat side by side at a table in a richly fur-
nished apartment in the fortress of Erzegebirge. Before
THE NIGHT ATTACK. 235
them were large flasks and golden goblets filled with
wine, which ever and anon were raised to their lips.
One of these was Diedrich ; the other Gertraud. He
seemed to be lost in thought, and Gertraud, absorbed in
the contemplation of his hideous features. Both were
silent, for he had not, as yet, acknowledged her presence
since she had entered the room ; but, by nodding his
head, and pointing to a seat and the Avine cup, which
she was aware — from long habit — were to be construed
into an intimation that it was his pleasure she should sit
beside him, and drink with him.
The silence was, at length, broken by Diedrich, who
having, at one draught, swallowed down a pint of wine,
said, without looking at her :
" Any news ^ "
Gertraud replied to the question, not in words, but
by placing in his hand the missive from Magnus, which
she had intercepted.
Diedrich read it over word for word deliberately —
so deliberately, that he took as long a time in spelling
through each word, as a modern reader would in running
his eye over a page of a book. Having thus read it over
— he held it in his hand — filled out another large gob-
let of wine — tossed it down his throat — then paused
for a few minutes. Again unfolded the piece of parch-
ment — and, having again re-perused it, he tossed it
back in the direction in which Gertraud was sitting, and
gave utterance to the single word —
"Good!"
He then drew forth his dagger, and began drawing
lines with it on the table — marking carefully, by in-
dentations on the knob of the hilt, the spaces between
the different lines — ^he rested his two elbows on the
236 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
table, and placing his head between his hands, and fix-
ing his eyes on those lines, he commenced studying
them with as much attention as if there had been pro-
posed to him, for the first time, the solution of a difficult
problem in Euclid. Had he thought of Gertraud —
had he looked up at her, "svhilst he was thus occupied,
even he could not but be surprised to perceive, with
what reverential admiration her eyes were fixed upon
him.
His thoughts, however, were not for her — they were
all taken up with his calculations ; and, until he had
concluded them, he never again raised his eyes from the
table. At length, his hand stretched out mechanically
to the wine cup, and without looking at it, he placed it
to his lips. It was empty.
" Bad ! " growled Diedrich, at the disappointment ;
and his eye fell angrily on Gertraud.
" I feared to disturb you, by moving," said Gertraud,
" otherwise I should have poured out wine for you."
Diedrich made no answer, but held out the goblet,
and Gertraud filled it with wine. He drank off the wine,
and then looked up at her, as if wishing to know if she
had any thing to say to him.
" May I now speak to you ? " asked Gertraud.
Diedrich nodded his head.
" I suppose that Magnus hopes to take the castle by
surprise, when he says that he will rescue Beatrice to-
night."
Diedrich again nodded.
"You have now been devising the means, whereby
not only his attack will be defeated, but the assailants
destroyed."
Diechich's nod again intimated his absent.
THE NIGHT ATTACK. 237
" Have you taken into your calculation that the ham-
let, which this day's doings rendered hostile to you, will
serve as a sure place of retreat to Magnus and his friends
when defeated by you ? "
Diedrich's assenting nod followed those words.
" Very well, then," said Gertraud, " I consider their
defeat now as certain as if I saw them already beaten
back from the walls ; but, in the coming engagement,
there is one favor I have to ask of you, which I hope
you will grant me, especially, as I can show you that it
is for your interest not to refuse it — that doing as I
suggest, will win you the respect and gratitude of the
king."
Diedrich stared in amazement at Gertraud, but said
nothing.
" Magnus comes here as a soldier, to attack you, a
soldier. Betrothed to Beatrice, he wishes to rescue her
from the grasp of the king. He bears no animosity to
you — he merely seeks to take from you that which is
his, but the safe custody of which has been intrusted to
you by another, and which you therefore are bound to
guard. Respect IMagnus, then, as discharging his duty.
If you meet him in combat, try to make him your pris-
oner : do not, I beseech you, unless it be to save your
own life, take his. Spare Magnus "
" Spare Magnus ! " exclaimed Diedrich, in utter as-
tonishment, and departing from his usual taciturnity at
the strange proposition made to him, that he should
show any mercy to a member of a family whom he
knew Henry was anxious to destroy.
"Yes — I repeat it — spare Magnus; for Magnus,
once killed, his corpse is as worthless as that of the
poorest, meanest, and most contemptible wretch slain
238 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
this day by your soldiers ; but Magnus living — a pris-
oner in your hands — is a captive duke, whose person
may be valued at the price of a principality, and whose
liberty cannot be bought but with a countless treasure.
Make him captive — place him a prisoner in the hands
of the king, and you bestow upon your sovereign the
means of exacting submission even from Otho, the un-
cle of Magnus, who is now at the head of the Saxon
rebels."
" Humph ! " grunted Diedrich, as he rose from the
table, and grasped a huge battle-axe in his hand.
"And now," said Gertraud, "tell me what you desire
me to do when the fortress is attacked. Where shall I
station myself ? "
" With the other women," answered Diedrich. " Go
to bed."
And uttering these words, he quitted the room.
" Even in the midst of his cares as a captain," said
Gertraud, looking with wonder and admiration upon
Diedrich, " he can be jocose ! What a wag ! Go to
bed — to listeii to the clashing of sword and shield ! No
— Diedrich — that is an order which you gave to me
as a woman. But I have also to perform my part as a
soldier ; and amongst other things I have to do, is —
to watch that no harm may befall you."
She hastened, as she spoke, in the direction towards
which she had seen Diedrich proceeding.
The missive, that Gertraud had so unfortunately in-
tercepted, told the truth.
No sooner had Magnus ascertained that the place des-
tined for the detention of Beatrice was the fortress of
Erzcgebirge, than he returned to his uncle, the Duke of
Bavaria, for the purpose of procuring an armed force.
THE NIGHT ATTACK. 239
sufficient, by its numbers, to secure tbe conquest of any
fortress, no matter how strongly it might be defended
by nature, or by the bravery of its garrison. The hopes
of Magnus in this respect were doomed to disappoint-
ment ; for the proceedings of the king, in having Otho
declared a traitor, and next in invading his lands, com-
pelled both the uncle and nephew to engage in a defen-
sive war, which was at last crowned with success by the
decisive victory of Henschenwege. The first use that
Otho and Magnus made of that victory, was to send a
detachment, commanded by the latter, to Erzegebirge,
and it was the anxiety of INIagnus to save Beatrice from
any personal danger in the attempt to storm the fortress,
that induced him to warn her, in the manner already
described, of the contemplated attack. From the man-
ner in which his message was responded to, he calcu-
lated that no one was apprised of the dangerous enter-
prise, in which he risked his life, but Beatrice and her
attendant. He had just reason for supposing that such
was the case ; for, although the fortress was watched on
all sides by his spies, as long as there was the light of
day to assist them in their observations, there was no
stir and no movement upon the battlements to indicate
that any additional preparations were making for de-
fence, or that any suspicion was entertained by the com-
mander, Diedrich, that there was a large body of his
foes collected in his immediate neighborhood.
Bernhard, who had proved his skill as a jjowman, in
sending the arrow to the tower on which he had seen
Beatrice, assured Magnus that the scarf, which, a moment
before, was worn by Beatrice, had been waved in return,
not by her, but by a dark-haired woman, and therefore
there could be no doubt but the message had been read.
2-10 THE POPE AND THE ElIPEKOR.
when it was so promptly and punctually responded to.
Magnus, who did not know the appearance of Gretchen,
concluded that "the dark-haired woman" was the at-
tendant upon Beatrice, and therefore had no fears for
the safety of his beloved. It was, then, with feelings of
impatience he saw the hours of the day pass so slowly
away, and as darkness fell upon the earth, he mustered
the men under his command — in all, three thousand
Saxons, who were to act as the assailing party ; whilst
he retained, as a reserve, on the level ground, five hun-
dred horse, who were ordered, in case he was killed, and
the infantry driven back, to come to their rescue ; and
then, having saved them, to make good their retreat to
the hamlet.
Having thus made his arrangements, as a general,
Magnus resolved, for the remainder of the night, to per
form the part of the soldier, and to be, if it were possi
ble, the very first to climb the wall of the garrison, and
to gain possession of so important a stronghold for his
countrymen.
The time fixed by Magnus for the commencement of
the attack, was the hour of midnight. At the same
moment, and in pursuance of his directions, the thi'ee
thousand Saxons commenced climbing up the precipitous
and rocky sides of the steep hill, on which the fortress
was erected. Silently, but slowly, they crept up, step
by step, holding fast to each projecting point by their
right han^s, whilst, in their left, they carried the arms
with which they meant to assail the garrison. Amid
this little army of climbing men there was but one
thought — that they might have the opportunity of at-
tacking, and taking desperate vengeance upon those who
had that day slaughtered their countrynirn. As they
THE NIGHT ATTACK. 241
mounted, they rejoiced to perceive that there was perfect
stilhiess in the place they were on the point of assailing.
All, at length, reached the top of the hill, and stood
fronting the wall of the fortress, from which they were
only separated by a narrow fosse, which surrounded the
castle on all sides.
Magnus here placed them in line, and had given them
directions to make a charge, with the words, " God and
the Saxon land," when there shot suddenly forth, from
all the battlements, javelins, with blazing lights attached
to them, and which, at the same time, struck down sev-
eral men, and served to show to the defenders the num-
bers and precise positions occupied by the assailants.
A few groans had been uttered by the wounded, when
there came pouring down upon the heads of the Saxons
enormous stones, discharged by machines of war, and
flights of spears, whilst the whole wall itself seemed to
open ; the rugged surface being, as it were, split M-ith
innumerable arhallistcria for the cross-bowmen, and
urcheria for the archers ; and then came, darting direct
at the faces, or at the bodies of the Saxons, the ballota,
or leaden bullets, the thick arrows from cross-bows, with
javeHns, and small stones, and thin darts, which left a
deadly wound in every man they touched. No helmet,
no hauberk, and no shield, availed here, for such was
the strength and force with which all things, discharged
by the balearic machines, were sent, that they not merely
wounded, but they crushed down to the earth, a mangled
mass, the person upon whom they fell, or they bore him
and all, to the rearmost rank, from their position, and
sent them tumbling down the precipice behind them,
deprived of life, long before their bodies could reach the
level earth.
oi
242 THE rOPE AND THE EMPEROR
At one moment was seen the sky, lighted up by
burning darts, and then followed, as it were, a shower
of stones, arrows, and other missiles, rattling heavily
against shields, helmets, and cuirasses ; and then shrieks
of agony, and of horror ; and, in a moment afterwards,
the platform was, with one or two exceptions, cleared of
the men who had so recently stood there, full of life and
courage, but who were now swept away, despite of them-
selves, by this outburst of destruction, which they could
no more resist than the weak and fragile dam, erected
to restrain the summer stream, can withstand the rush
of water that the rains of winter have swelled into an
impetuous and overflowing river.
Of all the Saxons, thus whirled down the precipitous
steeps they had but a few moments before ascended, two
alone stood in safety fronting the wall. These were
Magnus and Bernhard.
" Well ! " said Bernhard, " it is plain that your mis-
sive must have fallen into wrong hands."
" Alas ! " exclaimed Magnus, " for my brave Saxons
Do you, Bernhard, escape, if you can — as to me, I will
stay here to be shot down. My men are slain, I will
not outlive them."
Scarcely had he uttered these words when he found
Diedrich, Gertraud, and a hundred men from the garri-
son before him. His words were interrupted by the
loud voice of Diedrich giving the command.
" Down the hill after them. Slay all you overtake.
Show no mercy. Make no prisoners."
" Ah ! " said Magnus, " thank Heaven, I shall not
die unavenged. Come, Bernhard, let us both strike at
once at this merciless villain — do you aim at his heart
— I will stiike at liis head."
THE NIGHT ATTACK. 243
As Magnus spoke these \vords, Dledrich perceived
him and his companion. Diedrich's soldiers, in pursu-
ance of his command, had left him ; and he now stood
alone with the camp-follower, Gertraud, by his side.
" He, with the helmet of burnished gold, is Magnus/'
said Gertraud.
Diedrich had not time to answer her, when the rush
upon him was made by Magnus and Bernhard. He
surmised the intention of both, and, at the same instant,
parried the blow of Magnus with his sword, and re-
ceived the thrust of Bernhard on his shield. The blow
of the latter was replied to by Gertraud, who, striking
Bernhard heavily with her sword on' the helmet, sent
him reeling back a couple of yards from Diedrich.
Diedrich perceived that the blow of Gertraud had
disembarrassed him of a second assailant. Instead,
however, of striking at Magnus, he dropped the point
of his sword to the ground, and said —
" A moment's truce — you are, I believe, Duke
Magnus."
" I am," answered the youth.
" Then yield yourself a prisoner. I promise to spare
your life."
" Never," said Magnus, " shall I be in your power."
With these words Magnus again raised his sword, and
waiting until Diedrich had crossed blade with blade, he
said —
" Now — butcher of King Henry, defend yourself.
I want your life, take mine if you can."
''Boy!" exclaimed Diedrich. "You are my pris-
oner ; " and, as he pronounced the word " boy," he ran
his sword, with the rapidity of lightning, and with such
tremendous force, down upon the hilt of JNIagnus's
244 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
sword, that it crushed the muscles of his opponent's
hand, and sent the sword itself from his grasp with a
shivering thrill of agony, so that Magnus felt the iron
gripe of Diedrich was upon his left hand, and in an in-
stant afterwards, that his arms were tied behind him.
" You are now my prisoner," said Diedrich. " I spare
your life, because I believe the king wishes me to do so.
Say that you yield, and I will at once unbind you ; for I
do not desire to dishonor one of your rank with these
gyves."
*' I yield," said Magnus. " I cannot avoid doing so ;
and though I would prefer death to captivity, still I sub-
mit with patience to that hard trial which God has or-
dained I should submit to."
" Good ! " said Diedrich, at once unbinding his pris-
oner, and looking round to see what had become of
Gertraud and her opponent.
Meanwhile, Gertraud having by a single blow driven
back Bernhard, she, for the purpose of leaving Diedrich
free to carry on his conflict with Magnus, followed Bern-
hard, intending, if she possibly could, to despatch him.
With this object she again rushed upon him, and aimed
a second blow at his head — it was met by the shield of
Bernhard, who, at the same instant, came with his own
sword upon the helmet of Gertraud with sxich force, that
the blow felled her to the earth, and her helmet tum-
bling off, her dark, curling hair fell in clusters over her
now pale face, as she lay stretched upon the earth, and
arrested the attention of Bernhard at the very moment
that he had raised his sword for the purpose of striking
a deadly bloAv.
" Good heavens !" he exclaimed — " this is a woman !
Poor creature ! I suppose she is attached to this monster
THE NIGHT ATTACK. 245
Diedricli. I respect her fidelity, as I would that of the
do2^ that fisfhts for its master."
And with this compliment to the female warrior, the
honest Bernhard sheathed his sword, stooped down, and
began chafing the hands and forehead of Gertraud, in
the hope of restoring animation.
Gertraud opened her eyes whilst Bernhard was thus
employed. His attitude and his look showed to her the
compassionate feelings that animated him, and she, on
the instant, resolved, if she could, to save his life who
had spared hers.
" You are," she said, " an honest, true-hearted, brave
fellow. Here, take this helmet of mine — it is the same
as that worn by our soldiers, and may serve to save you
from their swords ; for they are now as a hundred to one
against you. Down," she continued, " down by this
by-path. If you are challenged — the pass-word,
* Gertraud j' will procure you a free passage. The life
of Magnus is safe as long as he is the prisoner of Die-
drich. Hasten you to the camp of Otho, and tell him
what has befallen your leader and companions. Hasten
— hasten away. If Diedrich sees you living I cannot
save you from his rage."
As she said these words, she removed the helmet of
Bernhard, and replaced it with her own. Bernhard
looked around. He saw Magnus, with his arms tied
behind him, and Diedrich, with a drawn sword, standing
before his captive. This sight at once convinced him
that the only course for him to pursue was that suggest-
ed by Gertraud.
" Farewell," he said, as he disajjpeared down the
precipitous path pointed out to him. "Farewell — I
trust we may meet again soon."
21*
246 THE POPE AND THE EMPEPvOR.
" Then if we do," answered Gertraud, '' I trust it
may be in the field of battle, where I may return to you
the heavy blow which makes my head still ring with
pain."
" Be it so," said Bernhard ; " so that we do meet.
But be you what you may, I shall ever feel that you
have done your utmost to save my life ; and my sword
shall never again be lifted against you. Farewell."
" Farewell ! " cried Gertraud ; and, as she spoke the
word, her eyes filled with tears — the first tears that had
bedewed them for many a year.
Gertraud's broad, brown hand was raised to her face.
She dashed away, with a feeling akin to indignation,
those symptoms of womanly weakness, and murmured,
with a softened voice : —
" Tears ! — I have never shed tears since I was at
school in the convent — since I was a girl — since I was
innocent — since I first hardened my heart against all I
once was taught, and once believed ; and, can it be that
I am now changing ? No, no, no — change ! impossi-
ble ! It is the wicked knock on the head which the
hand of that honest fellow has given me, that makes me
cry. But if I were what I once was, and still ought to
be, what a good husband that strong-handed Saxon
would be ! Alas ! "
" Ho ! Gertraud," exclaimed Diedrich, perceiving,
when he had u.nbound Magnus, that his camp-follower
was alone, " what has become of the Saxon ? "
" He is gone down the precipice after the rest of his
companions," answered Gertraud,
" A^^hat ! is it possible," said Magnus, " that the
sturdy Bernhard could have been slain by a woman ? "
" He knocked off my helmet," answered Gertraud,
THE KING AND DUKE MAGNUS. 247
" you may perceive that I now wear his. I intend to
preserve it as a trophy."
« Do you mean to say that you have actually slain my
follower ? " asked ^Magnus.
" I mean to assert," answered Gertraud, " he might,
but for me, be now living on this platform of rock ;
whether he will reach the bottom of the precipice living
or dead, you may guess."
"O, miserable night!" cried Magnus, "then I am
the dishonored survivor of three thousand valiant Sax-
ons ! "
" Brave Gertraud," said Diedrich.
" Never lament the fortune of war," said Gertraud, as
she approached to ^lagnus, and whispered in his ear —
"Bernhard has escaped — I aided him — be silent."
"As your prisoner," said Magnus to Diedrich, "I
am ready to be conducted to any cell you may appoint."
" Follow," said Diedrich, as he led the way within
the postern of the fortress.
CHAPTER XIX.
THE KING AND DUKE MAGNUS.
The course of policy which Henry had marked out for
himself ♦to pursue, with respect to the Saxons, had been
crowned with complete success. He had calculated that
his demands for tithes to himself, as well as tithes to be
paid to the Archbishop of Mayence, being alike an im-
poverishment of the Saxon church, and a diminution
248 THE POPE AND THE ElMPEROE.
of the means of sustaining religion, its ministers, its
chm'ches, and the Saxon poor, who looked to the monas-
teries for relief and subsistence, would, as a matter of
course, excite discontent in the minds of the prelates,
priests, monks, and people of Saxony. He insisted
upon having tithes upon every thing to be found in the
field, the farm-yard, the pasture-ground, the garden, and
the orchard ; and, as in Saxony there were to be seen
whole districts, or tithings, consisting of none but free
peasants, of those who Avere unprotected by any vassal-
age to lay-lords, or to churchmen, the exactions of the
king rendered them, in their poverty, more destitute,
whilst they were compelled to feel that they were dis-
honored by a patient submission to such demands. If
they manifested the slightest unwillingness to comply
with the requisitions of the king's officers, they were
instantly visited by detachments from the various for-
tresses Henry had erected in Saxony : the young men
were dragged away as if they were slaves, and com-
pelled to work in strengthening the walls of the for-
tresses — the houses were burned down, the cattle were
carried off, and the female peasantry were subjected to
outrages worse than death itself.
Henry had calculated that the Saxons would be thus
forced into open insurrection against his supreme author-
ity ; and he had also calculated tluit the sympathies of
the Saxon nobility and prelacy, as well as their intex-ests,
would be arrayed against him. In both calculations,
events proved that he was correct. Not content with
oppressing them by his acts, he also sought to provoke
them by his words, declaring them to be " a nation of
slaves, and only fitted to be treated as slaves," and, " that
when Saxons did not learn to conduct themselves like
THE KING AND DUKE MAGNU^. 249
their ancestors, who were slaves, the suitable, and the
sole treatment for them was to punish them as traitors."
That, then, which Henry desired, he had now ob-
tained. He had resolved upon reducing the whole of
the Saxon people to a state of serfdom, or of extirpating
them as a race ; and he now saw within his grasp the
military means of effecting either object. Never — no
— not even in the time of Charlemagne, had there been
mustered together such an army as now acknowledged
him as their superior lord.
" I pray your Majesty's pardon," said Lieman, " but
here comes, I fear, that which you most dread to see, an
embassy from the Saxons."
*' What mean you ? " exclaimed Henry ; "that small
detachment of soldiers at a distance ? "
*' The same," replied Lieman.
<'No — no," replied Henry. "These are not Sax-
ons. They are some of my own Frankish warriors. I
can recognize them even at this distance, by their freshly-
painted shields, which, in accordance with my commands,
have been emblazoned with incidents emblematic of the
former victories won by Franks from the Saxons. Of a
verity, I cannot be mistaken in that, no more than in the
figure of their commander. It is my true and trusty
Diedrich. I marvel what can have brought him here.
Erzegebirge must be safe, or he would not be alive."
" He has a prisoner in his charge," said Lieman. " It
must be some one of high rank ; for, though deprived
of his sword, the young man rides unbound by the side
of Diedrich."
" I am impatient to speak with him," remarked Henry,
" for the honest Diedrich is sure to tell mc a fact in
every word he utters."
250 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE.
A few minutes afterwards, Dledrich was seen dis-
mounting, with his noble prisoner, in front of Henry,
and both knelt in presence of the king, whilst Diedrich
said : —
*' Duke Magnus, taken prisoner by me in an attack on
Erzegebirge."
" Rise, Diedrich — and you also, Duke Magnus," ob-
served Henry. " Accept, Diedrich, of this golden-hilted
and diamond-gemmed sword. It is the price I pay you
for sparing the life of one, on whom I place such value
now — that he is my prisoner!" There was a malig-
nant smile on the face of Heniy as he uttered these words,
and then continued — "I suppose my noble prisoner,
although young in years, and little practised in the aftairs
of this life, is aware of all the penalties that attach to
the crime of treason. I imagine, that when he determined
upon drawing his sword against his sovereign, he was
prepared not merely to encounter death — the worst that
can befill the valiant warrior — but that he was liable to
encounter dishonor — the deep dishonor that is alone
reserved for traitors. I presume that he has heard that
princes, that dukes, that nobles have, before now, been con-
demned by their justly-offended sovereigns to walk from
the church doors where the last rites were bestowed upon
them, to the place of execution — the borders of the
district in which they have been condemned — that they
have been doomed to do this barefooted, as if they Avere
beggars, and, at the same time, to carry a dog in their
arms, thereby to intimate to the Avorld, that they were,
when living, only fit to associate with dogs, and dying,
to be hung as dogs, and when dead, to have their car-
casses rotting with dogs. I presume the brave, young,
prudent Duke Magnus calculated that such might be his
THE KING AND DUKE MAGNUS. 251
fate. If he should ever stand a prisoner before his rlght-
fid sovereign."
The face of INIagnus flushed with indignation when he
heard himself threatened with that punishment — " car-
rying a dog " — the most infamous that at that period
could be imposed upon a man of noble birth.
"I calculated," replied Magnus, "if I should ever
stand in your presence as a prisoner, that I should find
in you neither the dignity of a monarch, the generosity
of a knight, nor the compassion of a man. So well as-
sured was I that there was not in your heart one particle
of that tenderness or sympathy which a truly brave man.
feels for the misfortunes of another, that death — death
in its most dire form — would have been far more wel-
come to me than the agony of this moment, in which I
find myself a prisoner — helpless, swordless, shieldless,
companionless, in the midst of an enemy's encampment,
and yet taunted by its commander and its king, because
the chances of war have made me his captive. O, it is
base — very base — so base, that I tell you, Henry, I
would not for all your titles, your mighty dominions,
and your boundless power, exchange positions with you
at this moment. Better, I tell you, to be Duke Mag-
nus, whose honor is free from stain, and whose reputa-
tion is unimpeached, than Henry of Germany, whose
name is seldom pronounced but with curses, and who is
such a braggart, that he triumphs in the captivity of an
inexperienced youth, as if with his own sword he had
dispersed an army of his enemies. Yes — I am your
prisoner ; but remember this, that not the wealth of the
Byzantine Emperor would induce me to exchange con-
ditions with you, even for an hour. Better — a thousand
times better — to be as I am now — thus forlorn, thus
252 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
reproached by you — Magnus the prisoner, than Henry
the King."
" Boy ! prater ! traitor ! " said Henry, scornfully riding
up to his prisoner, breasting him with his strong "war-
horse, and, as he did so, half unsheathing his dagger.
Magnus stood firmly in the position in which he had
first been placed, and when he observed the king grasp-
ing his dagger, he threw back his own arms, and clinch-
ing his hands firmly behind him, he left his breast fully
exposed to Henry. Thus he stood, as if defying the
king, and not condescending to defend himself, whilst
he again addressed Henry : —
" Boy ! prater ! traitor ! So you have called me. King
Henry. Boy, I may be, though Diedrich can tell you I
have conducted myself in no unbeseeming manner as a
soldier ; boy, I have been, but my boyhood has not been
like yours ,• for it has been unstained by dishonor, and
it has not been tarnished by a single tear from a moth-
er's eye. Prater I am, for the tongue is the only weapon
which the captive prisoner is free to use against an un-
generous, a cruel, and unkuightly captor. Traitor, I
never have been, for the subject never can be a traitor
when the king becomes a tyrant ; in such a case the trai-
tor is the sovereign who forswears himself, and who uses
the powers that the nation has confided to him for the
protection of the weak, and the safeguard of justice, to
oppress the defenceless, to violate the sanctuary of home,
to despoil the church, and to rob the poor. He who
does these things is a traitor, the worst of traitors, for
he is alike a traitor to his C od, and to the people. Such
a traitor, even whilst youi- dagger is at my throat, I say
you are, King Henry. Slay me for telling you so, the
slaughter of an unarmed prisoner by your own hand can
THE KING AND DUKE MAGNUS. 253
be but a slight addition to the inflimy that ah-eady at-
taches to your name."
The bold defiance thus given to Henry by Magnus —
the utter recklessness of life so exhibited by the youth-
ful hero, produced an effect the very contrary of that
which Magnus had calculated upon, Henry perceived
that he would but gratify the wishes of Magnus in slay-
ing him with his own hand ; that INIagnus would will-
ingly, with his own death, procure for him dishonor —
the great dishonor of being himself the assassin of a
prisoner taken in battle. For this dishonor Henry would
have cared but little, if he had inflicted death on one
who feared it ; but it was otherwise when he saw that
death was courted by one he detestoil; to inflict it under
such circumstances would be to do that which his oppo-
nent desired, and he was resolved to imbitter the suffer-
ings of all who thwarted his Avishes, or opposed his de-
signs. Instead then of striking his dagger into the
defenceless breast of Magnus, he sheathed it ; and back-
ing his horse a few paces from his noble prisoner, but
still fronting him, he addressed him : —
" Had you feared death, Magnus, you would now lie
before me a bleeding corpse. I admire your bravery,
even though it be exhibited in a bad cause. I will not
take your life. Thus it is that, as a soldier, I show re-
spect to your courage as a soldier. I am not that tyrant
which you have been taught to suppose -, and which you
never could have fancied me to be if your mind had not
been perverted by Duke Otho. As one brave man should
esteem another, I feel for you, and I pity you. As your
sovereign, and considering your exalted rank, I cannot,
however, wholly pardon you for taking uj) arms, and
seeking the destruction of the paid soldiers of your
254 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
superior lord. I might punish you as a traitor ; but I will
not do so. I could not only take your life, but degrade
you, in the manner I have already intimated."
" Degradation," said Magnus, " never can be inflicted
by the act of another, if it be not the consequence of
our own vices. I am innocent of all crime, and therefore
I defy you."
"Listen to me patiently," said Henry, "or I shall
fancy that I have been speaking merely to an intemperate
and peijt boy, and not to a brave soldier. I will not de-
grade you ; but I cannot forgive you ; so far am I from
being animated with hostility towards you, that I desire
even to bestow upon you your freedom, if you will be but
reasonable, and to «4et you go forth unquestioned from
this encampment."
** And what are the conditions ? " asked Magnus, im-
petuously. " If they include the abandonment of my
pretensions to the hand of her whose name is too sacred
to be mentioned in so polluted a place as this, I will
never agree to them."
*' Love-sick youth ! " said Henry, looking down with
contempt upon Magnus ; " if you and I, and she, all
stood upon terms of equality with each other, and that
she were free to choose whom she would prefer, I would
willingly contend with you for the prize, and be certain
I should win from you the victory. As it is, however.
I will not condescend to discuss with you a topic, which,
for aught you shall know, may be with me an object
that engrosses my affections — a passing caprice, or a
mere fugitive pastime. I thought not of her, when I
spoke to you of making you free. You sought her once,
and your search has brought you to my feet a prisoner.
Should I make you free, you may again seek her, and.
THE KING AND DUKE MAGNUS. 255
in so doing, find the dagger of Diedricli in your lieart.
Thus much I tell you, that you may know that the con-
ditions I propose have nought to do with any thing that
concerns the amours of your sovereign."
" O, rare and excellent king ! " exclaimed Magnus,
■with bitter indignation. " How happy is Germany in
having such a sovereign ! But speak on — name your
conditions. I feel assured that they are, before you tell
them, concocted in the same generous spirit in which
you have spoken to me."
" They are conditions much more moderate than you
are entitled to," answered Henry. " Remember, you
are now my prisoner — that I can retain you in chains
for your whole life ; and, be assured, that I shall do so,
if you do not agree to my terms."
" Name them," said Magnus, " they must be hard,
indeed, if I do not assent to them — when I bear in
mind, that once agreed to, I may be not only free, but
certain never again to meet you but in the field of battle."
" The conditions," observed Henry, " on which I am
willing to set you free, are two — first, that you here,
and in the presence of all the nobility and prelates of
the empire, renounce the Dukedom of Saxony, which
you hold from your father ; and secondly, that you give
up to me all the lands and treasures which belong to
you as the sole and rightful heir of your deceased
parents."
Magnus looked at the king sternly and silently, and
the gaze of the youth only excited a smile on the face of
the monarch.
"Your Majesty," said Magnus, at length breaking
silence, " names these as the only conditions upon which
you will set me free."
25G THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
*' Upon none other," answered Henry.
Magnus stretched forth his hands, firmly clasped to-
gether, and scornfully said —
" Then place your manacles, without delay, upon the
hands of your prisoner. Better, O, far better, that every
limb should wither beneath the weight of the chains
imposed upon it, than that my reputation, when living,
and my memory, when dead, should bear the brand of
the infamy you would place upon me. Better, the dank
and noisome cell, that will slowly poison me by its pes-
tilential vapors, than the one willing word, uttered by
my own lips, which would declare me the unworthy son
of worthy ancestors — better — O, a thousand times
better, the bitter tears — the sobs of agony, and the
groans of fainting horror which your skilful tortures can
hourly extort from me in my desolate cell, than the single
act which would proclaim that I condescended to abjure,
as a criminal, that rank, and that wealth, that are alike
mine by right of birth. Base, merciless, and avaricious
king, I scorn your offer — I spurn your conditions — I
defy you — and I despise you ! "
Henry reddened with passion when he heard these
words addressed to him by his youthful rival. His first
impulse was to place his hand upon his dagger, but
he instantly restrained himself, and turning to Lieman,
said —
" Lieman, I transfer to your care this young madman.
Take with you thirty of my Worms' guardsmen, and
conduct him to the fortress of Eberhard, with special
directions to confine and treat him as my prisoner. Away !
and return to me with what speed you can."
Magnus listened to these directions, but spoke not.
In a few minutes afterwards, Henry saw him riding out
THE KING AND THE PILGRIM. 257
of tlie encampment under the watchful care of Lieman
and his associates, and whilst the detachment and their
prisoner were still in sight, Henry was heard muttering
these ominous words :
" Insulted by a boy ! scorned by a subject ! defied by
a prisoner ! and not feared even as a rival suitor ! And
he who did these things is in my power, and has passed
a living man from my sight ! Wherefore ? Because
there are punishments worse than death : because for
Magnus there shall be a terrible punishment. With
Saxony defeated : with a pope of my own ^ — yes, Mag-
nus, you shall live to witness my marriage — and, seeing
that, you shall become your own executioner — the agony
of grief and of despair shall drive you to suicide, and
thus you shall pass from hell here to hell hereafter.
You have defied me. Madman ! idiot ! you know not
what awaits you. Could you but surmise it, you would
seek death in the first precipice that lies at your feet."
CHAPTER XX.
THE KING AND THE PILGRIM.
The meditation of Henry was interrupted by the gal-
lant Duke of Lorraine — Godfrey the hump-backed —
who rode up at the head of a body of horsemen, and
thus addressed him :
*' Whilst exploring the environs of your Majesty's
camp I discovered a pilgrim approaching it, and, upon
questioning him, he assures me that he is the bearer of
22*
258 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROK.
a special message to King Henry, from Otho, Duke of
Bavaria. I have brought him with me for the purpose
of ascertaining whether it is your Majesty's desire that
he should be admitted to your presence,"
**A special message from Otho to me/' said Henry.
** I wonder what can be its purport. May not this pil-
grim be a spy, who seeks to learn for his Saxon country-
men what are the numbers under my command, and what
the strength of my position ? "
"He is neither Frank nor Saxon, I know by his tongue,"
replied Godfrey. " We came upon him by surprise,
and when he manifestly had not the slightest idea he was
so close to the royal camp. I have taken care to con-
duct him blindfolded from the place where I arrested
him to this spot. He can therefore bring back with
him no information, either as to your encampment or
your army. Is it your Majesty's will that he should
speak with you? "
" It is," replied Henry. *' Bring him forward."
The pilgrim, with whose conduct and bravery the
reader is already acquainted, was here led forth from the
midst of the soldiers of Godfrey. The cowl that con-
cealed his features was strongly bandaged, and it was
plain, from the unsteady gait with which he walked, that
his eyes were in utter darkness — in fact, that the ban-
dage merely permitte(^ him to breathe.
The bandage was unloosed, and the moment that it
was, the pilgrim, as if dazzled by the sudden rush of
light upon his eye-balls, gazed, apparently, wildly, but
still clearly, distinctly, and steadily on all sides around
him, so that, with his practised vision as a veteran gen-
eral, he comprehended fully the nature and strength of
the hostile force that was arrayed under the orders of tho
THE KING AND THE PILGRIM. 259
king. He then looked at the group of dukes, counts,
and prelates that were on horseback or on foot about
King Henry, and he scanned, with an eager glance, the
features of each, as if he were seeking to recognize the
face of one who was»well known to him. As he com-
pleted his search, he thus communed with himself:
" He is not here, and yet here I fancied I was sure to
find him. But — alas ! for the Saxons, if I cannot re-
turn to them before their proximity to this tremendous
army is discovered. They fancy the king to be a day's
march from them, and yet, a few hours will suffice to
move this force against them. If they are discovered iu
their present position, they are inevitably destroyed."
"Wherefore, Sir Pilgrim," said the Duke Godfrey,
" do you not deliver to the king the message of which
you told me you were the bearer when I arrested you ? "
" This," said the pilgrim, addressing himself to Hen-
ry, " is the message that Duke Otho bids me bring to
your Majesty. The Duke Otho has heard that his
nephew, Magnus, Dukq^of Saxony, has fallen into the
hands of one of your Majesty's officers. He is desirous
of rescuing his relation, the head of his illustrious house,
from thraldom, and therefore he bids me say to you, that
he is ready to exhaust his own treasury, and to alienate
the greater portion of his estates, to procure the ransom
of JNIagnus. All he desires is, that your Majesty may
name some settled sum ; and he authorizes me to say,
that the moment Duke Magnus is made ij"ee it shall be
paid to you."
*' Is this," said Heniy, " all that Duke Otho bade you
say to me ? "
" No — it is not all," replied the pilgrim ; " but, if
this offer be accepted, it is all that is necessary for me to
260 THE POPE AND THE EilPEROR.
say. "What else I have to add is contingent upon your
refusal."
" Then, Sir Pilgrim," said Henry, '' regard that offer
as refused. What else hath Otho to offer me more
precious than the red gold and the rich lands of Ba-
varia ? "
" That," answered the pilgrim, "^ which every man
who hears me will esteem more precious than gold, more
valuable than land — that which comprises the most rare
gifts that the Creator can bestow upon the creature —
virtue, valor, genius, wisdom, and generosity — for all
those qualities are combined in the person of Duke
Otho."
" What mean you ? " asked the king. " Speak plain-
ly, for I do not like to be talked to in riddles."
" This, then, is the message of Duke Otho to your
Majesty," said the pilgrim. " He bids me, in case that
your INIajesty should refuse any money-ransom for your
noble and youthful prisoner, to remind you that the com-
mon ancestors of himself and^f Magnus willingly shed
their blood in the wars of your royal predecessors — that
their lives were sacrificed in founding that old German
empire of which your Majesty is now the head — that he
himself, as well as the father of Magnus, were amongst
the tried and most trusted friends of the late emperor.
He bids you to bear those circumstances in mind, when
he tenders to you, as I now in his name do make that
tender, to yield himself a prisoner to your Majesty in ex-
change for Duke Magnus, and that, provided you' give
to Magnus his liberty, he will submit himself to your
Majesty's pleasure, to be held by you in chains and cap-
tivity as long as you desire so to retain him, even though
it should be for his whole life ; and that you should
THE KING AND THE PILGRIM. 261
even dispose of all his personal property in whatsoever
manner you please — all this he is willing to do, that he
may save his youthful relation from the wasting agony
of a prolonged imprisonment. This is the message of
Duke Otho. Does your Majesty deign to send a reply
to it ? "
" Brave Otho ! truly magnanimous duke," exclaimed
Godfrey. " These are the words of a hero. They are
more fitting in the lips of an ancient Roman than of a
barbarous Saxon."
The exclamation of the gallant Godfrey was not un-
heard by Henry, and seemed to foment the rage that
was gathering in his heart, and to give additional fire to
the passions that now possessed him.
" Audacious and insolent traitor ! " exclaimed Henry.
^' Otho — the slave, whom you, sirrah, presume to call
Duke of Bavaria, is now a duke no longer. Placed
under the ban of the empire — houseless, homeless,
landless — the associate of robbers, of vagabonds, and of
murderers — he who lives by rapine, and whose only
chance of safety is in flying as a fugitive from before my
soldiers — he, on whose head I have placed a price, and
who, if arrested, shall die the death of a slave — he pre-
sumes to send a message to me, tendering himself as a
prisoner, and thus seeking to extort my mercy — mercy
that shall not be shown to him, once he becomes my cap-
tive — he, who by his cowardice in shrinking from single
combat admits that he plotted against my life, and who
is in a worse condition than the meanest beggar, tenders
gold that he has not, and lands of which he has been
deprived, as a ransom for his nephew ! Audacious and
beggarly boaster, my only answer to his insolent message
is this — that he shall be doomed to bear not even a dog,
262 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE.
but an ass's saddle to the place of his execution ; that
his death shall be that which the Hessians inflict on their
criminals, he shall be staked alive ; and when dead, the
flesh that covers his traitorous breast shall be given to
feed my hawks. This is my answer — the only answer
worthy of a king to send to an assassin in intention, and
a traitor in fact."
So ungracious and so cruel a reply as this to the gen-
erous offer of Otho, filled the minds of most of the gal-
lant men who heard it with indignation and disgust. A
murmur of discontent filled the ear of Henry, who be-
came pale with passion, as the unwonted sound reached
him. He was em-aged to perceive how vast was the dif-
ference between those who came, from a sense of duty,
in arms to assist him, and that cringing band of parasiteb
and courtiers in whose society most of his time had hith
erto been wasted. He felt that he was in an embarrass
iug position, and knew not how to reconcile his interest^
in not oflTending the German princes and prelates, and
yet gratifying his hatred, and giving vent to his revenge.
From this embarrassment, an unlooked-for incident
rescued the king.
"News! news! most joyful news!" exclaimed llu-
dolph, Duke of Swabia, riding up to the king. " I have
discovered the Saxon ai'my."
" Alas ! alas ! " groaned the pilgrim ; " then all is
lost."
" The Saxon army ! " said Henry, in surprise. " I
fancied that we must be distant from them at least three
days' march."
" We are not so many hours' march apart from them,"
answered Rudolph. " They are now encamped at Lan-
gensalza, on the banks of the Unstrutt; and so little
THE KING AND THE PILGRIM. 263
idea have they that they are within a few miles of your
Majesty's forces, that even their camp is unguarded.
My sokliers, who have approached close up to their lines
undiscovered, or, if observed, unattended to by them,
report, that they are now solely occupied with feasting,
carousing, and rural sports. There is not a man amongst
them who has got on his armor, but they are all like
ioliday folk in the midst of a peaceful and friendly
country. If we wish to destroy them utterly, every
practised soldier in this camp will tell your Majesty that
this is a moment for making an attack upon them. Give
them not an instant to prepare for battle, and you force
them to fight with such disadvantage, that their defeat
is certain, or, if they have time to retreat in safety to
their camp, their intrenchments can be no protection
to those who have once been seized with a panic fear."
Henry's heart bounded with joy at this unexpected
intelligence. He instantly flung himself from his horse,
and casting himself on his knees, said aloud :
" I thank my God for these joyful tidings ; and I now
say, in the presence of heaven, and of man, that I shall
ever be grateful, as to my best and truest of friends, to
Rudolph, Duke of Swabia, for bringing to me this news.
E-udolph, demand from me what thou wilt, it is thine,
before it is asked for."
" The only favor I have to ask," answered Eudolph,
" is that I may be permitted, on this occasion, to exercise
that which is the peculiar privilege of the Swabian sol-
diery — that privilege which law and custom both have
sanctioned — namely, that in every warlike expedition,
headed by a German king, the Swabians shall lead the
yan ; be the first to encounter the foe ; and the first to
264 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
shed their blood for their sovereign and their country.
This is the favor I now ask of your Majesty. Permit
me, on this instant, to march with my forces. Let the
others, with what speed they may, follow and support
me in my onset, for we have to do with a dauntless race
of men."
"Brave Rudolph, the privilege you seek is conceded
to you," said Henry, embracing the Duke of Swabia.
" The advice you give shall be followed. Holloa ! let
the trumpets sound forth the charge to battle field, and
victory. Now — death to the Saxons — to battle — to
battle — every man who can handle a sword, and who
loves his king."
As Henry spoke these words, and his brilliant eyes
flashed with martial fire, a frown overcast his face, for
he perceived the pilgrim standing by his side.
The pilgrim turned away, and as he did so, said —
" Now, for Erzegebirge — now, if it be possible to
see that which has been so long looked for — prayed for
— and sought for in vain."
The postern of the camp through which the pilgrim
passed, was guarded but by a few sentinels. It appeared
lone and deserted, even though there came to it now and
again the sound of the braying of trumpets — the neigh-
ing of steeds, and the shouts of men, as detachment after
detachment poured out of the encampment from the op-
posite side, and all marching in the one direction towards
the fatal and long famed field of Langensalza.
THE BATTLE OP LANGENSALZA. 265
CHAPTER XXI.
THE BATTLE OF LANGENSALZA.
Never yet did there gather in arms braver men or
more resolute patriots, than those who were collected
near to the waters of the Unstrutt ; and who, confident
in the goodness of their cause, and the purity of their
motives, looked forward with an assured hope of victory,
to the first moment they should come in collision with
their oppressor and their sovereign — the ruthless and
irreligious Henry. The army of the Saxons was com-
posed, for the most part, of valiant rustics — of men
who had been born free — and who perceived that the
eflforts of Henry were directed towards their degrada-
tion and enslavement. These men took up arms with
all the courage, but without any of the discipline, of
practised soldiers, and the nobles who led them forbore,
until they were approaching the forces of their foes, ex-
acting from them that watcfifulness and rigid observance
of military rules, that they would have required from
hired warriors. These leaders supposed that it was
necessary to maintain, at its highest point, the popular
enthusiasm — to conceal, as long as they could, from
their followers, the hardships of war ; because they felt
assured that those very men, who would have revolted,
or might have become disgusted, by the strict enforce-
ment of that despotism which is characteristic of a camp,
would, in sight of the enemy, display the same daring,
dauntless courage, which has ever been an inherent
quality in the Saxon race. The misfortune of those
leaders was, that they had not taken sufficient care to
learn the precise distance that divided them from the
23
266 THE POPE AND THE EMPEFvOR.
army under the command of Henry. At the very mo-
ment that they fancied it would be difficult for a band
of cavahy, even in a long day's march, to reach their
lines, and, therefore, an impossibility for a whole army,
that had to convey with it baggage, wagons, and all the
heavy equipage of a camp, to approach them by many
miles — the entire of the troops of Henry, cavalry as
well as infantry, were on the point of assaulting their
intrenchments. The consequences of the ignorance of
the Saxon leaders on this point, and of their misinfor-
mation, we have now to narrate.
The hour of midday was near, and the Saxons, nobles
as well as common folk, had partaken of dinner, and
were now enjoying themselves in various ways. The
song, the merry joke, and loud laughter, were heard on
every side, whilst many still sat at the banqueting table,
where the wine-cup circled around. Such was the man-
ner in which the leaders of the Saxon army were occu-
pied. All Avere congregated together in the wide tent
of Duke Otho, and there, with the folds of the tent cast
wide open, so as to admit as much as possible of the
fresh air, might be seen the quondam Duke of Bavaria,
the Count Dedi, his son, the Bishop of Halberstadt,
and the other insurgent nobles and prelates, whose
names have been already specified. Before them Avere
goblets of gold, and all the luxurious decorations of the
table, which are so frequently seen in palaces, and so
seldom transferred to the tented field. They looked
like men who had assembled to enjoy themselves after
the pleasures of the chase, and not like warriors, who
were mustered together to encounter the perils of war.
So little thought had they of battle, that few of them
wore any species of defensive armor. The attention of
THE BATTLE OP LAXGENSALZA. 267
all — nobles, priests, and •warriors — was fixed upon a
minstrel, who recited to them, in a rude chant, the
achievements of the great Saxon hero, Wittikind, when,
with a few followers, he utterly routed the Frankish
soldiers in the valley of Suntal, on the banks of the
Weser. Pieces of gold were cast to the minstrel, and
the plaudits of a delighted auditory were heard around,
when suddenly arose, at the outermost verge of the vast,
expansive, and arid fields, that lay stretched in front of
the encampment, dark, globular clouds, that seemed to
roll slowly onward along the ground towards the spec-
tators, and to increase momentarily in size as they
approached. Darker and denser grew these clouds —
they swelled in size — then seemed to meet together —
then to form one compact revolving mass, that, as it
whirled along, sent up a lurid mist into the air, which
obscured the vision, as if a heavy canopy of vapor hung
above the progressing and sable tide that came swelling
over the wide and even-surfaced plain.
Amazement and affright seized upon the Saxons, as
they gazed at this marvellous spectacle.
" What awful prodigy is this ? " exclaimed Otho.
'•' "What mighty work of God is this we are looking
upon ? "
" No work of God," replied the elder Dedi ; " but
the evil deed of man. Those clouds of dust arise from
the trampling feet of the horses and men of a large army
advancing to attack us. We have neglected our duties as
generals, and God is pleased to punish us for that neg-
lect. See ! for, weakened even as my eyes are by age,
I can discern the gilt helmets and golden-decorated
hauberks of the Swabians, as they charge onward to the
assault. I can remark even their standards, as thev are
268 THE POPE AXD THE EMPEROE.
borne erect in the midst of their lines. To arms —
Otho — bid all the Saxons to arms ! "
"Ah, woe!" cried Otho, "it is as you say, Dedi.
Look, the enemy now cover all the line of the wide plain
before us — they come upon us like a swarm of locusts,
and seemingly numberless as the sands of the desert on
which they stand. To arms, Saxons ! to arms ! the
enemy is upon us ! Alas ! Dedi, I am much to blame
for this ; I ought to have surmised that which I never
could have suspected, when I sent the pilgrim on my
mission, that the king might, by hurried marches, have
taken us by surprise, as he now has done. To arms,
Saxons ! to arms ! Let every brave man seize the first
weapon that presents itself, and if he cannot find his own
commander, let him, at least, wherever he stands, find
by his sword the heart of a foeman. To arms — to
arms — all brave Saxons ! fight for God and our Saxon
land. To arms ! "
" To arms ! to arms ! to arms ! " were words shouted
forth by the mouths of forty thousand men — and that in
tones as different as the passions and the feelings of the
several speakers — for in the selfsame words were ex-
pressed surprise, horror, disgust, reproach, indignation
that the king, with his entire army, should have been
permitted to take them thus by surprise, and to force
them at such a disadvantage into battle. Amid, how-
ever, all those conflicting passions, there was, in that
Saxon host, but one sentiment pervading the breast of each
individual — it was that of encountering the enemy ; and,
if it were not possible to subdue him, at least to leave
him a tearful and a blood-stained victory.
Few of the Saxons had on them a ringed hauberk,
still fewer the heavy haubergcon ; many were without
THE BATTLE OP LANGENSALZA. 2G9
even the leathern corlum ; and numbers, who had, on
account of the heat, divested themselves of their jerkins,
did not tarry to resume them ; but, half naked as they
were, and having only their helmet, sword, spear, and
shield, rushed, pell-mell, on horseback and on foot, iu
one disordered mass, out of the camp, to encounter the
rapidly advancing Swabians. " To arms ! To arms ! "
was the common cry of all, as each snatched up a weapon
of offence, and speeded^ quickly as he could, to that spot
where he believed must occur the first shock between
the conflicting armies. No lines were disposed, no
order of battle arranged, no distribution of men under
their accustomed leaders determined upon ; but, as each
man rode or ran, he joined that mass of his countrymen
which was heaped together to receive the Swabian cav-
alry. The Saxons were, that day, a mob of fighting
men, to encounter an army organized for attacking them ;
for the sudden advance of the king had deprived them
of all the advantage they might otherwise have obtained
from the military skill and experience of their com-
manders.
Each moment increased the resisting force of the
Saxons, as they individually hastened to their associates,
and each moment brought the Swabian horse sweeping
down in one long line upon them. Amongst the fore-
most line of the Saxons on horseback were the practised
general. Count Dedi, and the ardent warrior, his son.
By order of the count, the horsemen had disentangled
themselves from the Saxon infantry, and had grouped
together in one thick, globular body, and thus awaited
the charge of the Swabians. Thus stood the Saxon
cavalry, in a compact mass, upon a spot afterwards
known as Hohenburg, and when they saw the Swabians
23*
270 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
within a hundred yards of them, they, as if by one im-
pulse, set their spears in their hands, dashed forward to
meet the foe, and then came with such a crash upon
their opponents, that, with the mere weight of men and
horses, they broke tip the force of their adversaries —
hewing them down with heavy swords, as they whirled
and turned amongst them. With this single charge the
Swabians must have been routed, if, at the moment that
they were on the point of disbanding, the Duke of
Guelph, with the heavy armed Bavarians, had not come
to their relief.
The soldiers of Guelph were practised warriors.
There were amongst them men who were accomplished
bowmen ; others conspicuous for the fatal dexterity with
which they flung the lance ; and all were defended by
helmets, coats of ringed mail, and long shields. These
men first thinned the cavalry of Dedi by a shower of
arrows and lances, and thus compelled, by their murder-
ous discharge, Dedi's horsemen to attack them, and
wherever that attack was made the squadrons of the
Bavarians opened, to show thousands of soldiers drawn
up, line after line, with shortened spears firmly planted
in the earth, to receive their assailants. Despite of the
orders of the count, his son, Dedi the younger, and the
great body of the Saxon horsemen, rushed down upon
these iron lines, and as they did so hundreds were trans-
pierced with mortal wounds. Here it was that Dedi
the younger slew, with his sword, Ernest, the Mar-
quess of the Bavarians, a man illustrious for the many
victories he had won over the Bohemians. It was the
sole solace left to the young man for the disasters of that
day ; for, as Ei'nest fell, he found a hundred spears pre-
sented at his own heart, and it was solely owing to his
THE BATTLE OP LANGENSALZA. 271
skill and courage that he was able to escape back in
safety to the ranks of his countrymen.
A shout of joy was raised in the ranks, both of Swa-
bians and Bavarians, as the retreat of the Dedis demon-
strated the utter annihilation of the Saxon horsemen.
Their exultation M'as destined to be but of brief dura-
tion ; for they beheld the Duke Otho, followed by a
chosen body-guard, leading on the multitude of Saxons,
and rushing with them into the thickest of their lines,
and slausrhterinsr his foes wherever he came.
The battle now became general. Lances and spears
had been discharged on both sides, and the carnage was
carried on with the sword. Groans, shouts, and execra-
tions filled the air, as Bavarians and Swabians beheld
the marvellous skill of the Saxon soldiers in wielding,
not merely one, but two swords at the same time, and
each man, as he fought, inflicting double wounds upon
his opponents. In that carnage, even Rudolph, the
Duke of the Swabians, escaped with difliculty. A hun-
dred times did his impenetrable armor receive the thrust
or cut of a Saxon sword, and though no deadly wound
was inflicted, yet was the strength with which the blow
was given proved by the grievous bruises which ren-
dered him moveless for many days afterwards.
Charge after charge was made by the royal horsemen
upon the Saxons ; but still they stood their ground un-
flinchingly. The dry earth was rendered clammy Avith
blood, and the dying were sometimes prematurely
smothered in the srore in which thev fell, whilst horses'
hoofs trampled upon the bodies of the prostrate. And
yet the Saxons still fought on. Blow was returned for
blow, and even the dying Saxon was seen, in many
cases, to drag from his body the weapon that had given
him his death wound, and with it to slay his slayer.
272 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE.
Saxons, Swabians, and Bavarians fought with the
desperate bravery of men who might be slain but would
not retreat.
For nine long hours had the battle now raged ; from
twelve o'clock in the day until nine in the evening had
the Saxons withstood the united attack of Swabians and
Bavarians, and during all that period had Otho won for
himself the glory of a dauntless soldier, reviving, wher-
ever he appeared, the spirits of his countrymen, and, by
his words and his example, maintaining their dogged
determination to die or conquer : now bidding them
remember they were fighting for liberty, and then rush-
ing into the thickest ranks of the enemy, and hewing
out, with his sword, a path for himself and his fol-
lowers.
And whilst the battle thus raged King Henry held
aloof. Perchance he delighted in this common destruc-
tion of Saxons, Swabians, and Bavarians. Whatever
was his motive, he Avould not move a man of the thou-
sands under his command, although repeated messages
for succor reached him both from Rudolph and from
Guelph. He stood in the centre of the plain, looking
on at this awful carnage. He stood there, surrounded
with his chosen body-guard of the Worms' knights and
soldiers, all wearing their richly gilt armor, whilst on
each side were drawn up, in compact masses, the Bohe-
mians and the warriors of Lorraine.
At length, however, the signal of attack was given by
Henry; but it was not until he saw the lines of the
Swabians and Bavarians wavering before the forward
charges of the Saxons.
Otho and the other leaders of the Saxons were well
aware that, once the king advanced, their last desperate
THE BATTLE OF LANGENSALZA. 273
and hopeless struggle must be made, and therefore they
prepared to encounter it.
Down then, with a deafening shout, upon the whole
body of the Saxon soldiers, and their now widely extended
line, came the king with his warriors. On the outermost
wings the Saxons were at the same instant compelled to
defend themselves from the combined attack of Heriman,
Count of Glizberg, and of the soldiers of Bamberg:
whilst, moving from divers points towards the one com-
mon centre, came rushing the king, with all his armed
knights, the Duke of the Bohemians, and Godfrey, with
the men of Lorraine.
It was a charge of horsemen — of thousands upon
thousands of horsemen, all fresh — all eager for battle,
and all untired by combat ; and it was a charge made
upon infantry, now wasted and worn down by a fight
that had lasted for nine hours. The shock was irresistible
— in an instant the united line of the Saxons was broken
into a thousand fragments.
With that swift, combined charge, the entire face of
the battle field was changed. The fight had become a
carnage ; and men, who had struggled for so many hours
as warriors, now fled as fugitives — they were dispersed
as the light dust is dispersed on the highway by the single
blast of a strong wind.
There was a pause — a pause but for an instant, on the
entire of the Saxon line. It was on that point where
Henry, consjiicuous amongst the rest, by his gorgeous
armor, came in contact with Otho, and the leaders of the
Saxon army. At that point were gathered together Otho
and the two Dedis, and the faithful Bruin, and all the
horsemen that, up to that period, had escaped uninjured.
They watched the king as he advanced with the two sons
274 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE.
of Eberhard, Count of Ellenburg, and Diedrlch ; and
they determined, if they could, to avenge their country-
men by the destruction of their oppressor.
At the same instant, the Dedis, father and son, dis-
charged their spears at Henry, and he received both upon
his shiekl, whilst the blows were returned by the two
sons of Ellenburg, who lived not a moment afterwards,
as both were struck lifeless from their horses by the swords
of the Dedis. A blow from the sword of Heniy struck
Otho from his horse ; and, as Henry raised his arm to
strike the point into the heart of Otho, he was amazed to
find it wrenched from his grasp by the expert hand of
Bruin, who said :
" Spare Otho for the sake of one who now spares you
your life, and whose life you sought, for I am Bruin "
Poor Bruin never spoke another ^yord ; for, as he was in
the act of restoring his sword to Henry, the heavy weapon
of Diedrich came, with its trenchant blade, down upon
his skull, splitting his head in two, and covering with his
blood the golden greaves of the monarch, at whose feet fell
the lifeless body of the humble, heroic, and generous man.
" The villain Bruin 1 " exclaimed Henry, trampling
with his horse's feet upon the now inanimate corpse. " I
thought to have inflicted upon him a felon's death, and
not to have permitted him to die thus like a soldier. Is
Otho a prisoner ? "
" No," answered Diedrich. " Our men are taking no
prisoners."
" Let none be taken," said Henry. " Is Otho dead ? "
" No," replied Diedrich. " He has been carried away
by the fugitives."
Henry looked around him, and, as fir as his eyes could
reach, he saw the wide plain covered with fugitives, and
his own soldiers hurrying after them.
THE BATTLE OF LANGENSALZA. 275
« Follow ! follow ! " cried Henry. " Slay them to the
last man. Show no mercy. Kill every Saxon you meet
with. Take no prisoners. Slay — slay them all. Let
even my camp-followers join in the pursuit, for I will not
suffer, if I can, one of the Saxon race to escape. Slay —
slay all."
These merciless orders were punctually obeyed, and
to the uttermost fulfilled. For mile after mile were the
flying Saxons followed by the horsemen, led by Henry
himself, and as they were overtaken, whether singly or in
bands, they were put to death ; and here, the bodies were
to be seen of murdered men heaped together ; and there,
in groups of two or three. The cries for mercy were
unheeded ; or they were derided, whilst the pursuers
still continued untired in their sanguinary task. Not a
man of the whole Saxon army could have escaped anni-
hilation, if darkness, conjoined with the heavy clouds of
dust raised by the fresh breezes of evening, had not so
bewildered the military butchers of Henry, that they could
no longer distinguish those of whom they were in pursuit.
In some cases, it happened that one portion of Hemy's
forces, supposing another division of the king's army to
be the flying Saxons, slew their associates in mistake for
those whom both were anxious to destroy.
The great body of the Saxons, who still held together
in their hm-ried flight, reached the banks of the Unstrutt,
and thither did they find themselves followed by some
thousands of Henry's soldiers. For a moment they de-
liberated whether they should seek for mercy, or cast
themselves into the waters of the rapid river. They
looked back, and seeing the work of carnage still going
on, they plunged, in a body as they were, into the waters
of the Unstrutt, and, as they did so, spears and flights
276 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
of arrows came pouring down upon tliem ; and in an in-
stant afterwards the clear stream was red with blood, and
the corpses of the dead were rolling away with the gurgling
river. Those who escaped arranged themselves in regular
lines as they reached the bank, resolved, if attacked there,
to exact a desperate revenge for all the massacres that
had been perpetrated upon their countrymen.
The darkness of night had now covered the plain, and
Henry feared to cross the stream to attack those, who, to
his grief, he saw had lived to escape his vengeance. He
returned to the field of battle, and from thence to the
Saxon encampment, where he learned that even the non-
combatant attendants on the Saxon leaders — the rustics
who brought provisions to the camp, and the camp-fol-
lowers — had all been put to death, and that with such
brutal cruelty that men shrunk from dwelling on the
details of the horrible tortures to which they had been
subjected.
The murderers and torturers had been enriched with
an enormous spoil of goblets, in gold and silver, and
garments decorated with precious stones ; and hence it
was that their joy was boundless, and their acclamations
incessant, as they welcomed King Henry, when, as a
conqueror, he marched in, at the head of his troops, to
that encampment which had, the same morning, been
occupied by the enemy.
For mile upon mile had he travelled back to that en-
campment over the bodies of the dead ; and heedlessly
had he trampled upon the lifeless remains of friend or
foeman, well aware that he was to be rewarded, when he
returned, with the title of "a victor." He thought of
himself and the glory he had thus acquired, and of the
power he had thus secured, and not a single compassionate
THE BATTLE OF LAXGENSALZA. 27Y
feeling arose for tlie numbers whose lives had that clay
been sacrificed. For them he cared but little when
livinsf, and now much less for the sorrow of the miser-
able relatives who had survived the victims to his am-
bition.
As the red flaring flames of thousands of torches, grasped
in the hands of his soldiers, cast a light that appeared to
be tinged with blood upon all around them, and seemed,
as they passed along, to bring up out of the darkness in
which the obscurity of night had buried them, the cold,
white, naked corpses of the slaughtered Saxons, King
Henry passed along, his face radiant with joy, and his
heart bounding with exultation ; for that awful carnage
had secured, in his hands, a power upon which he now
could perceive no check, and to which he was determined
to place no limits.
Henry stood in the encampment of the Saxons ; he
even occupied, as if it were his throne, that which had
been the chair of state of Duke Otho. The captured
standards of the Saxons lay at his feet, spattered and dab-
bled with the hearts' blood of their defenders : his horse's
hoofs were red with the gore of rustics ; by his side were
the princes and knights who had borne the brunt of the
day ; Duke Rudolph, of Swabia, crippled with bruises ;
the valiant Guelph, still fresh for another conflict ; the
fierce Borziwog, Duke of Bohemia ; the gallant Godfrey
of Lorraine, who cast an eye of pity on the dead ; and
the remorseless Count of Treves, who looked like a
butcher from a slaughter house ; whilst, in the midst of
an enthusiastic soldiery, whose shouts of exultation rent
the air, were a few bishops and abbots, who, trembling
and sickened at the massacre they^had been unwillingly
forced to witness, appeared like captives of the king, by
24
278 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
whom they were called " subjects," and in such a battle
as had that day been fought — "the auxiliaries."
" This," exclaimed Henry, " has been a great, a glori-
ous, and a complete victory. Of the thousands who this
day stood in array against me, not more than a few hun-
dreds can have passed in safety the swollen waters of the
Unstrutt, and of these few, not even one man should have
reached its bank with life, but for the blinding dust which
obscured our vision, and the darkness of night which
concealed them."
" I do not fancy," observed Eudolph, " that Otho can
have fled from the field ; for whilst the battle raged, he
fought more like a demon than a man, and seemed to seek
for death in the midst of our ranks."
"I struck him down myself," observed Henry, "and
would have slain him with my own hand, but for an inter-
meddling knave, who paid for his temerity with his life.
I do not imagine he could have escaped in the conflict.
Let his body, and that of every Saxon noble that is dis-
covered, be hung upon trees, with dead dogs attached to
their heels. Their deaths in battle shall not preserve
them from the doom of traitors."
" What does your Majesty desire should be done with
the carcasses of the fallen Saxons ? " asked Diedrich.
" Let them rot M'here they have ftillen," replied Henry.
" They will afford a rich feast for the birds of the air and
the beasts of the forest."
" But such numbers of the dead are certain to produce
a pestilence for miles around the battle field," remarked
Duke Godfrey.
" It is what I desire," observed Henry. " That pes-
tilence can but sweep away the widows and orphans of
those traitors. It will never reach one of my faithful
THE BATTLE OF LANGENSALZA. 279
soldiers, for tliey shall march away from this place to-
morrow."
Duke Godfrey did not seek to disguise the feelings of
disgust which this sentiment of the king excited, and,
bowing lowly to him, retired from the Saxon encampment,
with his followers, to his own quarters.
Henry perceived, but was too politic publicly to notice
the displeasure of the Duke of Lorraine. He turned to
Rudolph, and said —
" Let the trumpets sound — I wish to address my
followers."
A loud burst of trumpets woke up the echoes in the
dark and dismal blood-stained field of Langensalza. It
brought speedily, from the work of plunder, all the sol-
diers of Henry who were unwounded ; and, in a few
minutes afterwards, the king, surrounded with a circlet
of nobles and warriors, all bearing torches, was seen
mounted on his war horse ; and when the cheering clamor
of the trumpets had ceased, he thus addressed his trium-
phant army : —
" Soldiers of the empire — warriors, worthy of your
indomitable sires, whose names are identified with victory
in every battle in which they have fought. Heroes who
have won for me, and with me, this glorious conquest,
accept this open and this grateful expression of my thanks.
Steadily, boldly, joyfully have you, with me, encountered
a common danger, and with me subdued a brutal and
ferocious race of men. Of the result I never entertained
a doubt, because I was supported by you — because I
relied upon your loyalty, and was confident in your bra-
very. I cannot imagine any peril too great, nor any
difficulty so arduous, which I could not be certain of
mastering, when you are my allies and associates.
280 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
" You have gained a great victory — so great, tliat
■with it have ceased all the dangers of conflict, and all
the perils of battle. You have no longer soldiers to
fight against ; but you have fugitives to pursue. The
toil of battle is over, and now the embers of civil war
must be trodden down and extinguished. Now you
have to use your rights as conquerors, and to discharge
the oflice of executioner. The spoil of Saxony is yours
— its lands must be laid waste, its farm-houses burned,
its mansions demolished, whilst, as to its inhabitants, be
it your care that flight shall not save, as runaways, those
whom your weapons could not reach as foemen.
" Soldiers of the empire — Saxony is now yours —
let each take what spoil he can, and, what he cannot
carry off with him, destroy — thus I enrich you, and
thus impoverish the Saxons — thus do I reward my
friends, and thus punish my enemies.
" With to-morrow's sun begins the work of spolia-
tion and destruction, for the battle of Langensalza lays
Saxony prostrate and helpless before me. It does so to
my honor and for your profit.
" Warriors of the empire — thus do I prove to you
the gratitude of your sovereign."
Loud cheers burst from the soldiery when Henry con
eluded an address in which he gave to them an unlicensed
privilege of plundering the rich lands of Saxony ; and,
at the same time, told them that they were to indulge
their passions, and to shed, with impunity, the blood of
their fellow-creatures. They were veterans in warfare,
and knew well and thoroughly all the privileges Henry
conferred on them, and they rejoiced, as demons rejoice,
when they are permitted, for a time, to exercise their
malignity upon mankind.
THE RESULTS OF THE BATTLE. 281
It was then, amid the loud huzzas of thousands of
men, that Henry, accompanied by his chief nobility,
rode out of the Saxon encampment ; and he exulted, to
hear those fierce soldiers hail him with the title of " Hen-
ry, the hero," and " Henry, the conqueror."
Henry had, at that moment, reached the topmost pin-
jiacle of his highest fortune. All he had hoped for had
been attained, and all he wished for, seemed, not only
possible at a future time, but practical at that instant,
Henry was supremely happy.
CHAPTER XXII.
THE RESULTS OF THE BATTLE.
Henry was supremely happy, for he believed that all
his warlike opponents lay stark dead on the field of bat-
tle, and that all their clerical adherents, terrified by the
fate that had befallen them, would not venture to con-
tradict any propositions he might now choose to make,
either as to the enslavement of Saxony, or the spoliation
of the lands and revenues belonging to the church. Be-
sides, he conceived that the moment had now come,
when he might, with security, carry out the project he
had long entertained, of uniting with the imperial crown
all the spiritual powers of the pontiff — and that this
might be effected, either by inducing or compelling the
Pope at Rome to abdicate, and then electing one of his
own slavish bishops in his place ; thus, to obtain, amongst
24*
282 THE POPE AND THE ElMPEEOR.
Other things, what he most wished for, a divorce from
Bertha, and his marriage with Beatrice.
The manner in which he should proceed in carrying
out these various projects, was passing through the
thoughts of Henry, as the hearty acclamations of a ju-
bilant and ferocious soldiery rung in his ears.
'' Egen," said Heniy, to his devoted squire, " thia
victory renders it no longer necessary for me to intrust
Erzegebirge to the watchful military skill of Diedrich.
I confide it, and the care of Beatrice, to you. I look to
you, by whom she was first discovered, to watch her for
me. It is a precious charge I confide to you : it is that
of the future empress. Upon the day of our marriage,
ask a gift from me. A countship, and the richest estate
of Duke Otho you choose to select, shall be your reward."
" This is a command of your Majesty's," replied Egen,
" of which I am certain not to be forgetful."
" Let it be a stimulant to your watchfulness, Egen,"
observed Henry, " for my promise is contingent upon
your yielding up Beatrice to me in such health as when
I first saw her. Farewell ! all that I could have ever
hoped for I have now obtained."
As Henry spoke these words, Egen, accompanied with
ten soldiers of Worms, rode off at full speed, in the
same direction which the pilgrim had taken that morn-
ing. The words of Henry, declaratory of the consum-
mation of his hopes, might be said still to linger on his
lips, when there arose, from his own camp, towards
which he was at the moment advancing, a wail of grief,
so vehement in its expression, and so womanish by its
shrillness, that Heniy, despite of himself, felt his heart
quail with terror.
*' Gracious heavens ! " he exclaimed, ** what, at such
THE RESULTS OP THE BATTLE. 283
a time, can be the meaning of those doleful sounds ?
What disastei" can possibly have occurred to justify them ?
Ha ! Werenher," he said, " you here, and with such a
woe-begone visage. Can you explain this to me ? "
" I can," answered Werenher. " May I speak with
your Majesty alone ? "
" My friends," said Henry, " ride on, all of you, at
full speed, to your several quarters. Enjoy, or repose
yourselves, whichever you choose. Werenher and I
shall follow slowly after you, and provide for the care-
ful guard of the encampment during the night. And
now," continued Henry, seeing that his orders had been
instantly obeyed, and that he and his confidant were
alone, " what is the meaning of all this ? Wherefore
do you look so sad ? and why is it that the camp of a
conqueror is changed into an abode of mourners ? "
" It is," answered Werenher, " because the precise
results of this day's battle have been ascertained."
" Well ! " said Henry, " and that should be a cause
of rejoicing, and not of grief. What more could be
desired, than to see an army of forty thousand men, in
the course of a few hours, annihilated ? "
" The destruction of their leaders," answered We-
renher.
•^ And they are assuredly destroyed," said Henry. " I
saw Otho on the ground myself — this sword struck him
down. He, with the others, must be slain."
" Not one of them," replied Werenher.
" Not one of them ! " cried Henry, in amazement.
*' O, you say that which is impossible. How can you
so positively assert that which is incredible ? "
" It is not incredible," said Werenher, " for it is a
fact that has been ascertained beyond the possibility of
a doubt. Our camp-followers have been in all parts of
284 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
tlie field despoiling the bodies of the dead, and they
declare that, amongst the slain Saxons, there has not
been discovered one wearing any armor but that which
is borne by a common soldier. There are thousands
upon thousands of the rustics slaughtered, but not one
bearing the rank of a noble. I offered a large reward
for the discovery of the body of Otho, and twenty gold-
en pieces for the body of every Saxon noble ; and yet
all declare that there is no such thing to be found on the
field of battle."
" I grieve to hear this," answered Henry. " It is an
evil ; but it is not irremediable. I am sure soon to catch
these fu2:itives — these officers who have no soldiers to
command. What you tell me is a misfortune that affects
myself more than any one else. It should not cause
that general lamentation which fills my camp, and that
I hear the more distinctly the nearer I approach to its
trenches."
"Nor has it," remarked Werenher; "your soldiers
are grieving for their comrades and commanders, not
for the escape of the Saxon nobles."
" How ? " asked Henry, again greatly astonished.
" Have we not won a complete victory ? "
"You have," replied Werenher. "Never, I believe,
could a conqueror in battle count so many of his enemies
Blain, in a single day, as your Majesty in that combat
which is now over. It is a complete victory, but it has
been dearly purchased ; for you have annihilated a rab-
ble ; but, in doing so, you have lost the very flower of
your army. You have slaughtered a mob at the cost of
the lives of nine thousand of your best and bravest
soldiers. Your camp, therefore, presents a sad specta-
cle ; for there may now be seen vassals weeping over the
mangled remains of their lords — fathers for their sons — •
THE RESULTS OP THE BATTLE. 285
sons for their fatliers — brothers for brothers — kinsmen
for their relations — their joy is changed into grief —
their exuhation to sorrow — and those who are the vic-
tors seem to be the vanquished. Counting by Hves their
losses, compared with those of the Saxons, are insignifi-
cant ; but, calculating by the worth of those who have
been slain, that on the Saxon side is nought, and ours
is irreparable."
" This is sad news," said Henry, pausing, and musing
for a few minutes. " This is, in sooth, sad news, and
completely unexpected by me. It is not, however, as
you say, irreparable. Those who fight as soldiers must
calculate upon encountering death, whilst their survi-
vors, who bear swords, should think of revenge, and not
the indulgence of a useless grief. I despise those crying
warriors ; but still I shall pretend to sympathize with
them. Werenher, be it your care, at the earliest dawn
of the coming day, to have, at once, interred all the
common soldiers in my army that have been slain. Let
us conceal, if we can, from ourselves, the extent of the
loss this victory has cost us. As to the nobles and
knights who have fallen, assure their friends that, at my
cost, their remains shall, with all the honors and mag-
nificence that become brave men slain in battle, be
conveyed to their family burial grounds ; whilst the
wounded shall receive rich rewards, and be restored in
safety to their respective homes."
" But how," asked Werenher, " is your iNIajesty to
appease the indignation of the army, Avhen it is discov-
ered that they have lost such illustrious commanders as
Ernest of Austria, Count Engelbert, and the two heroic
sons of Count EUenburg ; and this, for the mere purpose
of depriving a multitude of headstrong boors of life ?
286 THE POrE AND THE EMPEEOR.
Be assured, they will feel that m such a war they have
been degraded, and that their valor has been wasted
upon a most worthless object."
" Even whilst you have been speaking to me, We-
renher," answered Henry, " I have devised an expedient
which, if it can be put in operation — and it shall be so
— will have the effect of persuading them that they, as
soldiers, are fighting in the cause of religion, and in
maintenance of the rights of the church."
" Of religion ! the church ! " exclaimed Werenher,
surprised at the words of Henry, " how is that possible? "
" Ay — of religion, and of the church," continued
Henry ; " remember, that the old, griping, avaricious,
cowardly Archbishop of Mayence has been deluded, by
me, into the notion that this war is entirely undertaken
on his behalf, and for the purpose of compelling the re-
cusant Thuringians and Saxons to pay him the tithes he
craves. Be it your duty now to persuade him, for he is
sometimes visited with religious scruples, that the result
of this day's battle proves that heaven has declared in
favor of his claims ; and that, as I have aided him with
the secular arm, it behoves him now to assist me with
the spiritual weapons at his command — that he should,
therefore, at the earliest hour in the morning, advance
with his clergy to the royal tent, and there, in presence
of all my army, pronounce sentence of excommunication
upon the Saxons."
" Excommunication ! " said Werenher ; " why no
such sentence can be canonically pronounced until after
a regular trial and conviction of those thus condemned."
" Upon him then rest the responsibility, if he does
that which he is not authorized to do," observed Henry.
" Do you but persuade him that it is indispensable for
THE RESULTS OP THE BATTLE. 287
the recovery of his tithes, and I am sure he will not re-
fuse. Besides, you can tell him that his excommunica-
tion ■will compel the Saxons to yield, and, whilst it se-
cures to him the riches he seeks for, will also save much
effusion of blood."
" I shall exert myself to the utmost," said Werenher ;
" but in case the archbishop refuse "
" I tell you that he will not do so," answered Henry.
" But if you find him prating about religious scruples,
remind him that he is in a camp, and not in a church — ■
in Langensalza, and not in Mayence — that here he is
bound to obey me, as a king, and if he refuse, to be pun-
ished, and even put to death as a traitor. Be assured that
there is not a particle of the martyr's zeal in the timid
Sigefrid. He will do as he is commanded ; esj)ecially when
he is once convinced that he has a strong pecuniary in-
terest in yielding obedience. With a sentence of ex-
communication pronounced against the Saxons, there is
no man who wields a sword that will not consider it to
be his duty to fight against them. With that expedient
will cease all murmurs amongst my soldiers."
" But it is an expedient that will force the Saxon
nobles to desperation, in the first instance ; and will, in
the next, induce them to appeal to Rome, both against
you and the archbishop," objected Werenher.
" I am not worthy to be a king," said Henry, " if I
cannot discover a pathway through the maze of difficul-
ties you suggest. I shall take care not to drive the Sax-
on nobles to desperation, for, at the very moment that I
am laying waste their lands with fire and sword, I shall
offer to them terms of peace, pardon, and an ultimate
restoration of their property, provided they will yield
themselves as my prisoners. I mean to despatch Duke
288 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
Godfrey on a mission to them to-morrow, with the most
generous offers. He, who believes all men honest as
himself, will readily undertake such an office ; and they,
relying upon his promises, may place themselves in my
power. Let them but do so — I need not tell you how
such promises, made in my name, shall be fulfilled. As
to the opposition from Rome which you apprehend, I
have no fears respecting it. Aided by your cousin
Croft, I have little doubt but that a Pope, not the Pope
of Rome, will soon be my best supporter and my surest
friend. This victory, Werenher, is not as decisive as I
at first imagined ; but it is a great one, and it will be my
own fault if it does not place at my disposal greater power
than any monarch on this earth ever before wielded."
" I have full reliance in your Majesty's wisdom," said
"Werenher, " and a perfect confidence in your complete
success." ,
" I was born to be a king," observed Henry, haugh-
tily ; " and I do not feel myself to be so as long as any
man -lives who thinks he can oppose me with impunity,
or presumes to fancy that he is in any way my equal.
The moment Croft returns from Hildesheim I wish to
see him ; he is the bishop I delight to honor."
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE HIDING-PLACE OF THE SAXONS.
It was night, and something more than a month had
passed away since the battle of Langensalza had been
THE HIDING-PLACE OF THE SAXONS. 289
fought and won by Henry and his princely vassals ;
whilst the rich lands of Saxony were traversed and
wasted by his soldiers, and the only safe place of refuge
for the Saxon nobility and prelacy was the impenetrable
fortress of ]\Iagdeburg.
It was night, and passing along a narrow hill-path that
went shelving over a dark and swampy, bush-covered
valley, might be seen a person who wore the helmet and
hauberk of a soldier, and who seemed to pause, from
time to time, as if uncertain whether to proceed or turn
back.
** Fool that I was — fool that I am," exclaimed the
solitary traveller, '' fool, to have permitted Diedrich to
depart without me from Erzegebirge ; and still a greater
fool, when I found that Egen had replaced him, to set
out alone, in the hope that I might make my way to the
king's camp through a strange country. My good steed
has broken down under me, and now, some accursed
chance has brought me upon a path which it is equally
dangerous to continue, and to retrace. O, for one single
gleam of moonlight to guide me in this horrid night,
and over this frightful pass ! But for this trusty sword
of mine I must long since have tumbled down this pre-
cipice by my side."
The female warrior, Gertraud, had paused for a mo-
ment, thus to speak aloud her thoughts. She resumed
her slow and onward progress, poking with her sword-
point in the earth as she proceeded, and occasionally
gently waving it about her, to see if there were project-
ing rocks or trees which might, by her suddenly coming
in contact with them, throw her off the path to which
she clung with such difficulty.
Gertraud advanced thus doubtiugly along. All was
25
290 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
silent aroiiTid her, and not even the hooting of the owl
was to be heard. The perfect stillness of the night,
combined with the utter darkness, and the peril of the
unknown path she was cautiously treading, produced at
last their benumbing effect upon the stout-hearted wo-
man ; and she felt — it was the first time in her life —
the chill of fear creeping over her.
*' O, for the warm, staring sunshine," she exclaimed,
*' or, even the cold, clear beams of the moon, though it
was but for a moment ! "
These few words had scarcely been uttered, when the
dark, massy clouds, which hitherto had concealed, as if
in a profound abyss of darkness, the broad disk of the
full moon, rolled suddenly away — allowing it to appear
but for a minute — and then closed suddenly together,
as if some Titanic hand had, for a moment, torn violently
asunder their sable folds, and then loosing its grasp,
let them unite again.
There was moonlight — clear, bright moonlight for a
minute — but that minute sufficed to show Gertraud that
she was pursuing a path that seemed to run, as far as
her eye could reach, upon the brink of a narrow and ob-
scure valley, whilst behind, a sudden turn in the hill
concealed from her the point on which she must have
first commenced her ascent. The hill from which she
gazed, she could perceive, was but the base of a range
of steep mountains that rose up, like a high wall, upon
the side of the valley on Mhich she stood, and that val-
ley she saw was, on the other side, closed in by a range
of dark, rocky mountains.
Gertraud stood erect as she made this survey. With
the moonlight all her courage revived, and she seemed,
"when thus seen, to be a soldier, who, engaged upon a
THE HIDING-PLACE OF THE SAXONS. 291
warlike expedition, is examining the ground upon ^yhich
he and his associates might be required to act.
" It is a Saxon — I knoAV him by his hehnet," ex-
claimed a voice, about fifty yards from where Gertraud
stood. " Slav him."
The whistling of a flight of arrows was heard, as the
dark clouds in the heavens overhead flew together, and
at the same instant were uttered the words — " O,
God!" and then — the path on which Gertraud stood
showed no further trace of her !
There was an unbroken stillness for several minutes,
and then four men crept stealthily along the path, feel-
ing with their sword-points whilst they advanced, as if
seeking for something lying upon the earth.
'' The Saxon stood witliin fifty yards of us ; he must
have fallen Acre," said one of the men, occupying the
very spot on which Gertraud had been but a short time
previously. " O," he continued, placing his naked hand
on the earth, " the Saxon has been shot — the earth is
moist with blood — he must have tumbled into the val-
ley beneath. He is worth seeking for by daylight, if
for nought more than his golden-burnished hauberk.
One clad so richly, must have golden coin in his belt.
We must bring our dogs with us in the morning. They
are well trained in the search for hidden treasures."
" "We must bring onore than our dogs with us," ob-
served his companion. " The Saxon we have slain, you
may rest assured, was not alone. Let us be careful then,
in seeking for his gold, we do not meet with death from
his companions."
" What you say, Einhart, is prudent," remarked the
first speaker. " Do you then repair to the tent of Duke
Borziwog — report to him what has occurred, and what
292 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR. .
you apprehend. "Where there is a chance of phinder,
or of a battle, Borziwog is too true a Bohemian not to
be on the alert ; we, meanwhile, shall return to our post,
far happier than when we were first stationed there,
since we have had the good fortune to slay a Saxon,
sword in hand."
With these words, the four Bohemians slunk back to
the cave in the hill side, from which they had discharged
their arrows at the unsuspecting Gertraud. ^
Of the four arrows discharged at the same moment at
Gertraud, one had flown wide of the mark ; the second
had struck her helmet, and rebounded from it ; the
third had gashed her neck, and covered her and the
place on which she stood with her blood ; and the fourth
had plunged into her body with such fearful force, as to
carry her at once from the pathway down the precipitous
bank, and to extort from her, by the agony it cost, an
exclamation, which habit, and not a sense of religion,
induced her to utter.
Hour after hour passed away, of which every moment
was an intense torture to the suffering, mangled, and
bruised body of Gertraud. Thus she lay in complete
darkness — one quivering mass, rather of sensation than
of thought ; and then, as the morning sun arose, human
nature gave way — the strong woman fainted — and she
lay as one that was already dead, in a clammy pool
fbrmed of her own blood.
When Gertraud recovered her consciousness, she found
that she lay upon a soft bed, composed of dry herbage ,
and that this bed was placed in a sort of tent — if tent
it could be called — which seemed to be made of an
awning of cloth, which, fastened from tree to tree, seemed
merely designed to shade those who sat beneath from the
THE HIDING-PLACE OP THE SAXONS. 293
rays of the sim, whilst, open upon all sides, it permitted
the eye to reach to the most distant parts of the valley.
Gertraud gazed around, and saw some hundreds of per-
sons variously occupied ; some, sitting on the grass, con-
versing together ; others preparing their food ; some
carrying with them provisions — the results, plainly, of
the chase, in Avhich they had been engaged — others
shaping out arrows ; some furbushing their swords ;
whilst soldiers, hunters, women, and even children, were
mingled together ; and all were silent, and all looked
sorrowful.
" Is this a dream ? " said Gertraud, sighing with pain
as she spoke. " I have never seen aught like this be-
fore."
" It is no dream, my child," said an old woman, plac-
ing a goblet, filled with cold water, to the parched lips
of Gertraud. "It is a sad reality. Those that you
now look upon are Saxons. They have fled to this wil-
derness, in the hope they may escape the persecution of
the merciless myrmidons of our cruel King Henry ;
and, above all, they have fled from the murderous
swords, the brutal passions, and the insatiable cupidity
of the ruthless Borziwog and his Bohemians. Alas !
there is scarcely a man, or woman, or child, that you
now behold, that has not to deplore the death, by vio-
lence, within the last month, of some near and dear re-
lation. There is scarcely one of them but has lost- a
wife, a sister, a daughter, a father, a brother, or a son ;
for there is no respect shown by the king's soldiers to
the weakness of women, the innocence of childhood, or
the imbecility of age. A month ago, and all you now
see before you were free, were happy, and were content-
ed. Many of them were rich ; and there is not one of
25*
294 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE.
them now that is not poor as the meanest mendicant that
seeks alms at a monastery gate. They have seen their
homesteads and their farm-yards burned down, their cat-
tle slaughtered, their crops fired, and their relatives mur-
dered. Wonder not, then, that you see them all thus
woe-begone — for they know, that if they are discovered
by the Bohemians, who search for the Saxons every
where, in the marsh, the forest, and on the mountain top,
their death — and not improbably a torturing death —
will be inflicted upon them. O, God, have mercy, my
child, on those who delight in war ; for, if he be as piti-
less to them, as they are to their fellow-creatures, then,
a never-ending death must be reserved for them in another
world."
Gertraud shuddered as she heard these words pro-
nounced. Weakened with loss of blood, and agonized
with pain, she was, for the first time, an eye-witness to
the consequences of war, when accompanied with a dis-
astrous defeat, and she loathed, from that moment, that
which, hitherto, she had so much loved.
" O, God ! " she cried, " have mercy on me ! — the
worst of sinners — pardon me, the worst of women, who
have forsworn my sex, and forgotten my Creator, in
my admiration of that which I now see is but murder
and rapine, disguised under a false name ! "
" If you have sinned thus, I trust God will forgive
you," continued the aged female. " But what you now
behold can give you but a scanty idea of the horrors of
the war that King Henry is Avaging against the Saxons.
lie has consigned us all to the Bohemians, to be treated
as these half-infidels please. I, myself, bear the scar of
a Bohemian sword upon my forehead, inflicted upon me
within the holy precincts of a church to which, with
THE HIDING-PLACE OF THE SAXONS. 295
Otker ■women, I had fled for shelter, and where I saw first
its altars despoiled, and then its roof set on fire by those
unbelievers. It is in vain that the fugitive Saxons seek
to hide from them their treasures, or to conceal them-
selves. The Bohemians never cease in their search, and
never tire in pursuit. Silver and gold, and gorgeous
garments, and articles of value are dug up by them, and
dogs, trained by them, point out every spot in which the
earth has been recently stin-ed — and these animals can
detect the glitter of the precious metals even in the
darkest hole of the most gloomy cave. Sought for by
them whithersoever we fly, we would willingly yield to
them our wealth, if they would spare our lives, or if
they did not seek to extort, by torture, the possession of
the riches they crave. We live in momentary fear of
death, and we daily prepare for its approach, I hope
worthily, in the manner you are now about to witness."
As the woman spoke, the gentle tinkling of a bell was
heard, and the occupations of all ceased. All gathered,
rank after rank, behind the rustic couch on which Ger-
traud was lying, and that was placed but a few paces'
distance from what appeared to Gertraud to be a narrow
table, on which was placed a statue, covered over with
white cloths.
Gertraud did not hear the tinkling bell, for her whole
soul was absorbed in the words of her aged nurse.
" And this," she cried, " this is war ! The burning
of churches, the dishonor of women, the murder of
men, the massacre of children, the destruction of prop-
erty, the defacement of the works of God ! O, heaven
have mercy on me, for I repent, bitterly repent of my
past life."
As she spoke these words, she saw the white cloths
296 THE POPE AND THE EMPEEOR.
•withdrawn from what she conceived to be a table and a
statue, and there stood revealed to her an altar, on
which was raised a cross of pure gold, glittering with
jewelry, that had manifestly originally belonged to some
rich monastery. On each side of the altar were candle-
sticks of gold, and in the centre, a magnificent chalice,
with its patena of gold.
Gertraud gazed at this spectacle with wonder; but
that wonder became delight, despite of all her sufferings,
when she saw the candles lighted up, as if for the holy
sacrifice of the Mass.
" Alas ! alas ! sinner that I am," exclaimed Gertraud,
bursting into tears. " God is very merciful to me. He
permits me, before I die, to be present at this solemn
sacrifice, which I have never witnessed since I prayed
before him in my innocent girlhood."
" My child," said a priest, whose hairs were as snow-
white as the alb with which he was invested, " I am
now about to ascend the altar ; but before I do so, I
would wish you to receive the Holy Communion."
" Me — Communion ! " exclaimed Gerti-aud. " Alas !
father, I am not worthy to hear even the bell that rings
for the faithful to come and worship him whom they
have served. Never — never — O, never have you •
looked upon so great a sinner as now writhes in agony
of body, but still greater agony of soul, before you.
O, father, look upon me Avith horror ; for I look with
horror upon myself, and detest my sins from the bottom
of my heart."
" My child," said the priest, " I recognize in you the
best dispositions for that holy feast to which I invite you
— for you bring to it humility and repentance. Do
you desire to confess your sins, that they may be for-
1
THE HIDING-PLACE OP THE SAXONS. 297
given — tlien address your thoughts to him whose image
is on that altar, and your words to my ear. Remember,
you have his promise, that, complying with the condi-
tions which he has imposed, in establishing his church
upon this earth, those sins, be they ever so great, shall
be remitted."
" Father ! father ! " said the weak and exhausted Ger-
traud, " then hear my confession speedily, for I feel that
my strength is fast departing from me."
The old priest knelt down by the couch of Gertraud.
Those who gazed at a distance upon the confessor and
the penitent, could perceive the latter frequently to
wring her hands, as if in bitter agony, and then all mo-
tion, upon her part, ceased. The confessor, on the other
hand, who had remained quiescent, was seen to lean^his
head towards her, as if exhorting her, and then, making
the sign of the cross over her, all felt assured he had
given her absolution.
"When this was seen, all advanced again, close to
where Gertraud lay, and the priest, addressing them,
said : —
" My children, death, at this moment, impends over
the head of all of us. We know not when it may come
upon us — to-day, or to-morrow, or the day after ; but,
for our suffering sistex*, who lies here, it is inevitable.
Before an hour has passed away, she will be numbered
with the dead. She, therefore, urgently demands all
our prayers. Let us all, at the same moment, as faith-
ful, believing, and truly penitent sinners, join in the
same awful sacrifice, and partake, with her, of the same
Holy Communion."
The people ranged themselves according to the an-
cient Eoman order, in front of the altar, the men on the
298 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
south, and the women on the northern side. The priest,
attended by his clerks, proceeded to the altar, arrayed
himself in his vestments, said mass, gave the Com-
munion to Gertraud, and to all the grown-up persons of
his congregation, (for all had been prepared to receive
it,) and he had turned to them, and was in the act of
pronouncing the benediction upon all present, with the
eyes of Gertraud intently fixed upon him, when a rush-
ing noise was heard in the air, and she saw the crucifix
struck and overthrown, the chalice shivered, and the
priest, covered with blood, falling lifeless to the earth
before the altar at which he had officiated. At the same
instant was heard the yelping of dogs, the shouts of
soldiers, as they dashed forward, with glittering swords,
to seize the altar ornaments of gold, and then there
rung in her ears the shrieks of women and the cries of
terrified children.
" And this is war ! glorious war ! " exclaimed Ger-
traud, as a thrill of horror ran through her veins. " I
have loved such deeds as this — O, heaven spare me
— have mercy upon me ; for I have sinned, and I know
not what I did. Mercy ! mercy ! "
As she spoke these Avords blood gushed from the lips
of Gertraud, and she lay like a corpse in the midst of a
scene of carnage. The prayer of Gertraud was poured
forth amidst a scene of terrible carnage ; for the Bohe-
mians, who had supposed, in bursting into the Saxons'
hiding-place, that they would have, at the utmost, but a
few spiritless soldiers to cut down, found themselves,
when the first surprise was over, opposed to a band of
brave Saxons, who met them on every side, singly, or
in groups, and who, thoughtful of their good old priest,
mui'dered before their eyes, inflicted a death-wound
THE HIDING-PLACE OF THE SAXONS. 299
"Upon every Bohemian they could reach with their
swords.
"Back, men — back," cried Borzlwog, to his rude
Bohemian followers. " Take shelter behind those trees,
and from thence you can shoot, like wild beasts, those
Saxons — men and Avomen."
" On, Saxons — on ! " exclaimed a voice from behind
the rearmost rank of the Bohemians. " Charge those
vile Bohemians with your swords in the front. We
shall meet them here as they retreat."
These words were spoken by Bernhard, the forester,
who was seen at the head of some thousand armed rus-
tics, dashing down the sides of the valley.
The Saxons, who had been surprised in the valley,
advanced, amid a shower of arrows, towards the trees
where the Bohemians had retreated, and, although they
left some dead bodies behind them as they advanced,
still they closed with the robber band of Borziwog, and
the loud clash of swords was heard for a few moments,
then groans, and the shrieking Bohemians burst forth
from the trees, pursued by the Saxons, and whenever
overtaken, cut down at once. Bernhard seemed to have
singled out Duke Borziwog for his opponent, as, wher-
ever the Bohemian duke turned, he followed, and, at
length, coming up with him, struck the Bohemian, as he
ran, so heavy a blow on the back of his helmet, that
Borziwog fell senseless to the earth.
Three of the Saxon rustics rushed forward to plunge
their swords into the body of Borziwog, when they saw
him thus prostrate on the earth. Bernhard, however,
interposed to preserve him, saying —
"No — for such a base wretch as this there is a pun
ishment worse than death. He has degraded his duke-
300 THE POPE AND THE E5IPER0R.
dom by his cliurch robberies, his private pilferings, and
his priest murders. "VVe must send him forth amongst
his fellow-men, a disgrace to his country, and a scorn
even to the poorest wretch that walks this earth. Let
him be as a leper amongst the princes of the empire."
" What ! " said one of the Saxon rustics, " will you
spare the life of him who murdered my helpless old
father?"
" "Will you," cried another, somewhat indignantly,
" allow him to live who has slain the priest at the
altar ? "
" Bind his hands ; raise him from the earth — harm
him not ; and when you have heard what I have said to
him, then determine if you would wish him to die,"
was the answer that Bernhard gave to the infuriated
Saxons.
Borziwog, who had been merely stunned by the blow
which Bernhard had inflicted, was placed, by his captors,
standing erect, in front of the man who now assumed,
in his demeanor, all the gravity of a judge, as he pro-
ceeded to question his prisoner.
" You are," said Bernhard, " the notorious Borziwog,
Duke of Bohemia."
" Such is my name, and such my title," answered the
prisoner, looking scornfully at his captor. " Who, may
I ask, is it presumes thus to question me, as if he were
my superior in birth and in rank ? "
"By birth, I am a serf; by charter, a freeman; by
my sword, your captor ; and, therefore, by right of war,
your superior ; and now, in the name of oppressed and
rightfully insurgent Saxony, your judge."
"My judge ! A prince judged by a serf — a noble by
a freedman. IIo ! ho ! " laughed Borziwog. " The man
THE HIDING-PLACE OF THE SAXONS. 301
is mad. "Whoever yet heard of an inferior sitting in
judgment upon his superior ? "
" You are my inferioi-/' gravely and solemnly replied
Bernhard.
** Your inferior ! " said Borziwog, amazed at the per-
tinacity of the forester.
" Yes ; my inferior in every thing which it is no merit
in you to possess — the chance of birth, and the acci-
dent of rank. You are my inferior, for you are degrad-
ed by crime, and I am innocent — my inferior, for you
are debased by vices, and I am unstained by them —
my inferior, for you have miu'dered the young and the
old, the priest in his sacerdotal robes, and the mother
in the midst of her children. Born a duke, you have
descended to the practices of the meanest thief — in
name, a Christian, you have laid your unhallowed hands
upon the altar, and robbed it of its sacred vessels. Un-
injured by the Saxons, you have made yourself their
scourge."
" Fellow," replied Borziwog, " what I have done has
been in obedience to the commands of King Henry —
of ray king, and of yours. To him, alone, am I re-
sponsible."
" 0, yes ; there are others to whom you are responsi-
ble ; to God, whom you have offended," answered Bern-
hard, " and whose mercy time will be given you to in-
voke ; and you are next responsible to Saxony, whose
unoffending people you have persecuted."
" Calculate what you call my offences," said Borziwog,
" in coin, and, be the amount what it may, the blood-
fine shall be paid to you. It is a good old Saxon prac-
tice, and I am ready to comply with it."
" You have no right," observed Bernhard, " to appeal
2Q
302 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
to the German custom of blood-fines ; for your homicides
did not originate in any sudden gust of passion — they
all spring from a base and sordid avarice. Yours have
been the crimes of a fugitive slave ; and, as a fugitive
slave — as a debased villain, you shall be punished.
Were you a mere prisoner of war, you should be treated
generously, until restored to your friends ; but, as it is,
you shall be mutilated as a despicable wretch — as one
with whom no honest man can for the future associate.
Here," said Bernhard to the three Saxons who stood by
his side — " cast this miscreant upon the earth, slit open,
his nostrils, cut off one of his ears, and then, from where
his hair first springs from his forehead to the topmost point
of the skull, cut all the hair, and with the hair, the skin
from his head ; so that, as long as he lives, he may bear
about him the marks of the most infamous punishment
that can be inflicted."
'* 0, mercy ! mercy ! mercy ! " exclaimed Borziwog,
when he heard these words.
** As little mercy as you ever showed to man, woman,
or child," said Bernhard, as he walked from the place
of execution, from which speedily arose the heart-thrill-
ing shrieks of the tortured Duke of Bohemia.
Bernhard advanced through the tangled brushwood
of the valley towards that portion in which he perceived
that an awning had been erected. As he advanced, he
found his path strewed with the bodies of the slaugh-
tered Saxons and the slain Bohemians, whilst, here and
there, were still to be seen, Saxons writhing with pain
from their wounds, and Bohemians rendered moveless by
the gyves that fettered their limbs.
"Upon entering beneath the awning, the first thing that
attracted the attention of Bernhard was to find that the
THE HIDIXG-PLACE OF THE SAXONS. 303
temporary altar, with its golden ornaments, was surround-
ed on all sides by a pack of Bohemian dogs, who yelped,
and looked around it, as hounds do when the animal of
which they are in pursuit has been discovered.
" Poor brutes ! " exclaimed Bernhard, "the peiTerse
ingenuity of man has made them, unwittingly to them-
selves, the instruments of persecution to the hapless race
of Saxons. These are the dogs of Borziwog, that have
been taught by him to search for hidden treasures, and
who are now calling upon him to come and seize upon
what they have tracked out for him. They will wait
patiently to have their throats cut," said Bernhard to
his followers — " slay them all ! "
"Bernhard — brave Bernhard — come hither," cried
the faint voice of one who lay like to a person dead, and
stretched close to the pathway on which the gallant for-
ester stood.
""Who calls on me?" asked Bernhard, stooping down,
and taking in his own the now heavy, ice-cold hand of
Gertraud.
" It is she who saved your life at Erzegebirge," an-
swered Gertraud. " That is one good act of my life —
thank God ! for, if I had not exchanged helmets with
you — if I had not been mistaken, by the wearing of
your four-cornered Saxon helmet, for a Saxon, the Bohe-
mians never would have discharged their arrows at me."
"What!" cried- Bernhard, "have those vile Bohemi-
ans slain you, though an ally ? It is well for Borziwog
I did not know this before I had passed sentence upon
him."
" Slay no more Bohemians," said Gertraud, "spai-e thera
for my sake ; for unwittingly they have slain me, and,
unintentionally, they have conferred upon me the great-
304: THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
est blessing which mortal can possess — that of being
reconciled to God through the sacraments of the church.
Alas ! Bernhardt I have loved war for its own sake ; and
I have been forgetful that it is never justifiable but in
defence of religion — of a sovereign's right — or a peo-
ple's freedom. For me to grasp a shield was a crime :
with you, it is a virtue. Ah ! woe to me ! I challenged
you to meet me sword in hand, and now you have come
to see me die by the weapons of those to whom I had
wished success. Bernhard, I have two requests to make
of you."
"Name them," said Bernhard — "if it be possible
to perform them, they shall be executed; for, now I
may say to thee, that which otherwise might be regarded
as rude and unbecoming, that never until I encountered
you, did I see woman worthy of the love and devotion
of man."
A faint smile lighted, for a moment, upon the pale
and trembling lips of Gertraud, as her own thoughts
respecting Bernhard recurred to her memory. The
smile passed speedily away, and it was succeeded by a
deep sigh, as she said :
" In this world, dear friend, there is nought but vex-
ation of spirit. My time presses. Of the two requests
I have to make, one is possible, the other may prove im-
practicable. The first is, that you will see the saintly
maiden, Beatrice, and her faithful companion, Gretchen,
and beg that both will forgive me — both pray for the
repose of my soul — because it was I who betrayed their
secret to Diedrich."
It was the first time the wretched woman had pro-
nounced that once-prized name, from the moment she
had been wounded ; and, as she gave utterance to it, a
THE HIDING-PLACE OP THE SAXONS. 305
shiver of horror made every limb tremble. She closed
her eyes, as if suffering intense pain, and then, pro-
ceeded : —
" Bernhard — if it be possible — if without exposing
your own life to imminent danger, you can see and speak
with Diedrich, do so. Bear to him my last request, that
he will think over his life of sin and of blood — that he
will repent, if it be possible — that he will, as I have
done, humbly confide himself to the mercy of God.
Will you do this ? "
" I will," answered Bernhard, " even though I think
the attempt will be made in vain ; for, who can hope to
see that God will be merciful to one who has shed the
blood of a holy bishop ? "
" Ah ! Bernhard, Bernhard ! " cried the weak and fal-
tering Gertraud, " Judas himself would have been for-
given, if he had sincerely repented of his sin. As I was
misled by my admiration for the courage of Diedrich,
so has Diedrich been misled by his besotted devotion to
King Henry. Tell him, that my last prayer was for his
sincere repentance ; bid him seek for it through the
intercession of the Blessed Virgin."
" Again, I promise you," said Bernhard, *' that if it
be within my power to fulfil this wish, it shall be per-
formed ; and if heaven desire that the grace of repent-
ance be bestowed on Diedrich, such means will be af-
forded to me — but — Gertraud — dear Gertraud — you
are dpng ! " exclaimed Bernhard, as he perceived her
eyes assume a fixed and glassy look.
Gertraud no longer saw nor heard him. Her eyes and
ears were alike closed to this world — a smile was on
her lips, as she -murmured forth —
26*
306 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
"To the church — to the altar of the -Ndrgin — sing
Ermold's hymn — it is so sweet, when chanted by the
nuns: —
' Hear, holy mother ! Virgin fair !
Hear, O, hear my humble prayer.
And help me in this hour of care.
♦ Say to thy Son, I reverence thee,
And He will love me tenderly,
And soothe my sorrows constantly.
* Help me, Mary, sin to fly,
Help me, when in pain I sigh,
Help me, Mary, when I die.' '
"With these words, slowly and indistinctly uttered, broke
the 1-eart of Gertraud, and she now lay stiif, blood-stained,
and lifeless, like the martyred priest, who had, but an
hour pr^riously, administered the last sacraments to her.
Bernhard, as he looked upon her, covered his face
with his hands, and wept like a child.
*' To all," cried Bernhard, " friends and foes alike, one
common grave. Now then for our prisoners — those
vile Bohemians — shave their heads of every scrap of
hair, so that they may hereafter be known to be ruffians
who have been punished as thieves, and did not deserve
to be treated as prisoners. When shorn, tie them to
trees ; but leave the hands of their duke free, that he
may loose them when we have departed. To work — to
work, men, speedily 3 for before nightfall we must be
on our road to Erzegebirge."
THE ENVOY. 307
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE ENVOY.
Godfrey of Lorraine had willingly undertaken the
task which Henry had confided to him, of seeking out
the Saxon nobles and prelates, and tendering to them
the king's full pardon, on condition that they would, in
presence of the army of the empire, place themselves iu
his hands, and publicly submit to him. An obstacle
to the successful accomplishment of this negotiation
presented itself, on which Godfrey had not calculated ;
and that Avas, the universal distrust entertained bv the
Saxons with regard to the promises of Henrv. None
believed in his sincerity, none confided in his declarations,
and none seemed disposed to place life or liberty at his
disposal.
" But how," asked Godfrey, at a conference with the
nobles of Saxony, " how am I to remove your suspicions,
which I believe to be unfounded, and how dissipate your
fears, Avhich I am convinced are vain ? What can Henry
do more than bind himself by his trotli as a king ? A
king who would break his word with his subjects takes
the first irretrievable step towards his own abdication.
For his own sake Henry cannot, dare not, deceive you.
Submit then in the manner he desires. It is no dis-
honor to you to do so ; for you have fought bravely
against him, and now have no longer power to resist
him. Besides, you should recollect that every day you
refuse is a day added to the misfortunes of your country,
as a brutal soldiery waste its lands, and bring unnum-
bered woes upon its poor unoffending population."
308 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE.
"It is not tliat we fear discredit by submitting to
King Henry," replied Otho, '' that we decline, or rather
hesitate, to do so. It is because we know him to be
perfidious that we fear to take from our country its last
hope of liberty, by placing ourselves in his power. We
pine for peace, not for our own sake merely, but for the
sake of our poor covmtrymen, on whom he exercises, by
his Worms' body-guard, his Swabians, and, worse than
all, his Bohemians, the worst of cruelty."
" Then what," asked Godfrey, " can be done to satis-
fy your scruples, and to remove your suspicions ? "
" First," answered Otho, '^ that we have you to pledge
yourself — life, body, honor, and goods, that what the
king promises shall be literally fulfilled ; next, that
some one amongst us shall, at the risk of his own life,
accompany you to the king's palace at Goslar — there
have a personal conference — and candidly tell him what
our accusations are against him as a king. If Henry
will patiently listen to these accusations, and, having
heard them, permit our envoy to return back to us in
safety, then, from the report of that envoy, to decide
our course — it is most probable we shall determine,
encouraged by such a test, upon placing confidence in
his promise, and submitting to him."
" AVhat you now propose," said Godfrey, " is per-
fectly fair and reasonable ; and, in the king's name, I
accede to it. Who shall be your envoy ? "
" If I am not guilty of presumption in making the
offer, I shall be that envoy," said Dedi the younger,
standing up, and blushing to hear the sound of his own
voice in the midst of his superiors and elders. " I know
well, from my venerated father, all that should be told
to the king of his past conduct ; and, if there be danger
THE ENVOY. 309
in the task I undertake, it is far better that the life of
one so worthless as myself should be sacrificed than that
of any I see around me, who could not die without in-
flicting a severe loss upon Saxony — nor without leaving,
in his own home, a widow — and, perchance, orphans."
" Thy father may well be proud of such a son," re-
marked Godfrey ; " for in thee I perceive the becoming
diffidence of a youth and the thoughtful courage of a
man. If my wishes have any weight with the Saxon
nobles, then thou shalt go with me ; for I would prefer
thee as a companion to any other noble they could
name." "^
Duke Otho looked to the elder Dedi, as if it were for
him alone to decide whether or not he would consent to
his son proceeding on an enterprise which every Saxon
knew to be pregnant M'ith danger.
To this silent appeal to his feelings as a father, and
his judgment as a statesman, the Count Dedi made no
other reply than by clasping his son in his arms, and
saying :
" Brave boy ! it shall be as thou wishest. Go — re-
rember that, from this moment forth, thou dost represent
Saxony and all its wrongs, as well as all its rights. Go
— and may heaven protect thee ! "
In a few minutes afterwards, Godfrey and his attend-
ants were, with Dedi the younger, on their road to
Goslar.
As the shades of evening descended upon the earth,
a special messenger, sent forward by Godfrey, announced
to Henry that the Duke of Lorraine, Avith Dedi the
younger, were approaching to Goslar, to settle the terms
on which peace might be concluded with the Saxons.
Henry and his favorite Werenher were alone when
310 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
this messenger arrived. As the name of Dedi the
younger was pronounced, Werenher turned pale with
anger — and, the moment afterwards, his face flushed
with joy, as a diaboUcal thought entered his mind.
" Dedi the younger," said he to the king, as soon as
the messenger had retired, " does not come here to treat
of peace ; but, covering over his baseness with what he
conceives to be the safe shield of an envoy, he comes to
insult your Majesty ! "
" To insult me ! " said Henry, his proud spirit revolt-
ing at the idea of any man presuming to speak to him
but as to a superior being. " Insult me ! He dare
not."
" He dared to raise his sword against you in battle,
when death impended over him. Be sure he will not
fear to wag his tongue against you, when he can do so
in safety," replied Werenher.
" In safety ! " said Henry, stamping with rage.
" Safety for one who assails me ! He must be mad to
think so. He shall not live an hour afterwards ! "
" But your Majesty should bear in mind," said We-
renher, " that he comes here under the protection of
Godfrey. He comes with all the impunity that attaches
to the character of one who discharges the duty of a
herald, an ambassador, or an envoy."
" Then let him be careful he does not abuse the im-
punity that belongs to his office," remarked Henry. " If
he does so, he shall not leave this place alive."
" But putting him to death," replied Werenher,
" would be the proof to the Saxons that they could not
rely upon your promises of impunity, once they had
submitted to you."
Henry paused. He looked fixedly at Werenher for a
THE ENVOY. 311
few moments, and seeing his favorite smile in answer to
his glances, he said :
" Werenher, you have devised some plan which you
have not thought fit to suggest to me. Tell me plainly
what it is. How know you that Dedi will use insulting
language towards me ? "
*' Because Dedi," replied "Werenher, " has been nur-
tured in rebellion — because he has been taught, from
his childhood, by his father and the Countess Adela, to
abhor you ; because he, therefore, does not respect you
as his king, and hence is disposed to use contumacious
language both of you and towards you. And then I
know that the Saxons have resolved never to submit to
you without warning you of your past misgovernment
(for such they call it), and they cannot, nor any one
who represents them, convey their opinions but in lan-
guage that must inevitably be insulting to your feelings.
Hence it is that I say I am sure Dedi the younger comes
here to insult you. If I be wrong in my judgment,
and my apprehension prove unfounded, then let your
Majesty not remember either what I have said to you,
or what, in connection with this subject, I may have oc-
casion to say."
" But wherefore," asked Hemy, " if what you say
be true, warn me that I cannot take instant vengeance
upon the man who presumes to speak to me in any other
terms than those which a subject should use in address-
ing his sovereign ? Why tell me of the evil conse-
quences to myself of shedding his blood, as if I were a
mere citizen, and feared that I should be ruined by the
fredum I should have to pay to the state, and the faidum
to his family, for the homicide I had committed ? "
Werenher did not answer these questions by words.
312 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
but in action. He drew from his breast, and placed on
the table before the king, a thin case of steel, and a di-
minutive round box which had formerly belonged to
Anselm of Worms, and of which he had become the
possessor, when sailing down the Maine with Lieman
and Egen.
" What mean you, Werenher, by these toys ? " said
Henry. " Do they afford an answer to my questions,
that you thus display them ? "
*' They do," replied Werenher, *^ Within this case
lies a dagger, the most minute puncture from which is
certain death ; and within this box a poison, impercepti-
ble to the taste, but so noxious that no substance can
contain it but crystal, and that only as long as it is pre-
vented from being exposed to the air."
" These are marvellous things," said Henry ; " but
yet I cannot perceive how they serve to solve the diffi-
culty you have yourself proposed."
And as Heniy said this, there was a cold, malignant
smile not merely on his lip, but in his eye, which, if
Werenher had interpreted aright, would probably have
induced him to pause in the conversation he had thus
commenced, and to shrink from the proposition he was
about to make. In his eagerness to shed the blood of
the man who had dishonored him by a blow, and pub-
licly branded him as a coward, he did not perceive the
rigidity of countenance with which Henry listened to
him, as he thus proceeded :
" I have shown to your Majesty these two sure in-
struments of death," said Werenher, " because, in see-
ing them you may at once be conscious that the life of
Dedi is in your power, and that you are fi'ee to take it,
whenever you please."
THE ENVOY. 313
" But SO it is," observed Henry, " at any moment he
is within reach of my sword. Wherefore am I^ soldier,
or a king, if I am not free to take the Yiie of him who
avows himself my mortal foe ? "
" But you cannot touch him if he be under your pro-
tection as an envoy," replied Werenher. " To slay him
then, would be to dishonor yourself"
"Go on," said Henry, — "I listen to you."
"Without noise — without tumult — without even
appearing to be conscious of the manner in which he
has met his death, and therefore free in the sight of the
•world from any participation in it, you see, in these mi-
nute instruments, the certain means of punishing Dedi
for his insolence," observed AVerenher. " Conscious
that he only breathes by your permission, you can, with
an assumed patience, listen to him. To do so, will much
promote your Majesty's plan for getting the Saxon no-
bility and prelacy into your hands. The Duke Godfrey
will be a witness to your conversation. He will thus
be able, hereafter, to testify that neither in your words,
nor your demeanor, did you manifest the slightest en-
mity against the younger Dedi ; and that, therefore, if
any accident should befall him, you, at least, must be
innocent. Thus acting, your Majesty will have an ene-
my the less, and your policy of pretended reconciliation
with the Saxons will not be in the least degree marred.
What says your Majesty to my proposal ? "
" I say," replied Henry, " that it is a very safe one
— it is very prudent, and very base."
" Very base ! " repeated Werenher, somewhat startled
by the words of the king, and still more so by his
manner.
i( Ay — Werenher — I repeat it, very base/' observed
27
314 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
Henry ; " why should friends mince their words, when
every sentence they speak may affect the life of a human
being ? I say it would be very base in me, who am a
king, if, in dealing with one of my subjects, and desir-
ing his death, I should strike him, not with the sword,
but, like a cowardly and hired assassin, have him stabbed
or poisoned in the dark. The evil I do, I am ready to
avow, and to abide the consequence. I may be hated —
I am sure I am hated ; but I never shall be despised.
No — no, Werenher, in giving me the advice you have
done (and a portion of it is wise counsel, and I mean to
follow it) you have been actuated far more by a desire
to slay Dedi than to serve me."
" I assure your Majesty," said Y/erenher, vehement-
ly, and giving utterance to more than he intended to
have spoken — "I declare to your ISIajesty, that you are
mistaken. I have no especial cause for disliking Dedi
— except that he is known to be your Majesty's avowed
and relentless enemy."
" Indeed ! " cried Henry, in a tone which plainly in-
timated to Werenher that his assurance was not credited.
" What I mean to say," continued Werenher, en-
deavoring to recover from the mistake into which he
had fallen — " what I mean to say is, that in the plan
I suggested, I was not thinking of my own personal dis-
like to the younger Dedi, but of serving you "
** I remember what you have said, Werenher, and I
desire no explanation," replied Henry. " To me, it
is a matter of indifference whether or not you regard
Dedi as your personal enemy. All I say to you is this,
J will have nought to do with his assassination. I will
not counsel it — encoiu'age, nor sanction it. At the
same time that I say this, I wish you to remember that
THE ENVOY. 315
there is no reason why I should stir hand, foot, eye, or
tongue, to save Dedi from his enemy. He is my foe,
and if I saw him walking blindfold and direct towards a
precipice, where I knew he would be dashed to pieces,
and that the stirring of my little finger would save him,
I would not move it. To remain quiescent at such a
fearful moment, is a fiu- different thing from getting be-
hind his back at the time that I professed to be his
protector, and pushing him down the deadly abyss.
You, Werenher, are my friend — he, Dedi, is my ene-
my. I will not interfere with my friend if he seeks to
revenge himself on my enemy."
" I think I understand now what your Majesty
means," said Werenher,
" Then if you do, add no explanations of your own.
What I have said," continued Henry, " may be summed
up in a few words — that, if I saw you and the younger
Dedi in mortal conflict with each other, I would wish
success to you, defeat, disgrace, and death to him, al-
though I would not interfere to help you, because I am
forbidden to do so by the laws that regulate single com-
bat. But hark ! that flourish of trumpets announces the
arrival of Godfrey and the Saxon envoy. Go, command
that both be received with all the fitting honors due to
their rank. See that a suitable sleeping chamber be
prepared for Dedi. Do that before you retvirn. I de-
sire that you should do so whilst both are with me.
Hasten then away, and return as speedily as you can."
" I shall do all as your ISIajesty commands," replied
Werenher.
" And here, Werenher," said Henry, " take these
bawbles with you — your tiny dagger, and your won-
drous poison. But no — keep you the dagger, and
316 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE.
leave me the poison. I wish to try its effects on a
treacherous hoimcl, that this clay made a snap at my
hand whilst I was caressing him. Go — go speedily ; I
can hear from this the tramp of the horses' feet as they
cross the draw -bridge."
Werenher quitted the room, and, as he did so, Heniy
opened his purse and slid into it the small box of
poison.
" It is dangerous," said Henry, " to have about one
a servant who handles such instruments as these. A
poisoner is a very unsafe companion. Had I known,
honest "Werenher ! you approached me so often with
your tiny dagger and crystal drug, I would have fled
from you as from a serpent.. But your race is now
nearly run. You hate Dedi — you see him now in your
power — the foul fiend, revenge, is in your heart, and
you Avill do his bidding, and then — flirewell We-
renher ! " '
"I have the honor," said Duke Godfrey, entering the
apartment, and leading Dedi the younger by the hand,
" to present to you the son of the Count of Saxony, who,
on this occasion, appears before your Majesty to pray
that you will grant to him, to his fixther, to Duke Otho,
to the Bishop of Halberstadt, and to the other nobles and
prelates of Germany, such terms as they may, with
honor, submit to you, and renew those voavs of allegi-
ance which necessity alone has compelled them to
violate."
" I repeat to your Majesty," said Dedi the younger,
bending down and kissing the knee of Henry, who stood
erect before him, leaning upon his sword, " the words
of Duke Godfrey. Such is the object with which I
appear before you. I come to you seeking for peace —
THE ENTOT. 317
I come to you asking for justice, without which there
never can be peace."
'' And I receive you M'ith pleasure," said Henry ; " to
a warrior, the sight of a brave man is always welcome.
I have seen you in the field of battle, Dedi, and whilst I
admired your courage, my only regret was that you
were fighting, not for me, hut against me."
" Alas ! my liege," said the younger Dedi, " it was
my sorrow that it should be so ; but, when I was girt
with the belt of a knight, and a sword was placed in
my hands, I was bid to remember that I was to fight for
my God, my country, and my king. It was not I who
separated those things that should ever be inseparable."
" Then, if it were not your fault," observed Henry,
with a good-humored smile, " it must have been mine.
I must have wrong^ed the Saxons — let me know what
they complain of, in order that if there be griefs they
may be redressed ; and, if my actions have been misin-
terpreted, I may candidly explain them to two brave men,
who are sure not to put a false gloss upon my words."
" Then I hsve your Majesty's permission to speak
freely the sentiments, and to give plainly expression to
the complaints of the Saxons," said Dedi.
" Freely, fully, and plainly, I give you that per-
mission. Say what you think — say what the Saxon
nobility speak. I free you from all responsibility — I
do so in the presence of Duke Godfrey, and I do so in
presence of another witness — Count Werenher," said
Henry, pointing to "Werenher, who at that moment was
seen entering the apartment.
Dedi started back, with abhorrence and contempt
marked upon his face, as if some foul, obscene thing had
crossed his path.
27*
318 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
*' I pray your Majesty's pardon," he said, " but in
anv transaction in which I am concerned, I cannot meet
Count Werenher as a witness, a compurgator, or a man
•who should be admitted to the presence of a knight, or
a nobleman, much less of a king. I have twice before
encountered Count Werenher — first, when he was dis-
charging the loathsome office of a pander. I then
arraigned him as a disgrace to manhood, as a dishonor
to knighthood, as a blot upon the nobility of the empire.
I then struck him — chastised him as if he were a dog,
and though we stood as man to man against each other,
he did not dare to resent the insults offered to him, but
trembled like a craven before me. The second time I
met Count Werenher he was armed as a knight, but
acting like a robber, and seeking, with felons, his asso-
ciates, to murder and despoil a bishop. I then chal-
lensred him to meet me sword in hand — I branded him
as a coward, and he, with arms in his hands, fled from
me. In your Majesty's presence I wdll inflict upon him
no personal punishment; but I will not, cannot speak
with him as a witness to my language f for I feel there
is infamy in breathing the same air with him."
Henry looked at Werenher whilst Dedi was speaking,
and he saw that his favorite minister did not venture
once, even for an instant, to meet the glance of his
accuser ; but stood like a trembling culprit before him.
" The coward and the traitor is also a liar and an
assassin, who would make mc a participator in his foul
plot," muttered Henry to himself; then turning to
Dedi, he said aloud :
" Brave warrior, whatever be the cause of quarrel
between you and the Count Werenher, this is not the
time, the place, nor the occasion for discussing it.
THE ENVOY. 319
Other and greatei* interests now press for our considera-
tion. The fate of an entire nation — the happiness and
the stability of an empire, are depending upon our
deliberations, and we cannot permit them to be post-
poned for the purpose of settling a private dispute be-
tween two individuals, however highly we may respect
the bravery of the one, or value the many services ren-
dered to us by the other. You object to Count Weren-
her as a witness. If you are content with the single
testimony of Duke Godfrey, so am I. I yield then to
your objection, without pronouncing any opinion upon
its validity. Werenher, withdraw. You see," said
Henry, whispering to the confused and abashed Weren-
her, " that I am acting upon the good advice you gave
me. I am conducting myself with great courtesy to-
wards this ruffian Saxon."
" I see — I see, your Majesty is most wise," said
Werenher, as he tottered out of the room, and clinclnng
in his right hand that small steel case, of which, and its
potency, he had boasted in his conversation with Henry.
The king observed this, and that the pallid face of his
favorite was corrugated with wrinkles, and that his eyes
flashed with a fire that seemed to be a reflection of the
lurid flames of hell.
" It is well — all goes on as I had hoped," thought
Henry to himself, with inward satisfaction. " I have
outwitted that skilful politician. He will do for me my
work, Avhilst he fancies he is only -indulging his own
passions." He turned to the younger Dedi, and said :
" Speak as I have said, plainly. Godfrey shall listen to
your statements, and hear my reply to them."
" I do not deem it necessary," said Dedi the younger,
**to reopen the question of the claim made by your
320 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
Majesty, as a layman, nor by the Archbishop of Mayence,
as a prelate, to exact tithes from the Saxons, when from
neither the one nor the other is thei-e given, in return,
any spiritual services. That question, I say, it is not
necessary to reopen, because we have appealed to the
Pope on the whole matter, and whatever be the decision
of his holiness, we are prepared to abide by it. We
consider it as a question that affects the church, and we
are prepared to submit to the decree of the head of the
church. What we complain of now, is, that your Ma-
jesty has studded over the soil of Saxony with strong
fortresses ; that, in the erection of those fortresses, you
have compelled not merely serfs to labor, but that free-
born men have been torn from the midst of their fami-
lies, and forced to toil at them as if they were slaves ;
that those fortresses, when erected, are gai'risoned by a
hireling soldiery, who compel the rustics to supply them
with provisions, and who treat the wives and daughters
of those rustics as if they were their degraded slaves ;
and we complain that your Majesty has been induced to
treat us, Saxons, in this manner, because, instead of
associating with the princes of the empire, you keep
aloof from them — are not guided by their counsel, nor
influenced by their advice ; but that you have, as your
companions, men of mean birth and of depraved habits ;
and that, raising them to the highest dignities in the
state, you delight to spend with them your days and
your nights, gratifying the worst passions with which
human nature, in its fall, is afflicted."
"The Saxon nobility and the Saxon prelates have
desired you to say these things to me ? " said Henry, in
a tone of voice that appeared to be perfectly calm and
unmoved.
THE ENVOY. 321
"Tliey have," continued Dedi, "These are the
complaints they constantly make respecting your con-
duct. And what are the consequences they represent
as following from them ? These : that the empire over
which you rule — once flourishing, peaceful, and pros-
perous — is now torn and divided by civil war ; that the
soil of Germany is stained with the blood of its people ;
its fields desolated with fire; its cities begrimed with
sin ; its churches dilapidated ; its monasteries destroyed ;
its lands, bestowed originally for the maintenance of
those devoted to a religious life, now alienated, and
become the property of a licentious soldiery, for the sus-
tentation of their vices ; that widows, that orphans, that
the poor and the destitute are thus reduced to a state of
starvation ; that the bonds of society are dissolved ; and
that there is no longer any respect for the law of man,
and no reverence for the law of God."
" You speak eloquently, if not correctly, nor truly,"
observed the king, restraining, with great difficulty, any
manifestations of the passions which raged in his breast.
" I speak without exaggeration," said Dedi ; " I
speak that in your presence which every tongue repeats
behind your back. I speak it, not as a reproach upon
what is past, but as a warning for the future. I speak
it, because, if you reflect upon what I say, it will show
you, that without a change in the conduct you yourself
have hitherto pursued, no exterior circumstance can
consolidate your power, and no event, however fortunate,
render it stable and secure. Without that change, no
submission on the part of the Saxon nobility can give
you peace. With that change, you can become the
most powerful, because the most justly-beloved monarch
in Christendom. We hope in that change, because we
322 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
see, that in seeking to grant us peace, you have chosen
as your adviser, your counsellor, and your guide, the
illustrious Godfrey of Lorraine ; a man who has won the
respect of his enemies by his bravery, and of his friends
by his truthfulness and virtues. Had your Majesty sent
to us any other man than Godfrey as an ambassador, we
should not have listened to him ; for, knowing how
many perfidious and cruel men instil their evil counsels
into your ear, we should have preferred dying, sword in
hand, in battle, rather than be entrapped into a false
peace, which could have only resulted in our imprison-
ment, our exile, or our death. With Godfrey as the
guaranty for our honorable peace, we are prepared to
yield submission to your Majesty. I have now dis-
charged my mission, and I await your Majesty's reply."
"You have spoken," said Henry, "as becomes a
knight — boldly. Thanks to you, I know the worst
that can be said of me — and that is said of me. If I
be guided by your advice, I shall amend my faults.
And now, listen to me with the same patience I have
given to your discourse. I am a king, you and the
Saxons are my subjects. I am responsible to God, and
not to you, for my conduct as king. You have rebelled
against me, and as rebels I have punished you : but I do
not desire your entire destruction ; and, therefore, I
am willing to grant you peace — to receive you under
my protection, and to treat you as the father treats his
child that has erred, but that he pardons, because he
loves him. The flagrant offence, however, of which you
have been guilty, requires a public expiation ; and that,
for the sake of myself and of my successors in the em-
pire, I insist upon having. Without it, I will have no
peace with you. There must be an unmistakable sub-
THE ENVOY. 323
mission made to me, by those who have dared to take tip
arms against me. I require that all the Saxon nobility
appear in presence of my army — nobility and prelates
both shall do it — that there they yield themselves abso-
lutely up to me as prisoners. Let this be done by them,
and I then not only promise — but I am now prepared to
swear, and with my oath the Saxons shall have the oaths
of Duke Godfrey and of the prelates who have remained
faithful to me — that once they have so surrendered
themselves as prisoners, they shall suffer no loss in life,
in liberty, in property, in rank, or even in personal
wealth; but, that having, by their pubhc submission,
given satisfaction to the king they have offended, and
thus tendered the best reparation in their power to the
majesty of the throne they have outraged, they shall be
immediately afterwards set at liberty, restored to their
native land, to freedom, and to their fbrmer dignities.
Such are the terms of peace I tender to the Saxon no-
bility and Saxon bishops, in presence of Duke Godfrey.
What think you of them ? "
'' That they are just,, that they are reasonable, that they
are fair," replied Dedi ; " and, that in the name of the
Duke Otho and the Bishop of Halberstadt, and all the
others I represent on this occasion, I am prepared to ac-
cept them."
<' Thank heaven ! " said Duke Godfrey, " that there is
now a certainty of peace being established between a
sovereign that I honor and a race of men whom I respect.
I am most happy that my humble efforts have contributed
to this peace, of the permanency of which I can entertain
no doubt ; for its full accomplishment depends upon your
Majesty ; and your Majesty's patience and equanimity,
whilst this young soldier detailed the complaints and
324 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
accusations of the Saxons against yoxi, convince me that
many of those complaints are unfounded^ and most of
those accusations destitute of truth."
*' And. I, too," observed Dedi the younger, " am bound
to testify, that your Majesty has conducted yourself to-
wards me with a magnanimity which I was not prepared
to expect. I speak what I feel, when I say, that if this
were the last hour of my life, I would willingly part with
it to procure peace for Saxony, and to secure to your
Majesty the loyalty of a brave and devoted people. And
now, for myself, I would say, that I pray your Majesty's
pardon, if, in the address which I delivered to you, on
the part of my associates, I said any thing to offend you."
** I have no pardon to pronounce, for I have no offence
to forgive," replied Henry. "You had a duty to per-
form ; you have faithfully discharged it ; and I respect
you for the manner in which you have acquitted yourself.
To you, Godfrey, my thanks are now due. Here, then,
our conference ends. I would wish you and Duke God-
frey to return to the Saxons, early in the morning, and
arrange with them the day on which the public submission
will be made. Duke Godfrey is responsible now for the
fulfilment of the conditions on my part, and in the sense
in which you have heard me express them. For this
night, Dedi, you are the guest of Godfrey. To vou,
Godfrey, I confide the care of the Saxon envoy. Let not,
I pray you, this great business be marred by any personal
conflict between your guest and my worthless minister,
Werenher, of whose baseness I never was a23prised until
this evening."
" I thank your Majesty for the warning you give,"
said Godfrey. "Be assured it shall be attended to."
" It is, as far as I am concerned," remarked Dedi,
THE ENVOY. 325
*' absolutely unnecessary. I could not now condescend
to cross my sword, as a soldier, with Werenher. As soon
as this peace is established, I mean to summon him before
the assembled knights of Franconia, so that he may be
degraded, and his spurs chopped off, upon a dunghill, by
the hatchet of a hangman."
" It is a wise determination," said Henry. " And now
betake yourself to refreshment, and then to repose, for a
long journey awaits you. To you and Godfrey I bid
fkrewell. Good night! good night, my friends."
" I thank your Majesty for your gracious reception,
and for that kind word," said Dedi, with all the enthu-
siastic, heartfelt effusion of a young man.
" And I, too, thank your Majesty for classing us both
as your friends ; and I hope the time may soon come,
that friends as we are, we may have the power to prove
we are your devoted subjects," observed Godfrey, as he
conducted his guest from the king's apartment.
There was a malicious sneer upon the face of the king
as the Lorraine duke and Saxon knight disappeared.
" Uuijes" he said. " Simpletons, with beards, that
are as easily deceived with sweet words as idle children
are decoyed by sweetmeats. But I have to protect my
life against worse than you."
The shrill note of a whistle, blown by the king, brought
Lie man into the room.
" Lieman," said Henry, " see that all things be prepared
in the Olympian Palace for the reception of a new guest.
He may be there in the course of a few hours. One
hour from this time, and I shall be there myself to see
that all is in readiness."
" And may I ask who is this new guest ? " asked Lie-
man.
28
326 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
" Of course/' answered Henry, " for it will be your
duty to conduct him thither. It is Werenher."
" Werenher," said Lieman, somewhat surprised ; and
then he murmured, so as not to be heard by the king,
" I am glad of it. I owe him a grudge, since he cheated
Egen and myself out of the price of the two poisons we
found on Anslem."
CHAPTER XXV.
THE KNIGHT AND THE ASSASSIN.
It was now black midnight, and in the darkest corner
of a dark room, and concealed behind the heavy drapery
that covered the walls, was Count Werenher ; his face
pale with fear, his limbs trembling with the agitation of
contending passions, and his clammy, shaking hand con-
vulsively grasping that fatal dagger on which he now
placed all his hope of avenging the many wrongs heaped
upon his head by the younger Dedi. He watched, as
the hunted fox watches for the first sound that mav in-
dicate to him that the hunters have recovered the scent
they have lost — he watched Avith fear, and with hope.
In the craven, cruel heart of Werenher, there were both
fear and hope — fear, even of the man he was resolved to
slay — hope, that he might commit the crime, upon the
perpetration of which he had determined ; and that he
might accomplish it so stealthily that suspicion should
not rest upon him.
"The hour of midnight is past," thus soliloquized
THE KNIGHT AND THE ASSASSIN. 327
Werenher, " and yet he comes not. I thought the deed
would long since have been done ; and I, before this time,
banqueting with the king. AVhat if the king should
call for me ! No matter, he may fancy, after the scene
with Dedi, and the exposure of the falsehood I told him,
that I have quitted the palace ; or, he may guess that I
am at this moment where I am, concealed in the sleeping
room of Dedi, and resolved upon revenging myself. If
it were not so, why did he specially charge me to take
with me this dagger ?
" But, hist ! ay, there are steps approaching — he
comes — he comes.
" O, this coward heart ! this weak, trembling hand !
why do I wish for revenge if I have not the poM'er to
execute it? Wherefore am I wicked, if I am, at the
same time, weak ?
" No — I was deceived. The wine-cup still detains
him and Godfrey. It is but the fancy that I heard his
footstep that has made me tremble. In what state then
shall I be when he is bodily present before me ? when
we are alone together ? Perchance I shall then faint with
terror, and be discovered by him — dragged by the heels
out of his room — spurned by his foot — made a mockery
of by the king and his courtiers, and even the beggars
that seek for alms at the palace gates will demise me for
my cowardice ! Curses — ten thousand curses on his
head ; there is no indignity which he will not delight in
subjecting me to. If I am imbecile now — if I do not
now take his life — he will never cease until I end a life
of disgrace by an ignominious death upon the scaffold.
He has been born for no other purpose but to prove my
ruin — and now I have to choose between his death and
my own. If my coward hand will now, felon like, betray
328 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROK.
me, I am forever destroyed. Let me bear that in mind,
and when I do strike — strike strongly, steadily, surely.
Ha ! now — I cannot be mistaken — footsteps approach
the door. Would that he were here ! Would that he
were dead ! Yes — I tremble no longer. The decisive
moment is fast approaching. I am, at last, as I should
be — resolute, eager for blood. It is well — it is well."
The door opened, and Godfrey, bearing a lamp, entered
the room, followed by Dedi.
'' This, my friend," said Godfrey, " is the room assigned
to you for the night. I have, as a matter of precaution,
stationed two soldiers outside, with directions to enter,
if they hear the slightest noise made."
Werenher trembled when he heard these words, but the
resolution with which he entered the room was not shaken.
"I thank you," answered Dedi, **for those marks of
your kindness, but the precaution is unnecessary. My
best safeguards, in every danger hitherto, have been God
and my own stout s^V' ord. I have wronged no man, and
I have, therefore, nothing to fear."
" That you have done wrong to no man I can well
believe," said Godfrey ; " but, wherefore are you at deadly
feud with Werenher?"
" I at feud with Werenher ! " observed Dedi. " The
lion might as well be said to be at feud with the treach-
erous weasel — the eagle with the thieving jackdaw. I
despise him too much to dislike him ; but, whenever he
comes in ray way, I feel it necessary to tread upon him,
as I would upon any other noxious reptile. It shall not
be my fault, if, before a month has passed away, you do
not see him carrying an ass's saddle on his shoulders, and
his bare back scourged by slaves, through the streets of
Goslar."
THE KNIGHT AND THE ASSASSIN. 329
If it were not for the fear of instant death being in-
flicted upon him by Godfrey, Werenher would have
started at once from his hiding-place, and plunged his
poisoned dagger into the heart of Dedi, who disarrayed
himself of his hauberk as he spoke these words.
" But Werenher must have done something to offend
you personally, that you speak thus bitterly against him,"
observed Godfrey.
" Personally, nothing, I assure you," answered Dedi.
*' I loathe him as I loathe the serpent — I hate him as I
hate the devil, and for the same reasons — because he is
a base wretch, whose heart and whose soul are alike lep-
rous with sin. I abhor him, and I am determined upon
his destruction — not from personal enmity to him,, for I
feel none — not a particle, or so little, that if he Avere
what he ought to be — a beggar — to-morrow, I would
bestow upon him my alms."
Werenher could scarcely restrain the panting indig-
nation with which he heard himself thus slightingly
spoken of.
"I have considered it right," answered Dedi, "to
degrade him wherever I could, and to provoke him to a
personal combat, if it were possible, in order that I might
rid the world, and especially the king's court, of so base,
so malevolent, and so mischievous a villain. Of all the
bad men that surround the king, Werenher is the worst.
He was the first to advise the king to seize upon the
properties belonging to the monasteries ; to encourage
the king in making a bargain and sale of mitres and ab-
bacies ; he, too, has been the prime instrument in exciting
the worst passions of Henry, and in encouraging a youth-
ful monarch to plunge into an abyss of vices. I am told
that the base wretch presumed to address unholy words
S8*
330 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
to the saintly Queen Bertha, and that, in revenge for the
rebuke she gave him, he incited her husband to seek for
a divorce ; and he it was, who, wearing a disguise, was
recognized by myself, taking part in the abduction of
the fairest maid in Germany — the lovely Beatrice, of
AschafFenburg ; he, too, it was, who bore her away from
her betrothed, my cousin Magnus, to have her conveyed
to the castle of the king, in which she is now immured.
These are my reasons, and none other, for seeking the
downfall of Werenher. I never shall rest satisfied until
it is accomplished. I desire it from no unworthy motive.
I wish for it, not because I have a personal feeling against
"Werenher as a man, but because I love virtue, hate vice,
andjletest sinners."
*' The sentiments you express do you honor, Dedi,"
said Godfrey. " And now, good night ; we must be on
horseback at an early hour in the morning."
" Good night, my friend, and God bless you ! " an-
swered the young man, as he lighted Godfrey to the
door, where the attendants of the latter awaited him.
Dedi returned, and replaced the lamp upon the table.
He then walked up and down the room for two or three
minutes, as if indulging in meditation, and then stop-
ping before the table, he said, or rather thought —
" Enough — more than enough of my time has been
given this day to the world. Now to devote a few min-
utes to heaven, and in prayers for mercy to him, who is
all-merciful;"
So communing with himself, the young man removed
from his head the helmet, the nasale of which, when
turned up, and resting against the crest, repi'esented a
cross. He knelt lowly down, and gave up all his mind
and heart to devoticnal thougkts and prayers. As he
THE KXIGHT AND THE ASSASSIN. 331
raised his head to make the sign of the cross upon him-
self at the conclusion of his prayers, his eye rested upon
the polished sides of his helmet, and in one of them he
saw, but indistinctly, the distorted white face of a man
peeping out from the dark curtains behind him.
Dedi started at once to his feet, placed his helmet on
his head, and Iris shield on his left arm, and then, un-
sheathing his sword, said — not in a loud voice, but in
one that could be distinctly heard in all parts of the
room —
" I am aware that at this moment there is a man con-
cealed in this apartment. I call upon that man now to
come forth, and if he have the courage to do so, to cross
liis sword with mine. If he refuse, I will summon the
guard that watch at the door, and with our swords' points
discover the part of the room in Avhich he lies hidden.
Instant death shall then be inflicted upon him. Who-
ever the skulking villain may be, I say to him, if he
have the slightest hope for mercy, come forth at once,
for I will not summon him a second time."
As Dedi concluded this address, he perceived the dark
curtains drawn slowly back, by the palsied hands of
Werenher, who stood, at length, fully revealed before
him, with his arms extended, convulsively grasping the
tapestry, to which he seemed to cling for support, and so
overcome by terror, that he seemed to be deprived of
the power of speech.
Dedi was a brave man — he would, without a mo-
ment's hesitation, have mounted a wall on which he saw
hundreds of ballistas pouring forth discharges of arrows,
and of heavy stones — alone, he would have unshrink-
ingly stood a charge of a troop of knights — unshrink-
ingly he would have seen death advancing against him
332 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
in a field of battle ; but now — alone — at midnight —
in his bed-chamber — and when he had given up all
his thoughts to prayer, to find that a foeman had been
on the watch, basely to slay him in his sleep, produced
a thrill — not of terror, but of horror in his frame, and
a sickening sensation came over him, as he said, in a
voice that trembled with emotion :
" Werenher ! here ! and at such a time as this ! "
The Count Werenher heard these words, but did not
answer them. He was not capable of doing so. All
his faculties seemed to be absorbed in the keenness of
his perceptions, and the nervousness of his fears. He
felt, in its full extent, the horror that must fill the soul
of Dedi in beholding him ; and he knew from Dedi's
voice, that he comprehended, precisely, the intention
which brought him to that chamber. He felt all this ;
but 'there was upon him an incapacity of thought, and
impotency of words, as to how he might hope to evade
the vengeance or excite the commiseration of his jastly-
exasperated enemy.
There was a silence of some moments, as those two
men looked upon each other. In the stillness of the
night the strong breathing of both might be heard.
The first to break the silence was Dedi ; because that
strange sensation that possessed him, and which was so
like fear, was over-mastered ; whilst each moment but
added to the terror of the trembling Werenher.
" Speak, villain," said Dedi, " speak, or I will stab you
where you stand. Wherefore are you here at this hour ? "
Werenher did not advance a step from the spot on
which he stood ; but, dropping upon both his knees, and
clasping his hands, whilst his teeth chattered together,
he exclaimed, in a voice that was scarcely audible —
THE KNIGHT AND THE ASSASSIN. 333
tt
Mercy — mercy — mercy ! "
" Mercy ! " said Dedi, " mercy for the man who so
thirsts for my blood that he seeks it in my sleeping
chamber ! Wherefore show you mercy ? "
*' For your own sake — not for mine," replied We-
renher, whose confidence returned to him when he found
that Dedi showed no disposition to put him instantly to
death.
" And why should I be merciful to you for my own
sake, when you come here to show me none ? " asked
Dedi.
" Because," said Werenher, ^'you have but risen from
your prayers — because you have begged that your tres-
passes should be forgiven to yourself as you forgive to
others their trespasses."
" It is true — it is true," answered Dedi. " But heark-
en, villain. Did you hear the conversation that passed
so lately between Godfrey and myself, in which your
odious name came to be mentioned ? "
" I did," said Werenher.
" Then you must know," said Dedi, " that I have no
desire that you should be dead, but that the king may
thus be prevented from following your pernicious coun-
sels. What I desire more than your death is, that you
may be driven from the palace, and prevented from ever
returning to it, by being rendered infamous. At this
moment your life is in my hands, and, before you stir
from this room, I am determined upon taking it, unless
you comply with two conditions which I mean to impose
upon you. Do you beg for your life on these conditions ? "
" I do," said Werenher ; " whatever the conditions
may be, I subscribe to them."
" Craven — odious craven, that you are, it sickens me
334 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
to speak with you," said Decli, unable to restrain his in-
dignation at beholding so much of base cowardice under
the form of a man. " The first condition with which I
require a strict compliance on your part, is a candid —
mind you — a candid, plain avowal, why and wherefore
you have concealed yourself in this chamber ? "
" A candid answer to that question," said Werenher,
sighing deeply, '' must, I feel, consign my name justly
to eternal infamy, whilst it disentitles me to any com-
passion on your part. You have, however, named it as
the first condition on which you spare my life, and I,
therefore, shall fulfil it. Alas ! Count Dedi, you have,
unsought for, and unthought of by me, intruded your-
self upon my path. I never thought of doing you
wrong, and you have wronged me grievously. You
have not acted towards me as a brave man should have
done."
" How ! " answered Dedi ; " have I not twice offered
you battle — man alone opposed to man — and have
you not each time, like a timid coward, shrunk from it ? "
" You have," replied Werenher. " And yet it was
not bravely done of you ! A giant challenges a dwarf
to combat, and when the latter declines it charges him
with cowardice ! A single combat between one so weak
and fragile of form as I am, with one so strong and so
accomplished in feats of arms as yourself, would be, in
effect, but my unresisting assassination in the light of
day. In provoking me to battle you were well aware
you exposed yourself to no danger — that you only
sought for the means of slaying me. It was not then, I
repeat, bravely done of you to treat me so. You sought
my life by such arms as you could use, and so persist-
ing, you have compelled me to seek your life by such
THE KNIGHT AND THE ASSASSIN. 335
arms as I can alone wield. Driven to despair by your
unceasing persecution of me — exposed this night, by
you, in the presence of the king, and of Duke Godfrey
— by being denounced as a wretch, a robber, and a pol-
troon, I have stolen to your chamber with the resolution
of slaying you here as you slept. If then I kneel be-
fore you an assassin in intention, though not in fact, be
not forgetful I should not be in this degraded position
if it were not for the course you yourself have pursued
towards me."
This artful speech of Werenher's produced the effect
for which it had been delivered upon the conscientious
and scrupulous mind of Dedi. It excited pity for the
vile and trembling villaiji he saw prostrate before him.
Dedi reflected, for a few moments, and said :
" And so you intended to kill me when I slept ! "
" I did," answered Werenher.
" With that dagger, I suppose, I see in your girdle ? "
said Dedi, pointing to a weapon, whose rich enamelled
hilt attracted his eye.
" Perchance, in the blindness of my despair, I might
have had recourse to this dagger," replied Werenher.
" Draw it — fling it behind the canopy," said Dedi ;
and then he added, when he perceived how readily We-
renher complied with his command, " now — rise from
your knees — advance to this table — and — here is
parchment — write these words according to my dicta-
tion : —
** I, Count Werenhei', hereby declare, in my own
handwriting, that j^was discovered at midnight, in the
chamber of Count Dedi the younger, where I had con-
cealed myself with the intention of slaying him in hi8
336 THE rOPE AND THE EMPEEOR.
sleep ; and now, for the sole purpose of saving my life,
I avow that I am, from this time forth, to be ever re-
garded as infamous."
" This," continued Dedi, " is the second condition on
which I am willing to spare your life. I exact it from
you, for the purpose of driving you into exile, and thus
preserving my country from further affliction and misery."
" Alas ! " exclaimed Werenher, " will nothing but
my utter ruin content you ? "
" Miscreant," answered Dedi, *' would less than my
life have contented you, had you found me sleeping,
helpless, and unprotected, beneath your dagger ? Write,
villain, write instantly, as I ^have dictated — or die.
Before I leave Goslar, to-morrow morning, a herald shall
read aloud, in every cross-road, that declaration which I
now exact from you."
Werenher looked at the young man, and his com-
pressed lips, his frowning brow, and the fierce glance in
his eye, convinced the trembling wretch that any further
hesitation to comply with the command given to him
would be followed by the instant sacrifice of his life.
Werenher seated himself at the table. The first words
he attempted to write were rendered almost illegible, by
being penned in a trembling hand ; but, as he proceed-
ed, his nerves seemed to steady themselves, and the last
lines he wrote were a beautiful specimen of the finest
calligraphy of the age.
" Now attach your seal to that brief of your dishonor,"
said Dedi.
Werenher complied with the cfflder so imperiously
given.
" Begone, now," continued Dedi, flinging his sword
THE KNIGHT IND THE ASSASSIN. 337
on the couch on which he intended to repose, and, as he
did so, turning his back upon Werenher. " Avaunt !
hide yourself from the scorn of your fellow-men, and
repent if you "
The words of Dedi were interrupted by a blow from
Werenher, who held, all this time, the poisoned dagger
in his left hand, and who, the moment Dedi turned his
back, changed it instantly to the right, and plunged it,
with such fearful force, between both the shoulders, that
it became so firmly fastened he could not himself again
withdraw it.
At the same moment, Werenher snatched the parch-
ment from the table, and endeavored to rush out of the
room, but Dedi, though wounded, rushed upon him,
caught him, and grappling him by the throat, ex-
claimed :
** Ho ! help ! help ! without there — murder ! murder ! "
Before the assistance he cried for could reach him, he
had fallen to the earth, dragging down Werenher with
him in his fall, and holding him in his grasp, despite all
the desperate efforts of the assassin to escape.
" What means all this ? " said Godfrey, bursting, with
some of his attendants, into the room, and seeing his
friend Dedi writhing with agony on the floor, but still
holding Werenher in an iron gripe.
*' Take the parchment from the villain ; it will tell
you all," answered Dedi.
One of the soldiers of Godfrey, perceiving the parch-
ment in the hands of Werenher, stamped his iron-soled
sandal down upon the clinched hand, and thus bruising
all the bones, forced it from the grasp of the wretched
man, who lay, henceforth, without a struggle in the
grasp of Dedi.
29
338 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
" I have slain him in vain," said "VVerenher, to him-
self. " Fool and madman that he ^yas, to force me to
write such words. But for them, I had never struck
him. He has brought his death upon himself."
*' I am slain, Godfrey," said Dedi ; " and you will
perceive — by the document you hold in your hand —
slain by the man whose life I spared, when I discovered
him lying in wait to assail me. Let no blame fall on
the king for this base deed. Say to my father, and to
the nobles, that it should not interrupt the arrangements
which you and I had so happily begun. Kemember my
last words are these — the king is guiltless. Godfrey —
farewell ! Commend my soul to the prayers of the
faithful. O ! God ! have mercy upon me."
The lips of Dedi still moved in silent prayer, and
then he rolled upon the floor in agony — then he was
observed to raise his eyes in prayer, and in a moment
after lay a moveless, inanimate corpse at the feet of his
trusty friend !
As long as the death-agony of Dedi endured, not a
word was spoken in the chamber ; but when the hold
which the young man had taken of Werenher was seen
to relax, two of the soldiers laid hands upon the assas-
sin, and binding his arms behind him, thrust him back
into a dark corner of the room, so that the sight of him
might not disturb the last moments of his victim.
Godfrey knelt down by the side of the dead body,
and, impressing a kiss on the forehead, cried out, in a
voice that was choked with emotion —
" Farewell ! Dedi ! Farewell, most valiant and most
virtuous of the brave and good men of Saxony. Fare-
well ! victim to your own generosity. May your happi-
ness in heaven be a recompense for the ingratitude
THE KNIGHT AND THE ASSASSIN. 339
•which, you have received in this wicked and miserable
world !
" Let me," continued Godfrey, " look upon the vil-
lain who has slain this man. What ! " he cried, for
he had not yet examined the parchment he held in his
hand ! " Are you the assassin of Count Dedi ? "
" I will answer you no questions," said Werenher,
doggedly. " You hold not the office of a graf in this
district — you exercise no judiciary power in Goslar."
" No — but I am a soldier. I find my companion
slain by my side, and I have a right to kill his mur-
derer ! " answered Godfrey.
" Slay me, if you dare, upon suspicion, in the king's
palace, and when the king is near to administer justice
in person," was the reply of Werenher.
" Cunning, as if you were one of the scabini, in the
quirks of the law," remarked Godfrey, pointing to the
document which he now read, — " here is that which
condemns you."
" It does no such thing," readily answered Werenher.
*'It only proves that I was found in the chamber of
Dedi, with a certain intention — it does not prove that I
fulfilled that intention ; and Dedi nevei*, in dying, men-
tioned my name."
" But he described you, though he did not name
you," said Godfrey, somewhat confounded by this au-
dacious denial of facts of which he was himself a witness.
" That is your inference," replied Werenher ; " but
it is one in which the landgerichte may differ from you,
and even discover my innocence, where you fancy you
have found a proof of my guilt. I claim my right, as
a count of the empire, to be tried by my peers. I ap-
peal to the king for justice."
- ,m~f%,^^^i,^
340 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
" Be it so/' said Godfrey. " Here, friends, examine
the body of the gallant Dedi, in order that we may dis-
cover how his death has been caused."
In a few moments afterwards the small dagger was
wrenched, by main force, from the back of Dedi, and
placed in the hands of Godfrey. The latter examined
it with curiosity, and then looked to the wound it had.
inflicted. He perceived that, though the puncture made
in the flesh was so small as to be scarcely perceptible,
still, a wide circle around was one mass of fiery inflam-
mation ; and even though so few minutes had occurred
since life had been extinct, there were, amid that red-
ness, dark spots, as if decomposition had already taken
place.
" O, villain, villain ! " he exclaimed, '' this is a poi-
soned weapon. You ask for justice — you shall have
it ; for, if this crime be not punished with your death,
then, be assured, better lives, and greater men than you
shall be responsible for so foul a deed. You appeal to
the king as if you were sure of a pardon. He cannot
grant it, unless to declare himself your participator ; and
even if he were to grant it, you should not escape my
vengeance."
" An innocent man and a prisoner," said Werenher,
*' must bear, with patience, the angry reproaches of his
armed and angry prosecutor. I say again, that, with you,
I will not discuss the question of my innocence or my
guilt. Let me be conducted to the presence of the king,
for he is a just, a generous, and a gracious sovereign."
" Be it as you wish," answered Godfrey. " Friends,
hold that assassin flist. Bring him to the apartments of
the king. I will precede him, by a few moments, so
that his majesty may know how dire a deed has, this
THE PATE OP THE PAVORITE. 341
niglit, brouglit disgrace and dishonor upon the abode in
which he dwells. To the king ! "
Godfrey hastened from the apartment, bearing with
him the poisoned dagger and the written confession of
Werenher.
Werenher, in being led from the apartment, had to
pass close by the body of his victim, Avhich still lay
stretched upon the floor. He looked down upon it, and
an icy shudder ran through his frame.
" Miserable, mad youth," he thought, " it was not
without cause I trembled when I first heard your name.
In seeking, needlessly, for my destruction, you have
brought it upon yourself. I feared it would be other-
wise. You now lie dead and unavenged, and I fly for
refuge to a king who loves me. This is as it should,
be!"
CHAPTEE XXVI.
THE FATE OF THE FAVORITE.
" These are sad and dreadful tidings that you con-
vey to me," said Henry, to Duke Godfrey of Lorraine.
*' This document, in the handwriting of Werenher —
the circumstances which you yourself witnessed — the
dying declaration of the brave Dedi — his generous ref-
erence to myself — are all facts which leave not the
slightest doubt upon my mind that Werenher is the base
wretch who planted this poisoned dagger in the back of
the gallant soldier ; and, being so convinced as to the facts,
I am anxious to avenge his death, speedily and sharply."
29*
342 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
*' And capitally. Blood demands blood," observed
Godfrey.
" I am resolved that Werenher shall die," said Henry.
" But let it be at once," continued Godfrey ; " for,
if not, strange rumors will get abroad, and men will
say you participated in his crime ; because, when ar-
rested, he appealed with as much confidence to you as
if he was certain of impunity. I say this for the sake
of your Majesty's fame — and for the sake of bringing
to an honorable conclusion that negotiation in which the
murdered man and I were engaged."
" I feel obliged to you," said Henry, " both for your
candor and your prudent advice. The best proof that I
can give you how much I appreciate your wisdom is, by
declaring to you, that, with the exception of subjecting
Werenher to a public trial and execution, because such
would delay his punishment too long, I shall do, or cause
to have done, as regards his death, whatever you may
suggest."
" Then let me," replied Godfrey, " bring back to
Saxony, at the same time, the dead body of Dedi the
younger, with this parchment, the poisoned dagger, and
the head of the assassin."
" It shall be as you say," replied Plenry. " I leave
to you the care of the body of the dead. I wish to
have bestowed upon the remains the same honors that
would be shown to those of a duke of the empire. In
all that pertains to the execution of justice leave the
task to me. Be assured it shall be done speedily. The
hour of matins has passed, and, before the prayers of the
prime are completed, Werenher shall be no longer a liv-
ing man. Are you content ? "
THE SURRENDER. 343
CHAPTER XXVII.
THE SURRENDER.
The decapitation of Werenher ; the proof, thus af-
forded, that Henry was sincere in the promises he made
of pardon, aiad of restoration to all their rights, privi-
leges, and dignities of the Saxon nobles, who should
place themselves within his power, by a public submis-
sion, tended to facilitate that negotiation in which God-
frey had been engaged.
The terms, such as they had been agreed upon by the
Duke of Lorraine on the part of Henry, and of Dedi
the younger on behalf of the Saxons, were fully ratified
by the latter.
" I will not," said the father of the slain warrior,
" protest against an act which meets with the approval,
and has obtained the sanction, of my superiors and my
associates. I content myself with saying, that I am not
a participator in it. I cannot confide in the faith of
King Henry, and I will not seek for his clemency.
Heaven grant that none of you may be deceived in
either. I shall withdraw myself from Saxony, and re-
pair to Rome, there to pray for your happiness, if you
are permitted to enjoy the peace that is promised ; and
there, if it be necessaiy, to interfere on your behalf —
to place the pontiff in possession of all the facts that
have occurred, and to beseech his holiness so to act, as
that justice may be done to you, to the people, and to
Saxony. Here," continued the brave old man, " I part
from you ; but I leave with you those that are most dear
to me — my beloved wife, Adcla — my younger son.
344 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
and, what is still more precious, the corpse of him that
I fondly hoped would yet, with a warrior's hand, have
consigned me to a warrior's grave."
There were tears in the eyes of many brave men, and
sad forebodings in the hearts of many good men, as
Count Dedi departed from the encampment of the Sax-
ons ; and the nobles who remained, prepared to repair
to the place appointed for them to make a public sub-
mission to King Henry.
There was sadness in the camp of the Saxons. But
it was far otherwise with the troops collected under the
royal standard of Henry, once the intelligence spread
amongst them that the Saxons were about to surrender
to the king. Nought then was to be heard but shouts
of joy and cheers of exultation. This, they regarded a
triumph greater than any battle could have given to
them; for it was won without wounds, and purchased
by no loss of life. It was a victory of which they con-
sidered they had much more reason to be proud than
that gained by them on the banks of the Unstrutt, be-
cause the Saxons, though defeated there, had destroyed
the best and bravest of their Swabian cavalry and Bava-
rian knighthood.
A negotiation so concluded, exalted Henry as a states-
man, and made him revered by his soldiers, as a king
who was sparing the lives of his subjects, and who in-
finitely preferred their safety to his own military fame.
The proudest day — it might also have been the most
glorious — in the entire life of Henry the Fourth, was
that on which he — high and exalted above his fellow-
men — wearing his royal croAvn and Dalmatic robes, sat
upon a lofty throne, in the broad plain at Spira, between
Kindebriick and Greussen, and that his entire army was
THE SURRENDER. 345
drawn out in opposite lines, facing each other, and sepa-
rated by so wide a space, as to admit the whole of the
Saxon leaders - — nobles, prelates, landsmen, knights, and
warriors, to pass between them. And those Saxons were
seen advancing, rank after rank ; the bishops in their mi-
tres and pontifical robes, the nobles and other laymen in
the panoply of war ; and, as they came to the foot of
the throne, knelt slowly down before their offended sov-
ereign, and thus testified to him and to the world that
they acknowledged him as their superior lord, and then
passed onward, to be received into the several tents, pre-
viously prepared for their reception.
Had Henry been a humble man, this was a sight to
make him proud, for here were those he regarded as his
most bitter foes, obliged to bow down before his footstool.
Here were his foes, the Princes of Saxony and Thurin-
gia, at his feet, and scornfully did his eye glare upon
them as he recognized each — Wezel, the Archbishop
of Magdebourg ; Bucco, Bishop of Halberstadt ; Otho,
the quondam Duke of Bavaria ; Herimann, the relative
of Magnus ; Frederick, the Count Palatine, with Adel-
bert, Pudiger, Sizzo, Berenger, Bem, and other Counts
of Thuringia ; whilst there was a careless, almost vacant,
look of contempt as those of minor rank followed them,
as if he would not condescend to regard such inferior
persons worthy of his resentment, as his foes, nor of re-
spect, as his subjects.
Henry was naturally proud, and this was a sight suf-
ficient almost to make him forget that he was a man ; for
here he now sat enthroned the supreme monarch of Ger-
many, at the head of a gallant and a devoted army, and
the most dangerous foes that he had ever encountered
were forced to bend their knee to him, and worship him.
346 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
as if he were invested with the attributes of the Deity ;
for, once they had so submitted to him, their lives, their
liberties, and their properties were dependent upon his
word, and might be disposed of according to his caprice.
Had there been one spark of generosity in the heart of
Henry, here was an occasion on which he might have
manifested it. Here he might have added dignity to his
power, and conferred a fresh lustre upon his crown, by
proving himself worthy of the triumph he enjoyed in
the compassion he exhibited for the fallen condition of
his foes.
No such kindly, no such generous, no such chivalric
sentiment found a resting-place in the breast of Henry.
There was no pity for his prostrate enemies. Coldly^
silently, frowningly, he saw bishop and noble, landsman
and knight, soldier and freeman, bowing down to the
earth. He looked at them, not like a king upon his
subjects, but as an executioner upon his victims.
Duke Godfrey was a witness to this scene, and the
ominous silence, the cold reserve, and the ungenerous
bearing of Henry chilled his heart. The submission of
the Saxons had been received in a manner so different
from what he had calculated upon, the demeanor of
Henry was so contrary to what he felt his own would have
been, if similarly situated, that he could not refrain from
saying, as he saw the Saxons conducted into different
tents :
" I trust your ISlajesty feels perfectly satisfied with
the manner in which the Saxons have fulfilled the con-
ditions you imposed upon them."
" I am not," replied Henry. " I do not see the father
of Dedi here, and I miss hundreds of other rebels of
minor rank."
THE SUEREXDER. 347
"The old Count of Saxony, Dedi," said Godfrey^
" does not seek your Majesty's pardon, and therefore he
is not here. He has withdrawn from Germany altogeth-
er, and repaired to Rome."
" Then he has escaped my vengeance," said Henry.
" Your vengeance ! " said Godfrey, surprised. " Why,
if he had been here it must have been only to obtain
your forgiveness."
" Ay ! such forgiveness and such pardon as he mer-
its — such pardon as I have bestowed upon those villains
who have publicly avowed themselves to be rebels.
Look there I "
As Henry spoke these words, he pointed to the bish-
ops and nobles of Saxony, who were now seen issuing
from the tents, their hands laden with chains, and each
followed bv two soldiers, with drawn swords.
" O, heavens ! " exclaimed Godfrey. " This surely is
but done by you in mockery. You certainly do not mean
thus to treat and retain them as prisoners."
" The time for concealing my thoughts, and disguising
my intentions, Duke Godfrey," answered Henry, with
haughtiness, " is now passed. I am now omnipotent in
Germany, and there is no monarch in all Christendom
strong enough to contend against me. Perchance you,
like the old dotard Dedi, may fancy that I stand in fear
of excommunication from the Pope. Let me but hear
that one of my subjects presumes to appeal to Pome, and
that instant I shall have him executed as a traitor. If I
find it but whispered that the Pope intends to wag his
little finger against me, I shall have him seized, though
it were at the altar, and dragged a prisoner to my palace
to act as one of my menials. I have put down rebellion,
not to reward traitors, but to punish them — mildly pun-
348 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
ish them ; for I will not kill them, as they have confided
to my clemency. I will merely send them into banish-
ment. There is not one of those chained traitors you
now behold, that in twenty-four hours from this time
shall not be on the road to his prison, whether it be in
Swabia, Bavaria, Burgundy, Italy, or Bohemia."
" I know, and most readily do I acknowledge," said
Godfrey, " that the power possessed by your Majesty at
this moment, makes you, as far as mortal can be on this
earth, omnipotent. It is because I feel that you are so,
that I now kneel to your Majesty to do that, which I
never have done before, and never thought I ever should
have to do — to beg from you a favor."
And, as Godfrey spoke these words, he cast himself
on his knees before the throne of Henry.
Henry smiled to see the proud, gallant Duke of Lor-
raine thus bowing down to worship him, like the mean-
est and most subservient of his courtiers.
"E-ise, Godfrey," he graciously said. " It is not fit-
ting that you should thus bow down to me. Demand
what favor you will. There are but few things I can
refuse to you, for you have served me faithfully in the
field and at the council board."
" I have no favor to ask for myself," answered God-
frey, whose self-pride was hurt to find that his action
could have been misinterpreted. " I have inherited
enough of the world's wealth not to crave for more : I
cannot be raised higher in rank than I am, and for my
fame I am indebted to myself. It depends neither on a
monarch's smile, nor on the plaudits of a mob. The
favor I seek for, if it be conceded, is one that will tend
to your Majesty's welfare. I ask it much more for
your sake than for my own."
THE SUREENDEE. 349
"For viy sake!" repeated Henry, proudly. *' You
choose to speak in riddles, Duke of Lorraine. How can
my welfare be contingent upon the concession to you of
what you designate to be a favor ? "
" Because," answered Godfrey, " in it are involved
your Majesty's conduct now, your present peace, your
future glory, and the ultimate permanency of your em-
pire."
" I pray of you to speak plainly," said Henry, " for I
cannot comprehend your warning without a candid ex-
planation."
" Your Majesty forces me to speak plainly," continued
Godfrey, " although I doubt not, whilst you look upon
those noble Saxons, now in chains, you cannot be forget-
ful that they never would, or could be so, if I had not
had your Majesty's promise — nay, even oath, given in the
presence of the young Dedi, that no such circumstance
as this was to occur. Nay, I am compelled, to remind
your Majesty, that it was in reliance upon what you said
to me, that I pledged to them my oath, that, having
gone through the ceremony of a full submission, they
should not suffer in life, liberty, or property. They be-
lieved me ; they confided in you ; and because they did
so, you treat them as if they were captives taken on
the battle field, and were yours to dispose of by right
of war. They regarded a king's word as inviolable, and
so did I. It is true that your Majesty may, if so dis-
posed, violate your promise, and your doing so, I admit,
increases your power for the moment — I may even add,
renders you for the time all-powerful. But O, remem-
ber this, that truth is not merely the brightest jewel in a
king's crown, but that it is the very substance of which
that crown is composed, and once broken by him who
30
350 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
wears it. It is speedily followed by a dissolution of all
the particles that constitute the royal diadem. The king
who breaks his word is the chief conspirator against his
own throne, and his evil act is the signal to endless con-
spiracies as long as he reigns. The favor, then, that I
have to demand of your Majesty, is, that you will fulfil
your promise, and by setting those captives free, redeem
the oath by which I stand pledged to them."
*' I had hoped," said Henry, contemptuously, " that
the Duke of Lorraine had at least the wit of a hump-
back, and would never think of warning a king (at the
head of such an army as I now command) that he
should do that which it was plain he had determined not
to do. Ask me something that I may grant, Duke God-
frey — for instance, one of the estates of those rebels,
which I mean to confiscate. Would you like the Count-
ship of Saxony ? Old Dedi has abandoned it, and my
trusty Werenher has saved the son the trouble of seek-
ing for it."
(C
I take my leave of your Majesty," replied Duke
Godfrey. " To make such a proposition to me, is to an-
swer my request with cruel — with undeserved mockery
— nay, with insult. I feel that I have excited your
Majesty's hatred against me, and I am now conscious,
from what is passing before my eyes, that your enmity
will only cease with my life ; and that, as my existence
must be to you a reproach, you will seek to deprive me
of it. Be it so — I have ever preferred my honor to
my life, and, to preserve that honor untarnished, I care
not if the assassin's knife should reach me. I am cer-
tain that from this moment I am a doomed man —
doomed to death by you. As such, I now speak to you ;
as such, I not only warn you, but I venture to foretell
THE SURRENDER. 351
to you, that, from this breach of plighted faith with the
Saxon nobiHty, you will have to date your downfall —
and that, so low shall you sink in the estimation of man-
kind, that you — even you, now the mightiest of mortals
— shall yet beg for some scanty stipend, to procure the
common necessaries of life, and shall be refused that
which, as a mendicant, you have asked for. The time
will come when these words will be remembered as a
prophecy. Henry, farewell — I leave you to die ; I
know not by whose hand I may be struck, but I am sure
that you will direct the blow. Forever — farewell."
A few minutes afterwards the Duke of Lorraine and
all his military retainers marched out of the encampment
of Henry.
The Saxon prisoners had not the opportunity of con-
versing with Godfrey ; but, in his sudden withdrawal,
of which they were made aware, previous to removal
to their various places of imprisonment, they became
conscious that he, with each one of themselves, was alike
the victim of the duplicity, the falsehood, and the
treachery of King Henry.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE PLOTTERS AND THE LISTENER.
" LiEMAN," said Henry, to his attendant, upon retiring
to his tent at night, " what think you of the language
that the hump-backed duke addressed to me to-day,
in presence of so many persons, with respect to the sur-
render of the Saxons ? "
352 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
" That it was language calculated to disparage your
dignity, to excite discontent, and to encourage traitors to
rebel against you ; and that it was so like to treason, it
should be punished with death," answered Lieman, aptly
corresponding with the spirit in which the question had
been put to him.
"I think so too," observed Henry; "and I should
regard that man as mv best friend and most faithful ser-
vant who puts the sentence of death, which I now pro-
nounce upon Godfrey, into execution."
*' Let me but have the warrant for his death testified
by any symbol from your majesty," said Lieman, " and I
answer for it, with my life, he shall not be a week longer
in existence. Even if Godfrey had not offended your
Majesty now, you would soon have found him in the field
an armed foe, resolved to lose his life in opposition to
your Majesty."
" Why say you this ? " asked Henry ; " I know not
how I could, except by the withdrawal of my promise
from the Saxons, have provoked his enmity."
" Because, your Majesty having determined upon op-
posing yourself to the Pope upon the cessation of this
Saxon war, you would have thereby excited against your-
self the hostility of Godfrey — the avowed partisan of the
pontificate," answered Lieman.
" Indeed ! " said Henry, " I thought not of that before,
and yet what you state must be the fact ; for I have heard
him say — ay, a hundred times, and I laughed at his
absurdity — that the most glorious achievement, and the
most honorable to Germany, in all its annals, was the
carnage of Germans by the Normans at the battle of
Dragonara, when seven hundred Swabians died, to the
last man, in defending the dominions of Pope Leo IX.
TKE PLOTTERS AND THE LISTENER. 353
A "hundred times, and more, I have heard him affirming
that the 18th of June, 1055, was a day to be remembered
with pride by every German ; and I now recollect that
he has often wished that, like those Swabian dolts, he
might so meet his death on the field of battle, and thus
be permitted to expire like a soldier, and ag a martyr.
Yes, Lieman, you are right. Even if he had not offended
me, he must be got rid of ; for he will be one soldier less
in the ranks of that — which I now regard as my sole
enemy — the papacy at Rome."
" I know not," remarked Lieman, '* when your Majes-
ty may deem it prudent publicly to declare your hostility
to Rome ; but, whenever you do so, you will find arrayed
on your side hundreds of supporters that you wot not of ! "
" And who may these be ? " inquired Henry, " that I
may feel obHged to them for their sympathy, even though.
I may not require their aid."
"They are," replied Lieman, "the Paterini — they
are to be found in all parts of Germany — they swarm in
Lombardy, and have associates even in Rome itself. They
' have, according to the several localities in which they are
placed, special objects that they desire to accomplish ; but
in all there is to be found one common principle — a
hatred of the strict supervision of a scrupulous and a pow-
erful priesthood — because, wherever such a priesthood
is to be found, they prevent men from indulging their
natural propensities. The Paterini wish to enjoy life, and
to see all others enjoy it — and hence they hate those
priests who denounce the marriage of priests, and they
love to see the offices, riches, and emoluments of the
church bestowed on laymen, and possessed by laymen,
because then men are free to live as they please. Hence,
they are the natural enemies of the Pope, and of a strict
30*
354 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
clergy ; and they are the natural supporters of your Ma-
jesty, and of a free living priesthood, and would wish to
see you the ruler at Rome, and the Pope banished from
it, or put to death within its walls."
" Then these friends of yours — for I presume that
they are your fiiends," said Henry, " since you speak
so confidently of their sentiments, greatly approve of my
selling the bishoprics and abbacies in my dominions."
" Most highly," answered Lieman. " I have the con-
viction, that the only good use that can be made of a
church is to convert it into a source of profit for the state ;
I can say that for them, because I am myself a Paterini."
'* I am glad to know the fact," said Henry, with a smile
that had much meaning in it. " Are they numerous ? "
" Very numerous," said Lieman.
" And, I suppose, can recognize each other wherever
they meet ? " inquired Henry.
"Assuredly," answered Lieman. " They have secret
signs, which none but one Paterini can tell to another,
under the penalty of death."
" Do they believe in a God ? " asked Henry,
" Some of them do — others do not," replied Lieman.
*' Each is free to think as he pleases ; but no one can be
a member who does not think that Nature, which gave us
passions, intended we should indulge them ; and, that
whoever attempts to restrain them, be he pope, prelate,
priest, or layman, is a tyrant, and, as such, to be encoun-
tered in private and in public, by word and deed, wher-
ever it is possible — and by the sword whenever it is
practicable."
" This is a very formidable association," observed Hen-
ry, " according to your description of it. I may congrat-
ulate myself upon having its support, as my objects coincide
Bo well with its own."
4^ THE PLOTTERS AND THE LISTENER. 355
" They do so completely. There is no name so popular
with the Paterini as that of Henry IV. If their daggers
alone could accomplish such an object, you must have long
since been elevated to the Roman throne upon the ruins
of the papacy," said Lieman, proud of disclosing to the
king the opinions of the society of which he was a member.
" Could I be admitted a member of the society ? " asked
Henry, anxious to have these conspirators within his
power.
*' It is impossible," replied Lieman ; " for no man of
title can be one of the Paterini. It is one of their fun-
damental rules ; but whatever your INIajesty wishes them
to do, shall be done by them. It was, aided by the
Paterini, that I excited, as you desired, that commotion
at Cologne, which was so near costing Anno his life. And
now I have but to tell them that you desire the death of
Duke Godfrey, and from that moment every step he takes
will be dogged ; and, at the first favorable moment, he
will be despatched."
" I thank them for their devotion, and you for your
zeal," said Henry. " The task, however, is one that I
prefer being consigned to your hand alone. It is full of
peril — and I desire to intrust it to you, because I am
aware that yours is a courage which no danger can appall.
Supposing I were to elevate you to the office of a count,
could you still continue to be a confederate of the Pat-
erini ? "
" Me — a count ! " said Lieman, gasping with joy and
surprise. " 0, yes — for, having been admitted a member
when I had not a title, rank could not deprive me of my
rights as an associate."
" I rejoice to hear it," observed Henry, " for I should
be sorry to lose so trusty a means of communicating with
356 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
them. I shall have need to do so soon ; for the time is
not distant when open war between me and the Pope
shall be declared. Is Bishop Croft yet retui'ned ? "
" He rode into the camp not an hour ago," answered
Lieman.
" What thinks he of the death of his cousin, "Weren-
her ? " asked Henry.
" As little as men of the world think of those who can
no longer be of any service to them," replied Lieman.
" He believes, or is content to believe, and cares little
whether it be true or false, that Werenher was slain by
Godfrey, in revenge for the assassination of Dedi."
*' Then you are confident," Henry said, " that Weren-
her's death makes no change in his devotion to me ? "
" Not in the least," answered Lieman ; " because he
feels convinced it cannot interfere with the promotion of
his own interests. He is devoted to you, because he is
devoted to his own ambition ; and he knows he can only
climb to a higher position in the church by the aid of
your arm. He therefore belongs to you soul and body ! "
" I like to hear such tidings of my servants, for they
are the men I can most trust," remarked Henry. " Go,
then, Lieman, to Bishop Croft ; bid him be here with all
convenient speed. As to you, remember that the day on
which you tell me Duke Godfrey of Lorraine is dead —
whether that death be by violence or by accident, the
lands, power, and title of a Thuringian count shall be
bestowed upon you."
Lieman, elated with joy, passed from the presence of
his sovereign.
" I have been too confiding — too unsuspicious a mas-
ter," thought Henry to himself " Here have I been,
for years, associating with two most dangerous men.
THE PLOTTERS AND THE LISTENER. 357
Werenher and Lieman, and knew not the peril in which
I stood. Any day, for some years past, Werenher might
have destroyed me with poison ; and, at any time during
the same period, this Lieman might have admitted a furi-
ous homicidal Paterini into my presence ; for, if I am not
much mistaken, these Paterinis hate kings and emperors
as much as popes, bishops, and priests. Lieman has not
told me all their secrets. But if he once get Avithin the
sweep of Godfrey's sword, I shall hear no more of him ;
whereas, if he slay Godfrey, he will be so far useful, in
ridding me of a dangerous foe ; and I can afterwards
consider what I shall do with him and his obscure band
of vulgar conspirators. At present, I have a mightier,
more formidable, and more dangerous foe to grapple Avith.
Ah ! my dearest Croft," he said, throAving his arms around
the Bishop of Hildesheim, as he entered the tent, "I
trust I see you in perfect health."
*' For years I have never been so well — never felt
myself in such perfect sti-ength and vigor as at this mo-
ment — no, not even in my boyhood, Avhen all my
thoughts were of religious studies, or of rustic sports,"
replied Croft.
" I am rejoiced to hear it," remarked Henry, " both
for your sake and my own. I require from you all your
energy, I demand from you all your strength, and I seek
from you all your courage ; for I have a proposal to make
to you, which I would long hesitate even to wliispcr to
any but yourself; and not even to you, but that I feel
assured you are fully qualified to assume all the respon-
sibility I desire to impose upon you."
" I make no professions," said Croft. " Try me ; and
judge by such a test Avhether or not I am faithful to you."
" With such a man as you, I Avill not," observed Henry,
358 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
" descend to circumlocution of any kind. I then say at
once to you, what would you think, if I asked you to
place yourself in a position of direct hostility with the
Pope ? "
"I would say," answered Croft, "that if your Majesty
did not feel assured that I was a man of dauntless coiir-
age and of unshaken resolution, you would never invite
me, whether I were a layman or religious, to place my-
self in a position in which I must provoke the hostility
of Hildebrand, a pontiff whose nerves would never trem-
ble, although he felt the whole earth shaking beneath
his feet."
" And yet," said Henry, " I do invite you to take that
position."
"And I am prepared to take it," observed Croft.
" Have I now answered you as your Majesty wished ? "
" You have answered," said Henry, "in a manner
that completely corresponds with my expectations. You
have done so in such a manner, that I say to you, ask
from me, for the future, whatever you wish, and every
thing that you desire, short of my crown itself, shall be
given to you. To the fulfilment of this promise, as long
as I live, I pledge my faith, my oath, and my honor."
" Most gracious and most generous master," said Croft,
" tell me now what is the particular duty you desire me
to perform ? "
" I desire you to take upon yourself the highest office
in the world. I desire you to become a sovereign ! "
answered Henry.
" The highest office in the world ! I — a sovereign !
The Prior of Aschaffenburg — a sovereign ! " exclaimed
Croft, his ruddy cheek assuming the pale and leaden
hue of death, as he repeated the words : "I — a sov-
THE PLOTTERS AND THE LISTENER. 359
ereign ! Can I have heard your Majesty aright ? "What
can be the meaning of your words ? I do not under-
stand them — I — the highest office ! I — a sovereign !
O, it is a dream — or, perchance, an attack of illness
has made me misinterpret your Majesty's words ! "
*'No — no," remarked Henry laughing, and amused
at the confusion and amazement portrayed in the features
of Croft. " What I say, I mean ; I could not, I think,
in plainer words, ask you to become that which I wish
to see you — a pope ! "
"A pope," observed Croft, hastily; " the Pope lives
at Eome — the chair of St. Peter is filled by Gregory
VII. That formidable man, who is best known and
feared, by us German priests, as the Archdeacon Hilde-
brand, dwells now in Rome ; and the moment he hears
of such a project as this he will fling, with a ready hand,
a thunder-storm of excommunications upon our heads."
" But if I insui'e the popedom to you, are you ready
to set his excommunication at defiance ? " asked Henry.
"I am," was the ready and instant reply of Croft.
Henry embraced Croft, and then said : —
" True and trusty friend, I may now tell you a secret,
which, if there had been the slightest shrinking on your
part, I would have concealed from you. I have only
waited for the cessation of this Saxon war, to develop
plans that have long since been contemplated by me. I
conceive that the popedom should be in my gift as Em-
peror of the Romans — that no one should be pope but
one that is devoted to my interests. I hesitated, for
some time, whether I should make you or the worthy
Cadalous, my pope ; not because I doubted which was
the more fitting — but because I am told that Cadalous,
though a priest, has had a wife ; and, therefore, was cer-
360 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
tain, for liis own sake, not to reform that abuse, in which
he himself had been a participator. Though thus com-
mitted in hostihty to Rome, he is, I think, a weak man,
whose fears of an hereafter might be worked upon —
whilst you, I am sure, have the courage of adamant —
you will care as little for the thunders of an excommu-
nication as for the clamors of the mob, who are all upon
the side of Hildebrand, and who exalt him for his bravery,
because he denounces all archbishops, bishops, and priests
indebted for their rank to what he calls simony. I ask
you, then, to become my pope, in order that we may,
together, put down that Pope at Rome, Gregory \^II.,
who holds now in his hand the hearts of the people as
firmly as if they were there enclosed with clasps of iron.
It is a great task I ask you to perform — are you pre-
pared to undertake it ? "
" I am," again promptly replied Croft.
" It is bravely answered," observed Henry, " and
will, I am sure, be as resolutely performed. Be assured.
Croft, that I have done, and am doing my utmost to
remove the difficulties from the path both of you and
of myself. I am, at this moment, in communication
with Cenci, the prefect of Rome, for the purpose of in-
ducing him to seize upon Gregory, the first favorable
opportunity, and to bring him here a prisoner. Cenci
has promised to do this : he has even declared that, if
the Pope refuses to obey his orders, he will slay him.
This much I have provided for at Rome. I have not
been idle in Germany. I have used the display of my
army here to some effect upon the fears of the bishops ;
and there are now, few amongst them who would refuse,
or rather, who would dare to refuse, upon my demand,
the deposition of Gregory, and to elect whomsoever I
THE PLOTTERS AND THE LISTENER. 361
may name, as pope. What thiuk you of my plot.
Croft ? "
" That it is ahmost perfect in all its parts," answered
Croft. " There is still, however, one material thing want-
ing to it."
" And what is that ? " asked Henry.
" It is," answered the king's astute adviser, " that in
the spiritual war in which you are about to engage, you
should be prepared to be the first assailant ; that, with-
out waiting to be attacked, you should attack ; that,
without delaying to be excommunicated by the Pope,
you should excommunicate the Pope."
" It is a valuable suggestion," Henry remarked, " but
amongst all my bishops, who but yourself would have
the courage to do that ? "
" I know there is one who, I am sure, would do it,"
observed Croft. " It is William of Utrecht."
" How came you to entertain so high an opinion of
William, Bishop of Utrecht ? " asked Henry. '* He
rarely comes to court — seldom is seen in his diocese —
and appears to be a man, who, though a bishop, takes
little interest in the affairs of church or state."
"I say it," said Croft, "because I am pretty certain I
have discovered the secret of his life. I know that
there is something like insanity in the intensity of his
hatred to every Pope that has been in Pome, from
Gregory VI. to Archdeacon Hildcbrand — that he chafes
under the repeated excommunications that have been
launched against those clergymen who have violated the
vows that bound them, solely and entirely, to the service
of the altar ; and that he will rejoice in the opportunity
of denouncing him who has been most urgent in issuing
Buch excommunications."
31
362 THE POPE AND THE E5IPEE0R.
*' I am delighted to hear this," remarked Henry ; *' It
is another instrument to insure success ; but, for that
success, I count mainly upon you and your unsliiinking
firmness."
" In your service," replied Croft, " I shall know
neither fear, compunction, nor remorse."
*' I embraced you as ijiy friend," observed Henry,
" when you entered this tent ; I now embrace you as my
fellow-sovereign : and, as more than one of my prede-
cessors has, as a mark of respect for the pontiff, held
his bridle-rein for a short distance, I shall now, as a
proof of respect, and of love for my pope, see him out
of my tent, and safely placed upon his steed."
And so saying, the proud King of Germany led the
exulting Croft, by the hand, from his tent.
As both disappeared in the darkness outside, the folds
of the tent, which, when rolled together, left a space for
the entrance, were shaken gently out, and thence emerged
one who appeared in a strange garb to be seen in that
costly tent — it was a man wearing the torn and misera-
ble robe of a common mendicant — it was Bernhard who
was thus disguised. He crept cautiously out into the
open air, and, as he did so, was so bewildered with wliat
he had just heard, that his thoughts only came by fits
and starts :
" What a wise man is that pilgrim ! Most lucky he
sent me, so disguised, to be a spy ! What strange things
I have heard ! — my former avaricious, wicked master,
to be a pope ! Lord have mercy oh us ! — and then the
plot against the real pope's life — and the plot against
Duke Godfrey's life. What a wicked world it is ! I
must tell all to the pilgrim — he will best know what to
do. And then that strange Bishop of Utrecht ! — eh ! — •
THE TREASURE-CHAMBER. 363
it might he! — I must not forget that either. I hoj^e I
may meet Liemau before he can overtake Godfrey — if
I do, I shall save at least one good man's life. O, for
an aim of three seconds at that villain Lieman. Even
though I have such news as this to tell, I would stop
to kill him, and avenge Megiuherr."
So thinking, Bernhard made his way out of the king's
encampment, and speeded, hurriedly as he could, towards
Erzegebirge.
CHAPTER XXIX.
THE TREASURE-CHAMBER.
The Bishop Croft was alone in his chamber, and ia
that chamber he had secreted the entire vast mass of gold,
silver, and jewelry, which he had passed an entire life in
accumulating.
Croft was alone. He had dismissed all his attend-
ants, with the special command that he was not to be
disturbed for some hours, as he stood in need of perfect
quiet and of complete repose.
The Bishop Croft was alone. He sat in his episcopal
chair, his head resting on his right hand, and the bright
rays of a warm setting sun flashed out in purple sparks
from the amethyst-jewelled ring of that hand, as its
fingers moved convulsively upon the quick-beating tem-
ples of the bishop.
The Bishop Croft was alone, and there was not a sound
to be heard, within doors or without, to jar Avith that
profound meditation in which he was now buried.
364 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE.
There was a smile upon his lip — there was the flash of
triumph in his eye. He looked as if he were a consum-
mate general, who had, by his skill, gained a decisive
battle, and not content with enjoying his victory, was
calculating upon all the great results that might be de-
rived from it.
Thus sat Bishop Croft in his solitary chamber ; and
thus did he commune with himself : —
" With the exception of the mere performance of a
few ceremonies, I am now that which I often wished,
but scarcely could ever have hoped to be. Kings shall
bow down before me ; and ambassadors from the most
distant parts of the globe shall come to lay at my feet
whatever is most rare and most precious in their respec-
tive countries. My power shall extend, not merely to
the utmost limits of Christendom, but beyond them —
for / — am the Pope.
" The Pope — His Holiness the Pope !
'JfYes — these are the titles with which men shall
greet me.
" The despised Prior of Aschaffenburg shall be a pope,
and in Pome, too ! and those who contemned me, and
those who denounced me, because I attached its proper
value to wealth, shall be forced to bow down to me as a
supreme pontiff! — to fear my power, if they will not
court my favor.
" Plow different is my position from that of the simple-
minded Meginherr ! He now lies forgotten in his
grave. He is as if he never had been, whilst I, living,
shall be a pope, and when dead, remembered forever.
My name shall appear in the annals of all nations. But
in Avhat terms shall I be spoken of?
" I care not. Let the future provide for itself. This
THE TREASURE-CHAMBER. 365
is the time for me. At present I am to be a pope. Yes,
Pope ; despite the dauntless Hildebrand, who now sits
enthroned at Rome.
*' He will call me a schismatic — he will denounce me
as an anti-pope.
" "We shall mutually excommunicate each other — -
that is all.
" He and I do but typify the state of the church at
the present moment. There is a schism. He embodies
the independence of the church as distinct from the
state — I, the dependence of the church upon the state.
" Which of us is right ? It is a great question. It will
outlive us both. Neither he nor I can decide it. All
/ have to do is to take advantage of the quarrel, and
convert it to my own profit.
" In such a quarrel I am sure of the victory, because
I have opposed to me nothing more than the will and
the weakness of Hildebrand. His only allies are fanatic
but helpless clergymen ; his only supporters the poov —
the multitude — still more helpless, still more weak, and
still more contemptible than the old man at Rome, and
his adherents who serve at the altar. He is surrounded
with personal enemies. Some desire his deposition, some
thirst for his blood — all are ready to cooperate in his
downfall.
'' What, on the other hand, have I to aid me ? First,
the full support of Henry, who identifies himself with
this struggle against Hildebrand; secondly, the avowed
or the covert support of every European monarch, who
must perceive, that with my exaltation, will be secured
to himself the free disposal, according to his desire, of
all the bishoprics and abbacies in liis own dominions ;
31*
3G6 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
thirdly, I mtist have for myself the hearty cooperation
of every one who desires to obtain the highest rank in
the chnrch, by means of the personal or pecuniary influ-
ence he can command ; and with these, the cooperation
of all the great laymen, who desire to have restored to
their families those fertile lands of which the piety of
their ancestors have divested them ; and with these lay-
men there must be, and especially in Germany, that
large body of clergymen who are threatened by Hilde-
brand with being dej^rived alike of office, rank, and
riches, if they will not live piously, chastely, and virtu-
ously.
*' Imperial and kingly power — the passions, stronger
than the armies of kings, and wealth, more omnipotent
than armies or the passions themselves, are ranged upon
my side. What then can resist me ?
" Nothing — no — nothing on this earth can do so.
" I am a pope, in hostility to one who calls himself
the Pope; but, in a few days — perhaps. In a few
hours — perhaps, even now, if Cenci has fulfilled his
promise, Hildebrand is no more ; and I am, alone, and
uncontested, the Pope — His Holiness, the Pope !
" Or, if it be not so ? If accident preserves Hilde-
brand from the sword of Cenci ? If Hildebrand fly in
safety from Pome, and some unforeseen chance raise up,
in some unknown and hitherto undiscoverable cjuarter,
friends for him, and he engages In a quarrel with me —
presumes to question my right to that title, which, from
this day forward, I mean to assume, then, in that case,
I have here — ay, even here — friends who never failed
me — true allies, whose mere presence alone, can not
only win for me peace, but secure to me victory.
THE TREASURE-CHAMBER. 367
" Let me look upon tliem — let me feast my eyes with
the sight of them — let me seat myself as a king in the
midst of them."
So speaking, Bishop Croft rose from his episcopal
chair, and took from a casket, %vhich he wore around his
neck, a small key, applied it to a minute orifice in the
wall, and a panel, large as a door, opened, and instantly
a flood of sunshine poured into a recess, like a room, it
was so wide and so high, and the walls were one dazzling
mass of precious stones, and the pavement completely
hidden by the heaps of gold and silver coins which
covered it over, and lay, in many places, as if they had
been shovelled up, in large masses, together.
A thousand and a thousand times had Croft looked
upon this accumulation of riches, which was apparently
incalculable. Never had he gazed upon it but with
admiration — and yet, never before did he feel such
exultation in contemplating it as at that moment.
" 0, my wealth ! my own wealth ! my own precious
wealth!" he cried; " Avith what pains have I not col-
lected, and with what anxiety have I not gathered thee,
piece by piece, and bit by bit, together ! How gladly
hast thou grown and tbriven beneath my care — the pale
silver, the ruddy gold, and the rich diamond. I have
watched thee by day, and I have cared for thee by night ;
and now thou sparkiest before my eyes, and thou smilest
upon thy loving master, and thou tellest him that thou
wilt wait upon him, and do his bidding, when he wears
the tiara. 0, wealth ! wealth ! wealth ! precious wealth !
he who clutches thee, as I do now, holds that for which
Archimedes wished, when he declared that he could,
with it, move the entire world."
As Bishop Croft spoke these words, he flung himself
368 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE.
down upon the floor, and rested his glowing cheek upon
a mound of gold, as if it were a pillow.
'•' Henry's pope/' he said, with a smile, *' reposes
upon that which is greater than king, emperor, or pon-
tiff. O, it is glorious ! almost Godlike ! thus to lie
amid that which all men worship — and to think it is
my own — all my own. How these jewels above me
sparkle, as if they were so many stars — how the gold
reddens around me, as if the coins were beginning to
glow with a vital heat, and would, of themselves, move
to do my bidding.
*' O, gold — precious, glorious gold!
" But what is this ? " said Croft, starting up from the
recumbent posture in which he had been reposing. " It
seems to me as if that heap of gold had suddenly be-
come one mass of fire beneath my cheek, and burned it
to the bone. And eh ! what is this ? Why, the gold by
my side, if I touch it with my hand, seems, also, changing
to fire. And O, horrible, I seem to be lying amidst
flames.
"Ah! I have been thinking over much — I must
leave this — yes — I must — must quit this rich treas-
lu'e-chamber.
" Great heavens ! what is this ? I — 0, horrible ! I
cannot stir.
*' And see — see, my jewels are changing — chang-
ing — O, monstrous ! they have changed into white par-
ticles of fire, and are now dropping down upon me in
burning flakes.
" I am all in a flame of fire, and yet I cannot move !
"It is my over-heated, over-worked brain that is
thus deluding me — I know it well — and yet I am
burning — bui-ning — ah ! the gold is melting, and sink-
THE TREASURE-CHAMBER. 369
ing into my flesh. And hark ! there are strangers in the
outer room.
"They come to help me. No — no — they come not
to help me. Their laugh is loud and malignant as that
of demons.
" They are demons ! They tear down the diamonds
of fire and fling them on me. They heap up the gold
in shovels, and are smothering me with the scorching
masses. They are burying me — they are burying me
in hell. Ah ! one has caught me by the neck — he
is choking me.
" O, I am slain — slain in my sins,
« Help ! help ! help ! "
A shriek of agony rang through the mansion of the
reprobate which made the flesh of all creep who heard
it ; for the sound was expressive of the intensity of
extreme agony, and of the absolute horror of despair.
The hearers feared, for a time, to move. They did
not dare to ask each other whence it came. They trem-
bled, as they felt assured that it had issued from the
private room of Croft. With timid steps they advanced
to the door — knocked first lowly, and then loudly at it ;
but there was no response given to their repeated calls.
At length the attendants of Croft burst open the door.
The spectacle that there presented itself to their eyes it
would be difficult, accurately, to describe.
Upon breaking open the door, they discovered the
deceased, with his neck as if it had been broken ; his
skin dark and discolored — himself a rigid corpse — the
miserable wretch lying dead upon all his treasures, which
were strewed beneath him as if he rested upon a bed !
370 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
CHAPTER XXX.
THE EVIL DEED AVENGED.
On travelled Bernharcl, hastily, anxiously, and hop-
ingly, for he believed that on his speed depended,
not merely the life of Godfrey, but thousands of his
fellow-creatures. In his breast there lay deep and im-
portant secrets, and upon their quick disclosure to the
pilgrim (regarded by him as the wisest and best of men)
rested, as he considered, the triumph of the good, and
the downfall of the wicked. He travelled on, with those
untiring limbs, which none but a hunter can command ;
and never did he stop to repose, but for the mere pur-
pose of giving to himself so much rest as might enable
him to resume his journey with the same energy that it
had been begun. He ate, he slept, but to travel on-
ward ; and, as he did so, there was but the same thought
engrossing him — all that he had heard when he lay
concealed in the kinar's tent.
Some days had passed since he had listened to the
conversation of Henry, first with Lieman, and then with
the Bishop of Hildesheim ; and yet Bernhard was still
upon the road. That road, at last, began mounting up
amid thick, tangled forest trees, to the top of a high hill,
and as Bernhard recognized the topmost point of the
hill, his heart bounded M'ith joy.
" Thank God ! " he exclaimed, " I am, at last, within
a few hours of the end of my journey. When I reach
the top of that hill, I can see a deep ravine which runs
between it and the opposite mountain — I have but to
descend into that ravine, and then to climb the mountain
THE EVIL DEED AVENGED. 371
on the other side, and from that mountain I shall see
the fortress of Erzegebirge, either invested by the rustics,
under the command of the pilgrim, or captured by them.
I hope the latter may be the case. O, what things I
have to tell the pilgrim ! " cried Bernhard, his constant
thought, for the last few days, again taking possession
of his mind. " "What strange tidings for him ! and then
there is Duke Godfrey! It is strange I should find,
wherever I have gone, the traces of him and his troops
having preceded me. Perhaps God, in his mercy, may
permit me to be the humble instrument of saving the
life of so good a man from the dagger of the infidel Lie-
man. It is wonderful that I should have been able to
hear the particulars of so foul a plot. No man but a
forester, vv'ho has been habituated to remain for hours in
the same position, watching for the wild beasts of the
woods, could have stood unmoved, as I did, for such a
length of time, within the folds of the king's tent. Ah ! "
thought Bernhard to himself, with a pardonable vanity,
" if a spy be wanting, in a good cause, there is no man
equal to a practised forester. We can dog the steps of
the wicked as we track the wolf to his lair."
As Bernhard thus thought, he stopped suddenly in
the midst of the rapid pace at which he had been pro-
ceeding, for his practised eye had distinguished the glis-
tening of armor amid the green branches.
'' "Who may these be ? " said Bernhard ; " the follow-
ers of Godfrey, or the soldiers of the king, employed
upon some marauding expedition ? I must ascertain be-
fore I permit them to see me." *
Thus speaking, Bernhard darted from the pathway
behind some trees, and then cautiously looking around,
so as to be certain that there was no one watching his
372 THE POPE AND THE EMPEEOR^
movements, he crept upon his hands and knees along the
earth, until he obtained a distinct view of the persons
whose armor he had remarked, and could, unobserved,
hear their conversation. He found that there were col-
lected together a troop of about twenty archers, and that
they seemed to be reposing after the fatigue of a march.
" I wonder," said one of the unknown soldiers, " what
that stranger could have desired to impart with such
secrecy to our leader, that he should have begged for a
private interview with him, and completely alone."
" I suspect," said another of the soldiers, " that it
must have been a messa<?e from the kinsr."
" A message from the king ! " remarked a third j
"that is impossible, for he left the camp greatly dis-
pleased with his majesty."
" And therefore the king," said a fourth, " may have
sent after him to seek a reconciliation. If the kinsr have
any gratitude in his heart he will do so, as no man ren-
dered greater service in the battle of Langensalza than
our valiant commander."
"It is very probable," said a fifth soldier, "that a
reconciliation is sought for, because, though the man who
is now with him does not hold high rank, I am quite
sure I have seen him amongst the king's personal attend-
ants. Besides, he wears the gilded armor of one of the
Worms' Life Guards, his majesty's favorite soldiers."
To this entire conversation Bernhard listened with
burning impatience. He had done so, in the hope that
some name might be mentioned, which might guide his
conduct ; but the last words uttered were so applicable
to Lieman, that he could restrain himself no longer, but
rushed into the midst of the soldiers. In an instant
twenty swords were pointed at his breast, and there was
THE EVIL DEED AVENGED. 373
the demand made by all vipon him to declare who he
was, and wherefore he thus appeared so agitated ?
" For heaven's sake," he said, in a voice that was shrill
with anguish, " do not stop to ask me questions, but an-
swer mine, for more than one life may depend upon the
delay of a moment. Of whom are you the followers ? "
" "We are the followers of the gallant Godfrey, Duke
of Lori'aine," replied one of the soldiers.
'' And it is with him that an interview has been sought
by a messenger of the king ? " asked Bernhard.
" It is," answered the same soldier.
" Is the messenger of the king a man with large, black
eyes, of a pale complexion, of tall and muscular form ? "
again asked Bernhard.
"He is — you describe the stranger exactly," replied
the Lorraine archer.
" O heavens ! where are they ? How long have they
been together ? How soon may we come up with them ? "
exclaimed Bernhard, his voice tremulous with agitation,
and his cheeks, from excitement, fired with the heat of
passion that filled his breast.
" They have been together about an hour," said the
leader of the troop, who now gathered around Bernhard,
and sympathized with the agita.tion that he exhibited.
" They passed from that hill down into the ravine, and
wherever they are, we can from thence perceive them,
and in a few moments afterwards come up with them."
"Thank God," said Bernhard, with deep emotion.
"Men — soldiers of Godfrey — if you love your lord,
seek now, with me, to save his life, for the man who is
with him is a messenger froan the king, and has followed
with the intention of assassinating your brave com-
mander. Forward — then, forward, to the top of the
33
374 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
hill. Prepare your bows, as I have mine, and if you
see the duke in any danger, slay Lieman — for it is the
villain Lieman, who has come to murder Godfrey."
No sooner had these words been spoken, than all
rushed, at their best speed, to the brow of the hill ; and
the moment they did so, perceived the two, of whom
they were in search — the Duke Godfrey and Lieman.
They were not in the ravine ; but stood on a projecting
ledge of rock on the opposite mountain, directly on a
level with Bernhard and the soldiers. A narrow, but an
impassable space separated Duke Godfrey from his friends.
Modern science has invented the means of constructing
bridges over a wider space than that which there divided
Godfrey and Lieman from Bernhard and the Lorraine
archers ; but, to place the one party by the side of the
other, would require a descent on one side, and an ascent
on the other, which the most agile could not hope to ac-
complish in less than half an hour. Bernhard saw, at
once, that unless Godfrey could defend himself from
Lieman, no human aid could be rendered to him, and
as this conviction came to his mind, he wrung his hands
in despair.
Godfrey and Lieman, when seen by Bernhard, were
so deeply engaged in conversation together, that neither
had remarked they Avere observed by others. Godfrey
was seated on the trunk of a fallen tree ; and Lieman
was standing by his side, but his back turned to the
group who now watched him.
" The duke is still unharmed," said Bernhard. ^' But
how arc we to warn him of his danger ; for alas ! that is
all we can do. The man who is speaking to him at this
moment, I, myself, heard promise the king he would slay
him. What is to be done ? "
THE EVIL DEED AVENGED. 375
* I know not any thing better," said the leader of
the archers, " than to shout to him to be on his guard.
If he be so, he is like one of the warriors of the north,
and will count it no honor to kill a single opponent.
Besides the sight of so many of his followers may deter
the assassin from carrying out the base object with which
he has sought this interview."
" Alas ! I know nothing more feasible than what you
suggest," said Bernhard. " Do you shout then to him
— he will recognize your voice, whereas, if I spoke, he
might not heed the words of a stranger."
" Holloa ! " cried the follower of Godfrey, raising his
voice to its utmost pitch; "holloa! watch the movements
of the man beside you — he has come to assassinate you."
As these words were uttered, and that echo repeated
them, and, by. the quick repetition, rendered all that was
said confused, Godfrey and Lienian looked across the
ravine, and perceived, for the first time, so many persons
watching them.
Godfrey, unconscious of the slightest evil impending
over him, did not rightly, nor clearly, apprehend the
signification of the words that were spoken, and, starting
up from his seat, advanced towards the edge of the rock,
with the intention of calling to his men to repeat what
they had said. Such was not the case with Lienian ;
the fell design he had in his heart rendered him suspi-
cious, and hence, the moment that he heard these M'ords
— saw the soldiers — and recognized Bernhard, he per-
ceived that the only time he could ever have a chance
of slaying Godfrey was then ; and that even his own
life now depended upon the execution of the project, for
Godfrey, he knew, would kill him if his suspicions Avere
once aroused. Hence, it was, that the moment he saw
376 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
the back of Godfrey turned towards him he drew his
dagger, plunged it into the back of the duke, and, amid
a shout of liorror from those who witnessed the bloody
deed, pushed the body of the brave duke over the edge
of the rock into the ravine beneath, and, in so doing,
inflicted a second death upon his victim.
*' Shoot the murderer where he stands ! " excl^med the
leader of the archers ; " if we could not save the life of
Godfrey, let us, at least, avenge it."
At the same moment, twenty arrows flew in a straight
line over the ravine, all directed against the person of
Lieman — and, had he not been a practised soldier, he
must, on the instant, have fallen, transpierced with
wounds ; but he anticipated the movement by dropping
upon one knee, and bringing round his shield, so as to
present it and the crest of his helmet alone as the only
object to be aimed at.
The sharp ring of six arrow heads on Lieman's shield
was heard, and the whizzing sound of others, as they
flew over and around him, but he stood up in the midst
of them unharmed ; and, shaking his sword in derision
at the archers, sought, by a single bound, to clear him-
self from the vacant ledge of the rock, and hide himself
beneath the deep-set trees behind him. That bound
was made ; and, as he reached the first tree, he turned
his face sideways from the group that gazed upon him,
but from that spot he never again stirred ; for, at that
instant, there came flying, with the speed of lightning,
and in a straight line at him, a single arrow, which,
striking him through both cheeks, nailed him to the
tree by the side of which he stood — and there pene-
trating a couple of inches into the stem, trembled as it
held him, from the force with which it had been dis-
charged.
THE UNEXPECTED EECOGNITION. 37T
A shout of joy rung in the ears of Lieman, as that
wondrous arraw shot fastened him, writhing in agony,
to the tree. He was seen, for a moment, to fling his
arms and sword about, as if he were fighting against a
foe — then, as a flight of arrows struck him, the sword
dropped from his grasp — he beat the air with his hands
— and "iKen, drawing up his feet from the ground, he
hung, by a single arrow, to the tree — every limb was
seen to shake and tremble, and then he remained as q[ui-
escent — as if he were dead.
He ivas dead; and when the soldiers of the duke
climbed up to the place in which he hung, half an hour
afterwards, they were horrified to see what intense agony
was portrayed in his distorted countenance ; and they
wondered not a little to find inscribed, upon the arrow
that had slain him, a word — the signification of which
they could not comprehend — that word was — Megin-
herr!
CHAPTER XXXI.
THE UNEXPECTED RECOGNITION.
'^1 HAVE fulfilled my vow," said Bernhard, "but I
have not saved the life of Godfrey. Man cannot do all
that he desires, but only so much as it is the will of
heaven he should accomplish."
As Bernhard spoke these words he reached the crest of
the mountain, from which the fortress of Erzegebirge,
and the hamlet at its base, were distinguishable.
"The battle, I see," observed Bernhard, "is still
32*
378 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROK.
raging, but the valiant pilgrim, I perceive, has con-
trived the means by which it must soon be brought to a
close."
Whilst Bernhard was expressing, aloud, his admira-
tion of the strategic skill of the pilgrim, circumstances
occurred which fully justified his applause.
The sounds of battle were heard — the shouts of war-
riors, commingled with the shrieks of the wounded,
reached his ears, as he advanced towards the fortress,
which he could perceive had foes both from the hamlet
below and from a fortress higher placed than itself, to
contend against. During his absence, he remarked that
a pi'ojecting pinnacle of the mountain on which Erzege-
birge was built had been seized upon by the pilgrim,
and there, with much difficulty, a tower had been erected,
capable of containing twelve hundred soldiers. This
fortress had been filled with various machines of war,
and commanding, as -it did, the fortifications of the for-
tress beneath, there were now pouring from it, upon the
fortress walls, enormous piles of wood, pointed at the
top with iron, and witli these, huge stones, -which man-
gled and crushed to death all upon whom they fell ;
whilst, at the same moment, flights of arrows came from
the rustics beneath, and struck those upon the walls who
had escaped the dreadful assaults from above.
The soldiers of the garrison, who, under the command
of Egen, had been harassed by repeated attacks, now
declared to him they were able to resist no longer ; that,
penned up by the rustics, they could no longer, with
safety, forage abroad ; for the foes above could, by watch-
ing all their movements, give warning to those in the
land around as to the time they were about to issue forth
— and that, destitute of food, they must yield the for-
THE UNEXPECTED RECOGNITIOX. 379
tress, even If they could resist — which they declared to
be impossible — the attack from the tower.
When Bernhard gained access to the presence of the
pilgrim, he found that the soldiers from the fortress were
with him, desiring to know upon what conditions they
might yield up the place.
"Your bravery as soldiers," replied the pilgrim, "in-
duces me to forgive the cruelties you have practised upon
those who were unable to resist you. I rejoice that you
offer to surrender to-day, rather than to-morrow, for it
saves me the necessity of employing against you a weapon
of warfare, the knowledge of which I gained in the
East, and which if I did use, you would be as com-
pletely destroyed by it, as if the heavens opened and
rained down fire upon your heads. I have forborne to
employ it to-day, not for your sakes, but for the sake of
her you hold a prisoner. The conditions on which I am
willing to spare the life of every soldier, are, that the
fortress, with all it contains, be yielded up to me ; that
the lady and her attendant be at once brought, safe and
unharmed, to the tower ; and that your commander,
Esen, be conducted to me in chains — not that I intend
to take his life — but to punish him as a criminal, and
as a perjurer — but without shedding his vile blood.
As to the soldiers, they shall be treated as brave men in
misfortune should be dealt with — and only detained as
prisoners until the opportunity is afforded of exchanging
them for Duke Magnus, .-who was made a prisoner when
leading on an attack against this fortress. These are the
conditions I name, and I can listen to no other."
The terms of this surrendei' were readily, even joy-
fully, accepted by the garrison. Seventy Sv.abian soldiers
were transferred to the tower, to be detained there as
380 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE.
hostages for tlie fair treatment and the speedy release of
Duke Magnus ; whilst Egen, their commander, was
thrustj heavily laden with chains, down into the lowest
dungeon of the fortress, there to await the doom that
might be passed on him by his captors.
Whilst these conditions were carrying into operation,
the pilgrim and Bernhard were engaged in deep and
serious consultation with each other ; for Bernhard was
disclosing, word for word, the conversations he had heard,
and the observations he had himself made.
." What you now tell me," said the pilgrim, " fills my
heart with grief. I think not of myself, although, in
what you hint, and what you surmise, and what you
suspect, I fear to find that worse than I had ever antici-
pated has beflillen my child. This, however, is my own
wound, and with my own hand I shall probe it. What-
ever be my grief, I am sure to find it superabound with
the mercy of God. For the present, I have other and
greater things to think of. My true and faithful Bern-
hard, even by you — so humble an instrument as your-
self, this projected schism of the king may be nipped in
the bud. As vou have told to me what the kincp has
said, so tell it to His Holiness the Pope. This ring will
obtain you instant admission to the presence of the hum-
ble Hildebrand. Here, too, is gold, to expedite you on
your road. Take the most fleet horse you can procm-e,
and lose not a moment in speeding to Rome, llemember
that every hour that brings you nearer to the Pope^
lessens, by an hour, the reign of heresy ; for he will
strike it down — ay, and tread it out with his own naked
feet, even though hell should, with all its flames, rise
up to terrify him and try to scorch his sacred limbs.
Away, then, away — the cause in which you are now
THE UNEXPECTED EECOGNITION. 381
engaged is not yonrs nor mine — it is the cause of God.
Away then to Hildebrand. See him, and then — thank
heaven that you have lived ! "
Beruhard hurried from the presence of the pilgrim
when these words had been spoken to him. He uttered
not a syllable in departing. He seemed to be in such
haste to be gone, that he would not, as it appeared, lose
time even in saying a simple farewell.
The pilgrim seemed to be animated with the same
anxious desire as Bernhard. He watched the forester as
he rode forth, and he followed his rapid movements with
the longing wish that the rider could speed fast as his
own thoughts ; and he felt, whilst gazing upon this courier
to Borne, that the intensity of his own gaze was a spur
in the side of the steed which was bearing Bernhard
from his sight.
It was not until Bernhard had disappeared, that the
pilgrim turned round, and found that Gretchen was in
the same room with him, and seemed to be waiting there
until he should deem it convenient to address her.
" What can I do to serve you, maiden ? " inquired
the pilgrim.
" I have waited. Sir Pilgrim, upon you," replied
Gretchen, " by the desire of my mistress, to say that
she wishes earnestly to see a priest, as the martyred
Bishop of Osnabruck confided a sacred charge to her,
which it is necessary for her to dispose of, before she
can claim the happiness of personally thanking you for
the great benefit you have conferred upon her."
" A priest from the hamlet shall be with her in a few
minutes," observed the pilgrim ; " even before I knew
that she had a special commission confided to her, I de-
sii'ed that a clergyman should come here, as I supposed.
382 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
since those infidels had so long held you captive, it would
be as grateful to you as to your mistress to be restored
to the consolations which religion can afford to you."
Gretchen curtesied lowly, but made no reply.
" Tell your mistress," continued the pilgrim, " that
as soon as she has seen the priest, I wish to speak to
her ; for I have to tell her tidings that will deeply in-
terest her. Meanwhile, I may ask you a question, which
I am sure you will answer me candidly. In the midst
of all the evils that have lately afflicted her, does your
mistress ever speak of any one allied to her by blood ? "
" Of none," answered Gretchen, " have I ever heard
her speak but of her parents."
" Of her parents ! " said the pilgrim, somewhat sur-
prised. " Instead of parents, you surely mean parent."
" Yes, you are right," said Gretchen, " it is but of
one of them, that she is hourly speaking."
" And that one is " inquired the pilgrim, his
utterance nearly choked with emotion.
" Her mother," answered Gretchen.
" No, no, no, girl — you are wrong ; it is of her
father," vehemently asserted the pilgrim.
" Her father ! " said Gretchen, in an astonishment
almost equal to the pilgrim's. " Not at all. Now you
remind me of it, she seldom or ever speaks of her father,
whilst scarcely an hour passes that she is not thinking
or speaking of her mother."
The pilgrim sat down, pale and breathless, when he
heard these words of the Saxon maiden.
For a few moments the old man was utterly speecL-
less, and, when he had in some degree recovered from
the surprise into which Gretchen's information had cast
him, he said to her :
, THE UNEXPECTED RECOGNITION. 383
** Go, maiden, tell to your mistress what I have said
to you, and add, that I shall wait here until it is her
pleasure to come to me."
Gretchen quitted the room, pitying, without being
able to comprehend the nature of the grief she saw their
brave deliverer suffering.
" What ! " exclaimed the pilgrim, when he found that
he was alone, and could, unobserved, abandon himself
to his reflections, " what can be the meaning of all this ?
For years upon years I have had but one grief, one care,
one thought — my child — my only child — my child,
pure, loving, innocent, beautiful — - a flower of heaven
permitted to bloom upon this earth. I have sought for
her, toiled for her, and now, fought for her ; and yet,
when I ask of whom has she been thinking all this time,
I am told that it is not of me ; but that it is of one, of
whom, as an infant, she cannot have the slightest recollec-
tion. And this I hear of her, who, next to heaven,
had no other thought but of me, until
" O, villain 1 villain ! " cried the old man, starting
up, and stamping on the floor, as if some noxious reptile
lay beneath his foot. " O, villain ! hypocrite ! liar ! double-
dealer. He has persuaded her that I am long since dead !
She knows not that I have searched for her and for him
in every land in Europe ! that I have endeavored every
where to track him out, and never, until this day —
even if this day Bernhard be correct — with the slight-
est semblance of success.
" It would then but increase her grief to think over-
much of her father, of whom she must feel fully per-
suaded, that, if living, Henry would not have dared —
no, not for his crown and life — to have laid hands upon
her. She seeks to forget that father whose sword- was
384 THE POPE AND THE ElfPEROR.
the fear of every villain ; and she tries to wile away her
time, and, if possible, to forget her sorrow, by conjuring
Tip images of a mother that she has never known. Poor
child — poor child ! How grossly must she have been
deceived — how completely must she have been deluded,
when she could not recognize me the day I tried to res-
cue her from this villain, Egen, in Aschaffenburg !
" Ah ! I see it all now — she is certain that the father
who would have protected her, is long since dead, and,
therefore, her tender heart shrinks from dwelling upon
him, who was once recognized by the church and the
people as the champion of the innocent and the defender
of the oppressed.
" Poor child — poor child ! I must break, by de-
grees, the joyful intelligence to her, that the father she
loves so much i§ living — that it is to him she is now
indebted for her freedom."
Gretchen here entered the room, and said —
*' My mistress desires me to say that she is now anxious
to see you, if you are prepared to receive her."
*^ Conduct her hither," answered the pilgrim, in a
voice so tremulous with emotion that the purport of the
pilgrim's speech was more distinctly comprehended by
Gretchen than his words were clearly heard.
" At last — at last — at last, I am to behold her,"
mentally said the pilgrim ; " but I must not let her look
upon my face, until I have intimated to her that the
father she loved is not dead, but still lives ! "
As the pilgrim thus spoke, he drew his hood over his
head, so as to completely conceal his features beneath its
ample folds ; and, at the same time, Beatrice, wearing a
long, thick, black veil, over her dark dress, as a novice,
which she still retained, was conducted into the apart-
ment by Gretchen.
THE UNEXPECTED RECOGNITION. 385
*f Maiden," said the pilgrim, turning to Gretchen, and
speaking to her in a voice husky with emotion, " I must
ask of you to leave your mistress and me alone ; for I
have that to say to her to which no third person can be
a listener."
" Go," added Beatrice, " for I feel that, with this good
old man, heaven has given to me a protector — one who
has acted to me as — as a father.'^
The old pilgrim was deeply shaken by the first sweet
accents of that gentle voice ; but, when he heard him-
self spoken of — as a father — he sank back in his chair ;
and, still more cautiously than he had yet done, muffling
up his face in his hood, he burst into tears.
Gretchen hurried out of the room.
Beatrice saw that the pilgrim was unable to speak ;
and kneeling down by his side, she caught hold of his
right hand, and, clasping it between both her own, she
said —
" Forgive me. Sir Pilgrim, if I presume to kiss this
hand which has been my deliverer — this hand that has
rescued me from bondage — this hand that has freed the
weak and the innocent from the grasp of the cruel and
the sinful — this hand "
Beatrice stopped, confused ; for she saw upon the
forefinger of the pilgrim's right hand a small, thin, gold
ring — having in the centre a minute emerald stone, on
which were engraven a cross and a sword, — the cross
appearing to be propped up by the point of the sword.
" Ah ! what can this mean ? " said Beatrice. " I pray
you. Sir Pilgrim, to explain to me how you came to
wear such a ring as this ; for I have been told that such
was a gift from the Pope — that it and another Avere
given by his holiness to one brave man and to his daugh-
33
386 THE POPE AND THE EMPEEOE.
ter, as special marks of gratitude, from Gregory VI., for
the courage displayed by that man — a warrior — in
defence of the church."
"And do you not, my child," asked the pilgrim, " wear
a ring like to that ? "
" No, Sir Pilgrim," replied Beatrice, " for I have not
the right to do so."
" Not the right ? " said the pilgrim, astonished at
these words. " And wherefore ? "
" Because," answered Beatrice, " I am not the daugh-
ter of the Lord of Viterbo."
" Good heavens ! " exclaimed the Pilgrim. " "What
do I hear ? What strange delusion is this ? The voice
is the same ! Let me look upon your face."
Beatrice raised her veil, and the old man saw, kneel-
ing before him, as he fancied, the same creature, in all
her maiden beauty and exquisite loveliness, that he had
looked upon, with all the admiration of a father, twenty
years previously. The features were the same — the
voice the same — and yet there was a difference — an
imperceptible difference — but he could not define what
it; was — between that face and the face he had thought
upon so long. Whatever it was, it made him pause,
and say —
" Then, if you are not the daughter of the Lord of
Viterbo, of whom are you the daughter ? "
" I am," replied Beatrice, " the daughter of his
daughter — for it is upon my mother's hand I have seen
the same description of ring you wear."
" O, God ! my God ! " said the pilgrim, clasping his
hands together. " Thy power is groat ! and thy mercies
infinite ! I pine for one blessing, and thou grantest to
me greater than I hoped for. I was seeking for one
THE UNEXPECTED RECOGNITION. 387
child, and thou givest me two. Thanks and praise be
thine, now and forevermore.
" O," he exclaimed, " I see it all now — I have been
thinking of my child as if she must continue to be as
young as when I last saw her. I perceived that I was
growing old myself, but it never occurred to me that she
must be doing the same — and when I meet her child
I fancy it must be herself. O, the foolish heart of a
father, which makes him fancy that his childi'en never
can be stricken with age, and that youth and beauty
must remain with them forever. Ah ! the folly of par-
ents," said the old man, smiling through his tears.
" Then, you are," continued the pilgrim, taking the
hand of Beatrice, and pressing it to his lips, " the
daughter of Bianca."
" I am," replied Beatrice, surprised to hear her
mother's name pronounced by the lips of a stranger.
" And your name is " said the old man, gazing
with rapture at the young girl by his side.
" Is Beatrice," answered the maiden, who felt, she
knew not wherefore, agitated by the manner and the
words of the pilgrim.
" And what do you recollect to hear your mother say
of her father — that he was living, or dead ? " anxiously
asked the pilgrim.
" That he was slain in battle, fighting against the en-
emies of the Pope," answered Beatrice.
" And do you remember who it was she said told her
that her father was dead ? " inquired the pilgrim.
" I am not sure," said Beatrice ; " but I think she
stated that she had learned that fact upon the assui'ance
of my father."
388 THE POPE AND THE EMPEEOE.
The pilgrim started when he heard this ; then mut-
tered, so as not to be overheard by Beatrice —
" It is as I suspected — false — false — false in every
word and deed."
A silence of some minutes then ensued. The pilgrim
was considering what course he should pursue. At
length the silence was broken by him.
" Where," he asked, " is now your mother ? "
"Alas! I know not for certain," Beatrice replied;
*'but I hope and trust under the protection of the Em-
press Agnes, and Queen Bertha, who are, however, as
helpless as the meanest of their subjects in preventing
the iniquities of the king. Of my mother, I have never
heard directly since the day I was torn from Aschaffen-
burg."
" Then we must both seek out thy mother," observed
the pilgrim. " Let me now tell thee, for it Avill rejoice
thee to hear it, thy mother was misinformed when she
was told that her flxther was slain in battle. Her father
is now living — her father has been engaged for years in
seeking for her — her father, in that search, mistook her
child for herself — her father rescued her child from the
hands of the enemy twice — her father — it is not the
first time that thou hast seen him, Beatrice," added the
pilgrim, casting back his hood, " is now before thee —
now clasps his arms around thee — now kisses, and now
blesses thee — his grandchild."
Beatrice at once recognized the pilgrim, who, in the
hamlet of Aschaffenburg, had i-escued her, for a moment,
from the hands of the Worms' soldiers, and that she had
seen, as she fancied, stricken dead at her feet.
" O, this," she said, " dearest grandfather, is a hap-
THE UXESPECTED RECOGXITION. 389
piness 'which I never dreamed I should be allowed to en-
joy on this earth ! Ah ! me ! " she sighed, " why is it
that I feel, because you are the father of her I most love
of all human beings, more consolation, more joy, more
assurance of safety, whilst I hold your hand clasped in
mine, than I have ever done, since I was a child, when
in the society of my own father ? "
The short gleam of happiness, which, for a moment,
had warmed the heart of the pilgrim, was, on the in-
stant, overclouded by this question, asked, in her uncon-
scious innocence, by Beatrice. Instead of giving to it a
direct answer, the pilgrim started from the side of his
grandchild, and walked up and down the apartment in a
state of arreat asfitation. He recovered from his emotion,
to seat himself again by her side, and to say, whilst his
aged hand rested in fOnd affection upon her head,
" Is your father very kind to you ? "
" Kind to me, he has always been," said Beatrice ;
" but I cannot affirm that he is fond of me. There is
something about him which I do not understand, and
that, in my solitude, has appeared, the more I have
thought of it, the more incomprehensible. Perchance
you, grandfather, can explain it to me."
" I know not to what you particularly refer," said the
pilgrim.
'* How comes it," said Beatrice, " that my father
should be a man of immense wealth, and yet not of any
particular rank ; for even I cannot tell whether he be
noble or burgher : he has too much wealth for the latter,
and he does not command the military retainers of the
former. And then, again, wherefore is it that he should
have three distinct names."
390 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
" Three names," said the pilgrim — "I do not, my
dearest child, comprehend you."
" Yes — it is so — I remember my mother telling me
— it was the very last conversation we ever had together
— that he wooed her as Eberhard — that when I was
bom, at the Lago Maggiore, he was called Manfred —
whilst, in Aschaffenburg, he was never known by any
other designation than that of Kuebert. You have
never changed your name, grandfather. You were the
Lord of Viterbo in your youth — you are the Lord of
Viterbo in your old age. There has been no alteration
with you. Why should there be any with my father ?
I pray you explain this to me — but — alas ¥ my dear-
est grandsire, you are pale — deadly pale — alas ! alas !
you are very ill."
" It will pass — it will pass, my child," said the pil-
grim, struggling with the passions that were contending
in his heart. " Your questions, I must own to you, ex-
cite many painful feelings — the more painful, because I
cannot give them an explicit answer. Be content with
this, that I shall seek the solution of them ; but I can-
not hope for a clew to them, until I have seen and
spoken with the long lost Bianca. You shall, if she be
living, soon speak with her, and by your lips shall be
conveyed to her the joyful intelligence, that the parent
she has deemed to be so long dead, twice placed his life
in peril to save her child from a doom worse than death.
Beatrice could not speak ; but a thousand kisses,
showered upon the lips and cheeks of her grandfather,
expressed, at the same time, her joy and her gratitude.
The old man smiled at the child-like fervency of her
affection, and there was both sadness and joy in his
THE UNEXPECTED RECOGNITION. 391
breast, when he thought how like this lovely creature
was to her mother, when, at the same age, she so em-
braced him, in his strong castle at Viterbo. The smile,
however, soon changed into a frown, when he thought
hov/ that mother had been, in his absence, induced to
quit the shelter which that castle could have afforded
her. The frown, however, was speedily dispersed by the
next observation made by Beatrice.
'^See, grandfather," said Beatrice, "there are fires on
the distant hill-tops — see — see — as quick as I speak
they seem to be hghting up — lo ! there were but two a
moment since, and now there are twenty — see ! the red
blaze of fire appears to be coming nearer — and afar, are
the sparkles as of bright stars. What a strange sight is
this — What can it mean ? "
" It means," said the pilgrim, jumping up from his
seat, and pacing the room with all the elasticity and
vi"-or of a youthful soldier, " it means that great deeds
are about to be done. It is the signal that the downfall of
a tyrant is fast approaching — it declares that all Saxon-
land is again in insurrection. It is the signal for battle
— it is the signal for victory. To arms — to arms,"
shouted the old man, as he rushed from the chamber.
^' I shall conduct you, Beatrice, in triumph to the pres-
ence of your mother. To arms — men of Saxony, for
war is now proclaimed, by an oppressed nation, against a
profligate tyrant."
392 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE.
CHAPTER XXXII.
THE RE-UNION.
About two months had elapsed since the occurrence
of the events described in the preceding chapter.
The fortress of Magdeburg, placed upon an island
formed by the waters of the Elbe, and, at one time, the
stronghold of the revolted Saxon nobles, had been as-
signed by King Henry to his mother and wife as a
dwelling-place. There they remained, with a few at-
tendants to wait upon them, and, with those attendants,
a sufficient number of soldiers to act as a garrison, and
protect this important fortress from a sudden attack.
In a large apartment of this fortress, might be seen
the empress, the queen, and two ladies, who, like
Agnes and Bertha, were clothed in robes of black.
These two females were, Bianca, the mother of Beatrice,
and the Countess Adela, the wife of the old warrior,
Dedi, Count of Saxony. All appeared, from their dark
robes and the gravity, if not grief, impressed upon their
features, to be sisters of the same religious community.
And, like to nuns, in a convent, the affairs of the Avorld
abroad had remained for months unknown to them.
The four females were now engaged with the same
occupation. They were arranging, upon a wide frame,
a large piece of embroidery, which they had worked
with their own hands, and had that day completed. It
was an altar-cloth of crimson silk, on which there had
been formed bright leaves of laurel, in glittering gold,
intermingled with branches of palm in dull gold ; and
at various, but regular, distances, stars, with ruby crosses
THE RE-UNION. 393
in the centre, each of which was resplendent with nu-
merous brilliants.
These four females, as they looked at the result of
their toil for so many months, gazed upon it with a sin-
cere and disinterested admiration, for they thought not
of it as a proof of their skill in the art of embroidery,
but as a present not unworthy to be placed on the high
altar of the Cathedral Church of Magdeburg.
" My dear child," said the empress, " I am quite
charmed with this altar-piece. The design is yours.
The manner in which those palm branches and laurel
leaves intermingle, is perfectly novel, and will, I am
sure, be imitated by others, who, by so imitating it, will
prove their own good taste."
" How kind you are, my mother, to say so," observed
Bertha ; " but do not overlook those stars. It was you
that thought of them, and it is your diamonds alone that
give to this altar-piece that novelty of appearance for
which you praise it."
" It is only when they are applied to the services
of the altar, that I find myself an admirer of precious
stones, and dainty in the due arrangement of them,"
ansAvered the empress. " But if it were not for the
nimble fingers and the wondrous skill of our two
friends Bianca and Adela, many a fifth of June must
have passed away before our altar-piece was displayed
in honor of him for whom it was worked — the arch-
bishop and martyr, Boniface. You and I, alone and
unassisted, could not have completed in years that which
they have done for us in a few months — I might say
weeks."
"Time passed in toil like this," said the meek and
pious Bianca, "is, in my estimation, like a meditation.
394 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
for as our hand labors our heart is filled with the
thoughts of the saint to whom we devote the exercise
of our skill. We reflect upon his labors, his sufferings,
his life, his death, his example, and his precepts. From
him we raise our thoughts to God, who bestowed such
graces upon him, and, accompanied by such an interces-
sor, we hope that the prayers we offer up to heaven may
be acceptable. A magnificent altar-piece like this is
therefore, in my regard, but a memorial of many holy
aspirations. Issuing from the hands of women, it may
be, as in this case I trust it is, the type of the thoughts
of those who, suffering much in this world, have aban-
doned all its pleasures to place their hearts, where those
hearts can alone find peace — on the altar of God."
'' Ah ! Bianca," observed the Countess Adela, " I
cannot say that all the time I have passed over that
piece of embroidery has been as piously occupied as you
suggest it should have been. To me it has been merely
a refuge from grief I have sought, whilst engaged at
it, to forget that I am a wife separated from my husband
— that my brave step-son sleeps in a premature and a
blood-stained grave, and that my own son — boy as he
is — now pines in a prison. As I so labored, I en-
deavored to banish soii'ows from my heart — and to for-
get, at the same time, the wrong-doer and the wronged,
whilst I prayed that I might yet live to see virtue tri-
umphant upon this earth as it is in heaven."
A female attendant here entered the room, and, pre-
senting a large golden ring to the empress, said :
" A tall, old man — a peasant — desires this ring to
be given to your Majesty, and at the same time prays
that he may, as the bearer of it, be allowed a few
minutes' conversation with you, and alone."
THE EE-UNION. 395
The empress regarded the ring for an instant, and
then said —
" Conduct him to this apartment, and leave ns, as
soon as you have introduced him."
The attendant departed with these words, and the mo-
ment she had done so, the empress beckoned to Bertha,
Bianca, and Adela to approach her, and thus whispered,
in a low tone of voice :
*' This is the ring of the Bishop of Halberstadt.
The bearer must bring us some important intelligence
from the prelate, who was arrested with the other bishops
at Spira, upon surrendering to my son."
The person to whom she thus referred was now led
into the room, but it was impossible to discern his fea-
tures, as his head was covered with a large hood. The
moment he entered the apartment he approached the
empress, and, without speaking a word, knelt down be-
fore her, whilst his eyes glanced carefully around all
parts of the chamber, as if he were anxious that the
empress should take care that no intruder might listen
to the words he had to speak to her.
"We are alone," said the empress ; '^what message
bearest thou from one who is venerated by me for his
manifold virtues ? "
The man made no answer for a moment ; but again
looking round the room, and perceiving none other to
be present than Agnes, her daughter, and their two
friends, he cast back his hood, and said —
*' The humblest of your subjects kneels before you."
** O I heavens ! " exclaimed the Empress Agnes, " it
is the Bishop of Halberstadt himself. Rise up, my
lord bishop ; it is not fitting that one so good as you
should kneel before a sinner like myself. How comes
396 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
it that you have thus ventured hither — or, do you
come with the joyful tidings that my son has repaired
the wi-ongs he has done you ? "
" Alas ! no," replied the bishop. " God has not yet
been pleased to touch the heart of King Henry, and bring
him to repentance for his manifold sins. I am now
here in disguise, because he still thirsts for my blood ;
and I am here, by stealth, because I have but now
escaped from the life-long imprisonment, in a foreign
land, to which he had doomed me. But, despite of the
dangers that surrounded me, and the perils with which
he has beset my path, I have ventured into this strong
fortress, now occupied by his soldiers, because, what I
have to say may be useful to you, to Queen Bertha, and,
ultimately, even to my persecutor."
" Excellent man ! worthy brother of the virtuous
Anno," observed the empress. " I thank you — my
child. Bertha, thanks you — and I trust that even the
sinful Henry will yet thank you. But let us know what
has happened to you ; as we are all absolutely ignorant,
for more than two months, of what has occurred in that
world which is beyond the waters of the Elbe that flow
around this fortress. Let us know especially what has
happened to yourself."
"It is absolutely necessary I should state it," replied
the Bishop of Halberstadt, " as, otherwise, you could
not clearly comprehend the necessity of my being here.
No sooner were chains placed upon my person, than
King Henry proposed that I should be put to death, and
that, too, by tortures, such as are inflicted upon the worst
and meanest of criminals. That intention was abandoned
by him, because he found that the nobility and the prel-
ates, who had hitherto supported him, would regard it
THE EE-UNION. 397
as a dishonor and an infamy attachable to their rank. It
was their remonstrances alone, and these, too, with great
difficulty, that saved my life."
" O ! monstrous ! monstrous ! " exclaimed the em-
press. " Who, but Henry, ever thought of so treating
a bishop ? Wherefore did so hellish an idea enter his
mind ? "
" The reason he alleged for desiring to inflict upon
me a cruel death," replied the bishop, " was, that he
considered me, not merely as the fomenter, but as the
author of the rebellion of the Saxons against him. The
intensity of his hatred he demonstrated by conduct un-
worthy alike of a king and a Christian, for, finding that
it would not be politic to slay me, he sought to degrade
me, and, therefore, he compelled me — a bishop — to
have no other dwelling-place but in his kitchen — to
associate with his scullions, and to perform the meanest
and most filthy duties required from such domestics.
This conduct, he soon perceived, dishonored himself, but
did not dishonor me ; for I cheerfully submitted to it.
I need not say to my pious listeners by whose high ex-
ample I was encouraged, when I found myself treated
'like a slave.' "
" Why, this treatment was worse than death," said
the excited Adela — '•' a king who so treated a bishop
ought to be hurled from his throne. "
*' Henry only does that which he is permitted," meek-
ly replied the bishop. " Perchance, there was pride in
my heart, and God, in his mercy, desired that I should
be so humbled. It is now past — my conscience is my
witness that I patiently submitted to it — so patiently,
that the king saw it was not what he intended it should
have been — an intolerable punishment. And hence it
34
398 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE.
was that lie resolved upon banisliing me for life. To
effect this object, he had obtained a promise from the
King of Hungary, that, if I were sent to him as a pris-
oner, he would incarcerate me in a strong fortress, and
in such a distant part of his dominions, that it would be
impossible for me ever to make my way back in safety
to Germany. This plan was arranged ; but, luckily for
me, intelligence respecting it was gained by a true and
devoted friend — Udalric of Bavaria — who desired me,
as I descended the Danube, to obtain permission, as fre-
quently as I could, from my guards, to land upon its
banks, for the purpose either of repose or prayer, whilst
he would be constantly on the watch, at the first favor-
able opportunity, to rescue me."
" Brave Udalric," said Bertha. " I shall ever think
of him in my prayers."
" The suggestion of Udalric," continued the bishop,
*' was one absolutely necessary for me to act upon, even
for the preservation of my life ; for, when I was on
board the vessel that was to convey me, by the waters
of the Danube, down to Hungary, so exhausted was I by
anxiety, by care, and by the toils imposed upon me in
the king's kitchen, that I must have died upon my pas-
sage, if I had not been permitted, now and then, to land.
The first two or three days I was placed upon the banks
I could walk with the greatest difficulty, but at last I
recovered my health, and when we had got to a vast
distance away from the king's court, I was permitted,
much more freely than at* first, to leave the boat. Last
St. John's day, we came, at an early hour of the morn-
ing, within sight of a church. As that church was but
a short distance from the river, I requested permission
to proceed thither and offer up the holy sacrifice of the
THE RE-UNION. 399
mass in honor of St. John. This request was acceded
to. I had finished the mass, and was preparing to return
to the boat, when I found the church surrounded by-
bodies of armed troopers. At the head of these I rec-
ognized Udahic, who immediately carried me away from
my guards, and conducted me to one of his castles,
where I remained concealed until all chance of pursuit
was at an end. From thence I travelled, disguised as
you see me, and am now on my way to Halberstadt,
where, in the course of a few hours, I shall be at the
head of a Saxon army sufficient to encounter and defeat
any force that Henry can bring against us."
" Thank God ! " said Adela, " then we may hope
soon to hear of the downfall and destruction of a
tyrant ! "
"Lady," remarked Bertha, "you forget that you
speak in presence of a wife and a mother."
" I did, indeed, forget," answered Adela, " and I
pray your pardon, if what I have said has given offence
to you or the empress, whom I both respect and love.
I hate the king, because I regard him as a bad son, and
a worse husband. I wish for his downfall, because he
has made many a wife a widow, and many a mother
childless."
" It is in his downfall that we can alone hope to find
his conversion," remarked the bishop, " and you, there-
fore, though his mother and his wife, must desire it.
As to his destruction, I am not less anxious than you to
prevent it ; and therefore it is that I have risked my life
to see and speak with the mother and the Avife of my
greatest enemy."
" We thank you," replied the empress, " for this
great proof of your Christian charity. We pray you
400 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
speak. You shall find Bertha and myself alike docile,
whatever be the sage advice you give us."
" The treatment," remarked the bishop, " which I
received at the hands of Henry, will suffice to show you
how he conducted himself towards others, who, relying
upon his oath and honor, placed themselves at his dis-
cretion. As to the humbler classes of the Saxons, once
the country was left without protectors, he reduced them
to the condition of slaves, or he has had them massa-
cred — lands, remarkable for their fertility, have been
converted into wildernesses — families, distinguished for
their wealth, have been reduced to a state of absolute
penury. The sword has been at the throats of all —
fire in the habitations of all, and the king has conducted
himself in such a manner that there can be now no doubt
entertained — and none is felt — by the Saxons, that it
is his deliberate intention to exterminate them as a na-
tion. Hundreds — nay, hundreds of thousands, despite
all his precautions, have escaped his wrath and evaded
his vengeance. He has so misgoverned Saxony — with
such impiety and such inhumanity — that all now regard
it to be their first duty, as men, as citizens, and as Chris-
tians, to take up arms against him, and never again to
lay them down until they have driven him from the
throne. The Saxons, now, will make no peace Avith
him ; they will never rest satisfied until they have
chosen another to reign, as king, over them. He
stands, at this moment, upon the brink of a precipice,
and yet fancies he is as secure as if he were in the
strongest citadel, and surrounded with an army like that
which he commanded at Langensalza. He has, every
where, created against himself relentless enemies, and
he has, every where, alienated from him those disposed to
THE RE-UNION. 401
be his friends. Upon the first shock that is given to his
seeming power, it will be found to disperse, as the thick
spring-mist that gathers on the surface of the earth van-
ishes from the sight before the burning rays of the sun.
It is at this moment, when he supposes Saxony is help-
less at his feet, that there is, in the hand of every Saxon
man, a sword ready to be unsheathed when the signal
for battle is given. He dreams that he is omnipotent,
when it requires but one single word from Rome to be
hallooed in his ear, and he must wake to find himself
alone, helpless, desolate ; with no hand to help — no
tongue to commiserate — -and no eye to weep for him.
That single word from E,ome will soon be spoken — the
messenger, who is to pronounce it, is now speeding fast
towards Germany to give utterance to it. Henry knows
not this — suspects it not. Up to this hour his crimes
have brought with them success, and each new success
has been the forerunner of fresh crimes. He has, until
now, experienced neither reverse nor check ; but a
change is about to occur, as great, in his fortunes,' as in
those of the Pagan general, Pompey, of whom it is said
that, in his pride, he once boasted he had but to stamp
his foot, and armed men would issue from the earth to
obey him ; but who was reduced, afterwards, to so poor
a state, that he was murdered by a wretch, so base and
mean, that he would not be permitted to bear the shield
of a freeman and a soldier. Henry, at this moment, is
like the boastful Pompey ; and it is for the empress and
the queen to take care that his death be not like that of
the proud Roman — or even worse — like to some other
Pagans, who, in their despair at a great reverse of for-
tune, died upon their own swords."
" O, in mercy's sake ! " said the pious empress, hor-
u*
402 THE POPE AND THE EMPEEOR.
rifled at such an awful warning as this, " tell us what
can be done by Bertha or myself, to prevent that worst
of evils befalling my son — the death of an impenitent
and obdurate sinner."
'' Be with him — or, at least, let Queen Bertha be
with him, if it be possible, when he is overthrown," re-
plied the bishop, " for overthrown he will be. Even
now he is working his own downfall. He has, in the
plenitude of his supposed power, been so demented as to
declare war against Gregory VII. — to induce one of his
creatures to assume the functions of an anti-pope — and
he is now preparing to add impiety to impiety, by in-
ducing a bishop to pronounce sentence of excommunica-
tion upon his holiness. This scandalous proceeding will
take place shortly ; and I have been informed (for we have
sure information as to all his doings) that he intends to
summon you both — empress and queen — to be present
at the sacrilegious ceremony. I come now to entreat of
you, that if you be required to witness such a proceed-
ing, to go there."
" What ! " exclaimed Agnes, whilst her mild eyes,
for the first time, flashed with indignation, " be willing
witnesses to a sacrilege ? — never."
" Such is the answer I expected from you," said the
bishop — "such is the reply that I supposed you would
send to the king if I did not come to shoAv you how neces-
sary it is that you should comply with such a requisition.
About the time that he thus offends publicly in sight
of earth and of heaven, the blow, long impending over his
head, will fall upon him. You know his pride, and how
hard it will bo for him to submit to a reverse of fortune.
Go then to him — save him from himself — save him from
(lesp-air ; for there will be, gnawing at his heart, many
THE RE-UNION. 403
a baffled sin unrepented of, and many an accomplished
sin dwelt upon with criminal satisfaction. Even now, I
believe, that in the schism he hopes to establish, the
abortive scheme of a divorce would, if he were permitted
to be successful, be revived."
" O, my Lord Bishop," said the agitated Bertha, " even
if I were to go alone, and barefooted, I will be found by
the side of my husband."
Bianca made no observation, but having been told_^by
the empress and Bertha how sadly her daughter's happi-
ness was compromised by the projected divorce, the deli-
cate pinky shade upon her cheek, like the tender blush
on the flower of the sweetbrier, was changed to the
waxy whiteness of the lily.
*' So completely," continued the bishop, " has the
king's attention been absorbed by his quan^el witli the
Pope, and so certain is he that no power on this earth
can now resist him, once he chooses to beat it down
with his armies, that either he has not heard, or he does
not choose to bestow a thought upon what is occurring in
Saxony, where his fortresses, established for the destruc-
tion of the people, are constantly falling into our hands,
and becoming strongholds for the popular defence."
" The king's fortresses taken by the Saxons ! " said
Bianca, " does your lordship happen to know if Erzege-
birge has been one of these fortresses ? "
" It has," replied the bishop. " The Saxons, led on
by some lord of Italy, have seized, upon that fortress, and
its Swabian soldiers are now held as hostages for Mag-
nus, Duke of Saxony."
" 0, my child, my child ! my darling Beatrice, what
has become of her ? " exclaimejd Bianca, almost deliri-
ous between the contending emotions of astonishment,
Joy, and anxiety.
404 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
** I know no more, lady," observed the bishop, " than
what I have stated to you. Let this, however, content
to quiet your apprehensions, that if your daughter M'ere
a prisoner in Erzegebirge at the time it was captured,
she most probably remains there, in a state of perfect
safety. The conqueror of Erzegebirge is described as
an old man — one celebrated in Italy as a warrior — as
the bravest of the generals in the whole of the Roman
Principality — an especial favorite of the good Popej
Gregory VI."
" And his name ? what can be his name ? " inquired
Bianca, forgetting in these Avords, for the instant, the
thoughts of her daughter.
" I never heard his name," answered the bishop. " And
what I now state to you respecting him is but rumor, for
the old man himself never refers to his past career."
" Ah ! " said Bianca, sighing, " it is but rumor ; for
there is but one man in all the Roman states to whom,
if he were living, your description could justly apply.
He died before Beatrice was born — and in his grave lie
buried all my hopes of happiness in this world but one —
that of again clasping my child to my heart."
" A messenger from his Majesty demands admission
to the presence of the empress and of the queen," said
a soldier, in a loud voice, entering the apartment.
" Conduct him hither at once," replied the empress,
^'we are prepared to receive him."
The soldier bowed, and instantly withdrew.
*' This must be some friend of Henry's," remarked
the empress. " It might lead to much mischief if he
recognized you, my Lord Bishop. • Be then so good as
to seat yourself behind this piece of embroidery."
" I do so in obedience to your Majesty, although to
THE EE-UNION. 405
myself tlie man could cause no harm," replied the bishop.
" A single blast from my horn would render it impossi-
ble for him to take me living from this place a prisoner,
and any injury to me now would cost him his life. For
his sake — whoever he may be — I shall withdraw from
his sight."
So saying, the bishop retired behind the magnificent
piece of embroidered tajiestry, and at the same instant
the envoy of the king entered the apartment.
The messenger Avas a knight, who wore a hauberk of
minute thick shells of gold, which glittered like so many
sparkling gems. As he moved, his golden helmet seemed
to be one mass of gilding, and had a rim and crest set
with precious stones, whilst his lower limbs were encased
in a species of leggings, which encircled them as with
ropes of gold, and to the belt, which was beset with
gems, hung a short sword in a scabbard of gold, whilst
its hilt flashed with the mass of diamonds encrusted
upon it. The knight in this gorgeous armor — so gor-
geous that it seemed more suited for a banqueting hall
than a camp, was a man about forty years of age, but
whose jet black hair, and handsome features, and fair
complexion, gave to him all the appearance of youthful
manhood. He entered the room with the proud, confi-
dent step of a man that flattery has done much to spoil,
and who believed that, with personal beauty, an individ-
ual may be pardoned many offences. He was a courtier
— and a favorite with the king ; he entertained, like
Heniy, and like most evil-hearted and corrupt-minded
men, a mean opinion of the female sex, and fancying
that no woman could look upon him without his being
admired, he saw with gratified pride that he was in the
presence of two nol)lo ladies like Bertha and Bianca —
both beautiful, and both seemingly young.
406 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
" I am, I presume," said this gairisli knight, with a
smile, which showed a range of teeth as white as ivory,
** in the presence of their Majesties the empress and the
queen."
"This," said the empress, "is my daughter, the
Queen Bertha — I am the mother of the king. Your
name. Sir Knight, and your business here ? "
" In the presence of a king, a knight is permitted to
wear his helmet — but in the presence of so much beau-
ty, the knight must manifest, by his demeanor, that he is
its slave," said the messenger, as he removed the helmet,
and permitted those present to look upon a head that
might be a fitting model for a statue of the youthful
Mercury.
'* A truce to compliments. Sir Knight," said the em-
press, in a severe tone. " They do not suit the lips
of my son's subject — and cannot, without reproof, be
spoken in the hearing of my son's wife. Your name.
Sir Knight, and the cause of your coming to Magdeburg
— and be as brief as the nature of your message will
permit ; for our time is too precious to be wasted in
idle discourse."
The dark eyes of the messenger flashed with anger
when he found himself thus reproved ; and a feeling of
hatred against the four women in whose presence he
stood crept into his heart, when he perceived, by their
looks, how truly the empress had spoken the thoughts
of each.
*' My name, madam," he said, "is Rutger — I am a
Count of the empire."
" llutger ! Rutger ! I pray your Majesty's pardon,'*
said Adela, " let me look on this man."
The vehement spirited Adela did not wait the per-
THE RE-UNION. 407
mission she sought for, but walked over to Rutger. She
stood looking at him for a minute or so, in the face.
The aged woman examined his features as if she were
gazing, not at the man, but the picture of a man —
and that, too, of a man whose name was loathsome, al-
though his features had remained, hitherto, unknown to
ner. She gazed upon him from head to foot — and,
though she spoke not a word, there was such undis-
guised disgust expressed by her eyes and lips, that Kut-
ger, with all his unabashed confidence in his personal
appearance, blushed, with a sense of awkward shame, that
was as painful as it was strange to him.
Adela spoke not a word until her eyes lighted on the
magnificent sword by his side, and she said to him :
" This is, I suppose the sword of Attila ? "
"It is," stammered forth Rutger, utterly confounded
by the demeanor of the Countess Adela.
" The ways of Providence are wonderful," said Ade-
la, as if speaking aloud her thoughts. " Here is a thing
*that calls itself a knight, and that one blow from my old
husband's Danish axe wovdd split in two, as readily and
as speedily as the hatchet of the woodman splits a dry
block of wood ; and yet here it is, safe and sound, and
smirking, and dressed up like a vain girl for a holiday,
whilst brave men are in their graves, and good men are in
exile, and honest men are hiding from the face of day, and
all because this compound of gewgaws, gems, and vanity
lent itself to as foul a plot as ever yet was concocted
by cowards and put in execution by assassins. The
ways of Providence are not only wonderful, but inscru-
table, or such events as these could never come to pass.
I humbly entreat your Majesty to pardon me if I add to
his own account of himself some other facts respecting
this Icnight.''^
408 THE rOPE AND THE EMPEROE.
The ■word " kniglit " was spoken with that withering,
scornful, mocking smile, which, when seen upon a wo-
man's lip, fastens in the breast of a man like a poisoned
dagger — for it denotes her belief that he upon whom
she bestows it is a spiritless dastard.
Eutger so felt it, — for, unconscioasly, he placed his
hand upon the hilt of his sword.
" I told you he was a Icnight — a polite knight," con-
tinued Adela ; " for he who would not wear his helmet
in compliment to a young queen, is now ready to draw
his sword upon an aged countess — but beware. Sir
Knight, Ave women have sharp-pointed instruments for
working embroidery — and, if you draw your sword on
me, I will stab you with one of them, where you stand.
Be calm while I say to her majesty what you should have
said for yourself :
" You, Sir Knight, should have said this — ' / am
the Count E,utger — I am the Count Rutger, the chosen,
because the willing compurgator of Egen (whose oath
no man would believe), when that Egen preferred a
false accusation against Otho, Duke of Bavaria — and /,
Kutger, the friend of Henry, and the witness for Egen,
the friend of Henry, deposed, in proof of the accusation,
that I held the sword of Attila, the property of Duke
Otho, bestowed by Otho upon Dedi the younger, and
filched by Egen from Dedi — and so sustaining, by my
rank, my credit, and my wealth, the miserable miscreant,
Egen — / — Rutger, the count — may be regarded as
the prime mover of that war which has now so long laid
Saxony desolate — and, having done these deeds — \#ien
"warriors met in arms together, /, as a knight, buckled
on my beautiful armor, and hied me off to Henschenwege
— and at the first sight I got of an enemy, I ran away !
THE RE-UNION. 409
— and, though. I left my reputation, like my shield, be-
hind me, yet, here I stand Avith my nice armor, and my
fine sword of Attila by my side ! — do you not admire
me 7 Do you not admire the armor so dearly saved ?
Do you not admire the sword so marvellously won ?
Ai'e you not proud to see that he, who was so an:^^ous
to save his helmet from a dinge in battle, is now so
thoughtful of his duty to the female sex, that he will
not wear it in their presence ? '
"This, Sir Knight, Count of the Empire — patron of
Egen — courtier of King Henry — woman- wooer, battle-
skulker, war-exciter, hero of Henschenwege — you should
have said for yourself — and then the empress, and more
than the empress, the youthful queen, might have looked
upon you — as I do."
And, with these words, there shot forth from the eyes
of Adela a glance of scornful contempt, which Rutger
could not encounter without reddening for very shame
— and stammering forth :
" I know not, madam, wherefore you thus address me
— I am not conscious that "
" I am Adela, the Countess Dedi," she observed ; " and
if it were not for you, and the plot that you concocted
with Egen, my husband would not now be in exile —
my child would not be in prison — my step-son would
not be in his grave — my cousin Otho would not be de-
prived of his rank — my country would not be made a
■^aste — and my fellow-citizens would not be reduced to
serfdom. The wrongs that you have done to me and
mine are irreparable ; if every hair in your head were a
life, and that you were shorn of them all, as I hope yet
to see you shorn as a craven and a criminal, yet would
they not afford sufficient atonement for all the evil you
35
410 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROB.
have done me, and all the mischief you have caused to
others. But, had you not the heart of a woman, with
the form of a man, 1 never would have reproached you
with my wrongs. It is because I find that you fly the
swords of warriors, and seek the society of dames, that
I wish to show you that what we women hate worse than
a coward, is the eaves-dropping plotter, who concocts a
mischief, and shrinks, as you have done, from the re-
sponsibility that attaches to it."
" Adela," said the empress, " I pray you peace : I
believe that you have much cause for entertaining re-
sentment against Count Rutger, whose name has been
mixed up with the persecution of your family and race.
Here, however, he is the messenger of the king, and
entitled, if not to peisonal respect on his own account,
at least to forbearance as the representative of our sov-
ereign."
" I have not spoken thiis to Count Rutger," replied
Adela, " merely for the purpose of gratifying any re-
sentment I may justly feel, and that I do feel, against
him. I have spoken thus to him, because I more than
suspect the purpose for which the king has sent him
hither, and which purpose may be concealed either under
a real, or a pretended message. Rutger comes here, by
the desire of King Henry, to act the lover of our queen !
It is not the first time that so notable a project has been
devised by his Majesty ; and it is in pursuance of such
a plan that we see this manikin dressed up in fineiy,
and displaying his frippery, and even tying to his side
the sword of Attila ; but let him beware of that sword,
it is a fatal weapon ; terrible to an enemy, when its hilt
is held by a brave man, but a sword that always turns
its point against the heart of a craven that ventures to
THE RE-UNION. . 411
touch it. Let Eutger now speak his message — I have
told you the purport of his visit."
The confusion portrayed in the countenance of Eutger
manifested how accurately the Countess Adela had sur-
mised the real intention he had in visiting the queen ;
that (as in the affair of Otho) he had consented to be an
instrument in the completion of an infamous plot, for
the purpose of carrying out the fell designs of Henry
against a virtuous and faithful wife.
" You have not told us the nature of your message.
Count Eutger," said the empress.
" The king," stuttered forth Eutger, " directed me to
say, that he desired the presence of your Majesty, and
commanded that of his wife, the Queen Bertha, at Frank-
fort-on-the-Maine, in ten days- from this time, as an
affair of great importance to the empire is about to be
disposed of: and, at the same time, he bids me tender
my personal attendance upon the queen, in order that I
might protect her from the peril of so long and danger-
ous a journey."
" O, tender husband ! " exclaimed Adela, " who thus
cautiously provides that the greatest danger to which his
wife shall be exposed will be from the protector he has
selected for her ! Assent to such a proposal as this.
Queen Bertha, and you will find that you are more safe,
when ravening wolves are howling around your litter,
than when you are reposing in a bower of roses."
Whilst Adela thus spoke, the empress and Bertha
consulted together-, and then the empress thus spoke to
Count Eutger :
" Say to the king, our son, that his wife, the queen,
and I will be in Frankfort upon the day appointed. I,
in that journey, shall be the protector of my daughter.
412 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROE.
I express her feelings and mine, when I say that your
presence would be felt as an inconvenience, and we
therefore decline it. You may now retire. Farewell,
Count Rutger."
The count perceived that the plot of his master against
Queen Bertha was suspected, and therefore, without at-
tempting to remonstrate with the empress as to the de-
cision which she had come to, he bowed lowly to both,
and hurried from the apartment.
" O, mother," said Bertha, upon the withdrawal of
Rutger, " the presence of this base man here, and the
intention with which he intruded himself, convince me
that Henry persists in his sinful project of a divorce."
" My child," replied the empress, " our sole confi-
dence must be in God. He has already rendered abor-
tive all the plots of your enemies against you. Rely
upon him, for he never fails those who have full faith
in him. But what detains the Bishop of Halberstadt ?
He must be aware that this wicked courtier has departed.
Why does he not come forth ? My Lord Bishop ! my
Lord Bishop ! " said the empress, in a loud voice, '•' you
may come forth. Your enemy has departed."
With these words the bishop again appeared before
the empress, and said :
" May I ask your INIajesty what was the name of the
king's messenger ? "
" Count Rutger," replied the empress. " But did
you not hear our conversation ? "
" Not one word of it," replied the bishop. " Upon
passing that tapestry, I perceived that there was an
arrow-slit in the upper end of the chamber that looked
upon the river, and what I saw there interested me so
much that I did not for the moment remember even
THE RE-UNION. 413
where I "was. I am sure, too, that some persons In this
room are, though they may not be aware of it, interest-
ed in what I saw. Do you expect any one to visit you
here ? "
" I can answer for all here as my children," replied
the empress, " for I know the thoughts and hearts of
all. They do not hope nor look for a visit from any one."
" Then some persons are coming here," remarked the
bishop, " that they neither hope nor expect to see. But
I may describe to you what I observed. The arrow-slit
from which I gazed commands an extensive view of the
river Elbe. Upon looking out upon its waters I could
not discern a single boat but one, and that was at a con-
siderable distance. As it came nearer, I could perceive
that there were in it but three persons — a female and
two men. As it came close, I saw that one of the men
was old, and the other a mere boy — that the old man
rowed, with a vigorous hand, that the boy steered, and
that the female, though concealed by a long veil, was
young. I remarked that when a turn of the river brought
them within view of the fortress, and that they saw a boat
with the king's standard, and manned with the king's
red-schaaren, was at the postern-gate, they hastily pushed
back, and concealed themselves in their small boat amid
the reeds on the river bank. I obseiwed that, as they
pushed back, the old man covered himself with a pil-
grim's hood, and the young lad cast himself down to
the bottom of the boat, the better to escape being re-
marked.
" It is in that position I left them — thus concealing
themselves — and there, no doubt, they will remain
until Count Kutger and his attendants have withdrawn.
They must be coming here — otherwise they would
35*
414 THE POPE AND THE ElIPEROR.
have passed onward when they saw the royal standard.
They must be Saxons — probably the friends of the
Countess Dedi ; foj, otherwise, coming here, they would
not have feared to encounter Rutger."
" Coming to me they could not be," said the Countess
Adela ; " but what do you say of one of them being a
boy ? "
" One of these three persons is certainly a boy," re-
marked the bishop, " a flaxen-haired boy, between sixteen
and seventeen years of age."
" Ah ! such, exactly, is the appearance, and such the
age of my son," said the Countess Dedi, " but, alas ! he
is not now to be found on the waters of the Elbe — he
must be sought for on the Maine."
" May he not have escaped, as the Bishop of Halber-
stadt escaped ? " asked the gentle Bianca, whose heart
beat in sympathy with that of the bereaved countess.
" Ah ! no," said the despondent Adela, " for my poor
boy had no Udalric of Bavaria to befriend him. There
is as little likelihood that it is my boy is in the boat, the
bishop has observed, as that the young female is your
daughter."
Poor Bianca trembled, as if convulsions were about
to seize her, when this thought was suggested to her.
She was attempting to speak, when a smiling countenance
— it was as that of an angel, for it was the face of Beatrice
— came before her eyes ; and, as warm kisses pressed her
lips, and the word " mother " sounded in her ears, the
world vanished from her sight, and she lay in the arms
of her child, as if joy had struck a death-blow to her
heart.
The words " mother," " mother," sounded in the ears
of Adela, and her boy was j)i'essed to her heart, whilst
THE RE-UNION. 415
the exclamations " my son ! " " my son ! " were repeat-
ed, as if, in their repetition, the certainty of the mother,
in having her son restored to her, was rendered more sure.
That mother and that son saw not, heard not, thought
not of aught else in the world besides. Although the
rocky fortress in which they stood had tumbled into ruins
beneath their feet, it would not have unfastened the
clasping hands of Adela around the form of the son so
unexpectedly restored to her. There was fierceness even
in the ardent tenderness with which she kissed him, as
if each kiss were a vengeance taken upon those who had
had the unmanly cruelty to tear from an aged woman
her only child — the last — the youngest, too, of all her
children.
Whilst Bianca lay still insensible in the arms of Bea-
trice, the pilgrim advanced, and pressing a long kiss upon
the forehead of his daughter, he retired to where the
Bishop of Halberstadt stood, and said : —
" For the present, my lord, our presence here can be
of no avail. Let me leave this day to Bianca — to the
unalloyed happiness of having her child restored to her,
and of knowing that her father still lives to watch over
her and Beatrice. Such joy may prepare her to encounter
the greater sorrows that await her hereafter, and the full
extent of which can be but gradually made known to her.
Come, my Lord Bishop, your longer delay in this palace
may be dangerous. The embraces of Beatrice, and the
cares of the good empress and the pious Bertha, Avill soon
restore Bianca to consciousness."
A few minutes after this conversation, a pilgrim was
seen rowing across the Elbe a small boat, in which the
only passenger was an aged man in the garb of a peasant.
416 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROP..
CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE HYPOCRITE UNMASKED.
It was midday on a Sunday, in the city of Frankfort-
on-the-Maine, and the great church was crowded in all
its parts ; for not only was it known that the king, the
queen, the empress, and the high officers, counts, and
lords of the empire, with many of the prelates, would be
present, but also that a ceremony was about to be per-
formed by William, the Lord Bishop of Utrecht, which
would attract the attention and excite the wonder of
Christendom. What the ceremony might be was not
known ; but when it was rumored that it was specially to
take place at the desire of the king, an intense curiosity
was excited to witness it, and therefore the humble were
not less desirous than the rich to gain admission within
the precincts of the church.
A large portion of the church had, by the especial desire
of King Henry, been left for the use of the people, for
he intended that they should bear away with them a full
impression of the omnipotence of his power, and that they
should also have their minds impressed, by means of the
forms of religion, with a conviction that, in his conflict
with Pope Gregory VII., he had, at least, those called
bishops to support him. Thus, when high mass in the
great church at Frankfort had been concluded, were to
be seen in the places immediately adjoining the altar, and
near to the thrones erected for Henry, his wife, and his
mother, none but persons in gorgeous armor, or in costly
robes, and all radiant with gold and jewelry, whilst before
them sat, in their magnificent pontificals, his "bishops
THE HYPOCRITE UNMASKED. 417
of the empire," The upper part of the church shone
forth, in the blaze of day, one mass of splendor ; and upon
that splendor gazed an awe-stricken population, who
pressed in a thick crowd together, and who were but the
representatives of vast multitudes who thronged in thou-
sands outside, and who waited with impatience to hear
whatever might pass, and which it was an utter impos-
sibility for themselves to witness.
The high mass was concluded ; but instead of those who
had been in prayer during its celebration preparing to
depart, a low murmur of excitement ran through the
church, when it was seen that the king and all the high
dignitaries rose from their knees to resume their seats,
and when the church bells were heard ringing forth, not
in regular peals, but in harsh, jangled, and disordered
sounds, as if announcing that some awful calamity had
occurred. The joyous and triumphant swell of the organ
was suddenly changed into a wailing and melancholy cry,
as the vestry doors were thrown open, and, issuing forth,
were seen first, the youthful acolytes in red robes, and
then subdeacons in dark cassocks, deacons in white sui*-
plices, priests with their plain chasubles, and the chap-
lains, in attendance upon the bishop, fully vested as priests.
These all came marching forth two by two — file pouring
out after file — and all bearing long, white, lighted tapers
in their hands ; and last of all issued forth, with a mitre
of pure gold upon his head, and a snow-white cope upon
his shoulders, the officiating prelate in the ceremony —
William, the anti-papal Bishop of Utrecht.
With slow and solemn tread the bishop followed the
procession, until he reached the centre of the high altar,
the steps of which he ascended ; and, as he did so, the
acolytes, subdeacons, deacons, and priests, arranged them-
418 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
selves on the steps of the altar, each mounting according
to his respective rank — one, a step above the other, and
the bishoj)'s chaplains ranging themselves at the two ex-
tremities of the altar, before which the bishop stood.
"When all were so arranged, the bishop turned and faced
the vast multitude, and, as he did so, a sudden paleness
overspread his countenance. It came upon him as the
wailing of the organ ceased, and as the tumultuous jangling
of the bells was silenced.
The face of the anti-papal bishop was, at that moment,
the face of a desperate man — in the high forehead, now
corrugated with wrinkles — in the frowning brows that
knit together, and sought in vain to conceal the living
fire that darted forth from his blood-shot eyes — in the
dilated nostrils, and'^iu the quivering lips, now white and
bloodless, might be detected the agonies of a spirit, which
defied heaven, and dared the worst tortures of a hell,
w^hich it did not disbelieve. Those who had known the
bishop, would, in the terrible aspect that now glared forth
fi'om beneath the golden mitre, have failed to recognize
him. Let not the reader marvel, although he has been
previously introduced to him, if he fail at once to know,
in this description, one of the individuals previously
portrayed.
Close to the side of the bishop was placed, by one of
his chaplains, a long, lighted taper ; whilst the prelate
drew forth from his bosom a parchment, on which some
characters were inscribed.
There was a solemn, chilling stillness in all parts of the
church, as the bishop advanced from the altar to the out-
ermost verge of the stone platform on which it rested.
Every syllabic, although spoken in a harsh and broken
voice by him, was audible in the most remote corners of
that vast church.
THE HYPOCRITE UNMASKED. 419
"My bretliren," said the pope-hating bishop, ''the
church, when it has determined upon the excommunication
of an incorrigible sinner, has also declared that excom-
munication should take place upon certain days, and at
certain seasons — as upon a Thursday — upon an ascen-
sion day — and upon the feast of the dedication of the
church of the twelve apostles. It does so, to signify that
they, who are so excommunicated, are cast off from all
participation in the Blessed Sacrament, instituted first on
a Thursday ; upon the ascension day, as showing that the
church, which then prays for all, alone renounces them ;
and upon the feast of the dedication, as showing that the
church, which is opened to all the faithful, expels them
from its doors. iSTecessity compels us, upon this occasion,
to deviate from these observances ; but we have preserved
others — the disordered ringing of the bells, and the ex-
tinction of the lighted candles — the first, as showing that
the bells, which, by their regular peal, convoke Christians
to prayer, will, by their irregular chiming, scatter the
unbelieving into confusion ; and as the light of the can-
dles is extinguished, so shall the light of the holy spirit
be darkened in their hearts. One portion of these cer-
emonies has been complied with, and the other you have
yet to witness.
" The excommunication of a Christian is a sad and
painful duty, and one to which the church never has
recourse but in the last sad extremity. It is painful to
direct it against the poorest layman in the community —
more painful to direct it against a priest ; but for me, my
brethren, has been reserved the most painful of all duties,
that of excommunicating one who ranks as the highest
of all bishops.
**Why do I excommunicate him? Because he has
420 THE POrE AND THE EMPEROR.
acted as a tjTant — because he has sought for favor with
the multitude by thwarting the will of princes — by in-
terfering with them in the government of their dominions
— by denying to them the privileges which appertain to
them as sovereigns — by seeking to prevent them from
rewarding, with the highest offices in the church, those
servants whom they know to be most devoted to them,
and of whose merits they have personal cognizance. Why
do I excommunicate him ? Because I am but one of many
German bishops that he has visited with his censures, and
that he declares to be excommunicated, because we will
not compel our clergy to live as if they were angels, and
not men, and had not the passions of men. He who
rejects the majority of the German bishops, as unfitted to
continue bishops, I, on the part of the German bishops,
repudiate as our apostolical superior. He who threatens
to excommunicate our king, I now excommunicate.
" Yes ' — from this spot — from this altar, in the pres-
ence of my king, of his nobles, and of the assembled
multitude, I, William of Utrecht, here declare that Hil-
debrand, he who felsely designates himself Pope Gregory
VII., is a tyrant, a perjurer, a seeker after novelties, a
dishonored bishop, and adulterate pontiff — a man whose
life is stained with manifold sins, and unnumbered vices ;
and renouncing him as a pope, and denouncing him as a
bishop, and scorning him as a man, I from this moment
forward, declare him to be excommunicated.
" To Hildebrand, the false pope, I now say, anathema !
anathema ! anathema ! "
And, as the bishop spoke these words, he seized the
lighted taper that stood by his side, and dashing it upon
the earth, he trampled out the light. That which he did
was imitated on the instant, by the deacons, subdeacons.
THE HYPOCEITE UNMASKED. 421
and priests ; and, as these lights were extinguished,, a
shriek of horror arose from all parts of the church.
The anti-papal bishop stood with his foot still resting
upon the quenched taper ; he stood moveless, as if he
had been transformed to stone — with eyes that seemed
to be starting from their sockets — with mouth wide
gaping, and with out-stretched arms, and his body resting
for support against the altar. Thus he stood, and he
heard not the cries that filled the church, for all his senses
were absorbed in the spectacle that presented itself to his
sight, by the withdrawal of a curtain, at the moment that
lie pronovmced " anathema " upon Pope Gregory. The
curtain had, up to that moment, screened from his view
a side altar, dedicated to the Blessed "Virgin, and now
that it was withdrawn, he beheld, in front of a white
marble statue of the Virgin, which had its arms extended
over them, as invoking a blessing upon their heads, three
persons — they were the victims jof his life of sin, of sac-
rilege, of treachery, and of deceit. They were, the
pilgrim! Bianca ! and Beatrice! and in the face of all
there was the same expression of reproach, of shame, and
of abhorrence ; and a single word, uttered by each, de-
noted their feelings towards him ; for, in these three
words were given the past biography of the criminal
bishop. These words were : —
" Eberhard ! "
" Manfred ! "
" Ruebert ! "
The side altar of the Virgin, in which these thi-ee per-
sons were seen, was within view of those who stood on
the high altar, or of those who were on the opposite side
of the church to that at which it was placed — lying, as
it were, in a niche, and out of the observation of all who
30
422 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
•^ere gathered in the choir, nave, and aisles. Thus, it
was distinctly visible to the Bishop of Utrecht, and of his
assistants : to a few of the bishops, having seats directly
opposite to it ; but it was not, and could not be, seen by
the king, nor his courtiers, who were on the same side
with it, and was completely hidden from the observation
of the great body of the congregation beyond them. The
three, who thus appeared to the sight of the anti-popery
bishop, and who withered his heart by the single word
that each addressed to him, were arrayed in a different
costume. The pilgrim had cast aside his robe, and now
appeared in helmet and haubergeou of jDolished steel, that
shone forth as if both were composed of no other material
than glittering silver. Bianca, with white robes, and a
garland of snow-white roses on her head, seemed to be a
bride ; and the beauty of Beatrice was partly concealed
beneath her dark robe of a novice, and partly rendered
more brilliant by the wj'eath of white roses that encircled
her head, and the diamond cross of the empress that shone
forth upon her bosom.
The anti-popery bishop. gazed in horror upon these
three persons, that seemed to have risen up before him,
as by a miracle of heaven, to reproach him for all his
past offences, at the very moment that he had aggravated
them by the commission of the last crime that he was
then in the very act of perpetrating. He believed that,
having climbed to the very climax of sin, the moment
for his downfall and his punishment had now come ;
and, so believing and so feeling, a change seemed, in an
instant, to be operated in the whole being of the misera-
ble man ; for the cries, with which the whole church
had been filled, as he pronounced "anathema " upon the
Pope, were still heard, when all were instantly quelled
THE HYPOCRITE UNMASKED. 423
by the shrill shrieking voice of the bishop, who, gazing
upon the pilgrim, Bianca, and Beatrice, thus addressed
them : —
" Pardon ! pardon ! pardon ! mercy and forgiveness.
Lord of Viterbo ; Bianca, the betrayed ; Beatrice, the
virtuous. Pardon me, O Lord of Viterbo ; for when,
you received me, and hospitably entertained me, I de-
ceived you, by telling you I was a young knight of Ger-
many, at the moment I had received the first tonsure
of a deacon. Pardon me, O Bianca ; for, besotted by
your beauty, I perjured myself, when, as a husband, I
plighted to you my troth, for I was already bound by the
vow — the vow of celibacy to the church — to God —
to the people. Before I saw you — 1 had vowed at the
altar, that I would be a man solely and exclusively de-
voted to God and to the people — a slave in his service
and to theirs — a man belonging wholly to his Creator ;
to live, to labor, and to die for the promotion of his
glory — a man belonging wholly and solely to the
people ; to live, to labor, and to die in promoting their
salvation. Before I took that vow — I was told — ay,
three several times was I told by the pontiff, that I was
still free — that I was not compelled, not urged, not
required to take any such vow — and yet, despite these
repeated warnings, I intruded myself into the sanctuary,
and I took the vow. I took it to perjure myself, and
to dishonor you, by deceiving you into a sacrilegious
marriage. Base villain that I was, I deceived you by
telling you that your father was slain ; I sought to de-
ceive you into a false marriage, by bringing with me an
impostor, who was to have performed a sham ceremony
between us ; and, when I said that I plighted to you my
troth, I was a liar — a perjurer — a villain. Pardon —
424 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
pardoD. me, Bianca ! for had you not been so kind, so
lovely, and so confiding, I never had lived a life of sin, of
mystery, and of treachery. And you, O Beatrice ! — my
child ! my child ! — pardon — O, pardon ! and pray that
pardon may be granted to your hapless father, who now
stands thus before you — a public sinner — confessing
his sins ; and one of whose crimes is that he is the parent
— the sacrilegious, guilty parent — of one so stainless
and so sinless as yourself. Pardon, O, pardon me ! for
even your infantile caresses could never pacify, for an
instant, the hell-fire that burned in my bosom, when I
remembered that your father was a priest, bound by his
vow — a bishop, foul with every baseness, when I ought
to be an example of virtue and chastity to others. O,
Beatrice, my child, pardon — O, God! she is dying be-
fore my face, and I dare not, must not, touch her with
my polluted hands "
These words were spoken by the bishop, as he saw
Beatrice fall, fainting in the arms of the pilgrim. As
she fell, the pilgrim and Bianca pointed to the statue of
the Virgin, at the pediment of which she fell ; and, as
they so pointed, the curtain that screened the chapel
of the Virgin was drawn quickly in front of it, and
the persons to whom the bishop had been addressing
himself were shut out from his view. He never again
looked upon them in this world.
" They point to the statue of the Virgin," muttered
the bishop to himself, " and tell me to pray for her in-
tercession and pardon. They will not forgive me, and
they bid me seek for her forgiveness. I have sought to
com.pensate them both for the wrongs I have done them,
by a life of tenderness and love, and they will not
pardon me ; but bid me seek for it from her that I have
THE HYPOCRITE UNMASKED. 425
offended in thought. In word, and in deed, by years of
sin. When they will not intercede for me, why hope
that she will do so ? No — no — no. I deserve no
forgiveness ; wife and child are alike degraded and dis-
honored by the connection with a perjured priest and a
sacrilegious bishop.
^' Yes — I am — a reprobate — a castaway ; accursed
vow ! had I never taken it I might have lived and died
honored as a layman. Accursed mitre ! " he exclaimed,
tearing it from his head, and trampling upon it, " but
for thy gaudy gems and damning bxilliancy, I never
should have felt the demon ambition ui-ging me onward
to a life of base hj-pocrisy."
The wretched man stood like a maniac upon the high
altar, clinching his hands, and stamping again and again
upon the golden mitre that lay at his feet. Amazement
k«pt the spectators silent and moveless for a moment,
for much of what had passed was absolutely unintelligi-
ble to them, as they did not see those to whom the lan-
guage of the Rome-despising bishop had been addressed.
From their surprise they were aroused by an agonizing
shriek, which came from the bishop, as he clapped both
his outspread hands upon his heart, and a white foam,
stained with blood, gathered around his lips.
" Ah ! " he exclaimed, " the vengeance of God has
fallen upon me, and the pangs of death have seized me
— even here — ay, here — in the midst of my sins.
Yes — brethren — you have heard me say that I excom-
municated Hildebrand. Now listen to me, whilst I say
the just judgment of God has fallen upon me. I die —
I die an anti-papal bishop, for I have aided the king in
all his evil deeds — I have fomented what was bad in his
heart — and^ to please my sovereign, I have done vio-
36*
426 THE POPE AND THE EMPEEOR.
lence to my own conscience, by slandering Hildebrand,
that I have ever known to be good, holy, pious, exem-
plary, and virtuous. My crime is unpardonable in the
sight of God, and it is punished with death — death — an
eternal death."
And as the Bishop of Utrecht spoke these words, he
rolled, apparently a lifeless corpse, from the altar, down
the steps to the rails of the sanctuary, marking each step,
as he fell, with blotches of dark blood that poured from
his mouth.
" Let the church be cleared instantly,'' exclaimed
Henry, rising from his throne ; *• a sudden illness has
seized our true and trusty friend, the Bishop of Utrecht.
Pious soul! he talks so wildly — it is plain he has lost
his senses. To the palace, my friends. Good people,
depart with all speed. Let none remain in the church
but the immediate attendants of the bishop. The heat
and excitement have been too much for him. We shall
send him our physician. Away — one and all, from the
church."
In a few minutes afterwards, the church, which had
been so crowded, was cleared of every one but the chap-
lains of the bishop, who had raised him up, still in a state
of insensibility, and removed him to the vestry, where he
was placed upon a couch, and where, by the application
of cold water to his forehead, he was, eventually, restored
to consciousness. He saw the king's physician standing
by his side, holding his hand, and asking him how he was
affected.
" I feel," said the bishop, " that I am dying — that
human skill cannot prolong my existence for another hour.
I feel that I am descending down — down into hell. It
lies open for me ; and now. Sir Physician, I beg of you.
THE nY*OCIlITE UNMASKED. 427
as you value yom* own salvation, and as you shall answer,
at the last day, for the responsibility I now impose upon
you, hasten to the king — tell him, for he yet has time
to repent (but will never do so), that I, and all others who
have favored his vices, are, with himself, doomed to eter-
nal perdition."
" O, my lord," exclaimed one of the chaplains, " speak
not thus — reflect, that for repentant sinners, our church
has provided the aid of the Holy Sacraments."
"AwayAvith thee, and thy sacraments," replied the
despairing reprobate. " Have I not violated the Sacrament
of holy orders ? — have I not violated the vow of obedience
that I owed to my superior, the pontiff? Have I not
violated the vow of chastity ? Have I not violated the
Sacrament of marriage ? Have I not plighted my troth,
when I stood, with tonsured head, and consecrated hands,
to receive a wife from the hands of a priest ? 0, mon-
strous ! a priest married by a priest. Have I not, whilst
a husband and a father, dared to ascend the altar — to
touch the sacred vessels — to offer up the Sacrifice — to
grasp the crosier — and, whilst a curse to myself, to pro-
nounce a benediction upon others ? The Sacraments ! I
have desecrated them as far as I could, and if I dared to
participate in any more of them, I must but add sin upon
sin. By my own deeds I have cut myself off, as a rotten
branch, from the church ; and I now stand deservedly
condemned to my own despair. Pray not for me when
I am dead, for the prayers of the living can bring no relief
to the souls of the damned.
" Why stare you at me, chaplain, as if I spoke that of
which I am not certain. My dying eyes can see things
that are as yet invisible to you. I see all my sins rising
up around me, and forming, as they rise, a thick mist.
428 THE POPE AND THE EMPEROR.
which hangs over and about me, to shut me in, as it were,
within an impenetrable pent-house — the thick pent-house
of despair — the only thing not penetrable by the ever-
descending rays of the mercy of God. I see — I see, as
my heart is torn with the agonies of death — as my limbs
shiver with torture — as my clammy lips seem to be gluing
together with melting fire — that devils stand at my pil-
low — there by your side — that they blow the flames
of a burning hell into my mouth — that they are prepared
to fly away with my soul the moment it parts from the
body — that they have now, to expedite my death, brought
up from the bottomless pit, my broken vow as a priest,
and which, as a sharp spear, they are now about to thrust,
candescent with heat, down my throat — that they now
raise it — that they now — O, it is over "
William, the anti-paj)al bishop, lay dead before the
chaplain. A few hours before, he had appeared to be a
man destined to enjoy a long life. All that now remained
of him was a corpse, on the distorted features of which
were impressed the proofs that an agonizing death had
been endured, and, in the purple and blotched skin, were
the manifestations that, even before life had departed, a
sudden mortification had seized upon the limbs and the
intestines.
The chaplains divested the body of the pontifical robes,
in which it had been habited, and, rolling it up in coarse
cloths, they carried it at once outside the town; and,
setting it down upon unconsecrated ground, they made
around it a wall of large stones, as high as the body itself,
and then covered it over in the same manner ; for, having
witnessed the dying moments of the bishop, they felt that
they dared not bestow upon him Christian burial, but that
he should thus rest blocked up, casting around him in
death, as in life — a pestilence.
THE EXCOMMUNICATION. 429
William, Bishop of Utrecht, the opponent, for many-
years, of Hilclebrand, he whose foul lips had pronounced
an excommunication upon the sacred pontiff, Gregory
VII., was thus consigned to the earth, not as if he had
been a man, a Christian, a priest, or a bishop ; but as if
his remains had been nought more than the carcass of a
dog or of an ass ; for that species of burial bestowed upon
him was, in those times, designated " an ass's sepulture."
Thus lay, dishonored and imblocked in the infamous
grave of an excommunicated reprobate, the man that
Bianca had for so long a time loved as a husband, and
that Beatrice had ever respected, though she never could
love him, as a father.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE EXCOMMUNICATION.
Henry was alone, in the same chamber, in the palace
fortress of Frankfort, in which he was first seen by the >
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
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